#but if this is everything then I’m delighted you graced my inbox with it because I am holding it close and never letting go

[corrodedcoughin]

Fantasy au where a group of travelers are escaping the kingdom of Hawkins. They hear of a hidden city - rumoured to keep all outcasts safe from the king of Hawkins’ tyrannical rule, under the protection of a guild of powerful mages and warriors.

They’re given a link, a super secret contact to meet in an inn the town over that will help them escape and find said city.

They come face to face, Strider in fellowship of the ring - style, with Eddie the Banished - gaze sharp and intimidating. They’ve heard the rumours- Hawkins runs rampant with stories of his alleged crimes - namely involving the missing crown prince. Every layman has their version, but it all chalks up to the same fallen Hero and great Villain story.

It’s clear that he is skeptical and very protective of who he brings with him into the city, but the owners of the inn - a gentle lady by the name of Joyce and her equally intimidating husband, Hopper, vouch for them.

It takes some time to get there, they don’t take a direct route to avoid ambushes and the like.

Eddie neither confirms nor denies the stories, in fact he stokes the flames and plays it up - they act as additional protection and armor, an air of “don’t fuck with us.”

Through the bravado and exaggerated stories, they start to learn bits and pieces about Eddie along the way - things that don’t add up. He wears lots of jewellery - he jingles like a cat with a bell when he struts - but one of the party points out that a lot of them look like protection charms, each handmade, possibly by children judging by the make.

He flirts like nobody’s business, but it never goes past that. They had to flee a tavern one time when Eddie blows up over a patron who couldn’t take a “no” a few times too many.

Among his jewellery, Eddie wears a lot of rings. Stacks of silver, gaudy and eccentric, though they spend enough time traveling together to start noticing the sole gold band on his left ring finger.

They do get ambushed once - but manage to fight it off mostly unscathed. Eddie plays it off as usual, but one of them notices him twisting said gold band, brow pinched at night when no one is looking.

He’s also surprisingly sweet - he’s always nice to the kids he encounters, always treats the waitstaff at taverns and shops with respect, he’s protective over the younger members of the travel party when they encounter someone particularly rowdy. They also notice how he picks up little things along the way - snack cakes, hand carved die. “Little gifts,” he tells one of them, with a lopsided grin.

Maybe Eddie the Banished isn’t the villain of this story after all.

When they reach the city - it’s relief - for once in their lives the air tastes like freedom. A bunch of people are there to welcome them and show them around, but mainly they’re there for Eddie. He’s nearly swallowed by a swarm of children, and catches his arms around a girl with mousey brown, shaggy hair (“Birdie” they hear him call her - they think she’s his betrothed for a hot second) before the small sea of people part, and the group of travelers still.

Because at the center of the crowd, though a few years older and in looser, more comfortable clothing than they’ve ever seen him in before, is Crown Prince Steve Harrington.

And before they can think to do anything, Eddie is dropping all of his weapons, bravado completely dropping, face blown open with relief. Then he’s running, and wrapping the other man so tightly in an embrace that they can’t tell which limb belongs to who. They watch them sway gently in the middle of the city square.

“I kept my promise. I came back to you,” they hear Eddie murmur with such reverence, foreheads touching, hands cupping the other man’s face with such gentleness -

And then they’re being ushered away towards the baths, “Birdie” talking a mile a minute about how they must be tired and how they should give the lovebirds a second.

And maybe the rumours and stories were wrong. Maybe it’s a story about freedom and love instead.

Anon…you don’t underSTAND I’ve been craving a fantasy book for so long and this is exactly what I NEED. please I am begging at your table for any scraps you care to share PLEASE 🙏

[mightbewriting]

i, sincerely, have no idea how to start this ask.

i read ‘wait & hope’ sometime at the beginning of this year and it came to be one of my favorites. i could talk endlessly about it. then i found that ‘beginning & end’ existed and i couldn’t read it.

i refused to read it. why?

because i knew it would hurt. because, even though i didn’t get to see their life before, i know how inexplicably in love draco was with hermione, and i knew it would hurt.

reading ‘beginning & end’ with knowing whispering in the back of my mind, knowing how this would go, knowing that every choice, every memory would be forgotten by her, hurt so much. because look at how happy they are! how much they had to fight for!

and it poses the question of ‘wait & hope’, was it all for nothing?

no! absolutely fucking not! love, despite memory, dedication, despite hurt, is everything. and because i simply refuse to believe that! i may be a pessimist but first and foremost i am a hopeless fucking romantic.

so, i guess i came here to say:

fuck you.

fuck you for making me cry the hardest i have ever cried at a series of words. harder than ‘the song of achilles’, harder than when i read ‘the fault in our stars’ when i was 13 (and if you knew me when i was 13–holy shit—you know how much a deal this is. i was inconsolable for a month.) fuck you for being graced with the talent to write in the way that you do. for granting life to stories that should be told because as much as it is fiction, it’s real. real possibilities and everyday struggles (masked by magic and circumstance but real, nonetheless).

more than fuck you, more than having to muffle my utterly embarrassing bouts of sobbing, (no, not crying. sobbing so damn hard i had to clutch my chest like a regency era damsel), more than that,

thank you.

for your writing, for your time, for your story.

you’ve ruined my life and given me one of my favorite works, in any form, in every form.

- venus 🕊

(also, i plan on reading wait & hope again after experiencing their before. the mental, and physical, distress i am going to experience will be worth it but i will still be simultaneously furious at and in awe of you.)

(also, not sincerely ‘fuck you.’ i realize i’m abrasive and we have literally never spoken but i truly am in love with your words. no matter how distraught they make me!)

hi. wow. venus. hi. wow. hello.

im kind of speechless? am i delighted to have made you cry like a regency era damsel? should i apologize? am i honored? pretty sure its a weird soup made of all that and more.

im so, so, SO please that you decided to give b&e a shot! i think a lot of people avoid it because of exactly what you described (re: *pain*) (and also bc it seems like a lot of folks think it's just a w&h retelling from draco's pov and therefore also expect *pain*; its a prequel people, PREQUEL lol) (and it's very long) (and its a much different story genre and pacing than w&h) (and im definitely not self conscious about it at all idk why you'd think that) and its hard to like...convince people to subject themselves to that? xD i think im gathering that it was worth it lol, and im really, really happy to hear that. thank you so much for taking the time to come scream at me about it; this has literally made my morning! <33

is there a better compliment than an emphatic 'fuck you'? i really dont think so. it might be my favorite thing ever. so thank you!

ive also heard from many reliable sources that the w&h reread after b&e is...difficult. do you do discord? if you need emotional support, i know some places you can get it lol (mostly in the form of commiserating and sobbing gifs) xD

thank you again, seriously, for reading my work and taking the time to share something of your experience with me! this has been such a delight to find in my inbox this morning <3

[mandoalorian]

my time to shine- may i request a cobb vanth x reader 👀👀 maybe a enemies to lovers question mark trope-

for example maybe when din meets cobb, the reader is just like ohmyfuckhessohot but also fuck him for being so cocky i want him underneath me once i pin his arrogant ass down- and like 👀 maybe yk what that happens, and the reader can feel his bulg- 🏃‍♀️💨💨💨 i have nothing but horny thots for middle-aged men in my peabrain- s'ok if you don't do this- just horny thots

By The Fire (Cobb Vanth x Female Reader) SMUT

hiya bae!!! im so sorry this request took SO long to get out but i hope you enjoy it none the less xx

if you have a request feel free to submit it via my ask inbox!

Rating: 18+

Word count: 2k

Warnings: SMUT; close to female receiving oral but not all the way, cock warming, spanking, riding, unprotected (use protection!)

So he was different, and you couldn't figure out how you were supposed to feel about him. If the Maker had just granted you a second alone with Din, you would have spoken to the Mandalorian about him. Din was always good at weighing people up from first glance. You, on the other hand, had always been called 'naïve' and 'gullible'. You tried working on yourself; you really did- and you believed you were improving. But when you met the marshal of Mos Pelgo; he threw you completely of course. You couldn't do anything under his watch. You failed to perform the most basic of the tasks… you couldn't hotwire the speeder bike you had claimed, nor could you manoeuvre the squirming child into his high chair. And it didn't go unnoticed.

Din grabbed your arm and took you to one side. "What is the matter with you?" his question was harsh, and came out as more of a statement. You felt yourself fluster, defensively folding your arms across your chest.

"I don't know what you're talking about." you scoffed and rolled your eyes. Under his beskar helmet, Din was not amused. He narrowed his dark eyes and pressed his lips into a fine line.

"Ever since he joined us, you've been acting off." Din said matter of factly. You felt your cheeks heat up with embarrassment.

"Oh," you shrugged nonchalantly. "You mean the Marshal?"

"Yes. The Marshal." Din spat. "Cobb Vanth is an elite. He is smart. He knows what he's doing. And he owes me one. He's going to help us get off this sand-rock of a planet, and then you can finally forget about him. Because that's what it is, isn't it? He's on your mind and it's distracting you."

Maker, he was good. He could read you like a book. Everything Din had said was true, no matter the level of denial that you were in. You stood there, comprehending his words, and after a few prolonged beats of silence, you took a deep breath.

"No." you shakily exhaled, gritting your teeth and pursing your lips together into a pout.

You cursed yourself. You were a bad liar. The worst Din had ever met… and Din had encountered plenty of scoundrels in his adventures across the galaxy. Din didn't answer you. He didn't need to. He knew you well enough to understand what exactly was going on in that little mind of yours. There was no use playing innocent with him.

The Marshal’s eyes were burning into your back. You hated it. You hated him. You hated the way he spoke to you. He over-explained everything, like you were too young and innocent to understand. He was so cocky and so arrogant. You tried your best to devise an efficient way to get off Tatooine, with his help, but he just kept shutting you down. You couldn't understand it. He wouldn't listen to you, and it irked you so much.

You hated the smirk that graced his lips and that sultry gaze he shot you from across the cantina as he sipped on his spotchka. You hated the way it made you feel. You hated the burning sensation that erupted in the pit of your stomach and the way you'd have to press your thighs together in order to suppress the need for some kind of sexual release. Never in your life had you met a man who could do so much to you, without doing much at all.

"I'm going to travel to the sand dunes, and I'm taking the child. Hopefully I can find some jawas who will trade parts with me. Then we can get started on the Crest's repairs and get off this planet." Din informed you. "I need you to wait here with the Marshal, make sure he doesn't do anything suspicious while I'm gone."

"I thought you said you trusted him," you knotted your eyebrows together. "That he 'owed you one'."

"He does owe me one. I just don't know if he's a man of his word." Din sighed before spinning around on his heel and walking towards the speeder bike with the child. Pft, a man of his word. That scoundrel? Not a chance.

Nights on Tatooine were warm and humid, as you had found out. The Marshal, who you had learned was named Cobb Vanth, had told you to collect sandwood from the outskirts of Mos Pelgo and bring them back to his hut. You did so, begrudgingly following his instruction, and watched him make a fire.

There was something so erotic about the way his biceps flexed as he quickly rubbed each piece of wood together, trying to ignite a flame. Beads of sweat laced his hairline as he concentrated, occasionally squinting to see if his attempts had made a spark. It didn't take long before Cobb created a roaring campfire. It was nice, amber embers floating through the air as you perched yourself on a log. Cobb discarded his armour and sat opposite you.

The atmosphere was nice and…. sensual. The only thing was, neither you or Cobb hate uttered a word to each other since you came back with the sandwood. It would've been awkward if there wasn't the undeniable sexual tension in the air. You were the first to speak.

"I don't know if I trust you." you said, immediately regretting the words after they departed your lips. There was a beat of silence.

"Smart." Cobb smirked, and you felt yourself swell up with more fury. His voice was so rich. You hated it. You hated it.

"You hardly think I am smart when you've refused to listen to me all day." You tsked, shuffling closer to the fire and warming yourself up. "My plan wasn't flawed. If you had just listened to me, me and the Mandalorian could've been off this wretched hive hours ago."

Cobb nodded his head slowly. "You're probably right."

"So what's your deal?" you groaned, tossing your hair back and closing your eyes.

What a sight. Cobb admired your stretched out form, his eyes boring into the skin of your chest and up the length of your neck. You had ditched your cloak, leaving it to just crumple by your feet. You were glowing. Cobb was sure you were the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen enter Mos Pelgo; and he wanted to prove that to you in some way or another. When you opened your eyes, Cobb was on his knees, in-between your legs.

He looked up at you, his eyes completely lust blown and he swiped his tongue over his lower lip. He looked primal. He needed you. "Wasn't listening to your stupid plan because I didn't want you to leave so early." Cobb admitted, his voice gruff and hoarse.

He wanted more. From the moment he laid his eyes on you, he had been trying to weigh you up as well. What was your deal? Were you courting the Mandalorian? Surely not. There was no denying the tension between you two. The cod piece of his armour had hid the erection you had given him all day. He shamefully had to relieve himself in the restroom of the cantina. He just couldn't get enough of the way your lips twisted around the fruit you sucked on, and the way your eyelashes framed your doe-like eyes.

He placed a big hand on the inside of your thigh, where your skin was as soft as cream, and pushed your tunic up, exposing your panties. You stiffened up under his rough touch. This was exactly what you wanted. There were no signs of Din or the child. It was just you and Cobb Vanth. He shuffled closer to you and began to plant sloppy kisses along your thighs. You hummed in delight as his greying stubble tickled your skin and you felt him smirk against your body. That damned smirk.

You ran your fingers through his locks of hair, occasionally tugging. His groans under your touch vibrated through your core and left your panties ruined from arousal. His lips nudged against your clit, only the thin material of your underwear gating his tongue from your cunt. You craved him so desperately. You needed him inside you. But he was teasing.

"You've been calling the shots all day." You whimpered as he licked a stripe down your pussy. You went to pull your panties off but his large hands stopped you.

"I always call the shots." he growled in your ear sending shivers down your spine.

"Not tonight." You smiled, tugging on his hair and pulling his head away from your core. You stood up, taking extra care not to stumble and fall into the fire, and dragged him to his feet. You pushed him onto the log where you had been sitting and sat on his lap, wrapping your legs around his waist and straddling him.

And oh Maker, he was hard. You could feel his entire length throb and press against his stomach as you grinded your hips, slow at first. Achingly slow. Cobb lowered his hands to your waist and pulled you closer to his chest, desperate for you to increase your speed. "More." he gasped, nuzzling his head into your neck and biting down into your skin.

Your grip on him tightened. You wanted to go slow; and tease him for as long as possible. He deserved it. You wanted to edge him until he was crying out your name, begging you to let him cum. But you needed a release too. Fuck, you needed him. You placed your hands on his shoulders and hovered over his lap. "Pants off." you commanded, to which he happily obliged.

Within seconds, the Marshal had pulled his pants off. You spat into the palm of your hand, saliva dripping amongst your fingers and grabbed his length, rubbing it as you slowly sank on top of him.

He was big. He was so big. His cock throbbed inside you. It stretched out your walls and you could feel every vein. You held yourself on top of him for a few moments as you adjusted to his length. Cobb dipped his hand down and began to circle your clit a few times, earning a few delicious moans.

It wasn't long until you were balls deep into him. His cock was amazing. As you began to ride him, you realised it curved in just the right place, and with every thrust, he hit your sweet spot. You knew you wouldn't last long. "Fuck, so good," Cobb grunted as you bounced on top of him. "Such a pretty girl."

"Don't wanna leave," you gasped. "Wanna feel your cock fill me up every day. Wanna feel you cum inside of me. Please."

"Keep doing that." The Marshal urged, his hands pressing into the small of your back. "I'm close."

"Want you to fill me up, make a mess of me." You were practically screaming, tears pricking your eyes as he began to buck his hips upwards, his thrusts meeting yours.

"Yeah? Such a good girl for me, aren't you?" Cobb cooed and you let out a little squeal as he spanked your bare ass- the sound echoing through the desolate village.

He drove you straight to your climax, your cunt clenching around him, tight like a vice, which sent him to his own orgasm. His load shot up inside of you, sending bolts of pleasure into your body. He pressed his forehead against your chest as your rhythm became more slow and sloppy until eventually he softened inside of you. Reluctantly, he pulled out, and you whimpered at the lost feelling of him.

"Next time you find yourself on Mos Pelgo, I'll be the one calling the shots." he growled, biting down on your ear lobe.

Permanent taglist (let me know if you would like to be added!):  @supernaturalgirl666 @phoenixhalliwell @ah-callie @luvzoria @stardust-galaxies @wickedfrsgrl @goth-topic

[mythvoiced]

🌺 Send this to ten other blogs you think are wonderful. 🌺 (personal note): TO THE BRIGHTEST STAR IN ALL CONSTELLATIONS (THE ONES WHICH EXIST AND THE ONES YET TO BE DISCOVERED, THROUGHOUT ALL PLANETS AND THE ENTIRE UNIVERSE), PLS ALLOW ME TO TELL YOU HOW MUCH I!!!! LOVE & ADORE YOU!!! You're one of the loveliest, most thoughtful, most wonderful, bestiest people I've ever met, thank you so FRICKIN' much for everything we've developed and shared together, it's been nothing but an HONOR AND A DELIGHT to know you and be a proud, permanent resident of ✨ LENA'S WORLD ✨ ; thank you heaps for having me, thank you for your interest, thank you for EVERYTHING, HAVE ALL MY LOVE ;W;

@theimpalpable | I- 🥺💖💕💞💝💓💞💕💝💖💓💕

---

ALEX--!!!!!!!!!!

