#i can’t remember where i read it but the idea of dick purposely hiding sincerity to put on a performance in gotham….. That Speaks 2 Me

[mysterycitrus]

This may be nothing, or a dumb thought, but I'm curious as your thoughts on Dick (despite being with Bruce for most of life) keeping the name Grayson as an homage to his parents and where he came from, and what might change for him with that name being a reference to Talon/the prophecy he was bred for instead?

beloved anon im gonna be so expeditiously for real with u right now and say i am the number one court of owls hater. the “gray son” is one of the dumbest retcons ive ever read. william cobb sounds like a frozen food mascot. everything about it on a metatexual level super sucks. tying dicks destiny to a preplanned prophecy by a sewer death cult completely delegitimatises the connection bruce makes that night at the circus — that anyone, rich or poor, can experience profound loss in an unjust system. the only thing i hate more is the joker being the one who killed the waynes. i simply do not see it 😌

anyway wrt the grayson name i like the idea that it was anglicised when they crossed the atlantic and then just stuck that way. dicks position in gotham vs the other wayne kids is thee most isolating and foreign — he’s lost every connection to his life and family, and he’s stuck in an unfamiliar city with a bunch of strangers in a big house on the hill. the same as with robin, it makes sense he’d cling to what he had left. he’d be stuck under a new spotlight, with a different audience, and to keep himself safe he’d hold onto the name grayson, protecting the memory of his parents, with both hands and never let go.

do i think he’d ever take the wayne name? eh, probably not. out of bruces kids (excluding duke for obvious reasons) i think neither dick or jason would ever change their names. if jason hadn’t died? maybe. but not now, and never again. the little dance dick and bruce have been doing round each other for twenty or so years where they are both father and son and best friends and brothers is so difficult to untangle that they don’t even try. bruce has nightmares in canon of being confronted by the graysons for taking their son from them. i imagine that while he’d never say it, whenever bruce hears dick referred to by paps as “richard wayne” there’s some deeply buried, burning pride. but he would never dare to speak it aloud.

[queenofthyme]

November Third (part eleven)

@o0o-chibaken-o0o I can’t believe I made you wait five days for this. I sincerely hope the dirty talk™ makes up for it.

bingo l part one l part two l part three l part four l part five l part six l part seven l part eight (a) l part eight (b) l part nine l part ten l part eleven l updates to come..

Draco held off for as long as possible. He toyed with the idea of passing November third altogether without talking to Potter but he knew he couldn’t go through with it. And now he’d left it too late to do anything remotely clever - like ‘accidentally’ running into Potter in the Ministry. No, there was nothing else for it. He was going to have to call.

Potter picked up right away. “Malfoy.” Shit.

Draco froze for a second and considered denying it…before realising how pointless that would be. “How did you know it was me?”

“What do you want?” Potter asked. He sounded tired.

“I never gave you my number.”

Potter ignored that. “What do you want?” He asked again.

Draco hadn’t actually thought that far ahead. He’d imagined that because it was November third, Potter would just be amenable to… Well, he didn’t think he’d have to work for what he was after, is all. “I just called...to check up on you. It’s been a year since your visit to St Mungo’s and protocol requires me to…to make sure you’re…healthy?” Yeah, that sounded believable.  

“Protocol,” Potter repeated drily. "And you call all your patients at 11.30pm, do you?”

Shit. Why had he left it so late? Abort abort abort. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you. I’ll -“

“I didn’t say it bothered me,” interrupted Potter. “I asked whether you call all your patients at 11.30pm or just me?”

Draco didn’t appreciate being interrogated like Potter did criminals now that he was a qualified Auror. “I don’t know what you’re insinuating, Potter. I’m just trying to be professional.”

“Of course. You were very professional when you attended to me.”

Draco felt his face grow hot - he was immensely glad Potter couldn’t see him at all. “That’s not - you initiated that."

“You enjoyed it,” Potter retorted, and Draco could just hear the smirk in his voice.

“So did you,” Draco returned.

There was a pause. When Potter spoke again, his voice had changed.

“Yeah, I did.”

Fuck. What right did Potter have to be so confident when Draco was scrambling not to make a fool out of himself? This was supposed to be easy. Draco needed to make a dignified exit. “Right, well you seem to be doing just fine. I’ll note that in your report and -“

“What are you wearing?”

Draco almost dropped the phone.“Excuse me?” Potter couldn’t just ask that.

“Your healers' robe?”

“No!” Draco answered automatically. Potter had a way of demanding answers. “Why are you -“

“Pyjamas, then? Silk ones I bet.”

“No.” Was that a dig? There was nothing wrong with silk pyjamas. A fact Potter should already know having had his own pair at Hogwarts, not that Draco ever received any thanks for that. “Don’t presume to - ‘

“What are you wearing then?” Potter probed. “Nothing? Please tell me you called me wearing nothing.”

“Potter!” Draco yelled into his phone. Yes, he’d hoped there would be some flirting (amongst other things) - that was the whole purpose of calling today after all - but Potter was just so cocky and in control of the situation. And yes that was hot as hell - but Draco wasn’t supposed to be the one to lose his composure first, and things were clearly heading in that direction.  “I’m wearing underwear for Merlin’s sake.”

“Just underwear?”

Potter was right of course. Draco had only been wearing his briefs when he called but Potter wasn’t supposed to know that. He wasn’t supposed to ask that. “What are you trying to do?”

