it has now been made a fact that i need to do on set photography

Amelia (Part 1 of 3)

MASTERLIST | Part 2

Pairing: Lin-Manuel x Reader

Summary: You technically met Amy first.

Note: Untitled Garbage Mystery Fic is no longer Untitled or a Mystery!

Okay, so this was initially gonna be a small thing and then it kinda got away from me so it’s a slightly less small thing? I basically needed to write something that wasn’t academic for once in my life and then this happened (with a great deal of help from @fragmentofmymind who is the greatest and listens to me every time I hit a metaphorical writing speed bump)

It’s far from the best thing I’ve ever written but I’ve had fun in this universe so far (and hope you do too). Thanks for being patient with me, my dudes. I LOVE YOU LOTS.

Word Count: 11,336 (shout out to slow burn lmao)


There’s a quiet power in wielding a camera, a strength in the ability to either capture the world in its purest truth or manipulate it into something brand new. You had learned this at a young age, stealing your grandmother’s Polaroid camera and discovering how different the image you could create would look in different types of light and more or less motion, even if you didn’t fully understand why it worked the way that it did.

It became a part of you, filling your heart with a curiosity for telling stories through images. The photo you caught of your mother as she laughed quietly to herself in the kitchen, a snapshot of your best friend right at the moment she caught you taking it, a poorly framed photo you accidentally took of yourself while trying to change the roll of film.

It was all magical to you, and it never really stopped feeling like you’d tricked the universe into allowing such beauty to exist every time you snapped a one-of-a-kind photograph.

A camera is built out of complicated technology. The mechanics of focus and aperture, f-stops and shutter speed were more than science and math to you–they were your doorway into a new world, the look of which you got to decide.

Your hands felt most comfortable when stabilizing a camera, your eye most at home behind a viewfinder, your fingers their most graceful as you pulled focus to a new subject–

“Are you even listening to me?”

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Fragility {Part 1/3}

Originally posted by talk-me-down-troye

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Genre: Photographer Yoongi AU, angst, fluff, smut in second chapter

Warnings: Yoongi swears basically every other sentence, minor character death

“There are a lot of fucked up things about me, you know? And there’s a lot of fucked up things that have happened. But when I’m with you all of those things, yeah they still exist but it’s like they’re a lot further away, I don’t feel as if they’re eating me alive”

Part 2, Part 3


You met Min Yoongi, photography major and self proclaimed genius in your second year of college.

Even now every detail of that first encounter remained clear in your mind. That alone was almost a miracle considering your drunken state, normally any events of a night such as that would fade into a distant haze.

It was strange really, he had snuck up on you out of nowhere and like a hurricane, he was completely impossible to ignore, leaving havoc in his wake until he was all you could think about. It hadn’t been love at first sight, definitely not, but from the moment you laid your unsuspecting eyes on him he had consumed your thoughts until there was no room for anything else.

You often felt as if your entire life before Yoongi had simply been the calm before the storm.

He hadn’t even so much as formally introduced himself before he was shoving his beloved camera in your face, the white flash nearly blinding you. When he was done taking the picture, he stepped back and smirked, and you, bemused by the entire situation, smiled back. He then stepped out a little and with his nimble fingers, flicked the camera onto display mode, the photograph he had taken of you painting the small digital screen.

The colours were garish, the startled look in your eyes almost comical and the framing wasn’t quite right. That didn’t matter. You soon learnt that wasn’t what Yoongi’s photography was about at all.

He fiddled with the settings of his camera whilst you stood and watched him, unsure of what to do and whether you should introduce yourself. Your body was jostled by people swarming past and you silently wondered whether it would be okay for you to casually slip away along with them. However, just as you decided that you would, Yoongi looked up from his camera, staring directly at you.

“So, the two of you finally meet” you heard a voice coming from your right and you turned your head slightly to see your friend Seokjin approaching. He sidled up to the two of you with a strange smirk on his face. Seokjin had been trying to set you up with a date for months and you could practically hear the cogs in his brain ticking right now as your body filled with dread. You didn’t need this. You didn’t even want to be here. Your friend Taehyung had dragged you the entire walk down, insisting that you needed a night out after being pent up in your room studying for “aeons” as he called it.

Yoongi furrowed his eyebrows at Seokjin and gave him a pointed look. One that the older boy ignored.

“Not really, I don’t even know his name” you mumbled, practically edging to get away. Seokjin could sense this too and you knew there was no way in hell he was letting you get out of this situation.

“Well Y/N this is Yoongi, Yoongi this is Y/N” Seokjin said and you nodded awkwardly in Yoongi’s direction, refusing to make eye contact. Seokjin chuckled at your clear discomfort ”Taehyung and I have been anticipating the two of you to meet for months but it just never worked out” Seokjin explained.

Yoongi frowned, his eyes scanning over you quickly before focusing back on Seokjin. He had seemed just as uncomfortable as you did.

“Why?” you asked after a few moments of awkwardness.

Seokjin had an evil glint in his eye, one that you had quickly learnt to fear, because it always meant he was up to something devious. “You see, Yoongi here is a photography major and you Y/N, are a fine art major, I figured the two of you would have a lot in common”

You were about to protest when suddenly, for the first time, you heard Yoongi speak. For some reason you hadn’t expected his voice to be so harsh and dismissing, you’d expected it to be soft and gentle sounding. The contrast between his appearance and voice was actually a little startling.

“You seriously think that just because we’re both doing arts degrees that we’re going to get on well? Sometimes I can’t believe you’re older than me” he spoke, his words for some reason, felt like venom running through your bloodstream. Just as Seokjin was about to interject and defend himself, Yoongi started talking again “Besides, photography is nothing like fine art, all they fucking do is paint a few lines on a white canvas and act like it has some deep meaning. What bullshit”.

“Hey!” you cried out instinctively, the urge to defend yourself getting the better of you “You’re one to talk, studying for three years just to learn how to press a button? Anyone can do that”

It was strange. You weren’t usually the type to engage in those sorts of petty arguments. Neither was Yoongi, as you soon learnt. You didn’t generally get angry, instead you would choose to simply walk away and not concern yourself with other people’s stupidity. His harsh words that night had made your blood boil.

It had continued for a few more minutes. Vicious words flying back and forth between the two of you. After a while Seokjin finally took you away to the drinks table and Taehyung took Yoongi over to another group of people.

It was clear you were not going to get along. Your personalities clashed violently.

And that was that.

Your interactions with Min Yoongi should have ended there.

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Reggie Mantle x Reader: PART ONE: Undercover Serpent

Request: No. My idea. 😇

A/N: This idea came to mind and I had to write it out. There isn’t much interaction between the reader and Reggie yet because this is where the story starts.

Words: 1626

Summary: Reader is Joaquin’s sister, their parents are non-existent and the Southside serpents take them in. Joaquin is with Kevin and you hate that he’s lying to him. You may be a serpent, but you’ve never really cared for what they do all you wanted was to part of something. You’re undercover at Riverdale High because that’s your job to make sure no one knows much about what your people do and the only one that knows is Jughead because of his dad, but that just might change when a sudden Jock starts taking and interest in the mystery girl who nobody knows.

Spoilers: This imagine will have FP x Alice, Betty x Archie, Veronica x Cheryl, Joaquin x Kevin, Asexual Jughead because I can and I shall see my ships rise somewhere lol. Also in this imagine Hal Cooper & Alice have been divorced for a year because he didn’t support Polly and Jason so Alice filed for divorced because she’s a queen.

Warnings: N/A

Unlike the Riverdale everyone cherished to you it was just a place. A place with fake people as they wore their masks pretending to be high and mighty. They lurked in the shadows and in the sunlight they shined as they wore their masks proudly. You had seen enough growing up in the Southside of town. There was nothing nice about it, there was no hypocrites everyone showed their true selves. They were all corrupt but unlike the other side of town they didn’t care to hide their deeds.

You and your brother lived in a trailer park where Jughead’s dad FP lived like many in the Southside. He took a keen interest in you and Joaquin after your parents died. His own family had just left him, and Jughead went to live with Archie because he didn’t want to leave Riverdale.

You grew up with plenty of the kids on the Southside all mostly becoming serpents as you and Joaquin joined too, you needed a family after all and they took you in with arms wide open. Although unlike many of them you wanted an education, they all mostly dropped out of Riverdale High. They were so close to making you drop out until FP helped you out by saying you were undercover to stay updated on anything in the high school that may be of use to the serpents.

Nobody but the Southside and Jughead knew your identity of being a Serpent as he was sworn to secrecy because he knew you only did it because you wanted a family and they offered you just that, also because he was very much ashamed of his father.

You wore your leather jacket with pride outside of school feeling a bit out place while you roamed the halls of Riverdale high with just a plain sweater. You kept to yourself, quiet and observing when your head wasn’t stuffed in a book or doing homework just trying your best to stay unnoticed.

Every now then you did talk to Jughead’s friends just to make sure they didn’t know anything about the recent current events that took place in Riverdale. You liked them even though they would never measure up to your friendship with your brother Joaquin who was now dating Kevin.  You all had a part to play in the serpents now. You being in Riverdale High only added to the pressure, you stayed in contact with Jughead’s friends and Joaquin made sure of what the Sherriff knew. You hated being the one on the inside being two-faced, but you couldn’t let down your family.

They talked about anything and everything in their lives sometimes you wished you could be as open as they were, but you couldn’t because one slip up and maybe this fantasy about leaving Riverdale after graduating would fade away.

Topics ranging from Cheryl and Veronica’s steamy dates and their double dates with Betty and Archie who had been sweethearts since they were small. Sometimes they would try to get Jughead to go out with them and it wasn’t until Jughead revealed he was asexual that they stopped trying to set him up. Jughead’s only love was burgers and writing. Sometimes they would ask you out with them especially if Joaquin would go, but you’d deny. No one knew you were a serpent and if they found out Joaquin was your brother they would figure you out. All they knew was your cover story, you were an only child that lived with your grandparents and you helped take care of them. You always made sure to contribute to the conversation just so they wouldn’t think you were onto them. Though keeping to yourself might just be what may reveal your true identity.

As you caught someone’s eyes. He saw you as the mysterious girl no one knew anything about not even her favorite color. As you sat alone in the students lounge as the rest were in the courtyard or cafeteria he approached you.

“Hey, (Y/N) right?” the tall caramel skin football player spoke as you looked up shocked that he was talking to you.

“The one and only” you added with a small smile trying to be polite even though you really wanted to finish that chapter of your textbook for your next quiz.

“What are you doing here all alone?” he sat next to you.

“Just studying, away from the riff raff” you closed your textbook.

“Do you like being alone? I mean I just never really see you around anyone beside Archie and them sometimes” he retorted trying to keep the conversation alive.

“What is this 20 questions” you said sarcastically as he gave you a smile “yeah I like being alone, I have one goal to graduate and get out here, I don’t need the drama of high school” you continued not knowing why you even answered, but it was somehow it was easy to talk to him.

“Wel-” you cut him off.

“If this is 20 questions it’s my turn Mantle” and he just chuckled.

“Do you like being alone?” you asked.

“No, I thrive with attention” he answered truthfully and you couldn’t help but let out a giggle which caused him to smile wider.

“Why do you need the attention?” you chuckled.

“Seems as if you forgot the rules too (Y/N)” he sassed “What’s your favorite color?” he just wanted to know more about you. But somehow this is what came out of his mouth.

“(Y/F/C)” you answered and asked your question again “So why do you need attention? Your already a football superstar how much attention do you need?”

“My parents work so much they forget they have a child, they actually never come to my games, they just say their proud and give me whatever I want as if that’s what I want” and the atmosphere changed you never thought maybe he was as alone too since people were always attached to him.

You didn’t know what to do so you just turned to him and pulled him into your arms. You always did hate seeing someone upset. Maybe the hug would’ve lasted longer if it wasn’t for Betty interrupting you.

“(Y/N), we’re meeting for the Blue & Gold” she stopped as you both pulled apart a bit startled by the blonde who tried to hide a smile but failed.

You collected your things as Reggie spoke again.

“Thanks, I guess we’ll continue this another time then” you both smiled at each other as you left with Betty and he stood there surprised by your actions and with an eagerness to get to you better.

You were in the Blue & Gold Office with Betty, Jughead, and Alice Betty’s mom. Although Jughead was okay with you being a serpent and keeping your secret, but joining their investigation made him uncomfortable until you lied to him and told him that you needed the extra-curricular.

Although you recognized Betty’s mom because ever since she split with Betty’s dad you’d remember seeing her around in the Southside around FP a couple of times. You remember asking him about her because you could feel the tension after her first visit and he was kind of drunk at that moment and he spilled out that he used to date her when they were younger and how in love they were. You felt like a kid listening to your parents talking about how they met.

“This is my mom (Y/N) and she will be working with us for the newspaper since the Chuck incident at the principal’s order.” Betty added.

“Hey A- um in (Y/N) I work with Betty and Jughead usually on photography with the schools camera, nice to meet you” you safe yourself because now their might someone else at school who can blow your cover.