A L E X

Ahem. ALEX I WILL LITERALLY START BURSTING INTO A QUADRILLION OF STARS AND YOU KNOW WHAT THEY’LL DO??? YOU KNOW WHAT THEY WILL END UP DOING??? THEY WILL END UP CREATING A FUCKLOAD OF NEW GALAXIES AND THEN UNIVERSES ALL IN THE NAME OF STANNING AND ADORING ONE ALEX THEIMPALPABLE JEOSEUNGSAJA, MOST BELOVED, MOST WONDERFUL, ONE OF THE ABSOLUTE LOVELIEST PEOPLE TO HAVE EVER GRACED THIS REALM OF EXISTENCE, I NEED YOU TO COME OVER HERE AND TAKE MY HEART AS IT IS BLEEDING OUT OF MY CHEST AND SOME MORE OF THESE HAPPY TEARS SWEATERS, I WILL--

I’ll keep the rest of my yelling for your inbox BECAUSE YOU BEST BELIEVE I’M SENDING THIS BACK, WAIT, HOLD ON, DON’T MOVE, WAIT-

[crimson-snowfall]

Do you do soulmate aus? If you do could I please request the "first words your soulmate says to you appears on your skin" au with Arthur and La Comte?

I’m not really familiar with this concept, so for this one I tried to come up with something that not anyone would just casually say… you know, just to be sure.

Ikevamp HC request: “First words your soulmate says to you appears on your skin” (Arthur & Comte)

Arthur

You’ve heard that Arthur Conan Doyle is one of the residents of the mansion filled with vampires you suddenly found yourself in. He’s one of your favorite authors, so you were quite looking forward to meeting him despite the other residents’ warnings with regards to his flirtatious personality.

Arthur was out on some business with his publishers, and upon his return he heard that a new resident from the future had come. For some reason he couldn’t explain himself, he couldn’t help but excitedly anticipate his meeting with this newcomer.

Arthur woke up late the next morning so he missed his chance to meet you during breakfast, so he prowled the mansion in search of you, only to find you tending to the flowers in the garden.

Arthur was absolutely mesmerized by the sight of you. For someone who has been suddenly thrown into an unfamiliar world, the way you conducted yourself was dazzlingly graceful, and you even had that small smile on your lips as you carefully did your work in the garden.

Arthur wondered how can anyone possibly be as carefree as you when you’re literally a prey in this den of vampires, and that was when your gaze met his.

You didn’t notice that Arthur had been slowly approaching you, so he was already considerably close when your eyes locked with his. You immediately found yourself drowning on those bottomless pools of sapphire that were his eyes, and you could feel your cheeks steadily accumulating heat.

The stranger before you had a contemplative expression when you first spotted him, but after locking eyes with each other for a while, you saw a sexy, confident smile appear on his lips.

Arthur held out a hand, taking your hand in his and placing a gentle kiss on the back of your hand without breaking eye contact with you.

“Is it just me, or this little dove seems to have taken a fancy on me?”

You knew that the words written on the middle of your back were quite unusual for anyone to say from the time you came from (because seriously, who would refer to a stranger as a “little dove”?), so when you ended up in 19th century France where such language was more common, you believed that fate must be at work and this is where you’ll finally find your other half.

You connect the dots– the man before you has a distinct English accent and his approach and demeanor is unmistakably that of a big flirt. Tears of joy began to well up in your eyes as you realized that it’s none other than Arthur himself.

“So it’s you… at long last, I have found my destined person.”

You breathlessly utter those words, but Arthur heard it loud and clear, as though it resonated with the wild beating of his heart in those moments. At first, he doesn’t have a single clue as to the significance of the words he found written on his forearm upon his rebirth as a vampire. Hearing your words, however, then maybe it’s just as you said.

Arthur pulled you closer and wiped off the tears threatening to spill onto your flushed cheeks. “So it seems, you pretty little dove.”

Comte

Your first tour in Paris couldn’t possibly get any more uneventful. First, you left your purse in the hotel room you’re staying at, and now you’re completely lost. Your feet is starting to hurt terribly since you’ve been walking on circles for quite some time now.

Before you knew it, you’ve become so distracted with your frustration that the next thing you know– you’ve tripped and now you’re falling.

“Careful now, chérie. You know what they say, angels have a tendency to fall every now and then.”

A man in gold suit with golden hair, golden eyes caught you in his arms. Everything about him is gold. You stared at him curiously for a decent amount of time.

Did he just compare to you an angel? The aristocratic and unreal aura this golden man exudes makes you think that he’s the angel… but one that has taken the fall a long time ago.

But more importantly, those words… why do they sound so familiar? You were so out of sorts that day that you didn’t realize that those words are the exact same words written on your right thigh.

You’ve zoned out for a full minute now that the silence is starting to get awkward. “Chérie? Are you alright?”

“O-oh! I beg your pardon monsieur… that was very rude of me, but for some reason I just couldn’t take my eyes off of you.”

Comte was kind of relieved you briefly looked away or else you would’ve seen how his eyes widened in surprise. He had long given up on the notion that he would ever hear the words written on his torso come from someone, and he never would’ve guessed that this is how he would meet his fated one. It took a lot of his self-control just to keep himself from embracing you tightly on the spot.

“I don’t mind, but you don’t seem to be yourself. Are you lost perhaps? Having a bad day? If you don’t mind my company, we could always talk about it over some sweets. I happen to know a good place.” Now that he’s found you, there’s no way Comte’s just going to let you off easily.

You’re starting to grow convinced that there’s something special about the gentleman before you given that he just read everything on your mind, and you realized that you’re hungry too. You took him up on his offer and ended up having a great time with him.

It is only when you’re about to part from each other, when you’re back to your sound and normal self, did you realize the significance of the first words he spoke to you. You chased after him.

“Excuse me monsieur! I know this is a little sudden, but can we meet again?”

Comte knew at this moment that you finally realized it, and with a knowing smile he accepted your offer, “It would be my pleasure. I usually have my breakfast in this place, and it would be a delight if you are to join me again for tomorrow.”

Gee, 5 more to go, and I must admit I’m kinda tired now. Might as well take a little break from requests too after I’m done with the ones currently in my inbox, but fear not, I actually have a couple of HCs myself I’ve been wanting to write for quite some time now :3

[streetsteel]

CHIEF ;-; you are someone i absolutely LOVE seeing on my dash. your writing is a+ and you breathe SO MUCH life into jay. when i read his dialogue, i can hear him speaking clear as day. you're always a fun presence around the dash with the silly antics you get jay into, and i ADORE seeing your art as well. everything you do is just -chefs kiss- MWAH. I JUST LOVE ALL OF IT AND I LOVE U!!!!! ive known u for so long now and it's been great!!!! i hope 2021 treats u better <3

BURNING 2020 AT THE STAKE! — Accepting

KOU DARLING ;;A;; I hope 2021 treats all of us better, and that bitch better do it cause I’m holding it at gunpoint and I know where its family lives :T

It’s honestly crazy to think we’ve known each other for that long? When I came back to the RPC over a year ago, I was so delighted to see a face I could still recognize. It really added to the whole ‘coming home’ feeling, and I just want to thank you for being the absolute sweetest bean that ever graced my dash. You’re always so full of ideas and creativity and kindness <3 And I’m totally writing stuff I could send to your inbox instead but you know what, whatever. I say it because it’s true and no one will stop me. 

I’m also so very glad you’re enjoying the mess that is Jay, he’s come such a long way since I started writing him in 2015 and to see people enjoying him really makes me happy. He’s changed so much aaaaa ;;v;;

Hope 2021 is kind to you, you absolutely rock <3

[diveronarpg]

Congratulations, LIA! You’ve been accepted for the role of OLIVIA. Admin Julie: It’s always a delight to see you in our inbox, Lia -- imagine our joy when we saw you’d returned to us in the shape of our favorite sparrow, Omi! It’s been some time since we had her in play, which is a shame, because she’s one of our personal favorites. But you’ve pinned everything about Omi down to a T, from their characteristic skill and allure in trapping others with a few words and sharp gaze, to the way they’re wound around Verona’s fingers and don’t seem to realize... or choose not to. You’ve enthralled us once again, and we cannot wait to have you back on the dashboard and knee-deep in the chaos with Omi in your hands. Please review the CHECKLIST and send your account in within 24 hours. 

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Lia.

Age | 22

Pronouns | She/Her/Hers

Activity Level | I’m about to start my summer program, but since I’m only in class three days during next semester on online, I imagine I’ll have plenty of freetime. But knowing me, I’ll most likely log on every few days to knock out a few replies.

Timezone | EST (PST in two months (~:)

How did you find the rp?  | The tag a few centuries ago.

Current/Past RP Accounts | honestly, all of my best characters were in DV :/ All 17 of them

IN CHARACTER

Character | Olivia AKA Yamamoto Omi

What drew you to this character? |

Omi is a character I’ve eyeballed during my time at DV, but someone I’ve never quite had the nerve to apply for. But it is the qualities that I initially shied away from that have inspired me to apply for them this time around. Even upon searching the origin of Omi’s name, I was fascinated by the worldliness and elusiveness it implied about their character.  I came across two definitions, both of which I believe represented her character accurately:

1. OMI— magnificent; the sound of the universe

She is a walking contradiction— the product of love and violence— never truly lacking in either aspect within her lifetime. Maybe that is why she finally found community and comfort within Verona after venturing all over the world. As much as she might hate to admit, this very love and violence is what she’s comfortable with— it’s how she’s learned to thrive and survive. Though they never truly felt like themselves as they ventured around the world, they kept small pieces of each place they visited, all of which have made them into the Sparrow, the performer, that they are today. This is why I began viewing Omi as the sound of the universe. Vast and immeasurable, and not quite able to pinpoint to a single source. She is representative of an assembly of realities. She is never quite the same with each person she encounters, with them only receiving a snapshot or illustration of who she is, with the people she’s closest to receiving the most authentic parts of herself. To be a Sparrow is to participate— in Omi’s opinion— in one of the most precise crafts— an art form that only a select number can master. It is a performance, one in which they give their entirety to, oftentimes to the point that they sense themself slipping away, forgoing what they thought to be their true self and instead opting for the persona they have created. Somehow, being Omi the Sparrow is a far less difficult reality for her to face. What is expected of her is straightforward, her desires and fulfillment never changing very much. Omi the Sparrow always gets what she wants. Their heart is unbreakable, yet shared with everyone they encounter. The power and agency can be detected in her words, her mannerisms— she is completely sure of herself, and what she represents. But Omi— just plain Omi, questions herself constantly. She desires to be seen more than anything but is hesitant to show herself to another person. The weight of the secrets of others sometimes threatens to topple her over. What would their patrons think of their constant doubt? This was something they would never discover because she values her position more than she doubts herself. She loves luxury and security more than she questions who she is and who she’s become. She thrives in this simplistic power far more than she finds herself succumbing to it. And this leads me to what I love most about Omi. Her position allows her to wield a form of power that isn’t flashy or overt, or as obvious and clear cut as many people within the mob. It is subtle and it is dangerous. It is a power you least expect, which will certainly make her someone to look out for within the Verona. It is a power that she does not quite comprehend the magnitude and weight of as of now, but something I hope to develop over time.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? |

MONA— Their saving grace. There are seldom things Mona could do that would lessen the admiration that Omi holds for her, as this is the woman who they believed to have saved them, to introduce them to the boundless and limitless potential that they had. She did not introduce anything that was not there but instead nurtured the qualities that Omi already possessed for her to become one of the best, if not the best Sparrow that has glided through the various rooms and crannies of The Dark Lady thus far. Omi looks upon Mona as a big sister and is always aiming to please her, whether she recognizes that she’s actively doing so or not. But she is bound to cross her eventually— whether it is slight or monumental, and I believe Omi temporarily or permanently (dear lord idk if I could handle Mona not loving them pls sotkgoerkgose) falling from their grace would be an interesting concept to explore. So much of her existence is tied to Mona’s, and I think that it would take something like that occurring for her to recognize this. Who exactly would she be without Mona rescuing her? Would she have survived a day in the city without her? Having Omi deal with being without Mona would introduce some harsh truths. Could they truly rely on themself? Though she adamantly expresses her desire not to be possessed, is it that she truly enjoys being subjected to the whims of another person, so as long she is given the autonomy, luxury, and ability to wield some form of power? Would she simply be transferred from the hands of one power player to another, seeking out one of the mobs knowing they were the only other people who could give her what she truly desired?

FRIENDS ON THE OTHER SIDE— In the short time that Omi has spent in Verona, she’s acquired quite a few patrons from various walks of Veronesi royalty, but as much as she’s done her best to keep people at a distance, she’s also made a few friends. Chiko— whose hopes and dreams she’s carried with her since childhood— with them being one of the sole people to know Omi to near entirety. Felipe— the man who made her realize that even ghosts were capable of creating trouble for themselves, who she’d dared to offer real information about herself for whatever reason, finding something odd and compelling about the handsome enigma before her. Calina— their true match of wits, words, and worldliness— the person in which she’s entrusted with not just her fears and shortcomings, but her hopes and dreams, as well as them being that very person to set her heart aflutter. All of these people have something in common. In some shape or form, they are familiar with more than just Omi the Sparrow. I wonder what danger this could pose for her in the future. Would it be the person they are in essence that would land her in trouble? Chiko, the ruthless social climber, Felipe, who they knew trouble was always a short distance behind, and Calina, whose ties with the mob could only naturally come with trouble… couldn’t they? I want Omi to eventually land in some more trouble (maybe this could be something intertwined with my first plot, or potentially something entirely unrelated), and truly test how far she’s willing to go for the friendships she hopes to keep. Maybe it has to do with some information told to her in confidence; information she almost feels obligated to share with Mona. Will she refuse to do so, at the risk of the life and livelihood that she’s created for herself?

LOOSE ENDS— The past will always be the past for Omi— unless that past happened to make an appearance in the city of Verona. This isn’t something they would expect to occur, given that they have two dead parents, no siblings, or any known extended family. Maybe this would come in the form of Chiko— maybe some other unknown source would manage to dig up some sort of information to potentially be used against them. Regardless, I want Omi to be confronted with her past life, and for her to realize that the horror will always be apart of her, no matter how long that she’s attempted to evade it.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Yes, but I think I would miss her more than any of my other characters ngl :(

IN DEPTH

In-Character Para Sample:

tw: mentions of death and violence

In The Dark Lady, Omi transformed into a blossom tinted mirror in which men and women alike looked upon in order to divest the realities they so desired. This functioned the similarity to a rose-tinted glass, their very persona the result of a thousand borrowed realities. In Omi, they sought the best version of themselves. They had the ability to morph into everything their patrons wanted, yet could not own, making them all the more desirable. There was something especially tantalizing about what appeared to be accessible, but ever so slightly out of a person’s reach. Even if the reality of things were that there was no chance in hell. Even if there had been a burgeoning disgust for each and every one of the wealthy, and corrupt person they encountered. Even if she’d been unable to scour away their caress no matter how many showers she subjected herself to in the early hours of the morning. How effortlessly she’d sold them a dream. How effortlessly they’d become enamored with The Dark Lady’s very own Japanese Cherry Blossom, a hand-picked artifact from Sakura to enjoy in their very own Verona. She bartered away a fantasy, and in exchange they fed her in secrets, each whisper only intensifying her power and allure. No amount of repulsion would change that they were damn good at their job. No amount of repulsion would change that she’d finally found where they’d belong.

They were notorious for their collection of extremely high heels, and rumor had it that not even a misstep had occurred in a single pair of them. Eyes danced over her as she glided into the casino, garnering an especially large crowd probably because of the fresh pixie cut she’d been sporting. Some days, Omi would linger, never quite sure whose attention she’d capture that day, but on other days, her presence had been requested by a specific patron. Today’s patron had been of particular importance. A well known Italian bureaucrat she’d actually managed to find rather endearing at times, despite her suspicion that he’d been spending more time with her than his own family. Nevermind that though. They had a sneaking suspicion that they were only moments away from stumbling upon a goldmine of information. They reckoned that this particular information could potentially make not just Mona, but both mobs particularly happy. Soon as they’d reached the Blackjack table, the patron, Patron E, swept her merrily into his arms, spinning her in place, resulting in her delighted laughter, clutching onto his shoulders to maintain her balance. Once he’d gotten his fill, she carefully placed a single kiss on each of his cheeks, taking in the scent of whiskey on his lips. No wonder he’d been especially playful. The whiskey had only begun their job for them. “Why, if it isn’t the most lovely person in all of Verona,” Patron E stated, grinning ear to ear. “I absolutely adored your old hair, bella, but with this cut, you somehow managed to become even more magnificent."