"You’re the one who rang me in his underwear.” Shit - had Draco’s deflection been that obvious? “You weren’t thinking of initiating something, were you?”

“No,” Draco quickly denied. “I most certainly was not!”

“Then, why’d you call?” Potter asked, sweetly. Sweetly.

“I already told you I -“

“And I don’t believe you,” Potter said, cutting Draco off. “I think maybe you had something else in mind.” Although the way Potter said it, it was clear he knew exactly what Draco had in mind, no maybe about it.

Still, Draco didn’t give up his game so easily. “Just what would I have in mind exactly?”

Potter didn’t even hesitate. “Remember when you sucked -“

“Potter! Please!!” Draco interrupted reflexively. Potter was just so damn straightforward.

“Please what? Would you prefer if we talked about when I sucked -“

“Potter!” Draco yelled into his phone again, trying to hide his excitement at where the conversation had turned. “This is so inappropriate.”

“Right. Sorry.” Potter cleared his throat. “Did you have any questions?”

Draco was taken aback by Potter’s change in tone. “What?”

“About my recovery. Since you’re checking up on me and all.”

“Oh, yeah.” Draco hoped his disappointment wasn’t too obvious. “Do you have any of the same symptoms?”

“As in, do I still have no symptoms?” Fuck. “Then, yes.”

“And…um - “ Draco hesitated. Was he really going to do this? - “What are you wearing?” Yes, apparently he was.

“Nothing,” Potter said as casually as if he wasn’t revealing he was starkers.

Draco may or may not have dropped his phone at that point. He hoped Potter didn’t read into the loud clatter against his wooden floorboards. ��Nothing?” He repeated as he retrieved the phone. “You answered my phone call naked?”

“It’s 11.30pm,” Potter said shamelessly, as if that was all the excuse he needed. "I’m in bed.”

“You sleep naked now?” Draco tried to keep his voice as casual as Potter’s, but it wasn’t quite so level.

“Is that a problem?” Potter asked seriously.

“Er - no.”

“Do you think it will affect my health?”

What kind of question was that? What was Potter playing at? “No?”

“Then I don’t see why you’re asking about it,” Potter said, his faux sweetness returning. Oh.

Despite his protests, Draco rather did enjoy Potter’s cockiness and even his vulgarities within reason. But he couldn’t tell Potter that. ”I just - I just -“ Draco stumbled over his words trying to find the best way to ask for it, without actually asking for it - “Can you, er, go back to, er…”

“The way I was talking before?” Potter finished (thank Merlin).

“Yeah.”

“I was told,” Potter said in that teasing voice that Draco loved as much as he hated it, “that I was being inappropriate.”

“You were,” Draco said in a way he hoped conveyed his disapproval. “But I guess I don’t mind. It’s okay if you want to continue.”

Potter laughed, a loud charming sound that brought Draco back to many places at once, many different November thirds. “It’s okay, is it?” Potter asked, his words clearly articulated with a wide smile leftover from his laughter. "I don’t know how I feel about okay. I don’t want to be inappropriate unless I know you’re enjoying it.”

One of these days, when his horniness wasn’t clouding his mind, Draco was going to murder Harry Potter. But for now, he could only surrender to Potter’s infuriating desire to embarrass him. “I am."

“You are what?”

Potter was so fucking lucky Draco was horny. “I am enjoying it,” he reluctantly admitted.

That still wasn’t enough for Potter apparently. “How are you enjoying it?”

With his hand on his dick beneath his briefs. But those words didn’t just come naturally out of his mouth like they obviously did Potter’s. “Come on, do I have to talk like this?”

“So you want me to embarrass myself all on my own?”

“That was the idea, yes.”

Potter laughed again. “It doesn’t work that way, Malfoy.”

Somehow Draco figured Potter was going to say something like that. “Fine, but I - I don’t know what to say.”

“I’m sure you can think of something. It’s why you called me after all, isn’t it?”

Did Draco bother denying it? “Maybe.”

“Alright, keep playing coy then, Malfoy. Don’t worry, I know what you like. I know what you want to talk about. My cock, right? You want to hear how hard I am.”

“I bet you are,” Draco said without thinking. Potter was one horny fucking bastard. Not that Draco was complaining.

“What was that?” Perhaps it was just Draco’s imagination, but Potter didn’t sound so smug anymore.

“I said I bet you’re fucking hard. Lying around in your bed, naked, knowing I’d call, waiting for me to call. That’s fucking desperate, Potter.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Potter didn’t even have the decency to deny it. “I’m not into playing coy like you, Malfoy. I’m not embarrassed that I want you.”

I want you. The words hit Draco right in his fucking gut and, well…cock, his fucking cock. “I’m not embarrassed.”

“I didn’t say you were,” Potter said but his voice conveyed the opposite.

“Fine.” Draco huffed - how was it that Potter was always able to make him say the very things he didn’t want to say - despite how true they might be? “I want you too.”

“Then, what are we doing?”

“I don’t know.”

“Malfoy, if you’re going to make me wait a year again, you could at least help me get off now.”

Draco snorted. As if Potter should be the one to get off after the state he had left Draco in last year! “How romantic.”

“If you want romance, you can talk to me any other day of the year,” Potter said with the hint of the attitude he’d had when he’d answered the phone.