“Nice to meet you too (Y/N)” Alice ignored the fact that she knows you as well and you all got to work on the next newspaper thankful no one noticed your small error in knowing Alice.

Soon Jughead and Betty left the room to pick something up and left you and Alice alone and she broke the silence.

“FP really has people everywhere doesn’t he” she hints at you.

You sigh “I’m not doing this for them, at least not all of it, I just want an education” you stared at her “so please don’t blow my cover, I don’t want the drama.”

“Oh my lips are sealed honey” she grinned knowing that you were untouchable or else FP would freak if she dared ruin what they had for drama as the sleuthing pair came back in the room.

Soon the bell rang indicating the end of the day was over and you made your way to the bus.

“Hey (Y/N)” Reggie tapped you in the shoulder “Do you need a ride?” he said scratching the back of his neck.

“Uhh no sorry my yellow limousine awaits” you couldn’t risk him knowing where you lived.

“It’s really not a problem” he kept insisting.

“Sorry I just have a lot things to do, maybe another time” you denied again running to the door of the bus.

You never knew where this bus went, you just always hopped in got off at good neighborhood to keep your story alive and walked home. Sometimes you’d take your bike but Joaquin had been fixing up the chain and you liked to walk while having your headphones plugged in blasting your music just taking your time before you had to be a pawn for information.

You loved the serpents you really did, but ever since Jason’s murder and the serpent’s involvement in it you had to face reality that maybe you’d never leave Riverdale and end up like the rest.

__

Part Two

TAGS:

@sgarrett49 @casual-ellipsoidal @isis278 @stxrmqueen

@forsythependletonjonestheiii @oharchiekinz 

Love Bites (part 3)

Words: 1.7k

Summary: You and Cas finally discuss your past (and future?)

Warnings: Lots of drama, discussion/confession of cheating (nothing descriptive,) and some feels.

A/N: Sorry this is so short. I’m finally using my phrase for @casbabydontgoineedyou 1k celebration. “You can’t force someone to love you.” The plan is for one more chapter after this one. If you’d like to be added to my master tag list, send me an ask or DM.

—————

You followed Cas to his house, aptly located on the rich side of town. The entire ride you wondered why you were going; but always came to the conclusion that he, at the very least, deserved a chance to explain himself. He had been your best friend for the first half of your life, after all.

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Go Away, Richard

Originally posted by riepu10

Originally posted by awesome-irit

Originally posted by thorinstoned

Originally posted by kylos

AN: Just Imagine the Second Gif is Richard Bumping Into Luke. Also this is Fiction so anything in this story is fake. I don’t know if Luke’s PR is actually a bitch and Richard, I’m pretty sure, is not single. 

MASTER LIST

“So how does this work?” You ask as you go into the living room.

Luke had asked you to be his date to the Beauty and the Beast Premier in London and here you were with Richard, Luke, Aidan, Dean, and his wife, Sarah. This was your first time at one of these since you skipped all three Hobbit premieres even though you were a stunt coordinator and one of the photographers on set. That’s how you met these four men and in return, Sarah.

“Well, Luke will probably be asked questions and to sign things so the only option you have is to ditch him and come with me or talk to his PA, ” Richard explains, making you giggle.

“Back off Armitage. She’s my date tonight. Y/n, just relax. Everyone already loves you so you’ll be fine,” Luke says. 

After Dean takes a few photos for his wife’s websites, you all leave. 

When you get there, Luke immediately grabs your hand. “You’ll be fine sweetheart,” he says as you shake a bit. 

You nod and loop your arm through his. Luke gets called over to sign a few pictures and you follow him. 

 "Who is Luke’s date?“ Some girl asks as you both walk away from the group. “Is that y/n?” you hear another voice ask and there’s more screaming. 

As he signs photographs you stay behind to talk with his PR manager. 

 "Where is his partner?“ you ask her. 

"Couldn’t make it,” she says in a short tone and that makes you not want to talk to her. It’s going to be a long night. 

You look around as you feel an arm sliver around your waist. It’s Richard.

 "Is everything alright? You look upset,“ he whispers in your ear. "Luke’s PR is a real bitch,” you mutter and he looks at the woman. She actually has a rbf.

 "Looks like one too,“ he mutters before backing away. "Evans I’m going to steal your date if you’re not going to entertain her,” he calls out. 

 Luke comes over to you and links his hand with yours, making Richard laugh. 

“Don’t you think about it,” Luke says and he drags me back over to the fans. You laugh and chat with a few as he signs some stuff. “How long are you in London for?" 

"I leave tomorrow, sadly. I’ll be coming back in May though to do a few photo shoots so I’ll probably be seeing you around if you live in the area. However I’m not doing personal shoots so I won’t be able to meet you through a schedule,” you say and she nods. 

 Luke signs a few more before grabbing your hand and bringing you over to the press. “

You need a new PR,” you say. He laughs. “Why?” He ask. “Because she seems like a bitch,” you say and he stops, laughing. 

You smile at him, his laughter contagious. “You should be my new PR,” he says as you continue walking . “Maybe,” you say. 

We stop at a few reporters. “Ms. L/N! Mr. Evans! You make such a fine pair tonight,” one report says. “This is all thanks to Sarah O’Gorman. Dean’s wife. I’m sure they’re around here somewhere,” You say. 

“Well, Mr. Evans. Are you excited for the premiere?” she asks. 

 “Of course. I’ve been excited ever since I first got the part. It’s amazing to be working alongside Emma and Dan and watching this fairy tail come to life,” he says. 

“Are you excited to watch it, y/n?” she asks. 

“Oh yeah definitely. I love seeing old disney tales come to life. Beauty and the Beast is one of my favorite movies so I’m definitely excited to see it. Also watching Emma Watson is just breathtaking,” you say. 

 “Are we going to be expecting you to be in future films?”

 “Me? Probably not. I’ll make them, but not be in them,” you say. 

“Why not?” 

 “I am a photographer, not an actor. I like how my life is right now so I’ll just stick to it,” you say as you feel an arm go around your shoulder. You turn to find Ian McKellan. You smile and pull him into a hug. 

 “How do you know each other?” she asks again.

“She was the stunt coordinator on The Hobbit and she was one of the main photographers there. I’m pretty sure her photography is what made her so popular with the crowd,” he explains. 

Ian walks off again and you and Luke move on to another reporter. 

We stop at a male interviewer this time. “Y/n. Is this your first time at a red carpet premiere?” he asks. 

“Of course. IT’s amazing really. I’m kind of glad Luke asked me to join him. Kind of bummed that I’m leaving so soon,” you say. 

 “Luke. What was it like working with Ian again?” 

 “Well, I didn’t really work with him because he’s cogs worth, the clock so he just did voice over work and by the time he actually becomes human, I’m already dead you know. I hope that’s not a spoiler. It shouldn’t be given the fact that this movie is 26 years old,” Luke says laughing.

You just smile at him. He’s such a sweetheart. You feel a body behind yours and you turn around to find Richard making Luke groan. 

 “This man has been trying to steal my date all night. Can’t keep his hands off her,” he says as Richard rests an arm on his shoulder.

“It’s not my fault she’s beautiful,” Richard says, winking at you. You roll your eyes smiling. 

“Where’s Aidan?” you ask him.

 “No idea,“ Richard explains, laughing. You shake your head. 

"Mr. Armitage. When are you going to ask y/n on a date?” The reporter asks. “Eventually,” he says smirking. “Now move along and away from my date,” Luke says pushing him away. 

You laugh. 

“Does Richard always do that?” the reporter asks. “Only if it involves y/n. Those two should get together if you know what I mean,” Luke answers. 

“I mean theres a petition going around on change.org to get them together. Have you seen it?” he asks. “Is there really? I need to sign it,” Luke says and you laugh. 

“Yes. I’ve seen it. Last I checked there were 10,000 signatures. Keep up the good work,” you say, laughing. Luke and you walk away. You both pose for some cameras and while the flashes go off he turns towards you. 

 "Is there really a petition to get you two to go out?“ He asks. 

"Yup. Funniest thing ever,” you tell him, smiling. “Are you going to follow through?” He asks. 

“I’ve been busy,” you say as you turn back to the cameras.

“I can keep you busy as well,” he whispers leaning close to you and you laugh. 

“Too bad you’re gay. Also, Richard has his eyes on you,“ You tell him nodding behind him. You both turn and you lean over a bit to see Richard making the "I’m watching you” signal. You laugh and he smiles.

Luke sticks his tongue out at Richard and pulls you closer. Two can play at that game.

Silence Is Gold

Originally posted by thedailyquibbler


Fandom: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them

Characters: Queenie Goldstein

Pairing: Reader X Queenie Goldstein

Notes/Warnings: Some pure unabashed fluff for my queen. Though I am indeed very sorry for Jacob, but this plotbunny just wouldn’t leave me alone.

Word count: 1,169

Imagine: Imagine Queenie Goldstein meeting you, an occlumens, and being intrigued by the fact that she cannot read your mind.

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S3 E7 Game, Set & Murder Recap

S3 E7 Game, Set & Murder Recap

Like most of you out there, my expectations for this episode were high. Really high. Being the penultimate episode of the season, it had a lot to live up to in my book with Murder in the Dark and Dead Air occupying the position previously. And to be honest, I’m not quite sure it hit the target. Grumbles to follow. Nevertheless, it had some of the best moments of the entire season as far as I’m concerned and that has to count for a lot. I was also pleased to see Daina Reid back as Director in the opening credits (this is her 4th MFMM adventure, including Murder in the Dark), so hopefully, the “long shots” we were all lamenting from last week are through. I was in desperate need of some face time.

And, my god, did we ever get face time. Quick, Nathan Page: make 100 different expressions that make you look like at least 20 different men while exactly pinpointing the mood and feeling of your character in that moment with perfect symmetry to the rest of the cast. Oh, and can you please ensure that each and every one is arousing to the point of knicker-dropping madness? Yes? Perhaps throw in some inspired choices of hand gesticulations? No problem? Brilliant! We knew you were the man for the job! Seriously. I almost feel bad for the guy. I mean, even the writers know how much his “strong, manly fingers” are getting to us at this stage of the game. Because they are freaking taunting us with that knowledge. Not fair, Producers. Nathan, you are an exceptional actor. Truly. You have a gift. You are not a piece of meat. But, my god… those hands. It’s just not fair.

And after weeks of non-stop murders and mayhem, it appears that time actually does pass quietly in 1929 Melbourne because it’s been 10 days since Frank McNabb took a dive off the roof of The Grand. Thank goodness. Having to solve another murder case while planning and holding a charity tennis tournament, flummoxing a smitten Detective Inspector and generally tripping the light fantastic might be a little much even for Miss Fisher. Not having to parent Jane must also be quite a relief. (Read: Where the fuck is Jane?!?) Based on The Globe’s printed tabloid photo of The Honourable Miss Fisher and her ball boy dated August 31, Belinda Roswell was killed on the afternoon of August 29th. The calendar in Miss Fisher’s kitchen moves to the month of September mid-episode. By my count, the episode spans a very realistic four days of investigating with loads of costume changes, including a glorious number of fluid, white ensembles - not the least of which was modeled by the Inspector (looking decidedly Un-Inspector-y at long last) and a beautiful evening gown worn by Dot. It’s no wonder this episode was Marion Boyce’s favorite. Everyone looked positively delicious. Later on, we learn that the Sydney Cup took place the week before and that Ms. Roswell was receiving payments over the last two weeks.

My theme of this week’s episode, brought to you by noted tabloid photographer and all-around skeeze, Fredrick Burn, “I’m getting sick of toffs acting holier-than-thou when they should be thanking me for the exposure!”  Exposure. The revelation of something meant to be kept a secret or likely to bring judgment. Now in the case of a murder mystery genre, exposure is pretty much the name of the game every week because the detectives must suss out their killer. But in this episode, the idea of exposure goes far beyond identifying the killer. In every instance, the thing that is threatened to be or is exposed has the power to ruin lives, to topple fortunes, to bring an honourable man to his knees. Constance Burrows fears that her pregnancy will be exposed and ruin her career. Stanley first worries that his affair will be exposed and then that he will lose his wife over the exposure of her crime. Angela Lombard is afraid that exposure of her red-blooded ways will cost her a lucrative endorsement deal. Dot and Hugh are exposed in a compromising position that threatens to overturn the newly made peace with their families - not to mention the shame it brings upon Dot. The fact that photography is used as the trigger point for all of these threats plays very well considering the ideas of film and flash exposure, the pop! of Burn’s bulb punctuating every shot. But, some threats don’t require the tenacity of the paparazzi. Some are simply innate. The exposure of Phryne’s ultimate weakness, for example. She isn’t the least bit bothered by Burn’s illicit snaps. It’s her arachnophobia that’s her undoing. It’s the same for Jack. The exposure that threatens him has little to do with film. He does everything in his power - including using Miss Fisher’s fear against her - to keep from exposing just how overwhelming his physical desire for her is becoming.