She smiles coyly, hands traveling down the lengths of his arms until meeting his hands, which he brought promptly to his lips for a kiss. "I was feeling spontaneous, E, but knowing you like it lifted a significant weight off my shoulder. Everyone else’s opinion be damned, but yours has always meant the world to me,” they coo in flawless Italian. “Is there anything else you noticed?"

His eyes drank her in hungrily, almost hungrier than usual, before returning to her eye level. "You’re wearing my good luck charm,” he responded with an almost childlike euphoria. Patron E had been referring to the deep V-Neck Dolce & Gabbana gown that had been purchased for her by another Patron of hers— Q— with the jet black of her hair only accentuating the Black sequins of the gown. She took it upon herself to take his hand and lift it above the both of them, completing a graceful, yet playful twirl to show off every sparkle and curve of the length of her body.

“Is that so?” she mused with her head tilted curiously on an axis. “It’s almost as if I wore especially for you, mio callo. You did tell me tonight was a big night for you, after all.”  His eyes twinkled gratefully as he pulled out a seat for her at the blackjack table, settling into the seat next to him, her body positioned perpendicularly to his, taking absolutely no interest in the game before them. It had been a game she’d witnessed by the side of many men before him and would witness many men after him. Her knees were pressed against his thigh, with the leg closest to the table occasionally finding itself absentmindedly caressing his own. One hand consistently remained attached his shoulder, with their other hand assisting them in the delivery of their sweet nothings, cupping his ear to whisper everything he’d ever wished to discover. Together they laughed, flirted, and whispered— he drank and she carefully sipped, until the game finally came to a close, with him losing per usual. After that, the pair of them moved to a more intimate section of The Dark Lady, the place in which Omi would officially make her move for the information she sought. There he sat on the couch, with her comfortably positioned horizontally in his lap, her slender legs coiled around her legs, with her hand absentmindedly stroking his hair. She’d been telling him some story she’d invented ages ago, half-truths tumbling effortlessly from her lips as she illustrated her last days in Sakura. Once she was done, she began studying his features intently.

“See anything you like?” he asks her quietly, and she cups his chin before deciding he’d been worthy of an answer.

“I see something I like, but something different,” she began with faux perplexion. “Even beneath this red light, I can sense the excitement almost vibrating off of you. “It suits you. I wish you were always this happy when you saw me. Far less tense than usual.”

“Now, Omi, you know I feel most like myself when I’m with you. You always receive the best parts of me,” he says seriously as his hand cups her wrist. “But, to tell you the truth, I’ve come across some very good fortune. A good fortune that I believe will alter the trajectory of my life. I’ve struck a life-changing deal.”

“That’s amazing! I couldn’t be happier for you!” she exclaims softly, before falling into a demure pout. “This… deal won’t take you away from me now, will it?”

He chuckles at her pout as if him parting from her would truly be the most unfortunate occurrence in her 30 years of life. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head about a thing, Tesoro. The deal I’ve made has allowed me to acquire a large sum of money. And I have no plans of parting from you anytime soon.”

She smiles gratefully, yet sadly as if she can’t believe it. He looks at her, searching for an answer to her sadness. “What is it, il mio amore? Why do you look so blue?”

At that moment— the slightest pang of sadness sped through her. How effortlessly he had succumbed to her charm, to the point that she’d almost felt bad for the fool. “Well… the way you aren’t giving much information about the deal is only forcing me to draw my own conclusions. Ones in which I can’t help but assume that you’ve been put in a dangerous predicament, which is stopping you from telling because you’re afraid to get me into trouble.” He drew her closely, placing a soft kiss on each of her temples, then her forehead, then her lips.

“I wouldn’t let them harm a hair on your head, Omi. I hope you know that I mean that.” She resisted chuckling. She’d been nearly divinely protected. If anything it was him who wouldn’t be able to harm a hair on her head.

“Is this them you speak of…” she looks around carefully, knowing there was no one near, but doing it as if to accentuate her supposed fear. “The government…?” she offers him, and when he does not react, she places a long, lacquered pinky nail upon her lip. “Don’t tell me you’ve gotten yourself mixed up with one of the mobs, E—”

“Mixed up with the mobs?” he interrupts with a haughty chuckle. “Why, they’ve gotten themselves mixed up with me, dearest Omi. Sooner rather than later, both the Capulets and the Montagues will be feeding out of the palm of my hand.” How drunk had the man had to have been to have confessed such a silly sentiment? Or was it not the liquor at all, and simply Omi bearing witness to the limitless bounds of the male ego? Probably a mixture of both.

She shoves his shoulder gently, feigning shock. “You’ve either done something insanely brilliant or incredibly stupid. But I’ve always known you to be far too clever for the latter.”

With each curious caress, they’d managed to extract more and more information from their subject, his ego centering itself above all else— even his desire to live. He had to have known that, hadn’t he? Or had he simply been too foolish to even consider the danger he’d been putting himself in by leaving every detail of his plan upon Omi’s lips? How foolish he had beenShe shoves his shoulder gently, feigning shock. “You’ve either done something insanely brilliant or incredibly stupid. But I’ve always known you to be far too clever for the latter.”

“Someday…” he slurs, faced resting comfortably on her chest as she stroked the top of his head, his arms wrapped lovingly around her waist. “I’m gonna whisk you away. And just like that, you’ll be mine. Forever and always.”

Omi chuckles at this sentiment— ones she’s heard nearly a dozen times before. She’d had no desire to be one of his pretty things, not by him or any other person in this world for that matter.

“Why, E— I know if that were to occur, you’d be doomed to break my heart.” “Omi, you can’t truly believe that now… can you?” he says tilting his head upwards until their lips are only mere inches apart.

“I’m afraid I do, mi caro. Because the moment in which the magic begins to dwindle from your eyes when you look at me is the moment my heart is sure to break. I know that if we continue our occasional rendezvous that I’ll continue to be the loveliest I could be in your eyes. Oh— and I’m a terribly loud snorer. You wouldn’t sleep a minute in my presence.”

That had been enough to satisfy him, if only for a single moment. The very thought of him truly breaking her heart had been absurd, but the very thought of the blossom mirror cracking, the idea of her carefully constructed persona being exposed for being exactly that, alarmed her. Anything short of near perfection was unacceptable. She owed her to that and Mona. It would be at that moment that Omi would understand that she was no longer as good at her job as she needed to be. Surely that would not leave them desolate, they would still be a top-performing Sparrow after all. But they would no longer be the best, and no man or woman would ever take that away from them. Even if they meant keeping the majority of the world at a safe distance. Not when they’d finally found their people. Not when they’d finally answered their calling. Not when Verona was finally starting to feel like home.

Little did she know that this would be the last time she’d ever see Patron E. Just as she’d suspected, the information had been of immense value. Her reputation as the top Sparrow only increased tenfold, and she remained in Mona’s good graces, never tiring of her constant praise and doting. Word of his death returned to them from another one of their patrons even before it appeared even in the papers. Omi couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness for his widow and children. No woman and family should have their livelihood threatened by the likes of a stupid, stupid, stupid man.

She did not wear Q’s dress after that day. When she asked about it the next time he saw her, she began whispering a delightful tale about how her suitcase had mysteriously wound up missing upon returning from a brief trip to Paris, knowing she’d wind up with a new one before the conversation concluded…

[soul-music-is-life]

Prompt idea: Sam being one of the kids who gets excited when they get a banana for Christmas when they’re toddlers and maybe one of the other liars kids gives it to him as a joke to film him and he reacts positively? Maybe?

I’ve got a couple ofholiday themed prompts in my inbox, but this one actually kind of struck alittle chord in me because earlier this week I was having a conversation witha friend who has a new baby at home and we were talking about how it’s alwaysthe little things that matter around the holidays. We both grew up in poorhouseholds, so we were happy to get little things. And kids who get excited about the little things have a special place in my heart. I made this one insanely long for you guys (hence the “read more” cut). So, yeah, Happy Holidays!

***

Quick guide to “who that baby-daddy” PLL edition, because there’s a hella lot of kids running around…it’s your own fault for talking me into writing these families.

Fitz kids: Finn and AuroraRivers kid: CamiCavanaugh kids: Bailey and VioletDiLaurentis-Fields kids (like I have to tell you?): Grace, Lily, SamDiLaurentis (Jason and his wife Danielle) kids: Leo and Maddox

***

The DiLaurentis-Fields’ house was the most decked out houseon the street, inside and out. The flashing lights that made their place looklike a scene out of Chevy Chase’s ChristmasVacation drew in people driving by. They stopped to look at all thedecorations and the timed light show that Emily had set up this year.

Inside, the house smelled of everything Christmas-y. Pine,Cinnamon, Cocoa, peppermint, and the pure joy of children ripping open presents andsquealing in delight when they got something they’d been dreaming of all year.

No one got more excited about their gifts than the youngestmember of the family, three and a half year old Sam DiLaurentis-Fields. He had a slew of toys thathad been given to him by his moms’ closest friends, who had joinedthem for a Christmas dinner at their house.

The toddler had insisted that everyone else open up theirpresents first, so now that all of the kids had their new gadgets andplaythings he was the center of attention. He went through each one of his presentsslowly and meticulously, each one more exciting than the last. He was startingto get to an age where he could appreciate the joy of receiving gifts. He wassitting by the Christmas tree, his face illuminated by the lights. He was surrounded by everything he’d been given.

He’d gotten a train set from Finn and Aurora Fitz, Aria andEzra’s kids. Nine-year-old Finn had helped his new little sister pick it out.They had adopted her nearly a year ago. She had just turned five and it was her first bigChristmas with her new family. She’d taken an instant shine to Sam, because hewas close to her age and she liked his enthusiasm. He also had a very obvious crush on her.

Sam glanced at his new toys. He’d gotten a shark pillow and a set of Legos from CamiRivers, Caleb and Hanna’s thirteen-year-old daughter. Spencer and Toby’s youngerdaughter Violet, who had just turned twelve, had helped her pick out the newLego set for him. Their older daughter Bailey had gotten him a bubble machineand a bunch of candy.

His cousins, Leo and Maddox, along with their dad Jason, hadbuilt him a play set in the back yard. His twin sisters, Lily and Grace, whohad just passed their sixteenth birthday milestone had bought him a scooter anda drum set, something their mothers had advised them against…because they knewhe’d beat on it at all hours.

When he’d opened the drums the twins had grinnedat their moms. Alison had given them an “I’m going to kill you both in yoursleep” death glare, but Emily thought it was hilarious. She’d even called Sam “OurLittle Drummer Boy”.  

Now, there was only one present that remained. Cami was theone who leaned down and plucked it out from underneath the tree. She handed itto him and smiled.

“Now, this one is reallyspecial, Sam. All of us chipped in to get this just for you.”

The rest of the kids giggled. Bailey and Grace both pulledout their cell phones to record him. He stared at the poorly wrapped package,but the presentation of the gift didn’t matter to him. He looked up at the otherkids with a nervous smile on his little face, like he was afraid he wasn’tworthy of the gift, because wow, theyhad ALL gotten it for him. It had to be really cool.

“Go ahead, munchkin.” Lily encouraged him. “Open it.”

He carefully peeled away the paper, dropping it as he pickedthe thin material apart. After a few seconds he had it totally unwrapped.

More snickers from the kids. The adults just watched incuriosity.

“What’chu got there, Sammy?” Emily asked.

“I got a banana!!” He exclaimed. He looked up, the tornwrapping paper in his lap. He had an excited look on his face as he lookeddirectly into Grace’s camera phone. “It’s my favorite!”

“It is?” Grace laughed.

“Yeah!” His voice squeaked. He stood up, holding the bananalike it was the most precious thing in the world. “Mommies! Mommies, look it!”He ran over to Alison and Emily.

“We see, buddy.” Alison smiled, completely caught off-guardby his reaction.

His mouth was open wide and his eyes were sparkling withdelight. There was no faking his pure joy. He really actually loved it. Hewalked over to Cami and hugged her.

“Thank you,” he said softly.

All of the kids’ sniggers had turned into genuine “aws” ofaffection. Sam went around and hugged everyone in the room and thanked them,something he hadn’t done for any other of his gifts. After he hugged Aurora hesmiled at her.

“‘Rora!” He couldn’t say her name just right yet. “Look! Igot a banana!”

“I like it. It’s really cool. Can I see it?” She shylyreplied.

“Uh huh.” He handed it to her and she turned around andfaced her parents who were across the room.

“Can we get one, too?”

“I’ll check with Santa.” Ezra smiled at his daughter.

“I just bought some.” Aria whispered. “Remind me to put twoin her stocking tonight.”

“Two? Whoa there big spender.” Spencer pushed Aria with aplayful smile.

“Here you go, Sam.” Aurora gave him his present back. Sheleaned against her new brother with a smile and hugged him. “Finn, mom and dad said Santa is gonna bring us a banana, too.”

“I heard.” Finn nodded, hugging her back.

Sam leaned down next to his dog Buster’s bed, where the dogwas watching all of the action unfold.

“Look what I got, Buster!”

The dog lifted his head and sniffed the banana, then he laidback down with a yawn. Sam gripped his banana with both hands and turned aroundto see that he was still being recorded. He looked at Bailey’s camera.

“Are you gonna eat it?” Bailey asked.

“No!” Sam exclaimed with a little laugh. “I’mma save it. It’sspecial.” He crawled on the couch, mindlessly talking to himself as he oftendid when he was happy and excited.

It was the funniest thing in the world to everyone watchinghim, because he’d been eating bananas since he was a baby. He saw them everyday. Yet, for some reason, this one was special.

“Jason got him a jungle gym for the boys to play on and a banana is his favorite present?” Alisoncouldn’t believe it. She faced Emily. “I’m starting to wonder if he’s reallyours. Maybe he was switched at birth.”

“What? You wouldn’t have been happy with a banana?” Emilyknew the answer, but she poked her in the ribs with a teasing grin.

“Are you kidding? I would have screamed until I passed out.”

‘So, basically, every date night.” Emily winked, whisperingso only Alison could hear her, though Spencer was standing close enough to catchit.

Spencer snorted out a quiet laugh. Alison glared at her.

As the night wore on, everyone settled down. Toby, Caleb, Ezra,and Jason took the boys to go get ice cream. The girls were going to a movie. Samwas still traipsing through the house with his banana. He hadn’t put the thingdown since he’d gotten it. They could see where it was starting to bruise.

“He’s going to be devastated when he finds out the shelflife of a banana.” Alison grimaced.

“We’ll just keep replacing it like we did the girls’goldfish.” Emily shrugged.

“You what?” Grace’sjaw dropped open. “Not Laurence Goldfishburne!”

“Oh, come on Grace…how did you not notice?” Lily laughed. “He shrank two sizes overnight once.”

“I just thought he was on a diet.” She faced her motherswith a frown. “How much fish blood do you have on your hands? How many poorlittle goldfishes were flushed to keep up your lies?”

“I lost count after the twelfth one,” Alison said, almostuncaring. “Ridiculous having to pay for fish that lasted all of two weeks…” she muttered.

“So when he finally died for good…seven years later…we were burying a perfect stranger?” Grace asked.

“Tamp it down, kid. God, you are so dramatic.” Alison snorted.

“Wonder where she gets that from.” Hanna peered at Alisonover her wine glass.

“Didn’t your daughter get called into the office for back-talking a teacher right before the holiday?” Alison frowned, but her manner was that of someone who was joking.

“Only because the teacher can’t handle the same sass she gave our teachers all those years ago.” Hanna eyed Alison with a smirk.

“She started a fire in class, Hanna,” Alison replied dryly.

“Allegedly!” Cami exclaimed from the kitchen. 

The adults laughed.

“I wouldn’t have sent you to the office had you not made that remark about me living through the stone ages while we were reading 1984!”

Emily had to laugh. A fire was fine. But a shot at her age was where she drew the line?

“It was a protest! I was just expressing my thoughts about the book!” 

“And she’s still sassing me.” Alison shook her head.

“That’s my girl.” Hanna smiled.

“I can’t believe you lied to us about Laurence Goldfishburne.” Grace was still stuck on her long-dead fish. “My heart can’t process this. On Christmas, no-less,” Grace said with a fake whimper. “I’m going to need at least two…” She thought about it.“…maybe three hundred dollars cash and a new iPhone to process this grief.”

“Mmhmm. You’re getting the car for the night and enoughmoney to get you snacks at the movies with your friends.” Emily smiled.

“Well, it doesn’t bring him back. But it’s a start.”

Sam accidentally dropped the banana and then gasped andleaned down.

“I sorry, fwiend.” He picked the banana back up. “Are youokay?”

“That’s going to leave a mark.” Alison bit her lip.

“At least we won’t have to have a funeral for the fruit.”Emily pointed out.

“You two are terrible mothers.” Grace rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, yeah.” Alison messed with Grace’s hair. She handedLily the car keys. “Be home before curfew. And you girls drive safe and behave.”

“Yes, ma’am.” They replied at the same time.

“Sammy, bath time.” Emily walked towards the toddler.

Normally he fought bath time. He’d started rebelling againstit when he was two. But tonight was different, because he knew that tomorrowwas Christmas. He basically bolted up the stairs while stripping out of hisclothes.