Well, Draco could give attitude just as good. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Potter sighed. “It means I’ll take what I can get, and right now, I’d like to get off. And so would you. Am I right?”

“Yes.”

“Then tell me what you’re doing with your other hand right now.”

Fuck. “Nothing,” Draco answered quickly, yanking his hand out of his underwear. Far too quickly to be believed. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“I thought so.”

Fuck.

“I wouldn’t be so quick to judge,” Draco retorted, thinking on his feet. “I can just imagine you on speakerphone so you can use both your hands to touch yourself, you greedy bastard.”

Potter made a noise - something between a snort and a whimper - before composing himself. “What a great idea, Malfoy. Thanks for the suggestion.”

Fucking Merlin. “You’re not - are you actually - what are you doing?” He couldn’t tell if Potter was having him on or not.

“Now,” Potter said, his voice half serious, half teasing, “in your imagination, how were you picturing my hands? Was it one on my cock, and perhaps the other playing with a nipple, or did you like the idea of both hands on - “

“Either -“ Draco coughed away the unintended squeak in his voice - “any - is fine.”

Potter’s soft laughter through the phone line did nothing to help Draco’s painfully hard cock. “I can’t quite work you out, Malfoy.”

That was something then - at least he hadn’t been too obvious. Not like Potter, the raging hormonal man. ’Don’t worry, I’ve got you pegged.”

Potter’s laughter wasn’t soft this time. “I’m sure you think you do.”

“Excuse me?”

Potter ignored that. “Tell me, Malfoy, are you into this? The phone sex I mean?”

The. Phone. Sex. Did no one teach Potter proper etiquette? “Potter, you can’t just announce - “

“Are. You. Into. It?”

Draco couldn’t see a way out of the question so he kept his answer non-committal - he couldn’t have Potter thinking the phone sex was the very reason Draco called or anything. That would be ridiculous. “I guess.”

“You really are something. Alright, I’m going to make this easy for you. I’m going to talk to you and tell you what I’m doing, and I’m sure you will hang up because I’ll be very, very vulgar. Far too vulgar for your sophisticated tastes. But if you happen to accidentally leave the phone line open and hear every second, then that’s none of my business.”

Draco couldn’t think of a single objection to Potter’s incredibly brilliant plan.

“I thought you’d like that,” Potter said, his voice a little raspier than before. Oh my gosh, was this Potter’s phone sex voice? There was a shuffling sound on the phone line and then: “I have to thank you for that speakerphone suggestion, Malfoy. It’s so much better when I can use both my hands, although I’d much prefer they were yours of course.”

Did Draco mention how brilliant this plan was? Careful to make as little noise as possible, Draco set his own phone on speaker as well, settling into his bed, ready to mimic Potter’s actions. Maybe this year, they’d actually both get off.

“I’m sure you’ve already hung up, Malfoy, but just in case you haven’t, perhaps you’d be interested to know that I’m taking things very slowly. I haven’t touched my cock yet - not like you, you naughty - “

“I’m not touching my cock!” Draco yelled out defensively, forgetting he was supposed to be pretending he wasn’t listening. Oh, fuck it all anyway. The bastard knew. He knew.

“What are you doing?”

“Lying here, bored, -“ perhaps that was a bit of an exaggeration or  an outright lie - “waiting for you to do something.” One outburst didn’t mean he was ready just to spit profanities like Harry fucking Potter.

Potter laughed. “My apologies for keeping you waiting, Malfoy. Slow isn’t really your style, is it? Would you rather I start straight at my cock and stroke myself for you? Can you hear that? That’s my hand sliding up and down my cock already. Is that what you wanted, Malfoy? Are you going to touch yourself in time with me, Malfoy? Go on, Malfoy. I’d love to hear you too.”

Draco was already pulling his briefs down, and grabbing a hold of his own cock as soon as it was exposed. He listened to the slick movements over the speaker - Merlin, just the thought of Potter with a hand on his dick! - and timed his own movements to match. With the sound of Potter’s laboured breathing filling his bedroom as well, it was almost as if Draco was the one stroking Potter. Almost.

“Yes, Malfoy, let me hear you. Touch yourself with me. Do you want to know what else I’m doing? I’m running my other hand across my chest, circling around my nipples, teasing but never touching. Do you want me to touch my nipples, Malfoy? I won’t unless you say.”

“Yes, touch them!” Draco yelled, even as he teased his own nipples. He was beginning to worry Potter might suspect he had not quite hung up the phone at all.

Potter made a sound that started off as a laugh and evolved into a soft moan. “Remember when you moaned around my cock, Malfoy? That was hot.”

Draco clearly remembered being laughed at so he wasn’t so eager to repeat the performance, but his body had other plans. He held himself off for as long as possible, releasing his own nipples to bite down on a fist. But when Potter added “I want to hear you” in that deep raspy phone sex voice, Draco let go. It started off as a small whimper but became more intense as Potter responded with his own moan - and spiralled into what sounded like a competition of who could moan the loudest. (Draco.)

“I’m close,” Potter whispered. “I wish I could come all over you.”

Draco should have been repulsed by the thought, and any other time he would have told Potter off for it, but right now, he couldn’t help but agree. He wasn’t so sure where his rational mind had disappeared to because he was imagining Potter kneeling above him on his bed, his come splashing onto Draco’s chest, his face, even his own cock, and that thought was far hotter to Draco than it should have been.