I’ll not spend much time on the opening sequence as it’s been made very clear that a number of bloggers share Phryne’s fear of spiders. I will say that while they’re not my favorite creatures in the whole wide world, I’m not particularly scared of them… And I was crawling out of my skin - actually averting my eyes waiting for poor Belinda Roswell to put her foot in that shoe. Jesus! I think a year came off my life for that moment. The subsequent CGI shot (not gonna describe it - if you’ve seen it, you know the one I mean) didn’t bother me near as much. It was the anticipation - as is always the case with this damned show - that was killing me. But, I don’t care because… HUGH’S BACK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I think I was almost as excited as Dot to see that sweet face in the back door glass. The shot of Mr. Butler giving the “scram!” gesture to Bert was beyond perfect and Dot’s immediate reaction of joy tempered by justified irritation (about fish, LOL!) was exactly what I wanted… But then, it all seemed very anti-climactic. After all that. After absconding for weeks. After his mother calls him a tyke and kicks him out of the house, all he had to do to fix the situation was threaten to marry a fast Protestant girl? I was soooo disappointed. I wanted more. They almost made it up to me. Explaining his promotion, Hugh tells Dorothy, “The Inspector told the top brass that if they didn’t give me the promotion, he’d resign.” My first reaction to this was: Awww!! But then, it began to bother me. A lot. Especially later when Jack receives the call from the new Commissioner. In fact, most of my issues with this episode come down to the writing. Look, I know that Jack adores Hugh and is committed to his principles. But the last time he was willing to risk losing his position on the force, it was over the murders of young girls. It hardly seems likely that he would threaten to quit now because they wouldn’t give his constable a promotion. Though perhaps after a few weeks with Constable Martin, desperate times called for desperate measures. We know he can be a bit of a shit when necessary, like when he took over the Sanderson case from Sergeant Crossley or when he made to call the Chief Commissioner after his case was assigned to O'Shaughnessy. Jack isn’t afraid of the power play. It just seemed ham-handed. Hugh could have said, “The Inspector told the top brass that I was indispensable to the force. Said they’d be made fools of if they didn’t give me the promotion.” In fact, I think he just did. There. All better. #headcanon

We join Phryne - where she has taken over Aunt P’s estate for her tennis tournament - and meet her longtime friend and tennis coach, Stanley Burrows and his new wife and tennis pro, Constance. There’s something close to perfection in, “Aunt Prudence can’t abide ball sports.” One of the best lines of the show. Phryne makes an off-colour remark about the couple spending their honeymoon on the tennis court which underscores the tension of the newlywed couple - who we find out later is having very little in the way of marital relations. The first tip off to exposure comes as Dot asks Constance for her autograph. The picture she proffers shows the athlete lunging for the ball on a particularly windy day. “I’m practically naked!” she laments. Phryne, by comparison, is not bothered by the least by the photo and (while it’s clear that she is not fond of the idea of trespass) we learn that her method of dealing with the press is to “dance” with them rather than cultivate animosity. A sentiment that pays off when Burn publishes a decidedly un-racy photo of she and Jack - as compared to Dot and Hugh’s - with a rather sweet tagline.

Upon discovery of the body, Phryne sees enough to wait for the cavalry and plays it off, telling Jack she’s happy for him to be the “scout” in this case. Jack inspects the corpse of Constance’s practice partner, Belinda Roswell, and poses that the attack came from a you-know-what (hereinafter referred to as “the murder weapon” for you sensitive types) and because Jack has quite the handle on wildlife of all sorts, (lest we forget from the genus viscum), he thinks it odd because none of Victoria’s eight-legged inhabitants possess a venom strong enough to kill that quickly. Cursory research shows him to be correct - and even though there was a species of funnel-web that frequented Melbourne at the time, its venom was not considered fatal. It’s revealed that the shoe containing the murder weapon actually belonged to Constance - not Belinda - making her appear the intended target. As Phryne searches through the victim’s belongings, the murder weapon makes an appearance forcing Phryne up on the wall in a state of absolute terror. I was actually surprised that no one else had a bit of a reaction. I mean, how many people - phobia or not - would be so calm when faced with a murder weapon that large. Someone (I’m looking at you, Hugh) should have flinched just a little. But, no. To make Miss Fisher seem even more ridiculous in her reaction, they all held their ground and simply stared at her in dismay. It’s nice to know that she still possesses the ability to shock Jack, though - he seemed rather stunned to see her so unreasonably vulnerable.

Evidence all packed up, Jack sends off his Senior Constable and proceeds to taunt Miss Fisher about her reaction. “Well, I’ve finally found your Achilles heel, Miss Fisher - fear of arachnids.” Considering all the teasing Phryne has done in the past, I can’t really blame him for seizing the opportunity. When has he ever managed to have the upper hand? Speaking of hands… Jack wiggles his in a menacing gesture and Phryne eyes it with wariness. She attempts to downplay the revelation with bravado, “I’m not afraid, I just like to know where they are.” But Jack’s seen too much to be fooled and in a moment of incredible spontaneity, he crawls his fingertips up her shoulder to call her bluff. Phryne just has a way of bringing out his playful side… The “Beep, beep” in Murder at Montparnasse, insisting he see her home just before they both drop from the pier in Dead Man’s Chest, snatching the evidence just out of her reach in Dead Air. But this… well. This is playful touching. And while there was nothing indecent in Jack’s intention, it was most definitely intimate. Can you imagine him doing that to Miss Williams? No, of course not.

Her reaction is both instantaneous and unexpected - the memory of the murder weapon emblazoned in her mind. I doubt Jack would have ever attempted it, had he thought she would leap into his arms like that. But the Inspector finds himself being clutched by a wide-eyed, heart palpitating Phryne. That frame of her face over his shoulder… the hairs curling at the back of his neck… Oh god… and then Burn calls out to them to get his shot and we see that Jack’s hands are there to steady her, one inching higher over her hip to her waist… one at her back. Once again, we are forced to wonder what might have happened had they not been interrupted. When ABC released that particular promo shot, it was evident that they were just toying with us. But, I can’t say I minded because the situation immediately reverses on Jack. When faced with the tabloid photographer, it’s Jack who loses his cool while Phryne remains calm. Before he can say anything else to antagonize Burn, she quiets Jack by placing a finger to his lips. The contact is enough to stun him into silence - even as one arm remains around her - and the power tips back to Phryne as she sees the effect, gnashing her teeth at him to inflame him further. Despite her phobia, she is the victor in his game.

But it appears that Burn isn’t satisfied with capturing Miss Fisher in a salacious photo because he’s still skulking around the property, clicking off while Hugh brushes leaves and dirt from the back of Dottie’s coat. Toffs aren’t the only ones he enjoys exposing. I imagine that after all the dust settled from the Sanderson case, papers were paying a pretty penny for photos that compromised police officers. At the Morgue, Mac shows off her own considerable knowledge by identifying the murder weapon as a species native to Sydney, explaining that there is no way it would have chosen to stow away because it prefers “moist places.” Phryne grabs her throat in revulsion because, like the rest of us, she simply cannot abide the word, moist. I love that the doctor is completely unphased by Phryne’s reactions - they’ve been friends long enough for Mac to know where all the bodies are buried. It turns out, this isn’t a simple case of woman vs. wild. And it appears that Belinda may not have been the intended target. When Constance is questioned as to who might want to hurt her, she and her husband both exclaim, “Angela Lombard.”

Walking down the dock, Phryne fills the Inspector in on the finer points of the current women’s tennis circuit and he manages to keep a neutral expression as asks her about her passion for the game. “I have many passions, Jack,” she retorts. Well, it’s more of a passion for righting social injustices because while the men get sponsored to play all over the world, the women must pay for themselves. But, I can’t help but look back and think just how delighted Jack must be by this news. One of many shared passions. It turns out that Ms. Lombard is the reigning women’s champion and has been for a few years, going through a nasty divorce from her rich husband and bothered by the fact that Constance is primed to take over as Number One. Phryne has chartered the luxury steam yacht, the “S.Y. Ena” for her charity cocktail party and also so Ms. Lombard has a place to stay while in Melbourne. It was only due to pure curiosity that I was googling how steam yachts were named that I came across the fact that the S.Y. Ena is a real ship - built in 1901. If you’re from Sydney or Melbourne, you probably already knew that. But as I’m not, my jaw fell open! According to the website, which you should most definitely check out (steamyachtena dot com), it states: More akin to a piece of art than a sea-faring vessel, the 113-year-old treasure, described as “flawless and without equal”, is widely regarded as the world’s finest. Her gleaming brass and gold are complimented by warm radiant varnished timbers. With luxurious fabrics, etched glass murals, timber carvings and sophisticated appointments adorning her cabins.  It’s not hard to see why she spent so much of her life accessible only to society’s elite. Can’t you just see Phryne taking Jack out for a spin in it… next season?!? Glorious indeed!

Aboard the Ena, we meet Ms. Angela Lombard, looking very glamorous sunning herself on the deck. It would have been incredibly helpful to know at this point that Angela was supposed to be American. Couldn’t they have slipped it in when Phryne was telling Jack about her? It would have saved me endless minutes of confusion, trying to figure out if she was drunk or just had a really bad accent. Bad accent as it turns out. One of the other issues I had with this episode was Angela’s manner of speaking. Beyond the forced expressions like, “dumpy dame,” her execution, using a myriad of inflections, had what should have been an intriguing character coming off more like she had multiple personality disorder. Is she an elite sportswoman, a gangster moll or Betty Boop? (Anachronistic, I know.) What I did like was the juxtaposition of she and Miss Fisher. Angela Lombard is a young, privileged, modern woman who, being from America rather than the far off Antipodes, is much closer to the trends. Her outfits are more glamourpuss than flapper, reflecting the 30’s bombshell that was poised on the cinematic horizon. But even with her wealth, she’s not nearly as refined as Miss Fisher - the latter’s penchant for breaking and entering notwithstanding. Where Phryne is bold, Angela is brash and it’s refreshing to see the difference. Not to mention Jack’s reaction to it. Anyway, Angela has an alibi… a handsome young tennis player named Terence Lawson. Do you think it was Terry’s familiarity with Miss Fisher that won him a first class ticket to questioning down at the station? LOL! Rather unfair treatment considering Ms. Lombard was the original suspect.

Under questioning, it seems that Terence remembers the time he and Angela left the court a bit differently than she (two o'clock as opposed to midday) and that there might be something more personal between he and Constance Burrows - Connie - than just tennis. I love this segment of the interrogation that reflects interestingly upon the two detectives:
Terence: “I was keen on Connie, like all the other blokes, but all she was interested in was playing tennis.”
Jack: “Must have hurt your pride.”
Terence: “Not particularly. I had plenty of other options.”
And Terence Lawson is not the kind of man to forgo those options - always having an eye for the ladies. Jack, too it seems, has plenty of other options as Phryne is beginning to realize. She had to deal with the thought of a possible reconciliation with Rosie not long ago, then she met his old friend Concetta and now, it’s obvious that Angela Lombard thinks her Inspector is the caterpillar’s kimono.

Constance denies having any involvement with Lawson and waxes poetic to Phryne about the game of tennis. Another reflection. Even though Phryne is much more well-rounded in her interests and passions, I can’t help but think that Connie’s enthusiasm mimics Phryne’s feelings about solving a case: When I see the chalk outline of a victim or hear the shot of a round being fired from a pistol and I smell that coagulated blood, my cunt almost aches for the exhilaration of it. The first clues are also dropped about Constance’s “cold,” her dress being a bit too snug at the moment. What? Then why the hell would you pack it? And what does that have to do with being sick? Things like this bother me way more than they should. Moving on thanks to Fredrick Burn’s invasion of privacy. Notice that Phryne doesn’t put her fingers to her friend Stanley’s lips to keep him quiet when shouting at the menacing photographer. The incident jogs Stanley’s memory and he tells Phryne that Constance made a formal police complaint against Burn last week in Sydney, making Burn a potential suspect who happens to be facing other charges.

Exhausted from their day, players and detectives alike must have tucked in for a well-deserved slumber. They’ve been pulling an awful lot of all-nighters lately. The next morning, Senior Constable Collins sheepishly presents a newspaper to his boss. While I’m certain Jack reads The Argus regularly, I’m sure he couldn’t be bothered with a rag like The Globe - much less the “Out and About” section, LOL! It turns out that Burn might actually have a soft spot for Miss Fisher after all. Perhaps he appreciates her dance because the picture is not nearly as damning as it could have been and the byline is actually rather sweet. The interlacing shots of each of the detectives’ reactions was one of my favorite moments of the show. Jack is looking rather sober, anticipating the reaction from his superiors and Phryne is positively giddy, exclaiming to Dot that Burn “has captured our best angles.” I think she’ll be clipping that one out for the scrapbook, don’t you? Nestled in amongst all the other clippings from the cases she and the Inspector have solved. The new Commissioner, however is not amused, ringing Jack’s line and forbidding him to solve cases with a civilian. I know this call was necessary as a plot-driver but, it didn’t sit well with me. Why would the Commissioner care? Granted, the photo’s caption mentioned Phryne’s profession as a private detective and identified Jack as Inspector (not even his formal title, thank you very much) but, this seemed to me to be a personal matter - not a professional one. Would his boss really care that much? Is the Victoria Police’s reputation so much in the shitter that someone would bother to look twice at this photograph? Not to mention forbid him to solve crimes with her - which surely would have a negative effect on their clearance rate. I thought Jack had enough clout to get his man promoted. Why wouldn’t he just tell the Commissioner to bugger off? On second thought, considering how he managed to circumvent the order… I suppose he did.