Emily gave him his bath. Alison brought in his favorite “Grinch”pajamas and they dried him off and helped him get dressed.

He jetted towards his room, Emily and Alison following. Whenthey walked in they looked at his bed. There, settled among his plethora of stuffedanimals neatly aligned at the head of his bed was his beloved banana.

He pushedall but one stuffed animal and his banana off the bed and then climbed underthe covers. They squeezed in next to him in his big-boy racecar bed and readhim “The Night Before Christmas”.

“…and they heard him exclaim as he drove out of sight, MerryChristmas to all…”

“And to all a good night!” Sam interrupted Alison.

Emily and Alison both laughed at his enthusiasm. Alisonkissed his forehead. Then he turned towards Emily and she did the same.

“Love you, mommies,” he said, his voice sluggish and tired.

“You sleep well, Sammy.” Emily snuggled him. He gave her abig hug.

Alison and Emily both quietly slipped out of the bed. He wasalmost off in dreamland. He had a stuffed puppy under his arm and his banana snuggledup next to his face.

“You really like your banana, buddy?” Emily asked, pullingthe covers up over his body, tucking him in. She was unable to resist givinghim another goodnight kiss.

“I love my banana.” He nodded, trying to fight his sleep.

“Why?” Alison asked.

“Cuz…” He yawned. “I have to make sure my minions have a happy Christmas, too.”

“Your…minions?” Alison asked in surprise.

“Minions love bananas and I wanna be the best evil boss inthe whole wide world, just like Gru. I want my minions to have a family justlike you and Mama and Grace and Lily.”

Aww, if that wasn’t the sweetest…yet, most evil thing, he’dever said…

“And then me and my minions and ‘Rora and her minions aregonna take over the whole planet.”

“Love you, little minion.” Alison laughed and gave him another smooch.

“Mommy, you’re silly. I’mnot the minion. I’m their boss.”

“Of course. Of course you are, sweetie.” Alison stroked hishead.

He yawned again. And minutes later he was asleep. The excitementhad worn him out. They quietly tip-toed out of his room. They pulled his dooruntil it was nearly closed and then walked down the hallway, sharing smilingglances at one another.

“Minions?” Emily snorted as they walked into their room.

“I was wrong. He’s definitelyours.” Alison laughed. “Should we tell Aria her daughter is planning on worlddomination with our son?”

“No wonder Aurora wanted bananas, too.” Emily snickered.

“It’s funny. I always thought if any of our kids were going to turn out to be evil masterminds itwould be Spencer’s girls.”

“Or Grace.” Emily thought about it.

“That child has been a little deviant since birth. I betthat’s where Sam got it from.”

“So…next year we’re getting him a nuclear fusion reactor withlasers and a freeze ray, right?”

“Oh, definitely.” Alison nodded. “Our son is not taking overthe world unless he’s doing it in style.”

Even though their son had revealed himself as a super-villain,on Christmas Eve no-less, just the fact that he had his minions in mind andwanted them to have a Happy Christmas warmed their hearts. It made them want togo out and buy every banana on the shelf at their local grocery store. After all,what good was a super-villain and his minions without loving and supportiveparents?

[janiedean]

Anyone who think Kit is a good actor is an idiot. And there's so many of them. That's why the world is getting worse and will be dominated by robots 🤖

oddmy dearest @the-bitter-gremlin hopefully you’ll get the tag because I really wanna make sure you see this reply :’DDDDDD

now, point the first: thanks for calling me an idiot! :D I mean, okay, not that grades mean anything of course but given that I went as far as graduating HS in the top five of my class, that I have two degrees one of which with the highest possible vote in a field that’s technically not too easy and that it’s even certified that I speak at least one language at native-tongue level and I can get by in two others other than mine I think my brain is fine enough, thank you.

I also watched more movies than the average person (no, I did, really, I considered studying cinema instead of going to proper uni for real), my top ten favorite movies is all stuff made before the nineties except for one and all my favorite actors are Certified Good Actors Like For Real and I got called a snob for my movie/actor taste more times than I can count. the only reason I’m doing this long-ass preamble is to inform you that if someone can’t act, I can recognize it and I have absolutely no problem admitting it even if it’s someone I like as a person or whose work I enjoy. for one, I can 100% admit that my favorite italian actor when he was nine back then was pretty atrocious (he got better admittedly but I haven’t followed him in a while, so who cares), and I still enjoyed his movies anyway even if he was terrible and I even knew it, but hey, he was hot, so who cares, right? and I enjoyed a fair amount of horribly acted italian fiction because it was fun, so really, I don’t have anything to lose here.

this was all a long preamble to tell you that yes, my favorite actor is marlon brando not the first idiot passing off the street, and yes, kit is actually good at what he does and no, people are not idiots for thinking that.

now, never mind that idek if you saw him in anything that’s not GOT, but the only movie of his I’ve seen where he was really meh was the spy movie and that was because the entire plot sucked ass and the character was terrible but everything was terrible. for the rest, he certainly pulled a better american accent than half of the british actors I’ve heard (it was brimstone by the way, excellent movie, watch it), he can do comedy (watch seven days in hell :D) and ah, yeah, he’s just making a movie/finishing a movie with xavier dolan who’s like… not someone known for picking bad actors. also, uuuh, he went to school for that actually, but not just anywhere -

ah, wow, HE WENT TO THE SAME SCHOOL WHERE LAURENCE OLIVIER, VANESSA REDGRAVE AND JUDI DENCH WENT but okay, sure, they’d totally take someone talentless according to them? and actually:

In the 2008 Research Assessment Exercise the majority of Central’s submission was judged “world leading” or “internationally excellent”. The school has been ranked highly by The Guardian, placing it sixth in its league table of specialist institutions[9]and ninth for Drama and Dance.

LOOK AT THAT, TOP-NOTCH SCHOOL.

now, what is that british acting schools prepare people for? theater.

which means that he’s a theater actor first and foremost, which shows in his damned acting because if you notice he does half of it with his voice, but I guess you were too busy thinking he’s too good-looking to act, right?

except that not counting theater stuff, GOT was the first job he had *and* his first job on tv, which means that of course he wasn’t as good as the others in the beginning, because a) acting for the theater and for tv aren’t the same, b) it was his first job and not everyone is named leonardo dicaprio and can act their way out of a what’s eating gilbert grape at seventeen.

thing is: while at least one of his co-stars hasn’t improved in the role they have (imo but it’s also the writing) and most of the others GOT actors are either seasoned professionals or had acted for the camera before and had less issues adapting to it, he actually got better, and he actually acted a lot better when he was feeding off other people. case in turn:

that’s jon and jaime in s1. admittedly, not kit’s best effort unless you interpret it as jon being so lovestruck by jaime being around him that he’s like 404 page not found, and he had one scene with NCW from then until S7, and they didn’t even interact. NCW is miles better than he is here, obviously, but like, NCW has been in the job since the early 90s and I assure you his first danish movie isn’t his best acting effort either even if it’s not bad. BUT, let’s go to another S1 scene:

jon and sam discuss sex, yey! here he’s with a guy - john bradely - who’s probably (at this point) better than him at reciting on screen, but with whom he’s had a lot more scenes and that is playing his best friend and with whom he presumably hung out a lot and with whom he’s had a lot of time to work with. and even if it’s still S1, if you look at it it’s miles better - he does a lot more of microexpressions, he never looks at the camera (first sign of bad acting btw, he didn’t do it in the previous scene either but there he looked starstruck all the time, here he doesn’t) and like, you can already see that there’s a vast difference in between the two. and it’s the same season, five episodes apart - supposedly they also filmed it later and he’s already more at ease with it. 

now, small pause to remind you that at this point jon doesn’t have too much extra baggage BUT that kit actually read the damned book and you can see it because he makes very precise choices ie in the book after jon burns his hand he flexes the fingers of the hurt one every time he’s nervous or he’s about to lie or something, and he does the exact same thing (link here btw), and fyi, with the exception of partially alfie and gwen, no one in the cast actually went as far as that so HAHAHAHAHA WOW SUCH BAD ACTING, INNIT? anyway, that was season one. I’ll spare you and myself S2/¾ also because if I link you the jon/ygritte scenes I’ll shoot myself in the head. instead, let’s go to season five and 5x02, as in the season where I literally would have quit the fucking show if it wasn’t for jon’s storyline.

if you look at this, he doesn’t even say a fucking word until the ending, and you can see exactly what he’s thinking just looking at his damned face, because if you pay even the slightest bit of attention you notice that he changes expression minutely with every damned word sam and thorne say, you can see his eye movements, then he goes from complete sour to sad to angry to surprised to delighted to worried to happy again in the span of four minutes without even talking once and it’s miles better than anything he did in S1. 

or you could also rewatch the scene where he punches ramsay in S6 where he does a lot of microexpressions that speak for him without even talking, again, in an episode where he did all the stunts on his own same as the rest of the show, and that’s really not little given all the work it goes into being, uh, the main character, who also happens to have to be a seasoned fighter and use swords and so on. (I can’t link but I think I exhausted my limit for linking videos on tumblr so whatever *SHRUG*)

guess what: HE IMPROVED. GREATLY. IT SHOWS. learn to watch the damned thing, it doesn’t take going beyond GOT to realize it. and now, two last things I have to say to you before I finish this because I honestly wasted too much time on you already.

one: he might not be the best actor around - fair enough -, but kit’s definitely good imo. not passable, not decent, not average - he’s good. and he’s learning and he’s improved tremendously in the last eight years and it shows, and he put enough effort into this role to a) read the canon, b) incorporate the canon into it, c) actually changing scenes so that they fit canon more, d) do all his own stunts, e) carry 60% of this whole damned liver-destroying show on his shoulders since at least S5 in which his sl was the only saving grace of the entire thing and he executed it perfectly, so kindly fuck off and don’t go to people calling them idiots because they think an actor is good.

(ps: I

two: going into people’s askboxes and calling them idiots because they enjoy something and insulting what they enjoy is a) rude, b) uncalled for, c) an asshole move.

next time let me/us/whoever enjoy this guys’ acting in peace and keep your fucking opinion to yourself, because honest, if I could spend twenty years out of almost thirty of my life keeping my mouth shout about how much I hate HP to a) my rl friends, b) my internet friends and I could keep myself from informing them that I think it’s really bad under their posts or in their inbox or to their face because I’d be an asshole if I decided to shit on what they like, then you can pay me the same favor (or about anyone else) and not go around dissing stuff people like to their faces when they said openly they like them.

sayonara and call me when you get an emmy nomination :’)

[maevefiction]

Your Light in the Mist - Chapter 11

More than a week had elapsed since my last yoga session, and I was pleasantly surprised at my lack of stiffness. My iPod sat silent in the grass next to my mat…the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks proved to be the only music I required. Especially at six in the morning. The sun had just begun to rise behind us, its warmth exacerbating the flush my workout normally provided.

Simon’s skill level was far, far above mine, and some of the poses he worked through made me stop dead in my tracks as I admired the way his body seemed to defy the very laws of physics. He volunteered to work with me whenever we had the time, and I gratefully accepted, though I fully understood that a grace such as his was something that couldn’t be taught.

We chatted while cooling down, learning that our birthdays were only a day apart, his on October 30th, mine on October 31st. He found my being a Halloween baby hilarious, and I was tickled that we shared the same astrological sign. Fellow Scorpios - no wonder he’d liked my tank top. I tried to get him to reveal his birth year, but he adamantly refused until I offered mine up first. The look of delight on his face as he screeched out ‘me too!’ was adorable, and when he high-fived me and christened me his sister from another mister I embraced him and kissed his cheek, grinning at the lovely blush it caused.

I took a seat at the patio table and opened my laptop with the intention of starting work on Tom’s website design. Simon sat next to me, both of us facing the ocean, and he began typing away on his phone. He harrumphed and gave me some wicked side eye.

My brow furrowed. “For fuck’s sake, what NOW?”

He showed me his screen, scrolling through his inbox. “Seven more since last night. You’ve made an awful lot of extra work for me, woman.” I rolled my eyes. He turned on his chair to face me. “I’m curious, though…I thought you just lectured to and consulted with PR firms, which would mean their actual clients wouldn’t know much about you at all. So, it’s kinda surprising that an artist would be willing to jump ship and leave their current rep in the dust to wind up where you are, wouldn’t you say?”

I sighed and finished editing my open layer in Photoshop before replying. “I started out working directly with clients. My first was Anne Rice. She’s is a family friend and was willing to give me a cha…”

He put a hand on my shoulder and shoved. “GET. OUT. I’m assuming this means you’re from or lived in New Orleans at some point? But it mustn’t have been for long, because you have zero accent.”

“Your assumption is correct. Born there, raised there, relocated to New York City in 1998.”

He nodded emphatically. “So you dumped the accent. Understandable.”

It was my turn for side eye. “I didn’t dump it. It just…faded.”

He snorted. “Whatever you say, Maude.”

I pinched his arm, reveling in the resulting squeal he emitted. “Faded. I’m like a chameleon with accents. Soon I’ll be picking up your dialect and sounding like a pretentious asshat, too. In which case, you have my permission to kill me.”

“You can call me anything you like as long as you solemnly swear to take me to Mardi Gras next year.”

I rolled my eyes and held up my hand, palm towards him. “Simon. Please. I don’t think you’re ready for that sort of thing. But, if you start training now, we might be able to pull it off.”

He tilted his head like an oversized puppy. “Training for what? Drinking heavily? I’ve been training for that for years.”

“No. Throwing beads into the crowd. And doing the princess wave.” I demonstrated both. “Because if we go, you must ride on a parade float. It can be arranged. I know people.” I frowned. “At least, I used to know people. Anyway, what I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted was that she was my first client, and it gave me a lot of clout. For which I am eternally grateful. I moved on after three years or so with her and began working directly with clients, most of whom were too small to have a decent PR firm behind them. I did everything, created websites, set up Facebook accounts, provided instructions on how to post, when to post, what to post, yada yada. Lots of hand holding and cajoling. Word spread, and bigger names took notice, which led to PR firms hiring me to work one-on-one with their clients for a specified duration. Most of them already had websites in place, so my focus shifted entirely to social media. In early 2010, I was invited to speak for two hours at a PR conference in San Diego…they wanted me to lecture on enhancing client reputation through social media. It was winter in New York, and they were willing to pay for my travel expenses so I thought, California? Fuck it, why not?”

Simon’s legs were crossed, his upper body leaning in towards me as he listened attentively. I had paused, and he motioned for me to continue.

“So, I spoke for two hours and they handed me a check for three thousand dollars. That was more than I normally made in an entire week and it blew my tiny little mind.  It seemed to be vastly less stressful than dealing with super huge egos and non-tech savvy artists and damn, the money. I adjusted my entire business model, and within a month I was turning down engagements because my calendar was full. PR firms were still asking me for assistance, so I set up a consulting procedure wherein I’d outline a plan for them to implement, collected my fee and was on my way. It was all so…easy.”

He laughed loudly. “And you decided to work for Prosper why?”

“Because my ‘easy’ job and the cash it generated had taken over my entire life. I was the job and the job was me. Much to my surprise, lecturing and consulting long term turned out to be a soul sucking bore…and it transformed me into a miserable drudge. I am, at heart, a creative individual and I missed doing graphic and website design, photography, and learning new things. Terribly. Working for Prosper allows me to do all that again, and then some. That’s why.”

He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his chin with one hand. “And I’m sure it has nothing to do with the exquisite creature sleeping soundly in your bed right now.”

“No, it doesn’t. He was actually the reason why I seriously considered declining Luke’s offer.” Simon looked puzzled, but I didn’t elaborate. “So. Why did you leave such a prestigious position at the Dorchester to become a PA? Just for Luke? Or is there more to the story?”

He grinned. “Damn, turned it right around on me, didn’t you? Touché, my friend. I went to university for business management and administrative assistance, and worked in the field until 2005. Cooking had always been my passion, and I had some sort of spiritual awakening wherein I decided I absolutely needed to become a professional chef or else I would shrivel up and die. So I did. I moved from place to place, learning, working, partying my ass off, and finally landed the sous chef spot at the Dorchester in 2009. It was dandy at first, but as the years passed I felt like I’d grown stagnant, doing the same thing night after night, having little input on menu changes and so on. Like you, I was bored. I was averaging 70 hours a week in that kitchen, cut off from the world, and it hit me that all I had gotten out of it was a nicely padded bank account…and that there was no one to share it with. I’d always loved being around lots of people, and there I was seeing nothing but the same damn faces day in and day out. In 2013 I happened across Luke’s ad, reworked my resume, and the rest is history. Unlike you, though, I don’t think I would have taken the job if it wasn’t for him, because the salary was abysmal. As soon as I saw him, I knew. He was it. The one. Love at first sight. I thank my lucky stars every single day that he felt the same way.”

After wiping the tears from his eyes, he took hold of my hand. “Maude, I don’t know if he’s mentioned it or not, but Tom’s had a rough time of it lately, and I’m so, so happy that you’ve found each other.”

“Me too, Simon.” I smiled, letting go of his hand. “Now, please, for the love of all things holy, shut your cake hole so I can get some work done, okay?”

“God, you are such a bitch.”

“I am. And you’re still talking. Cease.”