It led to the next thought -  Draco coming on Potter in return. An idea came to Draco immediately that he didn’t bother to talk himself out of. He reluctantly let go off his cock - temporarily! - to roll onto his side and fish through his bedside table drawers. He kept most copies of the Daily Prophet and he knew there was one where - yes, there it was!

“Wizarding Saviour on Path to Become Head Auror” the headline read. An image of Potter covered most of the page, his eyes flashing with undisguised anger as reporters shoved their cameras and quick-quotes quills in his face. He’d just come back from a raid and it showed - his shirt was loose, the buttons opening at the neck, his hair was as wild as it was after sucking cock (an image Draco would never forget) and despite his anger, his face still had that twinkle of residual excitement, the remaining adrenaline from his work still coursing through his body.

It was perfect.

Draco placed the paper on his bed by his pillow and kneeled over it, picturing Potter splayed out beneath him, naked and wanting - which wasn’t particularly difficult considering the sounds Potter was making now. It really did feel as if he were in the room.

Draco eagerly returned his hand to his cock and pulled himself off to the sound of Potter’s moans, to the flash of excitement and anger in his eyes, to the thought of what Potter was doing to himself on the other end of the phone line. The narration had stopped, replaced with only heavy breathing and moans, so the only thing Draco was sure of was that Potter was…enjoying himself.

And it must have been obvious that Draco was too. He’d completely given up holding back any of his own sounds - and if he was honest, the thought, the thrill, of Potter listening to him as he touched himself, only made Draco moan louder. He wanted Potter to hear him - he wanted Potter to hear the moment he came all over his face - or the image of his face at least. Not that he would ever let Potter know exactly what he was doing.

But Potter’s moment came first - Draco could tell by the change in pitch of Potter’s moans, and also the way he began whispering “Malfoy,” just like the last time he had come - and wasn’t that arousing.

Unfortunately, in the excitement of the moment, Draco forgot that perhaps he might have to talk to Potter again after this humiliating night and whispered “Yes, Potter, come on me,” in response. Although, it was clear Potter appreciated it from the muffled grunt that came through the phone line.

That was all it took for Draco’s own orgasm to start, the residual panting from Potter egging him on, Potter’s eyes challenging him, daring him to - and oh fucking Merlin, there it was. The first splash of come on Potter’s face and wasn’t that a fucking spectacular sight? The rest came out of Draco in a brilliant high, all the while Potter blinked up at him.

When the high subsided and Draco’s cock was well and truly spent, he dropped down to the bed beside his now come-covered edition of The Daily Prophet, slowly regaining control of his breathing. He could hear Potter still doing the same.

Potter! In his post-orgasm state, Draco felt the embarrassment hit him again. His face flushed with the thought of all the ridiculous things he had said to Potter. What were they supposed to say to each other now? His eyes darted over to the clock by his bedroom door - 11.59pm. It was late. Perhaps Draco could pretend he fell asleep and - 11.59pm. Shit. Draco rolled over to the phone in impressive post-orgasm speed and pressed the end call button.

He dropped back to his bed, exhausted. Fuck.

Bingo progress...

@o0o-chibaken-o0o yeah okay, you got it. You’re brilliant and amazing and here you are, you got phone sex which I know you wanted so yay. 

No bingo yet (OMG) so you have to guess again. And also maybe be prepared to wait for the next chapter since someone decided to arrange three work events in the one week (fml). 

Also, I am so sure there are typos in this because I had to rush to get to work. THE PHONE SEX WAS MORE IMPORTANT THAN TYPOS. I made this sacrifice for you. Hope you appreciate. 

[news-mashable-yahoopartner-blog]

9 celebrities that have mastered the art of trolling

It's Troll Week on Mashable. Join us as we explore the good, the bad, and the ugly of internet trolling.

Here's something you might not realize: Celebrities are some of the best trolls on the internet.

Just think about it. They're online constantly, they have millions of people praising and criticizing them daily, and most of them won't suffer fools. Whether they're clapping back at insults, or slinging their own, they're A-list trolls.

SEE ALSO: Ken M and the lost art of 'do no harm' trolling

You don't even have to be a fan of most mega-famous celebrities in order to appreciate their sharp responses and quick-witted lampoons online. For example, I've never listened to a full Cher album — I know, I'm sorry — but her Twitter game has turned me into one of her biggest fans.

If you can appreciate a good troll, here are nine expert celebrity experts you need to follow:

1. Rihanna 

Rihanna doesn't have time for anyone's bullshit. Not now, not ever. And that's precisely what her online presence conveys.

Earlier this month, she jokingly shared an Instagram meme to lightly roast her fans who keep asking for new music. 

View this post on Instagram

i feel attacked. ***valley girl who’s never been attacked voice*** R9 chronicles.

A post shared by badgalriri (@badgalriri) on Oct 4, 2018 at 6:00am PDT

But Rihanna has been coming for her haters for a long time —  like Piers Morgan, her exes, and just about everyone else. Not to worry though, Riri can handle herself just fine.

“@piersmorgan: ps I think @Rihanna needs to grow her hair back. Fast.” grow a dick..... FAST!!!!

— Rihanna (@rihanna) September 9, 2012

View this post on Instagram

#🏆

A post shared by badgalriri (@badgalriri) on Oct 8, 2016 at 7:29pm PDT

2. Chris Evans

Leave it to Captain America to take an active stance against President Donald Trump.