Phryne bounds down the stairs, brimming over to tell him about the charges Burn is facing in Sydney. She stands before him completely open in little more than her pyjamas and kimono, a stark contrast to the last time she faced him at those stairs dressed similarly, clutching at her clothes in vulnerability because she thought he had chosen Rosie. “Sign this,” he tells her and there was something about the way she snatched the pen as he held on to the cap that I just loved. She obeys his request without question - without doubting him for a second. Only after it’s official does she ask him what she “just agreed to.”
“You are now a special constable of the Victoria Police Force.” I’m not even going to lie… I was grinning from ear to ear, thinking of how she practically begged him to make her a constable at the Green Mill so she could help search the club’s clientele. Phryne, naturally, is delighted.
“How wonderful! Don’t I get a certificate or something?” LOL! More for the scrapbook! But even better than her asking for a tangible record of the honour was Jack’s amused smirk. He thinks she is adorable. Of course he does. What’s more, he knew she would ask… so his expression is somewhat self-satisfied in his accurate prediction.

“I’ve been saving this since I was ten years old… for Buffalo Bill. But you’ll have to do.” Are they are determined to make me gag on my own sentimentality? I can never get enough of these little insights into Jack. Can’t you just picture him as a lad? Riding his bicycle through Richmond, a ragged dime novel of The Buffalo Bill Stories stuffed into his back pocket, dreaming of becoming a lawman in his own right. And the badge. The badge! Procured as a boy and kept safe for all these years. Treasured. Do you think he swung by his flat to pick it up on the way to St. Kilda? Or had he been carrying it around in his pocket? A talisman. My god, there are so many stories to be written from this little tidbit! He’s been saving it to give to his hero - Buffalo Bill. A person larger than life, braver than all others, determined to right the wrongs of the world with more daring and determination in a little finger than most people have in their whole body. Sound like anyone else we know? Yes, I suppose Phryne will do very nicely. And she’s rightfully touched, as he pins the badge to her.

So, here’s my problem: between the “you’ll have to do” / “we’ll have to make do with each other” and the pinning of the badge / pinning of the swallow brooch, the concentration of the meaning is threatening to become diluted. In an effort to ensure that does not happen in my mind, I propose that the language of making do is really the only way Jack can lightheartedly convey that Phryne is, in fact, the only one who will do. He’s using their comfort with teasing and banter to ease the blow of a very deep sentiment. As for the brooch, it was symbolic of her past, the importance he saw in returning something cherished to her and his pledge to stand by her. The badge, however, is symbolic of his past, and in giving her his treasure it proves his belief that she has what it takes to stand by him. All that being said, the next time I see Jack Robinson pinning something, it had better be Phryne’s wrists to a wall. When Dot inquires as to Miss Fisher’s whereabouts, Mr. B tells her that she has “just gone out with the Inspector.” So, Jack waited for her as she got dressed and ready to embark on the day’s detecting. This isn’t important as much as it is positively darling to consider how his eyes must have lit up at the sight of her coming down the stairs, proudly wearing his badge next to a diamond brooch. Each bearing significant worth.

But it’s clear that she plans to have fun with her new found status as she announces herself in a baritone voice outside Mr. Burn’s studio. He thinks it’s out of retaliation for the “Love All” photo but they cut him off at the pass - neither bothered enough by this particular exposure to even merit its mention. The words Burn uses to describe his subjects are crass and dehumanizing - hardly akin to the “gift” he called Miss Fisher: toffs, whinging cow, piece of skirt, stupid bint. Add to that his little pornographic sideline and you’ve got a recipe for major suspicion. Burn takes off and the detectives give chase, Phryne using her super powers to hurl a trash can lid with enough force to bring him down. << Insert Jack Robinson eye rolling gif here! >> Back at the station, we learn that the charges pending against Burn are for obscenity. Shocker. But I laughed out loud when he tried to appeal to the Inspector’s base nature. That’s not going to win you any points, Burn. Neither is publishing that pic of Hugh and Dot. “A handful of fun."  If you’ll pardon the pun, my cheeks were burning for Dot.

So, it turns out that Dot, while letting out Mrs. Burrows’ too-tight evening gown, unearthed some evidence that proves that she and Terence Lawson were an item. When confronted, Terry’s over the moon and Constance attempts to downplay it. She reveals that they had a love affair that she attempted to hide from the press and her new husband… but he’s already well aware. Despite Terence spreading himself around anything with a two X chromosomes, his affection for Stanley’s wife was just too obvious to ignore. Cue the eel. What? Yes… well, Ms. Lombard was staying on the water. So, suspicion turns back to Constance’s on-court nemesis and Phryne sends Jack to go and deal with her in the hope that Angela’s interest in the handsome detective will lead to the exposure of some new evidence. Well, it leads to some kind of exposure, anyway! You know, I was waiting all this time for Phryne to razz Jack about that photo. Perhaps there was just a little too much truth in the byline for her to confront him with it. But that doesn’t stop Angela Lombard. In fact when the Inspector’s intentions are portrayed as less then honourable, she’s queuing for the line. "Are you exclusively Phryne’s ball boy or do you spread yourself around?”

Say all you want about Phryne’s innuendos, her remarks seem the height of sophistication next to Angela’s. Though, her boast that when a man’s with her, “he tends to get confused” had me on the floor. And I love watching Jack react to her forwardness, proving that he can volley right back. He is not Hugh - forced into a fit of embarrassment when confronted with a woman’s sexuality. This undeniably attractive woman is throwing herself at him, stroking in his tie in a way that has me yelling “Don’t touch that!” at my computer screen and the only effect she can manage is to extract an amused smile. Finally, she admits to paying Burn to upset Constance - the bootlegged Lumberjack whiskey her giveaway. Unsportsmanlike but hardly illegal. When Jack sidesteps her offer of joining her in the pool, she cajoles him into untying her sundress. I suppose that voice is meant to be seductive - but mostly I just find myself wanting to drown her and steal that fabulous hat.
Jack looks away. Not to avert his gaze in my view - but to check he’s not being watched. Probably equally afraid of being caught by Phryne as Fredrick Burn. With the coast clear, he focuses he attention on Ms. Lombard’s bare back, the strings of her halter. Following them up to the knot and deftly undoing them - all the while careful to never touch her skin. Good heavens. At least the hot water bill will be low this month. “See?” she teases. “That wasn’t so haaarrrrrddd.” And Nathan Page, master of the hand gesture, is perfection as he stands there, hands clasped over his… Well… Perhaps it was a tad hard.

Phryne and Dot have retired to The Esplanade in order to get ready for the cocktail party and we join them as Dot is recounting her shame over the photograph. Her mother’s reaction, Hugh’s mother’s reaction, Father O'Leary. Good thing Father Grogan’s been put out to pasture - he’d have her ex-communicated. Poor, sweet Dot. “You must stand proud and laugh it off,” Miss Fisher tells her, insisting she come to the event and hold her head high. It’s the height of irony later when Phryne can’t laugh off her own exposure as Jack taunts her with the “important evidence” in the glass jar. Speaking of which…
Oh hell. Another murder weapon. Avert thee eyes, oh fearful ones. This one’s crawling up Phryne’s sleeve. I will bet anything that Essie Davis did these takes with a live um… murder weapon. Serious props. And then… MAGIC.

This is one of those moments when having such a talented ensemble cast elevates a moderately funny scene to one of absolutely sublime heights. Phryne, having trapped the murder weapon under her diaphragm, is still visibly shaken while attempting to hold on to a shred of pride. Jack must take the threat on Phryne’s life seriously while being amused beyond belief at her quick thinking… and the fact the trap in question was, naturally, close at hand. Not to mention the fact that he’s back in her bedroom. Dot is wringing her hands and decidedly looking NO ONE in the eye. And Hugh does Hugh as only Hugo Johnstone-Burt can - flummoxed until the realization of what the rubber item is turns his expression to one of pure mortification. Later on, when Phryne tells Jack that every woman has her limit in terms of modesty. Funnily enough, we find that this was one of hers. Hugh’s writing up the police report and needs to know what to call it. Does she say “diaphragm?” Nope. Remember how proud she was to tell Dot that it was for family planning in Cocaine Blues? Well apparently, “internal device” is as far as she’s willing to go on record with the Victoria Police. And then I’m in stitches again as the murder weapon inches across the floor under its cover. Dr. Stopes surely never envisioned this. I sure hope Phryne has a spare because there is NO WAY she’s putting that back up her happy place. I’m imagining Mac telling the story of the spidephragm with glee at cocktail parties for many, many years to come.

Jack suggests it was Stanley but Phryne cuts him off, spotting a torn piece of clothing on a nail in the window sill. With the beastie trapped or not, she doesn’t dare place a foot on the floor where its crawling - so she leaps like a monkey from furnishing to furnishing to retrieve the evidence. Jack shares more with her - an envelope from a serious letter Ms. Lombard was reading. Lawson, Lombard, Burn… the pool of suspects is still considerable and he wants her to let him conduct a search of her party Phryne refuses - recalling Rosie’s disinclination to have a “police presence” at her event. Instead, she’ll search and Jack can… Phryne looks meaningfully at the ensconced murder weapon. But there is no way in hell Jack is going to touch Phryne’s diaphragm. Not right now. And certainly not in front of Hugh and Dot. “Collins!” he orders. And it only gets better as a beleaguered Hugh has little choice but to scoop it up, touching as little of the device as he can manage. Good man. He certainly earned that promotion. By the way, did anyone else notice that the Sarcelle was not hanging in its usual place? Where has it gone? Has anyone spotted it elsewhere in the house? Just curious.

Phryne and Dot arrive at the S.Y. Ena, fashionably late, of course as the party is in full swing. I suppose Burn was invited with the hope that he could be caught in cahoots with Lombard but I find it incredibly distasteful that he was there considering how badly Dot already felt. She looks absolutely lovely in a sparkling red gown - a gift from Miss Fisher no doubt - as she attempts to hold her ground, trusting in Phryne’s word that this will make her feel better. It doesn’t - though a bit of eavesdropping does seem to take her mind off things. Angela is holding court, airing all of her dirty laundry in a way that makes her seem very interesting to her subjects if only for the novelty of hearing a woman swear like that. She addresses Dot’s photo in The Globe and toasts her in earnest for being “one racy dame.” Dot does not look the least bit flattered. But it’s interesting that all of the “racy dames” at the party are wearing red. Besides Dorothy, Ms. Lombard is a siren in a glamourous silhouette that is far ahead of the trends and Phryne oozes sophistication a black beaded gown that is very much on trend (albeit not ahead) with a dazzling blood red beaded wrap. Before we get too far, it’s also fun to point out that there was an error in consistency when shooting Phryne in this outfit. On board the Ena, she is accessorized with the diamond knot and waterfall necklace and a diamond cocktail ring.  But in Jack’s office, neither piece of jewelry is anywhere to be found. These little gaffs only make the show more interesting for me. It’s a bit of a game to spot them - and come on, nobody’s perfect.

After witnessing Constance Burrows mopping up her gown and Burn chasing after her, clicking away, Phryne manages to find the letter that the Inspector witnessed Ms. Lombard reading at the pool. She is forced to charm her way out of getting caught red handed by Terence Lawson and as he packs his things, she sees that one of his shirts are torn… making him look like he was responsible for placing that last murder weapon in her room. She has to play off her intent gaze when he notices by coming on to him and even though he’s been enjoying Angela Lombard’s hospitality, he returns her sentiment with interest. Angela is not thrilled to find her own ball boy, Terry, cozied up to Miss Fisher. Especially when she failed arouse the interest of the Inspector. Of course Phryne doesn’t know that, so Angela covers her own feelings of inadequacy by attempting to make Phryne jealous, using the Inspector’s familiar name and intimating that far more was shared between them than a simple chat:

“So, did I mention that Jack and me had a swell talk this afternoon?”

“No, you didn’t.”

“He sure knows how to unhook a gal’s dress. Must be those strong, manly fingers of his.”

Regardless of Phryne’s feelings about this little tidbit of information, she isn’t about to let Angela win this game. This is Jack Robinson we’re talking about. And I’m quite certain Phryne has given a lot of thought to just exactly how he might unhook a (lethal) dress.

“Well, it’s so much better when he does it with his teeth.” From your lips to god’s ears. I’m not sure what I loved more, the Step-Off Bitch delivery or the fact that Phryne believes Jack’s mouth to be even more talented than his hands.
Meanwhile, Dot overhears a disturbing conversation between Constance and her husband, Stanley that also mirrors some jealousy. Stanley’s worried she will run off with Terence Lawson because she was so loathe to have sexy times with him after they were married. She claims it was the tennis. He thinks she’s not that into him. Ding! Ding! Ding! Tell him what he’s won! Dottie’s practically bursting to tell Miss Fisher the news but the Inspector’s Special Constable must report for duty with the latest evidence. Lawson gets hauled in for more questioning and he very believably denies having anything to do with trying to hurt Constance or Miss Fisher.