We worked quietly, side by side, until Luke poked his head out the doors to inquire as to when Simon planned on getting his butt in the kitchen and making some breakfast. As he got up from his chair, he peered over my shoulder at my laptop screen. I had a basic layout set and was in the process of choosing a color combination that would contrast perfectly.

“Wow, that’s a right brilliant color palette you have there, Maude. Is that for Tom’s site?”  

I nodded. “Does it look…familiar?”

He stared. “Yes…maybe…should it?”

I opened the tab that contained the HD photo of Tom’s eye that I’d drawn all my color options from. “Tada.”

Simon poked my shoulder and called for Luke to come see. He padded out onto the lanai, looked over my shoulder, nodded, then put his hands on his hips.

“So, when are you going to use your magic to revamp the Prosper site?”

I closed my laptop and put my head in my hands, then pushed my chair back and went to wait in the kitchen, muttering to myself about peace and solitude and how I couldn’t find any even though I was in paradise.

Tom bounded our of our bedroom just as Simon was plating our pancakes and bacon, freshly showered, wearing a pair of faded, loose fitting jeans and a tight, light blue V-neck tee. I leaned back on my bar stool and around the counter to look at his feet. Scuffed, well-worn boots. When my eyes finally made their way up to his face I was greeted with a dazzling, toothy smile. I groaned.

Simon pinched his cheeks. “Lovely of you to join us, Thomas.”

Tom lowered himself elegantly onto the stool to my right, resting his hand on my spandex-clad thigh as he leaned in to kiss me.

“Good morning, Maude. How was yoga?”

“Spectacular, actually. Simon and I had a lovely chat and I even managed to get some work done in spite of it.” He laughed and began slowly sliding his hand up my leg, edging ever closer to the apex of my thighs. Simon set our plates in front of us, raising a brow as he spied what Tom was up to.

“Um, excuse me. This is a fine dining establishment, people. No foreplay is permitted.” I glanced up from my plate and saw Luke directly behind him, hand cupping Simon’s ass.

“Whatever, asshole.” I pointed at my short stack. “Do you have syrup for these?”

He pulled a pot off the stove and spooned some of its contents onto them. “Made with fresh pineapples. Especially for you.”

All eyes were on me as they waited for a reaction. I broke off a hunk of pancake with my fork and shoved it in my mouth. “Mmm, yummy. Thank you.” Luke looked at Tom, who shrugged. I took another bite of breakfast. “Yeah, nice try, losers. I happen to like pineapples. Just not on pizza.”

Tom put his arm around my waist, pulled me to him and kissed the top of my head. “I had nothing to do with this. I swear it.”

I said nothing, ripping off a piece of bacon with my teeth instead. He tapped his fork on his plate.

“So, Maude, I was thinking…maybe we could take a ride out to Talk Story today? I called to see if Alani would be in, and she is.” I spun the stool around in his direction, dumbfounded. He smiled. “I did say I’d go back to meet her, did I not?”

“Yes. Yes you did.” I grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “What an amazingly generous thing to do. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me just yet. You’re going to be the one in charge of crowd control.” He stole a strip of bacon from my plate and swallowed it down before I could even muster a protest.

“I’d rather corral a group of a hundred people than have to sit next to you while I’m trying to eat a fucking meal, bacon stealer. And everything else stealer.”

He snickered, and I wolfed down the rest of my food, rinsed my dishes, put them in the dishwasher and headed for the bedroom, finally noticing that Luke and Simon had disappeared. I wrote a giant ‘thanks for breakfast’ on the chalkboard in the kitchen and drew a smiley face to go with it, figuring we wouldn’t be seeing them again before we left.

*************************************** After my much needed shower, I wound up standing in my underwear, staring into yet another wardrobe wondering what the hell to wear. Tom looked too damn good for me to get away with shorts and a T-shirt, and my black tank dress just didn’t scream ‘please behave and listen to the nice lady’. Tom was waiting patiently for me, sitting at the desk answering emails and returning calls. I looked at his boots, then back and my limited selection of dresses. The brown chiffon galaxy print sleeveless wasn’t an exact match, but pretty damn close. I pulled it off its hanger and laid it on the bed so I could unzip the back without it winding up on the floor, chastising myself for giving in to my everything-must-coordinate OCD once again. I slipped it over my head, put my arms through the proper holes and managed to zip it up on my own, then went into the bathroom to figure out a hair strategy.

I’d just wrestled it into a braid when I overheard Tom talking in the bedroom.

“How’s Los Angeles? Elsa? Kids? Good to hear. Oh, she’s unbelievable, Chris. Here, I’ll take you in and you can meet her.” He came around the corner carrying his open laptop.

“Chris Hemsworth, Maude Gallagher.” He turned the screen toward me, and there he was, Thor, God of Thunder. In my bathroom. He held up a hand in greeting.

“Hello, Maude. Nice to meet you. See you? Skype you?” He face palmed. “I have no idea what the correct terminology is.” I heard a woman yell in the background that meet was fine and for him to bring the tablet over to her so she could see me. He got up and walked into another room, and a beautiful blonde woman came into view alongside Chris. She waved madly.

“Look at you, you’re gorgeous. A natural beauty. And that dress…I am in love with it. You must tell me where you found it.” Her accent was a delight. She grinned. “I’m Elsa, by the way. Tom has told us so much about you I feel like I know you already.”

I waved at them. “Hi there. Lovely to meet you both. I’d like to say Tom has told me so much about you, but that would be a big fat lie, so suffice to say I’m sure he will tell me so much about you when we aren’t quite so…so…shit, what’s the word I’m looking for here?”

Tom moved to stand next to me, shifting the laptop so we were both visible, smirking. “Preoccupied. The word you’re looking for is preoccupied.”

They laughed, and Chris grabbed at Elsa. “Remember when we were always preoccupied?”

She slapped his hand. “Oh yes. I do.  And that’s why now we’re preoccupied with three little ones, my darling Christopher.” I heard children crying in the background. Elsa said a quick goodbye and ran off, and Chris followed suit so he could assist.

Tom put the laptop on the counter and pulled me to him, hands on my ass as he pressed me up against his crotch and rammed his tongue in my mouth, then backed away quickly, leaving me panting. “Well, I guess we should get going.”

I shot him a scathing look. “We should. But I have to pee first.” He walked out into the bedroom. As I sat on the toilet, I weighed my options for getting even. I mentally high fived myself as I pulled my underwear off over my feet and left them on the bathroom floor.

*************************************** We parked a block down from Talk Story, and I scouted ahead and left Tom in the Jeep. My gladiator sandals clicked on the sidewalk as I half-jogged to my destination, anxious to see if Alani was at the desk. She was, and I texted him to come on down. He ran to meet me, and I stopped him from holding the door for me and letting me go in first.

“Nope, you should be the first thing she sees.” I had my phone all ready to go in order to capture the moment, planning on sending her a copy as a keepsake. He walked through, and she looked up as the bell dinged to announce that someone had entered the store and the look on her face was one I knew I’d remember forever. He approached her, hand extended, and I was right behind him.

“Hello, Alani. I’m Tom.” She remained motionless. He turned to me. “This is Maude. We were here on Monday, and she told me that you’re a fan of my work and would perhaps enjoy meeting me.” She nodded, gingerly lifting her arm up but unable to make herself grab his hand. He took the initiative, holding it to his lips and kissing it demurely. She squealed, so high pitched I thought my ears might bleed. Four other girls came running out of the stacks, took one look at him, and began jumping up and down, screaming, phones in hand. I stopped filming so I could set the boundaries before any issues arose, stepping between them and Tom.

“Hi, ladies. I’m Maude, Tom’s social media manager. Let’s go over some ground rules, okay?” They lowered their phones and nodded. “Tom wants to be able to take pictures, sign for and chat with all of you, but in order for him to be able to do so you need to make sure you don’t post anything to social media until after we leave the premises. No texting or calling, either. If a crowd turns up, we’ll have to cut things short, and where’s the fun in that?”  

A husky, bearded, bespectacled man came out from the stacks, wearing a white and green palm leaf print Hawaiian shirt and khaki hiking shorts. “Girls, what the heck is going on up here? Why all the screaming? You know people prefer quiet when they…” He stopped short when he saw Tom, his mouth dropping open, then quickly closing as he grew closer, hand proffered. I figured he was the owner, so I let him pass.

“Aloha, Mr. Hiddleston. I’m Roger Marshal, and Talk Story is my baby. I can’t begin to tell you how much I appreciate your stopping by again…the girls were so bummed when they learned they’d missed you on Monday.”

Tom shook his hand vigorously. “Thank you for having me. Your establishment is outstanding…I’m a bit of a bibliophile, and if I had my druthers I’d be perusing the shelves here for days on end. My apologies for dashing off so quickly when I was in last, but I had a prior obligation and thought it better to come back when I had more time to spend.” He turned to me. “This is Maude Gallagher, my social media manager.”

I offered my hand and he clasped it gently with one of his, then placed the other on top. “Maude, nice to meet you. Is there anything I can do to make this easier for you both?”

“Actually, would you happen to have a room available that’s a bit more private?”

He nodded, then turned his attention to the desk. “Sure thing. Alani, why don’t you show our guests to the staff lunch room?” Her eyes lit up, and the faces of the rest of the staff fell. “Girls, you go too. I’ll cover the desk.” They thanked him in unison between excited giggles.

I tried to hang back behind Tom, but he slowed and fell into step with me and slipped his arm around me, hand on my lower back, whispering in my ear. “The way you jumped in and took charge did…things…to me, Maude.” His let his hand glide lower and lower, halting when he reached the spot where the waistband of my underwear should be. He felt around with his fingers, over my hip, diving quickly down into the crease of my left buttock then back up to my waist, gripping me just a smidge too hard.

I met his gaze, noting his narrowed eyes and the way his tongue darted out over and over to lick his lips. I smirked and whispered back. “Gosh, I’m sorry. I forgot to mention that I’m not wearing any panties. They sorta fell off back at the house and are lying on the bathroom floor, all alone and unloved.” The hand on my waist began to shake as we reached the staff room and he began breathing deeply as he attempted to keep his shit together. And round two of Friday’s Titillation Tease goes to…me.

Tom spent nearly two hours taking selfies, videos, signing anything the girls could get their hands on, and answering their seemingly unlimited supply of questions. The giant cup of tea I’d had on the ride over had finally hit my bladder, and I excused myself and went off in search of the bathrooms. There was only a one, unisex, located all the way on the other side of the store, tucked into an alcove deep in the stacks. Nice and roomy, too. I envisioned Tom fucking me up against the wall, then scolded myself for my blatant lack of restraint as I texted him precisely what I’d been thinking while I walked back to the staff room.

Roger had come back to check on them, which Tom took as an indicator that it was time to wrap things up. He was hugging each of the girls goodbye in turn as they left the room, saving Alaini for last. She rested her head on his chest, facing me, and mouthed ‘he smells like a FOREST’ while hugging him tightly. Up until that moment, I hadn’t been sure whether she recognized me or not. She stepped back and looked at both of us.

“This has been, like, the best day of my life. I can never thank you enough.” Her eyes shone with tears. “Would it be okay if I took a picture of you guys together?”

I smiled. “Of course. But I think it would be better if you were in it, too.” We posed, and Tom held out her phone to get the shot. I was entering my Prosper email address into her phone so she could send me a copy and she was putting hers in mine so I could send her the video from earlier when she cleared her throat.

She looked up shyly. “Um, I don’t mean to be rude or get in your business or anything, but I was just, you know, wondering…” She swallowed. “Are you guys, like, a couple?”

Tom grinned. “Is it that obvious?”

Her brow furrowed. “Well, you know, I saw what you posted on Twitter yesterday and I was like, hmm, and I know you guys work together and now seeing you in person…yeah. It’s pretty obvious, I guess.”

Tom took my hand. “Yes, Alani. Maude isn’t just my social media manager…she’s my girlfriend as well. And can I let you in on a little secret?” She nodded, awestruck. “When you saw us here on Monday, that was the very first time we met. So you played a rather important role in what turned out to be the best day of my life so far.”

I kissed his cheek. “Mine too, Alani.”

Alani flopped onto the nearest chair, clutching her hands to her chest. “That. Is. So. Romantic.” She leapt back up and hugged me. “We all want him for ourselves, but if he has to be with someone else, I’m really glad it’s you.”  

I patted her on the back. “Thank you. Hearing you say that means so much…honestly, I don’t have the words to express properly how it made me feel.” We let go of each other, and she made her way back to the desk.

I turned to Tom. “I need to hit the bathroom again before we head out.” He nodded and followed my lead. He didn’t mention my text, and I assumed he hadn’t read it yet. We didn’t see another soul on the way there, and the stacks outside the alcove were deserted as well. I recalled my vision of Tom fucking me against the bathroom wall and decided this was going to be my shining moment of public indecency. I opened the door, stepped in, then turned around to face him, left eyebrow raised.

“Want to join me?” I licked my lips. He barged past me into the bathroom, fingers already working to unbuckle his belt.

“I thought you’d never ask.” I locked the door, then did a 180. He held his fully engorged cock in his right hand, stroking it, catching any drips with his left. “I do believe I need to put this somewhere immediately so I don’t make a terrible mess on the floor.”

I bit my bottom lip as I tilted my head to the side. “I think I’ve got just the place for it.”

He ceased his stroking in order to back me up against the wall, growling in my ear. “Oh yes. You most certainly do.” He bent his knees as he lifted the front of my dress up to my waist, and I wrapped my leg around his, grinding my dripping pussy against him while I rubbed my clit. He groaned, and I slipped my glistening finger into his mouth. He sucked on it, and I felt the head of his cock at my entrance and his hands cupping my ass, his full weight on me, pressing me firmly against the cool tile.

He was panting. “Put your other leg around me and your arms around my neck.” I did the latter, but scoffed at the former.

“Um, there is no way in hell you’re going to be able to hold me up.”

He leaned forward to stare into my eyes, and his expression made me whimper. “Leg. Up. Now. Please.” As I complied he sheathed himself fully. I tried to bite back a ridiculously loud moan but was only partially successful. His mouth met mine, tongues dancing around each other. He pulled back.

“Maude, my apologies, but once I start moving I fear I’m going to last all of thirty seconds. If I’m fortunate.”

I clamped down on him. He began thrusting wildly, and I focused all my energy on not coming before he did. I was doing well until he started whispering in my ear using his Loki voice.

“Give in, mortal. Come for me. I know you’ve dreamed of this, me fucking into you for all I’m worth, you pinned against the wall, unable to sway those mesmerizing hips and have your way with me as you ride my cock to find your own selfish pleasure.”

He pounded into me, almost savagely, and as he felt my walls begin to flutter he put his hand over my mouth.

“Not. A. Sound.” I came, my scream trapped beneath his hand, the wet sounds of him moving in and out of me echoing eerily off the bathroom walls. “That’s it. Look at you, coming and coming all over my cock. So, so beautiful.”

He let his hand drop, and I could feel his thrusts becoming more erratic as I stared at him, his face red, jaw clenched, the veins on his neck standing out with his exertion. His head tipped back, fingers digging into the underside of my thighs, and his entire body shuddered as he orgasmed, come spurting hot inside me. I let my legs slide down one at a time, planting my feet as firmly as I possibly could despite the fact that they felt like they were made of Jell-O.  

He rested his head on my shoulder, and I rubbed his back. “I guess this means you got my text after all.” I felt him nod. “Well, if this is what not wearing underwear gets me, I’m never putting on another fucking pair ever again.”

We both laughed, quickly cleaned ourselves up, and I peeked out the door to make sure the coast was clear. Still not a soul around, and we said a final goodbye to Alani on our way out and proceeded to walk back to the Jeep. We sat for a while, neither of us feeling quite capable of driving.

He leaned over to kiss me, hand on the back of my neck, grinning as he pulled away. “I’m famished. Want to grab something to eat before we head back?”

“You already know the answer to that.” I noticed the street getting a bit congested, a small pack of women heading in our direction and what appeared to be a local news crew up the road a bit…I pulled out my phone and checked Alani’s Twitter feed. She’d posted the photo of all of us.

Here’s me just a little while ago with Tom Hiddleston and his girlfriend, Maude. He smells like a pine forest, and she’s super nice. #bestdayever, #thankyoutomandmaude

I showed it to him. “I’m thinking maybe we should stop somewhere a little further down the road. You?”

He started the Jeep, put it in first and stalled it as he tried to pull away from the curb, and then again on his second try. He smiled at me sheepishly. “Perhaps you’d better drive.”

“Gee, ya think?” We got out and switched places. I shook my head. “What a newb.”

He crossed his arms. “I am not a newb. I’m just out of practice is all.”

I patted his thigh as we got to the highway. “Right. Rusty stick skills. I remember.”

He chortled. “Yours remain top notch though, my love.”

I smiled smugly. “They do, don’t they?”

He raised his index finger. “Although, technically, you didn’t actually make use of them this go round, did you?”

“I’ll make up for it next time.”

“I’m going to hold you to that.”

“Well I’d fucking hope you’d hold me to it. That’s the whole point.” I saw a McDonald’s sign in the distance. “Dude, I want some French fries in the WORST way. And a chocolate milkshake. You game?’