If you follow Chris Evans, then you know he can't resist taking a shot at Trump whenever he does something particularly despicable, like when he insulted Dr. Christine Blasey Ford after her powerful testimony, discussed Russia's involvement in the American election, or after his press conference following the deadly Charlottesville protest in 2017. 

Evans' ongoing political trolls definitely make him one of the best Chrises. Or, the worst. I honestly can't tell at this point.

Are you kidding me? Are you kidding me with this? What is the purpose of this? Was there no other vitriol you could spew to rile up your base and deepen this country’s divide? You used THIS?? Do you even understand the message you’re sending? Where is your sense of human decency? https://t.co/SdEh7fFLtL

— Chris Evans (@ChrisEvans) October 3, 2018

It’s ‘counsel’, Biff. The word is ‘counsel’. I was trying to comprehend how in the world a man, even as moronic as you, can misspell a word he probably reads fifty times a day. But then it dawned on me, you probably only HEAR the word. You don’t read shit. And we all know it. https://t.co/7zZGZRZtkF

— Chris Evans (@ChrisEvans) August 20, 2018

Is anyone else watching this?!? Wow...it's like watching a train wreck!! 'Before I make a statement I need the facts'?! Since when??

— Chris Evans (@ChrisEvans) August 15, 2017

3. Billy Eichner

He began as a major troll on the streets of New York City, but comedian Billy Eichner now takes to Twitter to air his grievances, most of which happen to be political these days.

Maybe you remember when he tweeted this message to help distract many of us from reality?

Choosing to believe that the fireworks over the Capitol today were for the Will & Grace reboot.

— billy eichner (@billyeichner) January 20, 2017

Or, perhaps you're more familiar with one of his more recent tweets slamming Senator Susan Collins.

Susan Collins about to bring out Louis CK for a quick set

— billy eichner (@billyeichner) October 5, 2018

Regardless, Eichner's roasts and digs will always be hilarious.

Can I play Lindsay Graham in the movie? I’m very good at shouting random nonsense.

— billy eichner (@billyeichner) September 27, 2018

4. Ryan Reynolds

I probably don't need to tell you that Ryan Reynolds is amazing when it comes to trolling people online, so let's just take this moment to appreciate his greatest online hits.

Including that time he wished his wife Blake Lively a very happy birthday.

View this post on Instagram

Happy Birthday to my amazing wife.

A post shared by Ryan Reynolds (@vancityreynolds) on Aug 25, 2017 at 8:20pm PDT

Or, when he wished someone else's wife a happy anniversary.

Angela. 11 years went by like a lemonade daydream. Words are too clumsy to express what your love means to Jason—which is probably why he had me say it for him. https://t.co/85OuBIC6Zy

— Ryan Reynolds (@VancityReynolds) August 18, 2018

But his best trolling work is done when he comes for the thing he loves the most: his children.

I'd walk through fire for my daughter. Well not FIRE, because it's dangerous. But a super humid room. But not too humid, because my hair.

— Ryan Reynolds (@VancityReynolds) September 11, 2015

5. Lili Reinhart

Lili Reinhart, has made herself extremely vulnerable online, opening up about issues with break outs, anxiety, and relationships. Naturally, she's become a target for harsh online criticisms, but she has taken to responding to even the rudest comments with brilliant humor.

When people questioned what happens in Reinhart's relationship in September, she kindly cleared a few things up.

No no... I tell him to touch me ~everywhere~ and then we eat Chinese food. Get your facts straight, Emily. https://t.co/DNd8oBegMA

— Lili Reinhart (@lilireinhart) September 19, 2018

The actress also wasn't afraid to clap back at a now-deleted tweet criticizing her weight a year ago. Time goes on, but Reinhart's wit prevails.

Thank you so much for being concerned about my weight, I'll respond later after I finish my double cheeseburger 😘 https://t.co/5FVhso3VOl

— Lili Reinhart (@lilireinhart) May 3, 2017

6. Chrissy Teigen

Pretty much everything model, cookbook writer, and social media maven Chrissy Teigen says online is funny. But Teigen is by far her most hilarious self when she's clapping back at her haters.

Like, that time she criticized Trump, and was told she doesn't live in the "real world."

Yeah I am watching from a fucking throne in space. https://t.co/FVUlhHijFf

— christine teigen (@chrissyteigen) January 28, 2017

Or, when she pretended she didn't know where her baby was.

i dunno i can't find her https://t.co/fEj8rFHEMI

— christine teigen (@chrissyteigen) April 24, 2016

And, when she pointed out the hypocrisy of a person following her if they're not really a fan.

You have three (3) followers and follow me. https://t.co/N9n3UO2GhI

— christine teigen (@chrissyteigen) March 27, 2017

7. Zendaya

If there's one person unwilling to sit back and take criticism, it's Zendaya. The actress has been calling out people on Twitter for years now, and has become known for her smart responses online.

She eloquently called out former E! News host Giuliana Rancic for making a racist comment about her hair in 2015.

pic.twitter.com/q0fOYrv3gc

— Zendaya (@Zendaya) February 24, 2015

Now, the actress mainly serves sarcastic comments to her followers, and has directed most of her energy online into urging people to vote. A more than worthy use of her massive platform.