In his office, Jack reveals that the murder weapon Phryne secured in her “bedroom” wasn’t capable of murder at all. (Bedroom, people. Jack will never, ever call that space a boudoir! LOL!) And she argues with him. This is the first time that Phryne is actually more concerned over her safety than he is, thanks to her fear. He holds up the evidence and she freezes. When he proffers the jar - even with his desk between them - she leaps up onto the chair and NOW we see a possible reason for the raised mantle in Jack’s office. I’d love to know if it was to get the best possible visual in this scene or to give Phryne a place to brace herself as she shrinks back in terror. He tells her that it was far more likely to be a practical joke than a murder attempt. And where she had only hours ago told Dot to “laugh it off,” she tells Jack that she “fails to see the humour.” But oh my god, that FACE! Nathan, you are magic. He is giving serious Sad Clown Face! For those of you might be coulrophobic, I am warning you: do NOT freeze frame in the middle of that pout. All he needs is a stick of greasepaint, oversized shoes and a red rubber nose before all my Jack Robinson dreams are shattered. Fuck the spiders, Phryne. What the hell have you done to this man?!?

She asks if he’ll get rid of the practical joke but he’s having too much fun at her expense. “It’s important evidence, Miss Fisher,” he teases. But he obviously hasn’t learned his lesson because she turns the tables on him once again. This time, by hiking up her dress all the way up to her garter to reveal the letter pilfered from Ms. Lombard’s things. Now it’s Jack’s turn to freeze. His expression as she tells him that he won’t get to see it until the joke disappears is reminiscent of both the fan dance and the revelation of the Sarcell painting - but only just. Jack is far more confident these days and recovers so quickly. After hiding the jar in his desk, much in the same way one would relinquish a weapon - he quirks his mouth at her, gesturing to her in a come hither motion that I have watched far too many times for me to still be allowed to walk the streets alongside sane people. Tit for tat. It’s her turn. And she doesn’t disappoint, making a show of lifting her hem and sliding the letter from its hiding place - Jack never taking his eyes off her. And she uses very similar words to Angela Lombard when she asks, “That wasn’t so difficult now, was it?”

The Mormon shoe contract was another one of those elements that was played with too heavy a hand. “Zollinger… A most Mormon sounding name.” Seriously? What does that have to do with anything at this point except being a poorly planted seed? Another line of dialogue down at the tennis courts later would have been a better way to go. Whatever. Just roll the come hither again and I’ll forget any complaints I might have had. I call it Robinson’s Dementia. Additional side effects include daydreaming, drooling and frequent nocturnal emissions. Anyway, he letter gives Angela a serious motive for doing Mrs. Burrows in and Jack claims not to have been made aware of any of it during his interview. “Was that before or after you helped her out of her dress?” Phryne asks - not waiting for an answer as she warns him not to get caught by Burn. So in revealing to Jack that his moment with Ms. Lombard was, indeed, exposed, Phryne reveals that she was bothered by it. It’s not a particularly bad headspace for Phryne to be in. In anything, I think it only increases her attraction to him. Jack, for his part, seems to be enjoying the attention thanks to his new found lightheartedness. While he pretty much ignored Miss Fisher’s exaggerated pick up lines in Cocaine Blues (modest by comparison to Angela’s), he’s now all coy smiles when a woman is open about her interest in him. And look at the smug expression that plays on his face as she sashays out of his office! He hates to see her go but he loves to watch her leave!

Back at the Fisher ranch, Stanley Burrows is waaay too disappointed that Lawson hasn’t been arrested and in an effort to snoop on Constance, his affair with the deceased Belinda Roswell is exposed by means of a nude photograph of her that he was keeping.  The next morning (an almost unheard of Day 3 of the investigation, the detectives confront Burrows. (And, she’s back in that beautiful robin’s egg blue jacket she wore the morning after Jack spent the night in her bed - this time accented with periwinkle and grey instead of red.) She asks Stanley if he was in love with the woman and he denies it - saying it had nothing to do with love… and surely Phryne would know that. I’m not entirely certain if Stanley was implying that she should know that he was too deeply in love with Constance to even consider it, or that he knew her to be familiar enough with the sensual pleasures of life to realize the difference. Either way, Phryne is not impressed. Neither is Jack. When Stanley pushes his friend, Jack steps in to dismiss him before he can put Phryne in an even more compromising position - she is still acting on behalf of the police. But, I thought it was rather gallant of him, too. Mostly because I found Stanley’s attitude completely disgusting. Now, the target of the killing shifts from Constance back to Belinda and Phryne considers that her good friend may have had something to do with it. Jack hasn’t forgotten her reaction to his locking Mac up and I think he is surprised to find that she isn’t blindly loyal to her friends. Mac simply wasn’t capable of murder. But Stanley… she’s not so sure. They resolve to go back over Belinda’s things and because the nude picture was clearly taken by Fredrick Burn, he will need to be questioned again. But Phryne knows she can dance with the snake far more successfully than the Inspector and concocts a plan that Jack can go to his grave without ever knowing about as far as I’m concerned… Not that he would be surprised. During her little game of strip-interrogation, Phryne discovers that Burn was paying Belinda on the side to take illicit pictures and that Belinda found a way to parlay her talents into a larger fortune elsewhere, her last meeting being with Constance Burrows. I did love that Burn was getting rather worked up during the photoshoot, both Angela and Phryne figuring out that the man was rather susceptible to a woman’s many charms. And using the privilege Jack bestowed on her, she confiscates that film. It will probably end up in the fireplace but I can’t help think that she would be tempted to develop a frame or two to slip into an unsuspecting man’s pocket.

Phryne confronts Constance and believes she’s about to hear a tale of jealousy in which Constance finds out that her husband has been cheating on her with her practice partner. But what she gets is so much worse. Constance wasn’t interested in meeting Stanley’s needs and asked Belinda to seduce her husband. Constance’s marriage is one of convenience in which Stanley is a decent man, rich enough to support her beloved tennis. For a woman who doesn’t believe in marriage, Phryne gets awfully judgey about the situation. How is this any different than the way women have been supporting themselves since antiquity? It’s not. So, then, it’s really not about the marriage per se. Nor is it about sex or dalliances. This is about toying with a person’s heart - which Phryne has always been very careful not to do. The day of Phryne’s tournament arrives (Day 4) and we find Constance looking flushed and ill. Dot suspects a fever but Constance brushes it off, remarking how warm it is in the room. But when Phryne arrives, dressed in her tennis whites, the air is distinctly cold. In fact, it’s downright frigid. Constance scurries off under the disapproving gaze of her hostess but Dot doesn’t see what’s between the women - she is concerned for the tennis star’s health. Jolted back to form, Phryne begins to wonder once more if someone isn’t trying to kill Constance… she’s had a fever for days… Could someone be poisoning her special brew of tea?

Awaiting Mac’s report, Phryne is perched in her favorite place on Jack’s desk. I’m just going to say that in terms of sheer hotness, this scene ranks right up there with, “If you really want a Roman Soldier…”
But this one is far more oblique, making it all the more delectable. Staring off as she thinks out loud through the latest developments, she’s oblivious to the fact that her exposed legs are deeply distracting the Inspector. He averts his eyes and attempts to get on with work, flipping through his file. After all, it’s the fourth day and they still haven’t managed to crack the case - time is running out. But he looks again, unable to keep his mind on the job. He can’t help it and quickly grows frustrated by his own lack of control - as evidenced by his grimace. Consider that Jack had very little problem maintaining his composure when confronted with Ms. Lombard’s bare flesh. Consider that he can be passionately kissed by a beautiful Italian woman and remain unmoved. And now consider that he cannot even glance at Miss Fisher’s stockinged knees without feeling himself come completely undone. His passion and physical desire for her is reaching a breaking point. At this point in their relationship - when both parties have made it abundantly clear how much they care for the other - he knows that if she reads the unbridled lust in his eyes, he’s done for. The exposure of his greatest passion. And certainly not in his office when he should be concentrating on catching a killer rather than tearing through the fine silk with his teeth. He can’t take it anymore. He slams the file closed and resigns to defeat.

“Would you…” he begins, looking up at her in that way, his hand gesturing in a way as if trying to grasp from thin air just how to put this… “Get off my desk, please?”
She’s actually completely innocent for a change when she asks, “Why?” Oh sure, she knows the effect she has on him when she tries. Case in point, the letter in the garter. But in this case, she was doing nothing at all to be provocative and doesn’t yet understand the long, hard truth of the matter..
And in rather the same self-preserving manner that he once told her that he was a grown man, unlikely to blush at the sight of a little bare flesh, he all but begs, “Just… Remove yourself, Miss Fisher.”
Until then she really had no idea what was going on because she was so absorbed in her thoughts about the case. But now that she knows, she’s certainly not going to make it that easy for him. “I’m quite comfortable, thank you.”
And so, Jack does the only thing he can to preserve his dignity. He brandishes the jar containing the practical joke and she practically teleports to the other side of the desk.
“Not fair, Jack,” she clucks. Perhaps not but effective nonetheless. Jack deserves to win a few rounds, doesn’t he? But what’s so great is that neither ends up taking offense. I imagine that they both playfully brushed it off after sharing a knowing smile. When we next see them again, they have resumed inspecting Belinda’s things in hopes of discovering anything that will point them in the right direction. Which of course, they do and it does. The false bottom (because of course) of Belinda’s luggage is where she kept numbered photographs of Angela Lombard being intimate with Terence Lawson.

Meanwhile, Mac calls to report that the Constance’s sage tea showed no signs of poison and Dot and Hugh are once again confronted with more exposure as Burn threatens them with taking another lewd-looking photo. And anyone who thought they might be above making out with Hugh Collins would be damned if they themselves weren’t sorely tempted as the Senior Constable shows his mettle. And it turns out that in order to put the incident behind her, what Dot needed wasn’t a fancy cocktail party or to consider that anyone who knows her would know the real truth. What she needed was Hugh.

Lombard comes clean to the detectives and admits that Belinda was blackmailing her for the photos. She couldn’t risk that her love life would be exposed to the god-fearing Mormons - potentially costing her the shoe contract. Much to her delight, she produces the illicit photo to show to Jack - no doubt hoping that what he sees might entice him. But there’s still one photograph missing as Jack and Phryne attempt to work it out in the stands, watching Ms. Lombard beat a very ill Mrs. Burrows. Inspecting Angela’s photo, Phryne notices Mrs. Burrows captured in the shot fussing with her dress. She puts it all together.  Her sage tea - sometimes used as a digestive aid but also to stem excessive milk production, her unwillingness to bed her husband straight away. Constance hasn’t been spilling things on her dress - she’s sopping up the wet spots. Well, at least I’m not the only one. Constance Burrows was hiding a pregnancy. She admitted that she went away after breaking up with Lawson - to clear her head. But what she really did was give birth. Unfortunately, she was suffering from threatening mastitis and it gave her away. Could she have trained and played with a condition like that? I think so. She is an elite athlete so besides being in prime physical shape, her determination to compete far outweighed any physical symptoms she might have suffered. I’ve seen cyclists ride up mountains in Tour de France stages with broken collarbones. Hell, half the world just watched as Aussie Jason Day competed in the US Open while suffering debilitating bouts of vertigo. It was the murder itself that I found convoluted. Why would Constance kill Belinda if half a dozen other people knew about the pregnancy, figuring for hospital staff and the adoption broker? Any one of them could have exposed her and ruined her career. And why wait until you got to Melbourne to do it? (Well, I think that was because she had hoped that Phryne’s friendship would provide cover.) Then, you’ve got Stanley - supposedly Phryne’s close friend - who turns out to be the one who planted the practical joke in Phryne’s room, knew his wife had been the one to kill Belinda and kept quiet about it, attempting to frame an innocent man out of jealousy. Bah! But there’s three minutes left in the show… plenty of time for another bout of Robinson’s Dementia, so let’s have it.

Ms. Lombard can’t let the opportunity of bedding Jack Robinson pass without giving it one last try. “If you ever get tired of Miss Fisher and wanna play ball with me, I’ll give you the best game you’ve ever had.”
As if he could ever imagine himself tiring of Miss Fisher. As if he could ever imagine anyone surpassing what he and Phryne will be capable of when they finally do get down to playing ball.
“I think we both know that’s a challenge I won’t be accepting. Goodbye, Miss Lombard.” Of course they both know. He isn’t Stanley Burrows - a man who is so in love with his wife that he attempts to cover up her crime and yet, so easily compromised by unfulfilled lust that when Belinda seduces him, he readily gives in to his desires. No. Jack Robinson does not work that way. He will not be taking Angela up on her offer just because he’s backed up. But god love him, he’s just so damn polite about it - even though he’s not letting down a woman who is in love with him. Angela wants him for one thing and one thing only.
And the little smirk he wears proves that the flattery is good for his soul. But there is only one woman with whom Jack wants to play. And he wants match her … Love All.