“I most certainly am.”

“If you behave I’ll let you have my cherry.”

“Bit late for that, isn’t it?”

“How rude.”

“Perhaps. But true.”

“Not entirely true.”

“What do you mean, not entirely true?”

I turned off the highway and into the parking lot. The drive through line was mobbed, but the lot itself was relatively empty. “I mean that the fact that it’s a bit late for you to have my cherry is only partially correct.”

He stared at me as I engaged the parking brake, puzzled, then shook his head. “I’m not following.”

The left corner of my mouth scrunched up in mock irritation. “Really? Are you sure?” He shrugged, palms up. “Think about all we’ve…done.”

“Maude.”

“Good. Now think about what we haven’t done.” I gave him a few moments to review, watching his face closely so I’d see it dawn on him. 3…2…1…aaaannndd there it was. His jaw slackened, hips lifting almost imperceptibly. “That’s right. I’ve played around, sure, but as far as actually having a cock in my ass…nope. Which means, technically, my anal cherry is still intact.”

He covered his face with his hands, groaning, but said nothing.

I went in for the kill. “So, Thomas…tell me. Would you like my cherry?”

Shaking his head, face still hidden, he spoke in a low voice. “Maude.” He paused, remaining silent for quite some time, seemingly avoiding my question. I wondered if I’d overstepped some sort of boundary, pushing him too far.

My mind was racing, and I frowned. “Wow.  I’m really sorry, Tom.”

He uncovered his face to take my hand, gazing at me with eyes full of concern. “Whatever for?”

“Because I put you on the spot there and just assumed it’s something you’d want to participate in. I didn’t stop to think that it’s something that might not be up everyone’s alley.” I rolled my eyes. “That didn’t come out…shit…DAMN. Anyway, that was incredibly presumptuous and I apologize for letting myself get so carried away. Please don’t feel like it’s something you have to…”

He leaned in to kiss me forcefully, covering my entire mouth with his, tongue darting over my lips, then pulled away before I could fully engage. “May I answer your question now?”

I shook my head. “Tom, you don’t need…”

“I know I don’t need to, but I WANT to. My answer is, with undeniable certainty, yes. Please accept my apology for not answering straight away. I’m afraid I was too busy thinking about how deliciously tight you’re going to feel around me and then I remembered that you aren’t wearing panties and it was all I could do to stop myself from dragging you onto my lap and fucking you right here in the McDonald’s parking lot.”

His eyes met mine, nostrils flaring, pupils blown wide open. Never before had I been able to do this to a man, make him want me so desperately using nothing but words. He squeezed my hand.

“That you’d trust me with something so intimate, bequeathing me such a precious gift, wishing to share something that you’ve not yet experienced with another, is…I’m honored, humbled, awestruck…so very many things.” He smiled timidly. “I’ve never been someone’s first anything before.”

My brows shot up, but I managed to keep my mouth shut.

“Maude, there’s something I’d like to ask you, but…”

“Shoot.”

“All right. This may be terribly intrusive, and feel free to not answer it if you don’t feel comfortable doing so, but…knowing what I do about you, sexually, I’m…surprised…that you…erm, never…anyway, I suppose I’m just wondering why.”

I sighed. Good job, Maude. This is what you get for trying to be a seductress.

“Long story short, you’re only the fourth person I’ve been intimate with. The first two were before I was twenty and not even remotely interested in such a thing. By the third I was very interested, but things fell apart before it happened.” I put my arms on the steering wheel and rested my forehead on them for a moment, then raised my head and turned to him. I couldn’t quite read the expression on his face.

“Okay, I’m not sure if that look means ‘I didn’t need to hear that’ or ‘wow, only three, what a loser’.”

He shook his head. “It’s neither. Well, maybe a bit of the first one, because the idea of you being with someone else is much more unpleasant than I would have imagined, but…it was mostly surprise that such an incredibly beautiful, intelligent, hilarious woman wouldn’t have men lining up to be with her.”

“Thomas. Stop being so fucking wonderful, won’t you? Christ. There was no line, believe me. I’ve always been at least a little chubby, but after I moved to New York I put on a huge amount of weight. There are reasons for that, but that’s another story for another time. By 2003 I was tipping the scales at two hundred and forty-seven pounds. I’ve always been a confident person, and I honestly never cared what anyone else thought about the way I looked, but…you know what I’m getting at here, I think. In late 2008 I started feeling like shit, and Anne, who’d nearly died due to undiagnosed diabetes in 2003, pushed me to see a doctor. Sure enough, that was the problem. It was early, and resolvable with lifestyle modifications. So, I kicked myself in the ass, and over the next year I lost more than eighty pounds, and that was when I…a woman in her sexual prime, in the best shape of her life…met number three. God bless him…I was on a mission, making up for lost time and he could barely keep up with me. One time I actually thought he was going to need an ambulance…sheese, why I am telling you this? Yikes. Sorry. Lord knows I don’t want to hear anything like it from you.” I unbuckled my seat belt. “Let’s pretend this never happened and go get those milkshakes, m’kay?”

He grabbed my arm as I opened the door, and I turned to meet his gaze. “I…Maude…I just…you are…everything about you…” He shook his head. “I fall deeper in love with you with every passing moment.”

“Right back atcha, baby.” He laughed. “Yeah. No way I was going to try and out-eloquent you there. Waste of time and energy.”

We went inside, his arm around my shoulders, and ordered two Happy Meals when we saw the new toys were Minions. Neither of us could resist playing with them as we ate. Tom went back for a Big Mac and chicken nuggets, which I shared. He stuck his fingers in through the lid of my milkshake, deftly picking up the cherry and popping it in his mouth, a huge smile on his face.

We both used the bathroom, separately, and as we were walking back to the Jeep I heard the voice of a young boy.

“Mom, Mom! That man over there! That’s the man you’re always looking at on your computer!”

A woman replied to him. “Mason, what are you talking ab…?” And with that, I knew she’d seen Tom. I pulled at his shirt, and he looked down at me and nodded. We turned around and waved. The woman was about my age, maybe a little older, and she looked like she might die of embarrassment when she realized we’d overheard their conversation. Tom strode over, hand extended.

“Hi there. Tom Hiddleston. And you are?” She moved as if in a trance, hand out, and he grasped it gently and shook.

“I…uh…um…Sarah. I’m Sarah. And this is my son, Mason.”

Tom beamed and shook Mason’s hand as well. “Lovely to meet you both.”

Sarah reached into her purse, dug around and pulled out a Coriolanus program. She cleared her throat. “I heard that you’d be on the island and I’ve been carrying this with me, you know, just in case.”

He took it from her. “Were you in attendance?”

Mason piped up. “We flew all the way across two oceans so she could go see your show. I saw Big Ben. It was really cool.”

Sarah was bright red. “I saw it twice, actually, but didn’t have time to stay after.”

Tom pulled a sharpie out of his back pocket. “May I?”

She grinned. “Please do.” He signed his name, as well as a message. ‘Sorry to have missed you there, but better late than never. Glad to finally have met you. XO’”

As he handed it back to her he asked if she’d like a picture with him. He introduced us, and I volunteered to do the honors so Mason could squeeze in as well. I gave him my Minion to keep him occupied while I took some shots of just Sarah and Tom. He held it up to give it back to me when I handed Sarah back her phone.

“Nope, buddy, that’s yours now.” I held out my hand to Tom and he put his toy in it. “In fact, you can have Tom’s too. This way he gets to stay with his friend and won’t be lonely.” He thanked me so quietly I could barely hear him, eyes full of wonder at what to an adult was such a small gesture.

Tom hugged them both goodbye, and Sarah embraced me as well. She smiled at my surprise. “Thank you, both of you, so much.”

Tom put his arm around my waist as we walked the rest of the way back to the Jeep, placing a quick kiss on the top of my head.

“It is my personal opinion that you’re a much kinder, gentler person than you’d like everyone to believe.”

I sighed. “Yeah, yeah. And it’s all your fucking fault, too.”

[ferryboatpeak]

good things by good people: the best fic i read in 2017

The community aspect of writing fic is easily my favorite part of fandom. I was so lucky this year to get to know so many talented writers who brainstormed with me and encouraged me and allowed me to beta for them and left me nice comments and tolerated me screaming into their inboxes. So I’m going to close out the year by gushing about all of them and my favorite things they wrote in 2017.

queerlyalex: I learned multishipping at @queerlyalex’s feet, and I continue to admire their versatility, enthusiasm, and prolific production. Also I am eternally grateful to them for reblogging me early on; it’s only thanks to Alex that I have any pals around here. Alex absolutely slayed me with a few well-crafted sentences this year (e.g., ”Louis stares at Niall like he’s a map without a legend.”) and I also adored their hiatus nouis and creepy robot nouis and… okay, I just realized Alex is my favorite nouis writer.

Mildly_Maddy: @mildlymaddy writes with such heart and tenderness, and I particularly admire the physicality of her writing. Cold noses, headaches, fingernail scratches… she always makes me feel the characters’ physical sensations. Maddy’s also the most genius editor in all the wide world; every single thing I’ve written this year has benefited from her keen eye and unerring ability to not only diagnose the problem but to come up with the solution. Finally, Maddy makes brevity her bitch. Nobody writes tagfic like she does, and her hamille drabble might be my favorite thing I’ve read this year, 100 words densely packed with so many things I love (a clever joke on current canon, positive treatment of female side characters, harry in a collar). In 2017 I also particularly loved her hedgehog fairy louis, lilo bad wardrobe phone sex (a brilliant concept well-executed), and of course her nouis post-louelle breakup porn.

dramaturgicallycorrect: I am in awe of @wickershire​’s skills at worldbuilding. She writes an amazing diversity of settings and eras, and every single one of them feels completely realized. She also has this way of centering her characterizations on lesser-emphasized canon details, which is a brilliant trick that makes her characters feel simultaneously familiar and fresh. Her wolvesfest fic leaned into Niall’s fearlessness, Harry’s need to feel useful, and Louis’s protectiveness. Her Wimbledon fic took Harry’s treatment by the media and somehow used it to make this clumsy deer-legged menace into a believable professional athlete, alchemy of the highest order. (The sentence that laid me flat: "He stretches his long limbs as far as they can go and just like that, everything that’s Liam’s belongs to him.") Her narry road trip fic turned Harry’s aggressive image curation into obsessive travel experience planning (ohhhhh goddddddd, “’You’re an act of god,’ Niall tells him, but he means Harry’s a natural fucking disaster.”) AND AS IF THIS WASN’T ENOUGH, Kate also wrote the alex/peter fic the world needed.

saysthemagpie: You’re all aware that @saysthemagpie​ is the total package: brilliant plotting, achingly beautiful character development, gorgeous imagery, hilarious crack, and smoking hot sex scenes. I love Jes’s writing so much that it’s hard to narrow down my 2017 favorites, except that her dunkirk sex pest crackfic is unquestionably at the top of the list. 50 shades fionrry was also an instant classic, and I think the very first appearance of the barry characterization we didn’t know we needed but now can never live without. I also loved every scrap we got of small town divorce fic and sexswap narry and dog park lilo/fionrry and hazoff mpreg, and she finished always be your boy with some grade-A Harry Styles suffering. Also, these particular sentences: “He feels light and sort of airy, like someone’s flung open all the windows inside of him, sunlight spilling in.” and  “When his gaze drops to Mitch’s mouth, Mitch feels the tug of it in his chest, a pull like the tide: moon-drawn, inexorable.” and  “when he can’t stop himself testing his thumb against the bright keen edge of his loss”

countthestars: @moondoggiestyle is a plotting genius who somehow manages to make the tropiest of tropes suspenseful. She can turn any scrap of canon into angst, usually in a way that’s also hilarious, and I really admire the way she interacts with prompts and cultivates readership. Here’s how much I have reread her fic: I was beta’ing something of hers and recognized a turn of phrase repeated from something else she wrote like two years ago, and I almost didn’t say anything because I was super embarrassed to admit that I am like the foremost scholar of her work. I am forever grateful that she’s put up with me chattering away in her inbox all year long about hitch and werewolves and the midwest, and allowed me to deluge her with my thoughts on the excellent when the wolves come out under the guise of beta’ing it. Other 2017 favorites: hitch, and more hitch, harry vs. shapeshifting demon (SO MANY LAUGHS IN SO FEW WORDS), pop punk nouis (my number one dream in life is 50K of this), the small town little league au, and oh my god this sentence: “His touch is soft, almost tentative, like Niall’s something breakable. Like Niall’s not something he’s already broken.” ALSO she has written the very best part of dark werewolf hitch and if I have to construct a 40k ark to bear her 1K forth to the world in 2018 I will happily do so.

fliptomybside: uni fionrry is maybe my favorite verse going right now. It’s soft and hot and tentative and happy and I love every new installment. I also love @polaroidgirlfriend‘s queer kendall and how effectively she’s characterized through the many ways she tries to physically erase herself.(”She spreads her arms and her legs out so they’re not touching. It’s easier to feel weightless, this way. Takes away her awareness of her own limbs and the way she takes up space.”)

sunsetmog: I am in awe of how @magicalrocketships makes every single sentence, every single word, contribute to character development (this 26-line story is a perfect example.) In 2017, she upended the famous/not-famous trope with Harry Styles Cooks.... I love, love, love that Louis’s reaction to Harry appearing on his doorstep is to be mad at him for materializing instead of remaining a safely abstract celebrity crush. She also blessed us all with You’re a Naughty Rabbit, Louis; a long-awaited installment of I Had Rather; and the gryles Mallorca fic we all desperately needed.

rilla: The greatest zarry author of all time posted little writing this year but every bit of it was exceptional. Her hogwarts zarry has all the beauty and wonder the source material is missing, her similes make me want to cry (”He’s lit around the edges like someone’s taken a cigarette lighter to a sheet of paper”), and even this plot outline was exquisite. (@flomps, we don’t talk enough? I’m so grateful you hung on in this fandom long enough for me to know you even a little, though.)

yeahloads: Attempting to praise @harryshippudge by praising her fic is a misleading exercise because it completely misses a major area of her genius, namely her brilliance at generating plots and prompting others to do the same. I have written thousands upon thousands of words because Liz asked the right question or came up with the right twist on a trope, and I hope that someday she will bring her abandoned wolvesfest concept to life either as gryles or as original fiction, because it’s an absolutely brilliant idea. The single snippet she posted is maybe my favorite thing she wrote this year. (Although I am also delighted she got on board the hitch train, and her hazoff abo mpreg verse is weird and wonderful communication porn.)

1000-directions: I love @1000-directions’s quick wit, grace under fire, and willingness to go as niche as it gets (ESPECIALLY breaking the seal on loufro, a ship that I have high hopes for in 2018). Her pig dog POV was one of the most clever, original things I read this year -- the voice sounds just like a dog wagging its tail. I also deeply appreciate her Camille blogging and the associated fic.

[pxgtails]

HAPPY NEW YEAR !!     it’s almost 2018 — for some of us, 2017′s already gone!! that means we made it, and that’s incredible. a whole year of dealing with this totally 100% perfectly functioning website, a year of tackling the ups and downs with style and grace, a year of... well. it’s certainly been quite a year, hasn’t it??

this is your girl BUTTS, and i’m about to get a little personal.

2017 was kind of rough for me — and for a while, even things that usually made me feel better just... didn’t. i wasn’t able to have fun doing the things that i loved, and so i spent a big portion of the year simply languishing. but you guys stuck with me through it all. you were patient and understanding and supportive, and really, i couldn’t have asked for anything more. now things are finally starting to look up again, and i just want to say: i’m so grateful that you guys  ( just about 2,000 of you — wow! )  interact with me! i’m grateful for every time someone asks about a headcanon, or shows interest in a worldbuilding concept, or comes into my inbox looking to plot or interact! writing — and especially writing kris — is such a huge pick-me-up for me, and i’m so glad that i’ve been able to write with all of you! thank you for going on this journey with me! thank you for being a part of this experience! really — THANKS FOR EVERYTHING!!

there are a few people i want to give a super special shout out to, either for being an inspiration, being a delight, or being my friend — sometimes even a combination of the three, wild!! they’re going to be under the cut, though, to keep this from getting too long. HAPPY NEW YEAR everyone — i hope it’ll be fantastic!  ♡

                                                                                  —  —  —  art cred.

THE DREAM TEAM, THE MEME TEAM!

@binarycolours​ ➝ how could i not start out with you?? touya, you are the best thing to ever happen to me and the absolute light of my life; you’re an absolute inspiration in everything you do and even though i just gushed super hard about you in that meme, i’m going to do it again!! i’ve told you time and time again how much i admire your writing, your characterizations, your storytelling, all of it — your threads have so much life that i can’t help but be positively starstruck!! you’re my very best friend and i love you with all of my heart, and i probably don’t say this nearly enough: it means so much that you’re here having fun with me. let’s have more fun in 2018, ok? ♡

@cosmonucleic​ ➝ or, you know, whatever blog you’re active on right now... I’M KIDDING I LOVE YOU PIDGE, can you believe we’ve been talking for close to two and a half years now?? do you remember when i’d come into your inbox and very politely ask questions with proper capitalization and punctuation? it feels like a lifetime ago, and it’s really wild to think that there was some point in my life that i didn’t know you?? that i didn’t talk to you?? it’s so wild to think that kris ever existed without yuri, without space crew?? i’m absolutely delighted whenever we talk, and i’m positively blessed to know you and talk with you as often as i do!!