I’m hilarious. Fact. https://t.co/rhh3eCfiXu

— Zendaya (@Zendaya) September 4, 2018

Mind your business lol https://t.co/4DvzROZvrl

— Zendaya (@Zendaya) October 2, 2018

Have you registered to vote? If not, do that shit!

— Zendaya (@Zendaya) October 7, 2018

8. Dax Shepard and Kristen Bell

There are tons of celebrity couples that love to troll each other online, but none do so as expertly as Dax Shepard and Kristen Bell.

Bell complains about Shepard's...unique home decorating ideas.

View this post on Instagram

This is not a bit. @daxshepard has sincerely suggested the new home for the lazy boy from his office be in the center of my living room. He made an adorable argument about how epic his TV viewing experience will be if I let him keep it there. The man has lost his mind. #chiphappens

A post shared by kristen bell (@kristenanniebell) on Feb 22, 2017 at 3:24pm PST

Shepard jokingly tweets about leaving Bell for a booze guzzling motorcycle-queen.

So sorry @IMKristenBell, never thought this would happen, but I've met someone else. pic.twitter.com/rtujobtUs6

— dax shepard (@daxshepard) June 14, 2016

But, even better than when they're trolling each other is when they're coming after people who criticize their relationship. For instance, when Shepard blasted Star for attempting to write a story about the possible decline of their marriage.

View this post on Instagram

The only offensive thing about this bullshit story is that @kristenanniebell isn't doing all this kinkiness out of horniness, but rather a desperate attempt to save her marriage. I think we all know Bell is a lot more gangster than that. I'll now give you until 4PM to comment, Star.

A post shared by Dax Shepard (@daxshepard) on Oct 10, 2018 at 3:01pm PDT

Bell later took to Instagram to comment, saying that she'd love to comment, but "its hard to talk with this ball gag in!" Classic.

9. Cher

Cher is the absolute master when it comes to singing and acting, but perhaps her greatest gift is her ability roast and toast everyone with the greatest of ease.

The singer and actress routinely criticizes Trump, but beyond political outrage Cher is willing and waiting to take on anyone who dares question her. 

Please just take a look at the cornucopia of delicious trolls that Cher has given us:

little Bo Peep She Lost Her Sheep, & Doesnt Know Where 2 Find Them. Little Bro Trump Has Doubled his Rump,& Doesn’t know where 2 Hide it

— Cher (@cher) April 20, 2017

I got a colonic.RT @lolyabitch @cher how did you celebrate Madonna's birthday?

— Cher (@cher) August 21, 2012

IM NOT YELLING… IM CHER👻

— Cher (@cher) June 22, 2016

ipad freezing up! Maybe it’s overwhelmed,because it Just realized A Fabulous DIVA Was touching it ! Can’t really Blame it, “SNAP OUT OF IT”

— Cher (@cher) March 7, 2013

Truly a delightful thing to behold.

WATCH: Actually, Banksy meant to shred the whole painting. Now it's likely worth much more.

[iwannabearomancewriter]

Chapter 1:

Five years later…

“Here he comes!” I hear frantic whispers from outside my sad excuse of an office behind my circulation desk. I rolled my eyes to myself. I can hear all of the yoga pant wearing stay at home moms shuffling over to the window that faces the park and the playground. I chuckle remembering one of the younger volunteers sharing a joke with me last week about how the yoga pants were sad because they'd never be used for their intended purpose. I am wearing my most professional librarIan apparel of black pants, form-fitting white button down with black cardigan, and sensible black Mary Janes. Yes, it was the typical uniform of the mourning, but I wore it with style. I had lost my married weight over the years, so I now wear fitted women's shirts with pride. I pushed the tips of my shocking red bangs off my face for what seemed like the thousandth time today. In a moment of weakness last year, I decided to chop off my flowing waist-length locks only to chicken out after the stylist slashed only my bangs. So, now instead of looking classic and stylish, I looked like a recovering lobotomy patient. This afternoon I am hiding in my office trying to avoid the well-meaning moms who feel the need to find me my next husband. I've told them I will never remarry, but they think if I just meet the “right one” I’ll change my mind. I haven't told my library moms with their 2.5 kids about my gay ex-husband, so they think my attitude is unjustified. Ha! As if. My ninja skills are severely lacking because I can see through the window that someone has discovered my super secret hiding place. My assistant leans in the doorway with the biggest grin on his face.

“No playground for His Hotness today, Olivia! He's got a bag on his shoulder and he's headed this way!” Mark has a glimmer in his eye. He’s drunk the soccer mom, delusion-inducing Kool-Aid right along with the rest of them. These people think a middle aged librarian with no man and no prospects needs saving. Not bloody likely. I'm not British, I just like that phrase.

“Ladies... And gentleman.” I clear my throat to give all of the moms a chance to face me. Every week. It's like after they gave birth their hormones could not be stopped by logic or librarians. “It appears as if our bi-weekly entertainment is heading our way. Quickly return to your seats and buckle your smirks and sighs until the DILF has left the premises.” I kid you not, this spectacle I am witnessing happens twice a week. Mr. Hot Dad brings his daughter to the park twice a week. Of those two days, one of them includes a special visit to the public library to exchange his daughter’s books. The moms and Mark make quick work of looking like they weren't totally drooling over the man-candy now walking through the door. Their conversations start in the middle of sentences like they’ve been talking his entire time. Damn. They are good! In walks a man sent from the gods of some Latin country where men are steeped in the fine art of machismo… In a good way. Manliness just envelops him. You get too close, you could burn right through your panties. Papí struts back to the children’s section looking straight at me with an expression on his face that could be interpreted as “I am the man of your wettest dreams” or “Did I leave the iron on?”. I'm going to take a wild guess and say that this incredible specimen of man-candy does not iron.