The closing soundtrack is incredibly poignant. “When You’re Smiling” was recorded in 1929 by Louie Armstrong (even though it’s the King Oliver version that plays):
When you’re smilin’ keep on smilin’… The whole world smiles with you
And when you’re laughin’ oh when you’re laughin’… The sun comes shinin’ through.

And what could break the clouds and make the sun shine through, but hearing Jack Robinson laugh? Thank you, Producers, for granting one of my top wishes for Season 3. I’m so incredibly grateful, I’m not even going to fuss about the crappy overdubbing job.

Presumably after locking up the Burrows, Jack darts home for his tennis whites and joins Miss Fisher in a rather unusual wrap up to their case. They’ve been doing things quite differently for a while now. First Jack brings her wine, then they drink lemonade, we last had a waltz and now it’s time for a serve. So we meet up with our two crazy kids literally playing ball, giving great game on Aunt P’s tennis court. And they are adorable. Nathan looks a natural on the court, which should come to no surprise to anyone. The man possesses a preternatural grace and an athletic physicality that would make Roger Federer envious. Not to mention the fact that he can make a sweater vest seem the sexiest piece of clothing ever invented. But it’s Jack’s demeanor and appearance that are the most striking. No overcoat. No jacket. No tie. His collar undone and his shirtsleeves rolled up. Nothing to hide behind. Because there’s no reason to hide anymore. What he feels has already been exposed to her. So there’s no reason to not to laugh, not to smile, not to relax and enjoy. Jack Robinson is alive again, folks. And wearing white pants. Is that a tennis ball in your pocket, Jack? Or are you just happy to see me? When he stretches back to serve, it’s revealed that Jack does in fact own a belt - a small detail I was ridiculously overjoyed about. Don’t judge. It’s the little things.

And it’s the next two little lines that absolutely say it all where these two are concerned:
“I aced you, Miss Fisher.”
“You just caught me off-guard.”
Are we still talking about tennis? Jack Robinson has indeed caught her off-guard. Just as she has managed to infiltrate his life, he has managed to infiltrate hers. They have to make do with each other, after all.

I loved how earnest Phryne was her compliment, “You’re actually quite good, you know?” And we see the Jack from Queenscliff, the one who strides up the beach in confidence, the one I believe is quite at home with his body’s abilities. He shares that he learned while he was at the Police Academy. Put that into your fan fiction pipe and smoke it. While I don’t believe it was formal training, I have to assume that the cadets were encouraged to keep fit and knowing that the Police Association had clubs for training and boxing, there may have been a group who played tennis and a young Jack was keen to learn. Don’t care. Jack’s in white pants with his forearms bared. I’m going with it. He uses the segway to rib her about the lack of detail in her police reports… Can you imagine Phryne having to process paperwork?!?… and formally retires her from her station as his special constable.

“I see,” she says, not surprised in the least and grasping for something in her bag. “I suppose you’ll be wanting your badge back, then,” and holds it out for the taking. Surely, he wants it back. He’s kept it since he was ten for fuck’s sake.
But he looks at it, sizing it up. The treasure that, as a boy, he imagined only being able to part with if it belonged to his ideal partner.
“Well,” he considers… the decision made. “No.”
She looks up at him to find that his expression has sobered.  "No, I think you’ve earned the badge.“ And even if his voice takes on that deep rasping quality that makes us weak in the knees, it’s not sappy or saccharine. Nor is it condescending. She has earned it. Earned his respect. Earned his admiration and trust. Earned her place by his side and sometimes (ok, mostly) in front. And I love that he tells her this before any attempt to use his mouth  - verbally or otherwise - to convey his other feelings toward her. Because their relationship was built on this.

And goddamm it, he’s pinning the shit to her again!! Isn’t it bad enough we only get 8 episodes? Do you have to shoot a nearly identical frame of something we’ve already seen? But as I’ve said, his giving her the badge to keep is not about love. This is about respect. There’s no flourish the way there was with the swallow brooch. It’s professional, almost militaristic - as if he were bestowing a medal of commendation. Which, in his way, he is. And to drive the point home further, look at his stance. Toe to toe with Miss Fisher, Jack’s hands are clasped gently behind his back in a completely open and earnest posture. As opposed to the naughty way he was holding them after undoing Angela’s dress or the way we always see him stuffing them into his pockets. So I can’t be too mad. And anyway, I’ve already admitted that I’m afflicted with a debilitating disease and the next bout’s going to be a doozy. Because my god, look at that smile…

Cheers everyone! Only one more to go! And by the way, Acorn has started taking pre-orders for Season 3 on DVD/Blu-Ray if you’re interested.

2

Sam Winchesters’ Journal - Entry #68

We reached the bunker after a car trip where almost no words were exchanged. I’m used to it by now. It’s not as if Dean had been particularly chatty in the last couple of months anyway. And Castiel…well poor Cas remained silent in the back seat and stared clumsily at us from time to time from the corner of his eye, certainly wishing he could have flown to the bunker instead of being trapped in the Impala with us for five hours.

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10

CHRONICLES FROM GREAT HEIGHTS (an exclusive interview with Louie Danganan) 

Traveling has always been more than just a form of lifestyle and leisure. For some, it is a much-deserved escape from the concrete jungle they live in, or demanding life in the corporate world. For 26-year old Industrial Engineer graduate of Bulacan State University, Louie Danganan, traveling is his ticket to a braver version of himself. I’ve been friends with Louie since the golden years of Tumblr here in the Philippines. But in this exclusive interview, i discovered that he’s got a lot more dimensions in him that people need to know. His knack for landscape, street, & night sky photography, local backpacking, waterfall hikes. His love for photo blogging, reading novels, poetry, indie rock/ indie pop & pop rock music to name a few. 


We’ve known each other a few years back, when we were active on tumblr. When and how did you discover tumblr? 

*Digging into my memory* It was around 2007 or 2008 when I heard Tumblr from a friend and looked it up in curiosity. I have had a few blogs before I stick to the project blog I have today which I started in 2013.

I see you’re into traveling now. When did your knack for it started? 

My interest in traveling got piqued when I was sent for official business trips in 2011 to Visayas and Mindanao. Then further stoked by a 6-day hitchhike trip to Marinduque the following year, my first ferry ride. It was an epiphany to make the most out of my capable years. It is not for life that I am able and hale I thought then that then is the time to do something like it. Travels got frequent and more frequent and here I am still into it.

What is it with traveling you love the most? 

Traveling is many exciting things. That’s what I love about it. I am exposed to the world, and I’m consistently challenged to outdo myself. What I would not typically do in the comforts of home, I find doing when I travel like reaching out to people, listening to their stories and socializing. Another thing is discovery. It gives me sense of accomplishment when I learn about a places despite physical and mental effort it requires. Travel allows me too to creatively express my self through photography while I let loose of myself in beautiful, foreign places. 

How many places in and out of the country have you been to? Which among these places is the most unforgettable and why?

I don’t count. I’m after the experience as trite that may sound. For a fact, I haven’t been outside the country yet for reason that I personally endeavor to explore much of my native land first before I set out exploring other lands/ seas. I’m smitten by our islands, mountains and seas that I’ve dedicated my present blog for personally documenting how fascinating the Philippine archipelago is. And I take pride in doing it.***One remarkable experience I had to say was when I ventured out to do my first (unintended) solo travel to the southernmost tip island of Palawan called Balabac for five days in the summer of 2014. There I met a very good friend, listened to plenty of intriguing and in some occasions, unbelievable stories by my hosts ranging from his good young days of carefree, silly travels, to sea pirates and poachers in that area of Palawan, to crocodiles in local politics and literal crocs in Bugsuk Island, to extra terrestrials during the Marcos era.

Moments from that travel that are etched in my mind: Sailing the glass-like surface of the varying blue and green shades of the Sulu Sea; discovering a pink beach down south - Comiran Island; boat-racing with a pod of dolphins; riding a bogo, a local boat, across a stunning beach just to buy soda from a sari-sari store on the other side of the island; a simple supper of sweet, succulent crabs, fish and tomatoes while being greeted by a low hanging full moon, its yellow glimmer on the surface of the black sea; sleeping in a hut that stood by the white beach so fine, raw and vast it could equal two football fields; chased the sunset by doing nearly an hour of walk to the west side of the island through the inland woods and chased in return by the night on our way back to camp, only the patch of white sand and moonlight serving as guide; greeted by an unseen rustling in the loo in the middle of a pitch black night that turned out to be huge hermit crabs tramping on the floor.  

I could go on and on and on and it seems glamorous in retrospect. But in fact, it was very simple and spontaneous, at times, unsafe even. Those days when I was stripped off of any personal material preoccupation, my appreciation was higher, and it made the experience truly unforgettable.

What is your key takeaway in every travel you have? Every learning experience, the frames that I take home, and the confidence I gain when on the road. I must admit I always get anxious whenever I set out to travel but I believe that taking that fearful leap is how I become courageous.  

5 most essential things you need when traveling. (Aside from passport of course)

As I have not ventured out of the country yet, passport did not make it to the list ((: On top of money and phone, my 5 most essentials are:5. sarong (my all around cloth, blanket, towel, cover, etc.)4. sunscreen3. wipes2. headwear - bandanna or cap1. dlsr & gorillapod.

Your dream destination.

Locally, Babuyan Group of Islands . Internationally, Lofoten Islands, Norway

Which do you enjoy better, traveling alone or traveling with friends? :)

Traveling with one to a few friends.

By the way, what camera are you using?

I lug around a Nikon DSLR D5200 with 18-55mm kit lens. While equipment matters for performance and image quality, I believe the taker’s skills, perspective and motives are most significant in photography.


Check out more of Louie’s adventures by following him on Tumblr http://ledsetgo.tumblr.com/

anonymous asked:

STEREK AU / model! Stiles & photographer! Derek - LOVE & LUST AT FIRST SIGHT <3

Derek’s job is literally looking at beautiful people all day.

Which is to say that he’s a photographer, a real one (not one of those ones who run around and hide in the bushes, because that’s not art, that’s glorified stalking, but he digresses), and a good one, too.

The kind that rich people, and famous people, and beautiful people, and the stars that are that heady mixture of all three, literally fly exotic places and feed five-star meals and put up in fancy hotels, all so that they can pout into his lens and allow their shiny, stick-thin bodies to be slapped across the covers of glossy magazines to give the normal people in the world a chance, just for one moment, to live out their fantasies of also being scary-thin and air-brushed beautiful.

Not that he doesn’t love his job. But also not that he’d thought he’d end up here, taking pictures for Fantasy Magazine, when he’d graduated with a photography degree and aspirations of being a wildlife photographer. He’s more National Geographic than Fantasy, himself, but a guy’s got to eat, which is why he’d taken his first invitation for a glamour shoot five years ago. And hell, now he’s getting enough saved up that soon he can fuck off and go live with the wolves, like he’s always wanted.

The point is, Tyra Banks has him on speed-dial. He’s a close personal friend of Heidi Klum.

So there is absolutely no reason that this… this… boy should be making him feel this way.

Stiles Stilinski is one of the lucky few blessed with not only charisma and talent, but also with a face distinctive and yet beautiful enough that not a few boys and girls spend their nights sighing dreamily over one of the Teen Bop or Seventeen rip-out posters of him they have pinned to their walls.

He stars in the kind of movies named Our Last Summer, or It Was Always You, those kinds, with the posters of a too-pretty couple staring deep into each other’s eyes with a tagline of “Love Always Wins.”

He’s not really Derek’s usual clientele, nor is Derek his. Derek usually sticks to the supermodels and international icons, and Stiles Stilinski usually sticks to teeny-bopper publications.

Unfortunately, when Lydia Martin, who, though pretty enough to go in front of Derek’s lens, prefers to work behind it as his agent, says crisply, “Your shoot with Mr. Stilinski is next Thursday at 10 am sharp,” Derek already knows exactly who he is. Usually, when Lydia books him a less serious client, somebody who isn’t high fashion at all, but is just aiming for promotion and glamour and is famous enough to make it happen despite being wildly out of Fantasy’s normal range of talent, Derek has to google them so he doesn’t look like a complete idiot.

But Derek has a sister, who has a twelve year old daughter, who tells him at least once a week that she’s going to marry Stiles someday. Derek had actually gone to Stiles’ last movie with her—it was a trite fluff piece, but Stiles himself has a surprising amount of talent.

And beauty.

And he’s only five years younger than Derek—twenty-three—which made Derek feel a little less guilty about his clandestine jerk-off session featuring him once he had dropped Selene off back at home, because the costume department had done its best to make Stiles appear as the seventeen-year-old jock that he had played in the movie.

So besides the fact that Lydia is not going to let him back out of this one, and besides the fact that Selene, and thus, Laura, would absolutely have his hide if Derek did not meet and obtain an autograph from his niece’s idol… Well, Derek doesn’t hate the idea of this one, either.