@jingleburst​ ➝ my sweet sweet fishie-chan, you’re such a delightful and welcome presence in my life, even if no one would ever be able to tell based on how... kris treats luka... IT SURE IS A GOOD THING MUN =/= MUSE, RIGHT?? even though wow luka’s a complete sweetheart and so are you, the nights we got to goof off in call together are some of my fondest memories of this year, and i’ll be keeping my fingers crossed for more opportunities to do so come 2018!!

@soarleader​ ➝ (me voice) hey it might be a little weird gushing about sabs, considering she’s not on tumblr anymore... CATCH ME DOING IT ANYWAY ugh sabs, i feel like i don’t say this nearly enough: talking to you means so much to me, and the reason you’re on this list despite not being active in the rpc is because you’re such a big inspiration when it comes to my characters — you’ve helped push me further than i ever thought possible in terms of character development and familiarity, it just feels wrong to not have you on here.  i can’t even begin to express how much help you were in regards to my own self-confidence; you’re one of my best friends, and i’m so lucky to know you!!

@bledfed , @checkeredscarfs , @chesskilled , @corvidmagicae , @desbearer , @detecaive , @fukainoumi , @hakureimaiden , @inviai , @kyoukokiwigiri , @lamentis , @locksfate , @nightpined , @perceptivis , @picarexque​ , @rationalclover , @ratvenant , @ruinsation ➝ oh my god there’s like a billion of us. of course i need to include my amnesia famnesia on here — we’re closing in on a year since this chat was made, and the fact that you guys haven’t gotten sick of me yet is astounding!! you’ve seen me at my worst, and then you’ve seen me somehow go even worse than that, and you guys are always there to hear me out and cheer me up. some of you guys i’ve been chatting with just about every day this entire year,and some of you guys i’ve only just started talking with recently — in both cases though, you guys are some of the most kindhearted, creative, and wonderful people i’ve had the pleasure of knowing. you’re irreplaceable, and you know what that means?? you’re going to be stuck with me for a very long time. ♡

AND A WHOLE BUNCH OF OTHER COOL KIDS!

i have to give a shout-out to the people who make my dash feel so lively and incredible — writing is fun and all, but without A+++ quality partners, it doesn’t exactly work out! so i want to extend my most heartfelt thanks to all of you for everything that you do and everything that you put out into the world; even if we don’t talk much, i consider all of you guys incredible. let’s plot, let’s thread, let’s make something together in 2018!!

@asmayflies​ , @aspearbarry​ , @balsamina​ , @batomos​ , @bopnty​ , @carnivigorous​​ , @craniumaniac​ , @cxnstellaticns​ , @dragoncaper​ , @ekkusumoi​ , @elekron​ , @fabulance​ , @fxdelxs​ , @gcruden​ , @geoforza​ , @ghctsis​ , @hikaup​ , @hisflare​ , @hoeinhoenn​ , @hoennite​ , @kotoyin​ , @lionfanged​ , @make-it-trouble​ , @mercenaryrocket​ , @miseryluck​ , @normaliium​ , @oakmd​ , @ofpalletown​ , @plasmiisms​ , @ranseiuniter​ , @rcketbutcher​ , @rebelracket​ , @rocketbalor​ , @rocketbcss​ , @rocketrevelry​ , @rocketsecretary​ , @sangmer​ , @shadyxdealings​ , @shiirakeru​ , @simikami​ , @snaggerleo​ , @starmarkcd​ , @steeliis​ , @sterlingsilverchampion​ , @stewardoftheking​ , @telekinetiq​ , @timecapscle​ , @undinaes​

AND OF COURSE, ALL OF YOU!

every single last one of you. i really can’t stress enough how much you all mean to me — all of you who put up with me when my job rules my life, all of you personals who decide you want kris clarity on your dashboard. thank you to everyone who sends in memes and writes me starters and pops in my inbox just to say hi, and all-in-all makes this a fantastic place to be.

  & HERE’S TO ANOTHER YEAR!  ♡

[itsteaveetime]

This may be a little too obscure but have you thought of an AU where Mike and the rest of the tour crew go to Sky High and are sorted into sidekicks (Hero Support).

//I had not, really.  When I write AU’s (like actually write them, not Photoshop and shitpost about), I tend to AU within the canon/fandom (so they’re more like: “what-if’s”, I guess).  I find AU-ing into a completely different universe or time period really difficult, so my hat is off to those of you whose brains do work that way naturally.  I *have* had thoughts about a sort-of sequel fic where the Golden Ticket Winner Losers didn’t die, but are ‘freaks’ (sort of like in the preview ending), and return to the factory shadows of their former selves.  But then some sort of rival or villain takes over the factory and holds Wonka hostage, and Charlie has to convince the other four that, especially with their new freakish abilities and knowledge of the factory, they have it in themselves to be heroes, and they all work together to save the day.  I’m not sure I’ll ever actually write that fic because it seems like it would be very plot intensive and long, but: maybe.  And if anyone else is bitten by this plot-bunny: please write it instead of me.

I gave the ‘Sky High’ one a shot below.  I hope it doesn’t suck, Anon, it…went in a vaguely Mike/Veruca direction, whoops?  And thanks for the prompt.  As always my inbox is open!// 

He shouldn’t even be here.  Not here, in this room, with these other freaks and losers.  Not here, in this school, at all.

Ethel Teavee (in Mike Teavee’s always correct opinion) has the dumbest super-power ever.  It’s a sort of location telepathy: she can tell you where someone is, anywhere in the world, at any time.  But she has to have met the person, which means she’s totally useless as any kind of super spy or cop, and is instead just the world’s most annoying geography teacher at a high school for super powered teenagers.  And most smothering mother, of course, not that she has ever had to wonder where Mike might be.  Mike is always in front of his computer.  Or was.

Mike has always known he would have some kind of technopathy.  He doesn’t know what his dad had, or could do: Ethel doesn’t talk about him, and Mike can’t remember him, but he wants to think his power was cool.  That he’s some big-time hero with some big-time secret identity and that’s why Ethel has to keep it hush-hush.

But Mike has always known he would have some kind of technopathy.  Electronics, computers, video-games…they have always come easy to him.  He has always been able to do anything he wanted with them, better than adults, better than anybody.  

“Getting your powers isn’t always easy,” his mother had always warned him, but Mike had always thought it would be, for him.  Would be like a natural progression of what he could already do.

And then his fingers had begun to stretch.

He had been tapping away as usual at his keyboard, and he had gone to shift his wrist to reach a key and found: he didn’t have to.  Which was…weird.  Mike had always been on the short side.  His hands, though nimble, had always been small.

And then everything had gone wrong.

He spent two weeks in his room as parts of him stretched, independently from each other and completely beyond his control.  One leg: seemingly miles longer than the other and unable to hold his weight.  One arm: so long his knuckles touched the floor.  His neck one day: unable to lift his head off of his pillow as it coiled above his shoulders like a snake.

His mother had probably tried to comfort him.  Mike can only remember crying.  It had hurt.

He’s 7′6 now.  He can stretch himself taller and longer than that, but he can’t make himself any shorter than 7′6.  It’s not a natural 7′6 either (if there even is such a thing).  His limbs are symmetrical, but too long; too thin.  His face is…wrong.  He looks like someone stuck him in a taffy puller.  He has to special order his clothes and shoes.

And everything is pointless now.  He can’t have a secret identity like this.  His mom is convinced his powers are still settling: that he’ll eventually shrink back down to a manageable height, but what does she know about it?  Nothing, that’s what.

Of course all the dumb jock sports teams came knocking, even the one at this freak school, but joke’s on them: Mike can barely jog without tripping over his stretched out feet.

He shouldn’t be here.  He should be at home.  He should be at home, in front of his computer.  

He should be at home in front of his computer but when he tries to type too fast now, his fingers tangle themselves into knots.

It’s still better than hunching and slinking his way through a sea of normal sized teenagers who can do stuff like: fly, and: turn invisible.

What Mike wouldn’t give to be invisible.  He’s super, super visible.

Even in the back row of stupid ‘hero support’ (side-kick classes), where he sits behind a table because he can’t cram himself into a desk.  The boy who always sits beside him can’t either, but not because of his height: Augustus Gloop is almost spherical.  He is almost spherical because he can eat anything.  Mike has seen him eat a brick.  It’s cool, but pointless.  Gloop’s okay, though: like a gentle giant.

Mike is not gentle.  

Physically he’s…well a sort of long skinny mess, but his tongue is sharp.  That never tangles.  It gets him both into and out of trouble.

Ethel makes him trip and slink to school the same time she does: earlier than the rest of the students.  She doesn’t escort him to his classes, at least: she doesn’t have to.  She always knows where he is.  He doesn’t totally mind having the extra minutes of peace to sort out his own limbs and try to get comfortable before Gloop and the rest of the world shows up.  His knees still fight him sometimes.

It’s not enough, though.  His mom may know where he is at all times, but that doesn’t mean she can shut him up, and the result is: a near constant stay in detention.

Usually it’s just him, and Mr. Wonka (who Mike is sure hates him more than any other teacher there is or has ever been).

Today is different.  Today there is a girl.

Mike doesn’t know her, but Mike doesn’t really know anybody.  Mike does know she’s not a sidekick.

Mike also has eyes and can see that she’s…dressed like a ballerina.  Those shoes and skirts they wear and everything.  Mike’s no ballerina, but he’s pretty sure wearing those shoes just walking around wrecks them.  There is also a crown perched on top of her head, nestled in her blonde curls.

She looks completely insane.

Wonka has left them alone to deal with some sort of accident in the gym.  Mike stares at the back of Princess Tutu’s (as he has decided to call her) head and wonders what she did to end up here.  She probably didn’t hack Krystal Ballz’s facebook page too, but: who knows.

The blonde girl turns slowly in her seat.  She is petite enough to fit comfortably into a normal desk, and she turns with the sort of grace Mike does not think he ever possessed and certainly does not now.  She looks him up and down (and up, and up).  Mike tries and fails to shrink deeper into his hoodie.

“What,” she asks (and she pronounces it like ‘vhat’, because she has a significant Russian accent), “are you supposed to be, some kind of super-noodle?”

He glares at her.

“No,” he mutters.  “What are you supposed to be, s-…”

And he has a beautiful biting insult on the tip of his tongue, but she cuts him off.

“Veruca,” she says, as if that should mean anything.

“What’s a Veruca?” He asks, as if he doesn’t care, which he mostly doesn’t.

Her eyes darken.

“VER-u-CA,” she repeats, practically seething.  And then (shoving her well-sculpted nose into the air and everything).  “Greatest super-heroine and heir to peanut and other fortunes.”

She tosses her long blonde locks.

Mike stares at her flatly.

“Never heard of you,” he says.  

(He hasn’t, although he would have said the same thing regardless because she seems like the kind of person who would be bothered by that sort of thing.)

(She is.)

Her eyes darken.

“Go get me Dr. Pepper,” she says, beginning to turn back around in her seat.

Mike doesn’t move (obviously.)

“Uh, how about: no?” He says.

She turns back towards him.  Her own eyes narrow.

“Get me Dr. Pepper, now,” she says, more forcefully.

“Just because I’m a side-kick doesn’t make you the boss of me,” he argues.

Her eyes dart towards the door.

“Go to door,” she says, sounding less sure of herself.

“Nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnno,” he says.  “N.  O.  No.  Whatever you want, whatever you need, whatever you say: no.”

He was totally right: she’s totally nuts.

She stares at him.  Her mouth hangs open.

“…nobody says no to Veruca Salt,” she says.

That’s her power, he realizes.  That’s her power, and for some reason it doesn’t work on him.

He sits back in his chair as much as he is able to (which isn’t much) and folds his long freakish arms across his chest.

“I’m not nobody,” he says, smirking at her surprise.  And then jerks his head back as she practically climbs onto his desk.

She kneels on her seat, elbows on his desk, chin in her hands.  Her toes point and kick at the air behind her head.

“What is your name, Noodle?” she purrs.  

“Why should I tell you?” He asks, cockily.

She claps in delight.  He wonders if nobody really does ever say no to her.  Maybe it gets old, but he honestly can’t relate.

“Mike Teavee,” he tells her.  She doesn’t seem disappointed, he supposes, because he has told her on his own.

“What do you dooooooooo?” She continues to purr.

His smirk fades.

“You’re looking at it,” he mutters.

She’s looking at him.  He doesn’t like it.

She’s upside-down, suddenly.  He’s not sure how.  She’s executed some move and he’s looking at her pink-clad calves and feet.  The rest of her hangs underneath her chair.  He tries to inch his own feet back.  There’s no room.

Her hands grab at his skinny ankles.  He yelps.  She yanks.  She pulls his feet until they are almost under her desk, where her feet would be, if she wasn’t doing gymnastics.

“This is better,” she says, having arranged him so his knees are no longer pressed against the underside of his table.

She’s right: it is more comfortable.

She’s still upside down.

“…I am the stuck,” she admits.

He reaches out (easily), and pulls her left leg.

Her left leg comes off in his hand.  

He yelps again and drops the detached limb.  She does a one-legged sideways cartwheel, grabs her own leg, and pops it back into place with practiced ease.

He’s staring at her.  She doesn’t seem to mind.

“It’s, uh, supposed to do that?” He asks.

“I also can fly,” she tells him, crossing her ankles over her desk and laying back across his table with a grin.

He shoves his hands into the pockets of his hoodie.

“I stretch,” he admits.

“More than this?” She asks.  She seems…impressed.  He shrugs.

“Sure,” he tells her.  Even if he doesn’t like to.  Just in case.  He could get stuck even…taller.

She does another of her moves.  She’s sitting on her desk now.  It makes them almost the same height.

“And what else?”

‘Nothing,’ he’s about to say.

“Computers,” he says, instead.

She cocks her head.

“A power?” She asks.

He shakes his head; tries not to look as disappointed as he always feels when he thinks about it.  He shouldn’t have even said anything, maybe.  His fingers…

“You are smart,” she says.  Something behind her eyes looks…he isn’t sure.  Predatory?  “If you are so smart, why are you here?”

He snorts.

“Because Krystal Ballz-…”

Veruca hisses like a cat.

“…thinks she’s pretty funny.  So I made some of her private jokes public.  So, you know, everybody could laugh at what she says about them.”

She is grinning.

“This was you.”

It’s not a question.  

“You are funny,” she tells him.

He sits just a tiny bit taller.

“So why are you here?” He asks her.

She sighs.

“I do not like the sidekick I am assigned,” she says.  “He makes lewd jokes.  He is not funny.  So I take my arm-…”

She removes one of her arms at the shoulder.

“…and I slap him.”

She slaps lightly at the arm between them with her detached arm. 

“Apparently this is frowned upon in your country,” she says, rolling her eyes.

His mouth twitches.  He almost laughs.  Maybe more than almost.

A bell rings.  They both glance at the clock.  The detention period is over.  They are free to go.

She dismounts her desk.  He starts to gather his legs.  She’s standing beside him before he has a handle on them.  She comes up to about his chin when he is sitting.

“I will tell them to assign you to me,” she says.

He opens his mouth, only for her to press a finger against it, silencing him.

“Nobody says no to Veruca Salt,” she reminds him.  She rises up onto the very tips of her toes like the dancer she is, and presses her lips against his cheek.  She pirouettes around while he’s still reeling.  She literally flies out of the door, arms outstretched like Superman, if Superman had a pink handbag slung casually over his shoulder.

Mike sits in stunned silence.  Ethel appears a moment later, looking slightly frazzled.

“That girl needs to look where she’s flying,” his mother complains.  She frowns at something on Mike’s face.

“Did she make you do something?” She asks.

Mike shakes his head and gets to his feet.  Slinks past his mother.  Almost hits his head on the door frame.  Doesn’t.    

“Michael?” His mother prompts.

Mike rolls his eyes.

“Laugh, mom,” he says.  “She made me laugh.”

[bloomsoftly]

Sorry for an incomplete rant, but here's to trying to get it all out: You say you might continue if you are inspired? Maybe you can use some of your prompts for this. This chapter was from a prompt, why not have a chapter story based off of prompts. You already have unrelated oneshots in a series, maybe try to relate some into a single work? And new to anything tumblr, so sorry for the incomplete thing earlier

Okay, a couple of things:

1. Let’s start with your first five words. First of all, I’m not even sure why you feel the need to rant in my inbox. 

Do you feel like one of my one-shots/prompt fills is incomplete? 

Are you asking for more? 

Are you mad that I said I might continue something that you like(what fic, btw??? I have literally written 11 one-shots, and you could be talking about any of them), but didn’t promise to do so?

2.  Considering that prompts come to my inbox privately, I’m not sure how you are able to know whether my prompts work together in a longer story. 