I try to look as cool and calm as possible. I hate having to talk to the man when all of the hens in the henhouse are listening and watching. I and my total awkwardness around this man are their favorite form of entertainment.

Don't get me wrong, I love these ladies and their kids. Most of them are wealthy families who, upon discovering the Little Missus would be bringing forth their progeny, made sure to read every parenting book. Good, upper middle-class, hard working families who want to give their kids a head start in life. Their fervor for their children drives them to teach little Gertrude how to read by the age of three. Their children are smart, hardworking, and well rounded by all of their books and extracurriculars. Plus, I love my regulars. My stay-at-home moms who are just looking for something to fill the time until their darlings are ready to be driven to soccer, swimming, gymnastics, chess club; you get the idea. But through me they get to live vicariously. And they think this is a good thing! Little do they really know.

Forget that I'm a professional with an advanced degree attempting to teach their kids to have a lifelong love of reading. Forget that I've spent the past five years getting divorced, getting my Masters, and getting a real job and a comfortable enough existence after my husband left me… For Steve. God. Can this be over now? They all think this married guy is great practice for getting my confidence back. I just can't bring myself to tell them that the good lovin’ days are gone. Or more accurately, never were to begin with.

“Excuse me? Are you the librarian?” the extra tall panty melter with the broad shoulders and the hella deep baritone asks assertively.

I straighten my shoulders and walk out of my office with a forced smile on my face. I extend my hand politely, “Olivia Hastings. Yes, I'm the librarian.” I look him in the eye trying to convey that this is my domain and you will not fuck with me, but as soon as our eyes meet, that's when time stops. Happens. Every. Single. Time.

His eyes. I am such a sucker for brown eyes, but these are such a deep brown that I can't tell where his irises stop and pupils begin. I have never seen such lush eyes in my life. His eyelashes are so long that women across the planet are crying at the unfairness of it all.

He’s still shaking my hand... I think.

Is it warm in here? Or have I finally entered menopause? Sure I'm only thirty nine, but it could happen. It ain't like I'm getting any younger.

The heat radiating from my reproductive organs has been kick started after at least five years of neglect. Definitely not menopause. Good to know.

I drop my hand like it's on fire. On fire from the hotness standing in front of me. Gah! Get it together Olivia! He's a dad. He's a married dad! Dad, dad, dad, dad… DAD!

I lower my eyes to floor hoping to all things holy that he did not just hear my internal dialogue.

“Sebastian Arroyo. Pleasure to meet you.” I can almost hear a faint smile along with a very faint accent in his voice. Dios mio! Mr. Hot Dad shall henceforth be known as Señor Papí Calienté. Spicy! No. Picanté! Muy bien. Yep, he heard you. Stop it.

I look up at him again attempting a genuine smile, and I can feel my skin blush from the top of my head all the way to my girly parts. And when redheads blush? There's no hiding it. Nope. He knows exactly what I'm thinking or he's the most clueless DILF in North America. I see a mirthful light dance in his darkest gaze. I lower my eyes to the floor again.

“Is there something I can do for you, sir?” Or to you? Stop now!

“Yes. Mrs. Hastings…”

“Ms.” That wasn't obvious or anything. I cough to clear my head more than my throat. “Ms. Hastings.”

“My apologies. Ms. Hastings” he tilts his head forward just a bit, like he’s bowing his apologies. Nice. “I just finished talking to my daughter, and she reported to me that she has lost one of the books we borrowed months ago,” he states.

Oh yes. His daughter, Alexis. That poor girl. She loses everything she touches. With a dad that well put together, you'd think some of that Type A would have rubbed off on her, but, alas, no. Clueless would be a polite term for Alexis. And mom? She brings little Alexis by the library, too. However, she doesn't pay nearly as much attention to her daughter as Señor Papí does. Plus, the little missus might have been pretty once, but now there's so much plastic involved in her features, it's hard to tell what is her classic beauty and what is manufactured tripe. And you know that it's poisoned her brain as well. Ditzy as the day is long. What he sees in that god-awful woman I can only guess. And my guess? Papi here fell in love with whatever freaky shit she did with that pussy, and girlfriend fell in love with his cash. A marriage made in heaven. Insert eye roll here.

“Yes. I know Alexis,” I smile as sincerely as possible and direct my gaze to his ear. “Very sweet girl. I love her to pieces. But, she does have quite a difficult time keeping track of her library books,” and her brain.

Olivia, behave. It’s not like you're anyone to talk. How many times have you lost your keys today? Four and it’s not even noon. Pot? Meet kettle.

I attempt to look him in the eye again, but I just can't seem to do it. The stupid things flitting across my thoughts will blurt out if I don't keep my wits about me. The brief look I get of his face has me quickly turning away from him. Oh, look! My computer! I can use that for looking up books… And… Stuff. Go there, Olivia. The computer is your friend.