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Five things you'll learn in art school

Art school was always at the top of the big list of “Things I really ought to do” that I’d accumulated at the age of approximately fifteen. They sat us all down to fill in our applications for further education, and with the encouragement of my frankly clueless careers advisor, I slapped the most prestigious art school in the country at the top of my list.

Weeks passed and eventually I received an invitation to the entrance exams of several schools, one of which was indeed my first choice – the famous academy that was notoriously difficult to get into. The exams went wonderfully, I’d rarely been as pleased with my work as I was on the three days that I spent with all the other hopeful entrants, putting in every single drop of artistic skill and creative energy that we had in us to impress the judges.

Soon after I attended the entrance exams of another school, in a dingy little town not far from the capital, which I’d sort of accidentally listed as a choice in my application. It went horribly. During the first task I spilled water all over my watercolour painting, after which I promptly decided “That’s that”, and made very little effort in the remaining stages of the exams. I often recount the story of the interview with the judges, where I made no secret of having very little interest at all in being accepted at the school.

I tell you this, because I did not get accepted to the first, top-of-the-league school, the one which every young artist in this country aspires to attend. I got into the second, with top marks from the exams and high praise from the judges for speaking my mind in the interview.

A promising start to my life as an art student, no?

Anyway, during my time at this art school I wasn’t particularly excited about, I learned many things which may be of use to you aspiring young artists of today, and shall recount them here, in list form.

  1. Being stuck in a room full of artists makes you see your own work in a completely different light. During high school, nay, my entire childhood, I was always the one who was good at drawing. Nobody questioned it, art teachers sang my praises and my peers begged me to draw for them. That all came to an abrupt halt upon setting foot in a room full of brand new art students, every one of which had grown up thinking they were the best at what they did, much like myself.  There were meticulous traditional oil-painters, photography visionaries with endless imaginations, comic artists itching to get all their uniquely witty ideas down on paper… and then there was me. Suddenly my portraits of singers and film stars didn’t seem half as impressive as they had back at home. My mechanical pencil looked pathetic compared to the artisan paintbrushes and high-end pens everybody else seemed to have endless supplies of. Even my digital art looked lacklustre when faced with their sketchbooks brimming with gorgeous studies and fantastic concepts that I simply couldn’t bring myself to compete with.But that’s just it; you’re not competing. You’re all there to learn, and where some of the class may know a bit more about certain methods, it doesn’t mean you’re not as good an artist as the rest of them.
  2. You’ll have to learn the “rules” of everything, essentially. We all know how tedious it is to paint a colour wheel, draw those ridiculous grids for portraits, having to do every god-forsaken form of perspective task you’re given… the list goes on. That doesn’t stop after high school art class, oh no. You’ll be doing all that and plenty more right from the get-go at art school. It’s dull and cries of “It’s useless” will be heard from the mouths of many students. However, sitting through all of that is the best boring thing you could possibly do. You know the saying “learn the rules in order to break them”, and that applies to this particular subject hugely. You may well scoff, thinking you’re comic art or photography doesn’t need you to know any of the theoretical stuff, but boy will you regret it. All those times you think something doesn’t look right but you can’t for the life of you think what, I can guarantee you it’s something you’ll learn to fix by doing all that mandatory practice.
  3. Everything has been done before. That’s a fact, right? Now, we all are aware of this on some level, and this will be especially clear at the beginning of your art studies when suddenly all the ideas you had seem a bit shameful when you sit in art history class seeing it all there, done by somebody a hundred years ago and miles better than you ever could. Even looking at the work of your classmates, you’ll see the same themes, motifs, and colour schemes you’d been so proud of in that one drawing you did a while ago, and it’ll feel like a nasty smack in the face. Fast-forward a few years and you’ll look back in quite some amusement, because it really doesn’t matter. A good idea will endure the test of time, and the same is true for art. I draw funny little dogs. Cecil Aldin did the same thing at the turn of the century, but that doesn’t mean I should stop doing what I’m doing. If anything, drawing inspiration and joy from the work done before yours is a real privilege, one which can give you strength and motivation to carry on creating things you, and probably others, will love.
  4. Letting go of perfectionism is hard, I know. Sometimes you just can’t bring yourself to put down that paintbrush, especially when you’ve got a brilliant idea that just HAS to look exactly right… But then you accidentally smudge that ink or realise your proportions are completely off if you look at it from a different angle. The biggest change in my attitude towards my work throughout the years happened in art school while trying, and inevitably failing at various techniques. A sort of art-themed motto I tell myself every so often really is the key; “Improvisation is the most important skill of any good artist.” When you muck up a piece, don’t bin it. So you’ve got a great big blot of ink in the wrong place, it doesn’t matter. Do another blot on the other side, make it look like you meant it to be there. That’s what an artists does, mucks up and pretends it’s supposed to look like that. Nobody will question it.
  5. Art school doesn’t magically make you a “proper” artist. There are lots of people I know who have graduated from art school but classify themselves as hobbyists, and many professional artists who never studied art. What it will do is give you a chance to try things you’d never get to, nor think about trying at home. You’ll meet other artists who do all sorts of different things, and make useful connections. You’ll learn about the technicalities of setting up your own exhibition and what it takes to do various art-related jobs. But it’s completely up to you whether you will be a professional artist or a hobbyist when you leave. And that’s a fact.
i swear it will get easier

summary: Emma Swan is yearning for a guy she doesn’t know only because he’s been sending her cheesy pickup lines over Tumblr.

also on ao3

rating: T

wc: ~ 6,000

a/n: so, I was a terrible friend because I wrote this for @cutieodonoghue‘s  birthday, but it’s been literal months since then and I struggled with it so much, but I finally finished it and hopefully it’s okay???? @piratesails gets credit for the original prompt.


If pining after a guy (assuming it’s a male) online who’s been sending her Anonymous messages on Tumblr using the cheesiest - but to be honest - cutest, pick up lines is weird…then sue her.

It’s not like Emma Swan gets many messages on Tumblr ever, but she’s had an influx of messages in her inbox recently that’s probably from the same guy, but every time she reads one of the messages, she finds herself with a stupid smile that cannot be erased for the next five minutes.

Or for the rest of the day.

(And sometimes…yeah, she doesn’t respond to his messages because she wants to keep them to herself and go back and read them when she has a shitty day.

She may be a little selfish.)

She simply runs her own small personal blog that’s only ever used to reblog photography and stupid meme posts. Sometimes food, too, because food is of big importance.

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I Fucking Love You - Mike Fuentes
Hi can I have a fic where mike is a player but we have a bet on who can play who and I end up playing him but he falls in love with me and doesn’t tell me and I move on but I realize I love him so I try hanging with the band a lot to get back to him and he tells me to go away so I do but then we r both miserable for a while till he realizes he actually does want me in his life so he comes to my job and makes a big scene about how he loves me we live happily ever after (my job is photography thx)

I hope you like it, I loved this request and made it all one part c: Written by Emma.

Mike’s POV

“I will win this bet.” She murmured into my ear slowly. Trailing up my chest, her hands fiddled with my clothing. “Mhm, no you won’t.” I turned his head to her, our faces wearily close. “Are you sure?” She tilted her head admiringly. Her hand reached my neck, and her fingertips circled softly. “Perfectly.” I lied.

That memory seems too long ago… That bet we once had going on, it was so stupid, I got caught up into it so much I got trapped. Our bet was who could play who. Y/N was a photographer, known by bands to of slept around with many other band members, wrapping them around her little finger whenever she wanted. No doubt, she was a great photographer, but her flirting skills were a lot better. Once she had a photo shoot with my band, Pierce The Veil, I got tangled in her little game without even realising. My brother, Vic, and my band mates, Tony and Jaime, set me up to a small challenge. They told me to try and hook up with the girl. They knew the way I roped in girls easily, I believed I could get any girl I wanted. And god, of course I wanted her.

Soon enough, she knew what we were planning and decided to make a bet with me instead. Regularly, we met up, went on small prissy dates. She dressed sweetly, flirted subtly. She was working her magic on me then, I was too dumb to realise. Up to that point, I had no idea I had serious feelings for her, I just wanted her in my bed, I’ll admit that.

Then, something changed. The dates lasted longer, we’d spend whole days, weekends even, together. She slept at mine sometimes, not once did we do it. Instead, we lay there, talking about our thoughts on everything in the world. She would kiss me with those perfect lips of hers. Gently, I would cradle her until she fell asleep. That was when I begun to question myself.

Our relationship soon became more serious. She began to live at my house. Her items were getting moved in: her clothes, her stuff. I didn’t even realise this was all a game for her, I didn’t realise she was doing this all to win. I was neck deep in love with the girl. Of course, that was my one mistake: falling in love.

One day, I woke up and she had gone. She left. Her clothes were gone, making my wardrobe look bare. Her make up, toiletries had all disappeared. All except one thing: her toothbrush, which stood in the cup alongside mine. Everything else had disappeared from my house. There was no trace of her, not one.

I didn’t kid myself, I was hurt. Majorly, seriously hurt. I felt like my beating heart had been ripped out of my chest. Drowning silently in my sadness, I locked myself away, shut myself out from everyone. Even my band, even my brother. Nobody. I didn’t want to talk to anyone. I declined calls, ignored texts. The only occasion I left my house was to get alcohol. Pathetically, I drunk myself to waste. Every morning, every noon, every night. I wanted to drink all the pain away, I wanted to feel numb. I wanted to ignore the fact the one girl I had loved left me.

No excuse, no reasons why… That’s what hurt the most. She didn’t even explain herself, she just packed her bags and left me. Every morning and night I saw her pink little toothbrush sitting in that pot. It began to haunt me, seeing it all the time. Sometimes the drunken night before would make me forget about her the following morning. But no, that toothbrush brung all those memories back. To when I would walk in dozily, seeing her stand there with a cheeky smile and chirp in her tone telling me to get ready.

It began to anger me. Stupid, idiotic, I know. But seeing that small trace of her… It angered me. That she had once been here, she lived in my home, she lived with me. Then she just had the nerve to leave me unexplainably.

Y/N POV

Solemnly, I sigh. I miss him, so god damn much. I don’t know why, why should I? I meant nothing to him, like I thought he didn’t me. For once, I was wrong. I set myself up for something way too big for me. Tell me why do we all crave love like it’s some sort of prize in a game?

Sitting in my current distraction, Ben’s, flat, my thoughts loomed back towards a few months ago. Those months were the best of my life. Those months I spent with Mike Fuentes, a drummer for Pierce The Veil. He was the best man you’d ever meet back then. He was happy, funny, attractive as hell.

Hell, that’s what it was like when I had to leave him. But, I had to. I couldn’t stay there, living in his place, only knowing I was to be chucked away like a toy after he got bored. Hypocritical and pathetic of me, I know. But I was so hooked up on him… His face, his body, god it made my heart do somersaults. Even now, these broken-hearted months later.

“Baby,” Ben greeted me walking into the living room, snatching me out of my thoughts. “You look sad, anything up?” He asks, sitting next to me. I shake my head, it wasn’t the first time I thought about Mike, I did it a lot. “Good.” Wrapping his arm around me, he brings his lips to mine and without hesitation he kisses me firmly.

He kissed me long and hard. Even now, I think of Mike. Those nights where we would have a drink and he would kiss me eagerly. Although, it never went any further. In this case, with Ben, it always lead to something. Groping me, he breathes heavily against my mouth. For some reason, I just couldn’t tolerate it anymore. I depart from his lips, to receive a face of confusion from him.

“We need to talk.” I rush my words. “About what?” He asks. “Me and you.” I say, trying to sadden my expression. This won’t be too hard; me and Ben aren’t seriously together, we moreover just fuck and that’s how it is. “You ending it?” He bites his lip, he knows it’s coming. Sadly, I nod. “You sure you want to? Me and you, we’re quite you know, a perfect match. Everything we do is great. You sure you want to end this?” He tries to smile but I hear some sense of desperation in his voice. I’m used to this: breaking up with guys. Always with the thought of Mike in my mind. “I’m sure.” I murmur.

Later On That Day

I walk into the photography shop I work at, I’m greeted by my manager, Elliot. “Y/N,” He beams. “Elliot.” I smile. “What do you have for me today?” I ask, talking about any new shoots. “Well..” He runs the back of his neck as I sit down in front of the laptop. I open up the database and check. Pierce The Veil is at the top of the list, showing a due date of tomorrow. My expression falls. “You don’t have to do it, I know with Mike and all, I can set Jack to it.” He names another co-worker. “No, I’m fine, I’ll do it.” I shrug, how hard can it be?

The Next Day

How hard is it gonna be? How hard is it gonna be? I thump my head against the door I’m up against. I’m insane, I swear. What do I think I’m doing, seeing Mike? It won’t make a difference. Maybe if I get him to understand..

Swinging open, I almost fall through the door. “Y/N?” Vic Fuentes, Mike’s older brother and the bands vocalist says. I’m not sure if he’s greeting me or is just confused. Quickly, I stand up against the door frame. “You, opened the door, I was leaning on it and..” Vic just nods his head with a slight frown. He gestures for me to walk in and I do so. “Hey, guys, look who it is.” Vic presents me. Jaime and Tony look up and wave, Mike isn’t in here.