To be clear, since I opened up my inbox to prompts (and you are welcome to send me one, if you want me to continue a story–that would have been the nice way to do this, btw), I have received prompts for: 

Darcy/Bucky (my OTP, and the most prompts I’ve received)

Darcy/Loki

Darcy/Peter Quill

Darcy/Clint

Darcy/Pietro

I don’t write break-ups or infidelity, so these automatically can’t go together? 

Not to mention I sometimes get highly-specific prompts (like the ones I got for glass shards, run the world (girls), and the cat’s meow), which–to be perfectly honest–would be a hot mess if I put them together. 

and yeah, I like to experiment in my fics (with everything from cupcake food porn, to Darcy and Jane as monster hunters, to Darcy as a mermaid). but I do that because it clicks for me. and I put it together how i want, because I get inspired. aka i write them how i want, because they’re my stories?

3. Which series are you talking about? 

green to the end of days is literally just a collection of my tumblr prompts; they don’t go together thematically at all. 

cupcake delights is in the same universe, you’re right. but only one of them comes from a prompt. the other i wrote because—ding ding ding, you guessed it–I got inspired to write something else. Not from a prompt, though. It was all me and my imagination. 

I actually had an idea for a third story in that series, plus a follow-up one-shot to my most popular fic, broken wings, and even a smutty follow-up to glass shards. 

but now? now i’ve spent all my inspiration responding to your ‘rant’. if you follow me, you probably should have known your ask wouldn’t get the best response–i literally made a post about this very thing the other day.

4. the incomplete ask from before is fine, don’t worry about that. your tone, however, is not. 

if you want to come off anon and address me privately, with good grace, i’m happy to help you find ways to be more conscientious and less rude to writers whose stuff you like (i’m guessing you like my stuff? you never actually said so).

[whoinwhoville]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Doctor Who (2005) Rating: General Audiences Relationships: Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler (John Smith x Jane Smith) Characters: Tenth Doctor, Rose Tyler Additional Tags: john smith x jane smith, Human Nature, UST Lite, perhaps pre-UST, or subconcious UST, not angst, Fluff, Just Fine, is a title for you to interpret, are either of them just fine?, or feeling very fine?, or not fine at all, because they want more? Series: Part 4 of FoundVerse, Part 5 of Whoville's Follower Milestone Celebration Summary:

Everything is just fine. That's an understatement. Missing scenes early on in Found & Forgotten.

Written for @toppbanana who won the “John & Jane” ficlet from my Whoville Follower Milestone celebration. She wanted flirtatious banter or UST.

Note: I went back and read after I posted it, and really didn’t like it. It felt like something was missing -- that it was devoid of any emotion. Why is Jane so flustered by John? Why does she blush so fiercely around him? What is goes through her mind when she sees him?

So I re-worked it quite a bit. I like this more than the original. I hope you do too. If you have a chance, listen to the Frank Sinatra song that John whistles and then mindlessly sings. (He doesn’t recognize any significance, even though it’s there ever so slightly.)

Jane Smith looked up at the clock — 8:03 am, and John Smith was right on time. She could hear him talking to the much-prettier-than-her (but very nice) receptionist. Male and female laughter mingled. Jane sighed at that, but just in passing.

Instead, she imagined herself the object of his flirtatious attentions. She’d laugh prettily and bat her eyelashes. “Oh Mr. Smith, you’re just too much,” she’d reply, and then he’d wink at her. Maybe he’d go on to ask her out to dinner and a film and he’d hold her hand in the dark and —

“Good morning, Miss Smith.”

Jane startled.

“Off with the fairies, Miss Smith?” John asked.

She nodded and smiled shyly.

“So how are you this lovely, sunny, Monday morning? Did you have a pleasant weekend?” John smiled down at her, and she became very interested in a pencil.

“Yes. My weekend was fine, thank you,” Jane answered politely, gaining courage to look back up. But then again, she couldn’t help but look. He was too handsome to ignore. His well-tailored suit, the crisp white shirt, that silver tie… And then there was the little bit of hair that wouldn’t stay in place, hanging down onto his forehead.

“Good. I’m glad it was fine. Have a good morning, Miss Smith.”

“You too,” she almost whispered.

John strode down the corridor to his office, and closed the door.

Jane could hear the flirtatious laughter of Priscilla Bootkins from twenty feet away through the thin walls. She balled her fists, and then shoved a piece of typing paper behind the roller, unsuccessfully trying to straighten it against the paper guide.

“What’s got you all in a tizzy, Janie?” asked Betty Anderson.

“Nothing. I’m fine. I just can’t get this ridiculous piece of paper to go in straight is all.” It was wrinkled and just wouldn’t do. The gears whirred as she yanked it out, balled it up, and dropped into the bin under her desk.

oOo

“Quick, Miss Smith!” John planted his hands on her desk, and leaned into her until they were almost nose to nose. “I need the name of a device that takes over someone’s mind and controls their actions!”

His breath smelled of peppermint candy. His after-shave was a blend of heady, exotic spices. She imagined herself on a veranda overlooking the azure blue, Mediterranean Sea, the sun low in the sky, his arm pulling her into his warm side. She would rest her head on his shoulder and then he’d turn his head and look down at her lips and then he’d dip his head and —

“I can see those gears whirring in your head.”

Jane almost squeaked after he rolled the R’s. Why did he have to be Scottish, too? she thought.

“Do you have something brilliant for me?” He raised his eyebrows.

Roused out of her daydream, her head snapped back to him. “The idea of someone controlling your mind is a bit terrifying, Mr. Smith.” She bit her lip.

“Of course. It wouldn’t be an adventure without a bit of a scare now, would it?” He leaned even more closely.

Jane looked up at the ceiling. “Mind… Mind… Mindthief. Mindrobber. Thought-Thief.” She paused and shook her head. “No. The name shouldn’t sound like a machine. It’s more frightening that that.” She opened her eyes and looked up at him. “The victim’s mind is controlled by a Puppeteer.”

“A Puppeteer,” he whispered, furrowing his brows, his dark eyes unwavering from hers. “Fine job, Miss Smith. Fine, fine job.”

She nodded quickly, and then turned her attention back to her typewriter, the memory of peppermint candy and bay rum lingering.

oOo

“Good afternoon, Miss Smith. How is your day coming along?” John asked Jane.

Jane quickly swallowed a bite of the snack she’d been eating and cleared her throat of the crumbs. “It’s fine.” She held the half-eaten piece of shortbread so tightly that it was about to crumble.

“Do you like shortbread, Miss Smith?”

“Yes. It’s fine, Mr. Smith.” She smiled shyly.

“What a coincidence! I like shortbread, too! We’re full of coincidences, aren’t we? First John David Smith and Jane Donna Smith. And now we both like shortbread!” He nabbed a piece, and pushed the whole thing into his mouth. “But then again,” he said, mouth full, “I think it’s a rule that I like shortbread. I’m Scottish. I have to like it, don’t I?” He took a second piece, and a third. “Oh, this is very good. Very good. First chance I’ve had to try it. I brought it in this morning. There’s a fantastic little bakery near my flat. They make the most delicious banana nut loaf, too…”

His voice drifted off as she imagined herself seated across from John at one of those little tables for two on a streetcorner café in Paris. The sun would be rising, and the air would be pink and crisp and off in the distance someone would be playing La Vie en Rose on an accordion. He’d take her hand, which he was already holding across the table, and kiss her knuckles, and then whisper—

“I have a brilliant idea!” he exclaimed.

Jane was knocked out of her rose-coloured reverie.

“I’ll have to bring banana nut loaf in next time. Make sure you take a piece or two of the shortbread before it’s all gone, Miss Smith.” He winked. He turned on his heel as he shoved another piece into his mouth.

Jane’s cheeks turned a delightful shade of pink as she watched him leave the room. She checked for onlookers before she daintily picked up a second wedge to savour later.

You’ve gotten yourself into a fine mess, Jane Smith. You are not fine. Not fine at all.

oOo

Jane’s attention was captured as John ambled down the hallway at a slower pace than was usual for him. His suitcoat was draped over his shoulder held casually with his pointer finger. His kissable lips were pursed as he whistled a Sinatra tune. If he weren’t whistling, he would have been smiling. She could see happiness in the crinkles around his eyes. A bit of late afternoon stubble graced his jawline, but his hair was still perfectly in place — except, of course, for that one delicious piece of his fringe that framed his brown eyes.

Jane’s eyes glazed over as she paused her typing for a moment. She imagined those lips not whistling, but kissing. They would be so soft as he gently, ever so gently, pressed his against hers. It would be under the moonlight, and he’d be a complete gentleman. Holding her close, but not too close. And his arms would be warm and strong.

She let the thought drift away as he ambled on by her desk.

The whistling stopped.

Jane’s stomach lurched as out of the corner of her eye she could see the handsome man returning. She fought to focus her attention on the keyboard, but her fingers slipped, and she misspelled miss as kiss. Her desk lurched as her foot slipped, kicking the desk leg.

“Everything all right, Miss Smith?” Mr. Smith asked kindly.

“Fine. Everything’s fine,” she stuttered. The top button of his shirt was undone, and his tie, loose.

“It’s two minutes until five o’clock on a Friday. I think it would be all right if you left two minutes early, don’t you?”

She shook her head and bit her lip. “I couldn’t do that, Mr. Smith. I—“

“I give you permission. That is my manuscript you’re working on after all. I recognize my own scrawl on those notes.” He looked at his watch, and tapped it. “And now it’s one minute until five. Time to go home for the weekend.”

“Well, I suppose I could tidy up now.” Jane picked up the stack of unused paper and tapped it so it was perfectly square. She placed her pencil in front of her typewriter, and then straightened her inbox.

“So what were you working on so diligently before I interrupted you?” Mr. Smith reached in front of Jane, flipped the paper release, and pulled the paper out.

Jane squeaked as she watched Mr. Smith scan the page. His eyes stopped on the last line. “Hmm. I don’t remember this sentence going this way.” He cleared his throat. “Iris looked up at the Professor with longing. ‘I’ll kiss you, Professor. I’ll never stop.’” A slow smile appeared.

“I’m sorry for the error, Mr. Smith. I was about to correct it when you happened by. My fingers slipped, and—“

“It’s fine, Miss Smith.” He leaned closer. “But there isn’t kissing just yet.”

“Oh… I…”

“You’re fine!” He lowered his voice, and nearly whispering said, “You’ll get to type that word soon enough. Where’s the fun in rushing things?” He winked at her.

Jane pushed her glasses up her nose and blinked once.

“Miss Smith, have I ever told you that you do fine work? Of all of the typists, you are the finest.” He grinned. “Well would you look at that. It’s officially five o’clock. Off you go! Have a good weekend, Miss Smith.”

John resumed his musical exit, but this time he sang. “A fine romance, with no kisses. A fine romance, my friend this is…”

Jane’s belly flipped and she dropped her face into her hands. You’re going to be fine, Jane Smith. Just fine.

oOo

Bess slipped on a stylish black coat and tugged on a pair of red kid driving gloves. “What are you going to do on this dreary Saturday, darling?”

“Nothing special.” Jane looked out the window and took a sip of tea. Rain pelted the pane.

“I’m afraid I won’t be back until later this evening, darling. Luncheon with Mother always turns into dinner. I hope you won’t be terribly lonely.”

“I’m never lonely when I have a something to read. I’ll be fine.”

As soon as the door closed behind Bess, Jane rushed into her bedroom and pulled out her favourite book. She ran her hand over the cover, tracing the face of the Professor. She closed her eyes as she clutched it to her chest and sighed in anticipation. “A whole day with the Professor and Iris,” she said to herself. “A whole day with John Smith.”

She didn’t daydream this time — reading John’s book would draw her inside of a daydream.

Oh yes, just for today, she was going to be just fine.

oOo

John paced the length of his flat. He’d been wearing a hole in the hardwood for at least fifteen minutes now. He groaned. This arrangement with Priscilla wasn’t working. At all. He was not fine. He’d lost his ability to write. He was constantly in need of help. Thank heaven for Jane Smith — his very own Muse. Without Jane, he wouldn’t have been able to get anything on paper.

He thought back to yesterday afternoon. He laughed at Jane’s typo and the terrified look that had been on the shy girl’s face. “Kiss instead of miss. That’s really quite funny.”

Iris looked up at the Professor with longing. ‘I’ll kiss you, Professor, and I’ll never stop.’

“No kissing. Not yet.” He ran a hand through his hair and dropped onto the black leather sofa. But he couldn’t seem to shake that sentence from his thoughts. “But it does feel right — the Professor kissing Iris. I’ll make it happen. Soon.”

As clear as a memory, he let the future scene play out in his head. His beloved Iris would be locked in a passionate embrace with the Professor. He’d cradle her head and dip her — but only just slightly. She’d have one hand in his hair, and the other low on his back. And the world would fade away as they whispered the truth of their hearts into each others lips.

“It’s going to be fine, Smith. It’s going be fine.” If he repeated it enough, maybe he’d actually believe it.

[hobbitsetal]

3:7

Likewise, husbands, live with your wives in an understanding way, showing honor to the woman as the weaker vessel, since they are heirs with you of the grace of life, so that your prayers may not be hindered.

[the Bible is a very even-handed book, which i deeply appreciate. women are charged to submit to their husbands, husbands are charged to take care of and serve their wives. 

what does that look like, anyway, any why do we care? women need to know because we should 10/10 have standards for how we are to be treated. (not to say our fellow sinners will always treat us exactly as we should be treated, but on both sides we should have an unbiased standard to measure ourselves against.) men need to know because they need to know what’s expected of them. so:]

live with your wives in an understanding way,

[i was gonna try to be original, but Matthew Henry said what i was trying to think of, except he said it better: “Cohabitation, which forbids unnecessary separation, and implies a mutual communication of goods and persons one to another, with delight and concord. (2.)Dwelling with the wife according to knowledge; not according to lust, as brutes; nor according to passion, as devils; but according to knowledge, as wise and sober men, who know the word of God and their own duty.”

live with her, as an equal entitled to share in everything you have. live with her as a companion, a lover, and a support system. according to knowledge--not lust or passion, but understanding how she ticks, what she needs, what delights her. 1-6 challenges women not to nag their husbands; 7 challenges husbands to remove the need for nagging. (i say need...it’s apparently not a need if Peter tells us not to do it...) my dad and another man in our church have both told us young adults that it is a husband’s duty and pleasure to study his wife. my dad can fix my mother’s tea the way she likes it. Mr. Carl knows that if he leaves sweet little notes around the house, he’ll make his wife feel beloved, my brother dotes on his wife emotionally, buys her beautiful things, gives her a budget to decorate their home however she wants. each of these women wouldn’t respond as the others would to the same actions. each of their husbands has learned how his own wife feels most loved.]

showing honor to the woman as the weaker vessel,

[first off, can we recognize the oxymoron here? honor the weaker vessel. honor the weak one. that’s so completely against the natural grain--in our flesh, we give honor to those who earn it, not to those who merit it simply by needing it.

Henry: “Giving honour to the wife —giving due respect to her, and maintaining her authority, protecting her person, supporting her credit, delighting in her conversation, affording her a handsome maintenance, and placing a due trust and confidence in her.”

heck, i’ll take that! a “handsome maintenance”, for the record, means living well, rather like my brother’s wife. husbands should not seek to be miserly with their wives. (and to be completely fair, this verse should be compared with some other commentators for balance’s sake. maybe tomorrow i’ll borrow my mom’s mantis app and go over this again with a few other theologians...) of course, the full thought here explains why the weaker vessel should be honored, and explains the inherent oxymoron:]

showing honor to the woman as the weaker vessel, since they are heirs with you of the grace of life

[*quiet screaming* OKAY do you see this?? there are so many cultures out there that devalue women, disbar them from inheriting or doing things, so much misogyny, LOOK AT THIS INSTEAD. “heirs with you of the grace of life” asdfghjkl lift your head up and let no one disrespect you, for we are princes and princesses before God Almighty!

okay. *deep breaths* focus. Henry (my man, Henry) says, “Because she is the weaker vessel by nature and constitution, and so ought to be defended: but then the wife is, in other and higher respects, equal to her husband; they are heirs together of the grace of life, of all the blessings of this life and another, and therefore should live peaceably and quietly one with another”

very chivalrous. but at this point, i’m kinda wondering, how are we women weaker than men? physically, in a lot of ways, is the most obvious answer. the average woman is not as strong as the average man. even working out extensively, most women can’t achieve the same physical goals a man can. (and so help me, if anybody comes into my inbox with examples of outliers, i will beat you over the head with my ESV study Bible. not really, that seems very disrespectful to the Word of God, but i will be irked.)

i’ve heard emotional weakness brought up, which makes sense. all the jokes about drama among women and none among men? there’s some truth to that. not as much as you’d think, because i know a lot of supportive women and i’ve known some dramatic men, but it seems to me that women overall are somewhat more prone to reading into situations. (i’d absolutely welcome further discussion on this point.)

i read a book on Biblical man and womanhood that argued men are better than women at abstract thinking--there was some study that supported this.

...heck, this whole topic, as well as the “showing honor” line deserves further study. i’m definitely coming back to this tomorrow.

when i’m not borderline late for work again.]