Mr. Arroyo follows me to my desk and speaks again, “Yes. This past year has been difficult for Alexis. Her mother and I,” he looks around the library as if to make sure he's not overheard. “We separated back in January. She has taken it very hard. Also, the custody arrangement is not ideal. I am not there to help her stay organized, and her mother, how can I say politely?… The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

Holy. Shit. Señor Calienté is Señor divorciado Calienté! So he does see that his ex-wife is a plasticized ho. I gain a little respect for him in that moment, and I do a little dance inside my head. Right, Olivia. Like you've got a shot with this guy. The last man who got a piece of that is gay, remember, sexy lady? Okay, it's not like you turned him gay, that's not how it works and you know it. Still. You have less than a zero percent shot with Papi here, so keep it real, babe. Now, act like you know your business, and let the nice man-candy go on his merry way.

Reality throat fucks dicks in hell.

“Well, looking at her record, I can see that the book she lost is only a $4.00 paperback. I'm happy to just waive the cost, now that I know what's going on at home,” I reply with as much concern, gravitas, and not-glee in my voice as I can muster.

“Oh, no. That is not acceptable,” Sebastian replies forcefully. My eyes drift to the floor again. Would you look at that awesome industrial carpet? Oooh! A dime! I bend over to pick it up from the floor, and now I have something else to keep my attention. Score.

“Of course I will pay for the book,” Mi Papí continues. “I just wanted to make you aware of Alexis’s predicament. Divorce is hardest on the children, wouldn't you agree, Ms. Hastings?” He lowers his head to try to look into my eyes again, and his tone holds something I can't put my finger on. Our eyes connect, and it's like he can read me like a flashing sign on the strip in Vegas. I would almost wager that I can hear a tad of something lustful in his voice, and it's not just my overactive imagination. I swear!

“Well, speaking from experience, sir, I think divorce is hard on everyone involved,” I reply softly. I cannot believe I just said that. I said those words, and I looked through my lashes as I said them. I am flirting with him. I don't flirt with anybody. I gave up that dream a long, long time ago. What thirty nine year old divorcée librarian would dare flirt with a man so obviously out of her league? And seeing as most men that I find attractive are out my league? This is why I don't flirt. It's bad form for someone like me. We stand for several beats holding each other in our eyes. I could be mistaken, by all rights I'm sure I am, but I really think I see a little flirt action coming off of him, too.

No. Way. No way does Señor Calienté flirt with Olivia the Spinster LibrarIan. In no universe does that happen. Ever.

“Please,” he says, “Call me Sebastian.”

“Oh. Of course, sir,” I reply hastily blushing all the way. “Sebastian. Sir. I'm sorry. Good manners were drilled into me since birth,” I continue blushing wildly and rushing my words. I flip the dime over my fingers like I'm attempting a magic trick.

“And may I call you Olivia?” he asks so sweetly. I raise my eyes thinking, Honey, you can call me anything your little heart desires.

“Yes. By all means, please. Olivia… Yes… Sir… Sebastian,” my words just sort of stutter and putter until I run out of steam. You are so the epitome of smooth. Wow, a baby’s butt has nothing on your smoothness.

Sebastian pulls out his wallet and removes a ten dollar bill. “Oh,” I say shaking my head, “Please. On the house. I insist,” I move to push the money back towards him, but I stop short knowing if I actually touch him, I will most probably spontaneously combust.

He gets it, I think, because a small smile and that light in his eyes returns as my eyes quickly return to the beautiful industrial carpet.

“And, Ms. Hastings? Olivia?” He pauses. I would bet a million dollars he's doing that bending down thing to get me to look up again.

Why is he pausing? Why is he… Oh. Oh god, no. Nuh-uh. He wants me to look at him again. Please no. I can't. I hear a small cough. Shit. Piss. Fuck.

I look up reluctantly. The smile has given way to a stern, serious line of gorgeous lips.

“Thank you,” he says straightening his back as my eyes return to his. Cha-ching! One million dollars for the lucky, lucky lady! I see he's holding a card out to me. “Make sure to contact me in the future when you need anything to improve...,” and I swear he pauses. Pauses! “... The library you work so diligently to maintain.” It's not a request. The severe look on his face and the authoritative tone of his voice leave no doubt his words were most definitely not a request. They were a command. A command to call him when I need anything to improve… The library. With a pregnant pause. That pause was purposely left wide open for me to fill in with my pervy commentary. He just commanded you to call him. No. Olivia. Yo clueless? You have got to cut back on the alpha-male romances. That man did not command you. He's a lovely gentleman just looking out for his daughter and the library he supports. Señor Sexypants wouldn't flirt with some lowly libraran unless he was just doing it to make you feel better about your lot in life. Take your pittance, use him for your fantasies, and move the ever loving fuck on with your life.

I reach to take the card from him, and Señor Smoothness grabs, raises, and turns my hand over. The fire of passion blazes in the in dark centers of his eyes. I can feel the warmth of his exhale as he places the softest kiss on the inside of my wrist. White heat inflames my nethers. Guh. Ladies and gentlemen, all logic and reasoning have left the building. And the wetness in my panties could save California right about now.

“Thank you, again. Olivia.” He makes sure to enunciate every syllable of my name. He places the card and the ten dollars in my palm, folds my fingers around them, and gently releases my hand. Sebastian quite pointedly sears through my inhibitions with his dark, lush stare. Then, he smirks, turns, and walks out of the library.

What in the holy mother of hell was that?