“Our manager said Elliot was sending Jack.” I hear Mike’s growl entering the room. I turn to see him and my heart misses a beat. It easily ignites the old flame that used to bloom in my heart. He has a intimidating look on his face, but I see through it to how it was before, when he couldn’t get a smile off of his face. “There was a change on the schedule, Jack couldn’t do today so Elliot told me to.” I lie. “Uh huh.” He mutters.

Silence sets quickly. I feel awkward, extremely awkward. The guys aren’t speaking, neither am I. What can I say? I don’t feel welcome here whatsoever. It was definitely a bad idea.

“So, want to get on with the shoot?” Jaime asks, breaking the silence like a hammer to glass. “Yeah, sure. Elliot said you guys just wanted a casual shoot in your hotel room.” I gesture around the room. “Yeah, just something simple our manager said.” Vic murmurs. I’m surprised Vic is being fairly nice to me; him and Mike are close so I bet they both spoke about me horribly once or twice.

Relentlessly, I get on with their shoot. They weren’t their normal selves and neither was I. I just pointed and directed as I took group and single shots. They were quiet. Mike didn’t speak to me once throughout the whole shoot, wouldn’t even cooperate when I was trying to take a portrait of him. It dragged on drastically, I assume for both of us.

It finally finishes and the guys are flickering through the photos on my laptop. By guys I mean Jaime, Vic and Tony, Mike has gone off elsewhere. I want to talk to him privately, but I doubt it’ll happen. “I like this one.” Tony points at the screen. It’s a band photo, all three of them are smiling, except Mike. “Mike looks a little grumpy.” I can’t help the words topple out my mouth. “Mike is always like that.” Tony replies, getting a subtle look from Vic. “Sorry.” He says to him, Vic just shrugs. “He’s right.” He mutters glumly.

“Y/N, after you went off and left he’s been like that ever since. Haven’t you realised that?” Vic looks upset at me, and I just flush red and then turn away, beginning to pack my things. “I, I didn’t mean for it to come out so harsh Y/N. But you are aware of that, right? You left him, he’s been a miserable fuck since.” Vic looks into my eyes with a look of sadness. Tony and Jaime nod in agreement. “You’re wrong, he doesn’t care about me.” Hanging my head, I shake it side to side.

"Oh, Y/N, where have you been?” Jaime says. “Are you blind? It’s obvious he’s become that because of you. I don’t mean to pile all of this on you, but it’s true.” He says afterwards. “No, he couldn’t of.” I frown at them all. “The bet, he-” Vic interrupts. “Mike never gave two shits about that bet. We set him up to it because we knew he liked you, it was the only way we could get him to admit it.” He raises his eyebrows and looks at me slightly disapprovingly. “Fuck knows why, but he had to fall for a girl like you.” He hisses. It’s unusual for Vic to act like this, but it is his brother.

"What do you mean, a girl like me?” I look at Vic in confusion. “A girl who fucks around with numerous guys, not giving a slight fuck about any of them. I’m sorry to sound rude, Y/N. But you’re one heartless bitch.” He says it calmly, but I hear the bitterness in his voice. Taken aback, I take a few steps away. I stammer; I struggle to find the right words.

"I came here for Mike.” I say. “What do you mean?” Jaime asks. “Elliot didn’t tell me to come, I offered to come here because I wanted to see Mike.” I swallow hard. “To tell him how I feel about him.” I go red in front of the band members, it’s embarrassing admitting it to them. “How you feel about him?” Vic repeats. “I, I..” I stutter. “You what?” Tony asks me. All three of them look at me with wide eyes. “I love him.” Flushing red, I see Vic’s lips part in surprise.

“No, you don’t.” Mike’s tone emerges from behind me. Rapidly, I turn on my heel. “Mike,” I say, heart pounding. “Don’t, Y/N. Don’t waste your breath.” He mumbles. “Mike, no, I want to explain everyth..” I stop talking under his threatening glare. “Just, go.” He says. “Don’t Mike..” I look at him pleadingly. “I said go, so fucking go.” He mutters through gritted teeth. Looking towards Vic, Tony and Jaime for help, they remain silent. “But, I love you.” My throat begins to go dry. “Go say that to your boyfriend, Ben. Actually, go say it to all the members of AA, considering you’ve fucked them all in the last two months. You’re just a desperate, lonely whore.” He smirks in pure sarcasm. Dumbfound, I blink at him repeatedly.

Holding back the tears, I bravely talk back to him. “I broke up with Ben, actually. So why don’t you shut the fuck up, okay? How about you take your pathetic, sorry ass back to your fucking house and drink yourself to shit. Because that’s all you fucking deserve you arrogant, ignorant fuck.” I spit and storm to the door. Slamming the door behind me, I break into tears immediately.

Two Weeks Later

Bored, lonely and unsatisfied, I sit in my office at work. I have a blank expression on my face; it reflects me on the inside. I feel empty. Ever since I saw Mike and the rest of PTV I haven’t been doing much, I’ve just sat here, everyday, all day. However I haven’t been able to take one decent shot since that day. It’s thrown me off my game, Mike yelling at me like that. Elliot has moaned at me for not bringing back the photos from the shoot, but I couldn’t grab them after I hysterically stormed out.

Jaime, Tony and Vic have all text me, telling me to come back to their hotel room to see Mike. I needed to get my camera and so too, but they want me talking to him. They’ve all said he’s been worse, drinking heavier especially. They say they know he wants to talk to me really, but after that event, I’m not sure I want to speak to him. After the words he said to me, I don’t know if I even feel the same way anymore. Whatever the case, I’ve been ignoring the texts. I don’t want reminders of how shit that day was.

“Y/N, call for you.” Elliot calls from the counter. Grudgingly, I slouch up and walk out. Taking the phone off of him, I hold it to my ear. “Y/N?” I hear Vic’s voice. “Go away, Vic. I don’t want to talk to you, or any of you.” I mumble. “Please, just listen, Mike is-” I almost yell down the phone. “I don’t care what Mike is! I don’t give a flying fuck, alright! After all that fucking shit he called me, instead of me wasting my breath on him he can march his sorry-little-ass-” Elliot taps my shoulder. “What?” I spin around angrily. Only to meet direct eye contact with Mike, standing at the shop door. “Mike is coming here..” I murmur to Vic, placing the phone down.

"I.. marched my sorry-little-ass here..” He half smiles. “Don’t you even. Don’t you dare come here and try to charm me with that stupid smile of yours.” I hiss, walking away from the counter. Grabbing my wrist, he pulls me towards him. “Mike, for fuck sake, let go!” I yell, not fazing him whatsoever. As he doesn’t move, I try swinging for him with my other fist to get him to let go. Simply, he catches it with his other hand and holds them both down to my waist. “Y/N, let’s talk, we need to talk.” He says calmly, I stomp my feet in tantrum. “Please.” He says with a pleading look in his eyes, the same look I gave him before he ordered me to leave their hotel room. “Go talk to that desperate, lonely whore.” I hiss the words he said to me. “I am.” He does his stupid smile, which makes me flip out. “Don’t you fucking dare, Mike. Don’t you fucking dare do this to me..” I feel the tears whelming up in my eyes. “Don’t I? Don’t I fucking dare? Oh, for fuck sake, you can’t say that to me. Not after you fucking left me those fucking months ago. With no fucking reason as to why, you just fucking left.” We’re standing in the middle of the shop, earning curious glances from everyone. “You fucking left me, alone, depressed, wondering what the fuck I did for you to leave me. Do you know how shit I felt? I did drink myself to waste, actually. I was so fucking broken without you… You didn’t even care enough to call.” The anger has left his eyes, and he looks upset. “You know, I fucking loved you, so much.” I can see him holding back the tears.

"You never said.” I mumble. “What?” He asks. “You never said you loved me.” I say, louder. “Not once, not ever.” I restrain myself from bursting into tears. “Well you know what? I did, and I still fucking do.” He says it as if he’s disgusted in himself.

“You’re in love with me? Or that desperate, lonely whore.” I growl, I wasn’t going to let it go easily. I completely ignore what he just admitted, although that would change everything. “Oh, shut up, Y/N.” No horrid tone is in his voice. “Maybe I don’t want to shut up?” My voice creeps louder. “Well how about for once in your fucking life, you do. That would help you a lot right now.” He rolls his eyes. “Maybe I don’t want fucking help either? Maybe I don’t fucking want anything?” I begin to cry.

“Say it.” Mike says. “Say what?” I brush tears away. “Say it, Y/N.” He steps closer to me, his hand tilting my chin up to look in his eyes. I know what he’s looking for now, but I can’t, I won’t. “Y/N, just fucking say it, you know you do.” He bites down hard on his lip. Shaking my head, I step back, but he follows. “Y/N, say it. Just say it, alright? Make all this stupid pain and emptiness leave both of us.” His glance becomes desperate.

"I love you.” I whisper. His hand brushes my cheek, making my heart warm. “Mike, I love you.” I say, louder this time. He breaks into a smile. “Oh, Y/N. I fucking love you too.” Immediately, he crashes his lips into mine, as if he’s been waiting for this moment for a while. A small cheer comes from customers whilst Elliot says: “About bloody time.” One of Mike’s hands caresses my waist whilst the other cups my face. Swung around his neck, my arms bring me closer to him. I feel my heart beat in once again, I feel alive once more.

anonymous asked:

ziall #18 please !

It’s not a blind date exactly, in that it’s definitely not a date and they’ve met before, but this is probably the first time Niall’s actually been able to sit down and talk to Zayn with no time limit, because usually the friend group is meeting for lunch on breaks between classes, or Niall’s on the way in when Zayn’s on the way out for work.

Now though, they’re pre game drinking at the Tomlinson-Payne residence before going out on an A-class rager, and so they’re sitting on the couch just talking. They had been on the topic of classes, complaining about school now that the semester’s over, but that line of conversation is pretty much done given that they’re only waiting for their grades to be in.

Everyone is just waiting for Harry to arrive and catch up to their level of tipsy before they finally leave, but he’s taking an age and a day.

“Where is that man?” Niall winges, arching over the back of the couch to stare at the front door as though looking at it will make Harry walk through any faster. It doesn’t, so Niall sighs and settles back down, takes a long pull of his beer and catches the tail end of Zayn’s wandering eyes. He hides a smirk behind the rim of his beer and takes another drink.

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anonymous asked:

Nat and bucky are exes but they're still friends. Bucky meets her somewhere when she's with clint, he assumes they are dating and invite them to a "double date" with steve. Natasha accepts bc shes too damn proud to say that she hasnt dated anyone since james and clint is just too confused to say no. Turns out bucky and steve are getting married and they ask her to be their maid of honor, so now she and clint have to pretend they're in love till the cerimony. What she doesnt know is that (1/2)

(2/2) clint wont have to pretend that much. A+points if you put lots of angst and a unplanned pregnancy at the end bc im a sucker for those (kidding. Just the angst is good. No babbies unless u rly need to)

this one deserves a 30 chapter progression with the slowest burn you’ve ever seen in your life but unfortunately there’s only so much i can do when i’m still blasting my way through prompts that have been in my inbox since october so i hope these 1600 words will suffice. 

(fic is under the cut because it’s LONG)

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A Christmas Wish or Two

Day One 

Prompt: Riley tells her wishes to the mall Santa who she doesn’t know is her old high school boyfriend back home from college in Texas. (Sent by an anon)
Word Count: 4,001 (I did not originally plan for this to be so long)

                                                      ❅ ❄ ❆

“Zay, where are you?” Lucas asks through the phone, “I’ve been standing by the fountain for almost an hour.”

“About that..” Zay chuckles nervously on the other end.

“Who is she?” Lucas lets out a knowing sigh.

“Her name is Amanda and we’re really hitting it off,” Zay says, “I’m just going to hang around the Christmas party a little longer to see where it goes..”

“The only reason I came to New York for the holidays was to see you,” Lucas whines.

“Flattering but false,” Zay laughs, “You’re here because your parents are sipping martinis in the tropics.”

“Okay fine, I’m here because wallowing in self pity is extra sad during the holidays,” Lucas lets out a groan, “You happy?”

“Extremely,” Zay laughs, “Look, I’ll be back around eight, maybe nine depending on how well things go.”

“Gross,” Lucas rolls his eyes and looks at his watch, it’s just after 5pm, “What am I supposed to do until then? You’re my only friend in New York now.”

“Yeah and whose fault is that?” Zay knows he’s poking an angry beehive but his pot stirring is something he’s held onto, even years after high school.

“Have fun with Amanda,” Lucas says sarcastically.

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Planet Zornex

TITLE:  Planet Zornex 

CHAPTER NUMBER/ONE SHOT: One Shot

AUTHOR : tomcuddlesfic

WHICH TOM/CHARACTER: Actor Tom

GENRE:  romance / fluff 

FIC SUMMARY: OC loses her brother in a grocery store only to have a handsome stranger bring him back to her.

RATING: T

AUTHORS NOTES/WARNINGS: I found some prompts I really enjoyed so I thought I would write these out. Please tell me what you think!

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summertide (a safe place in the woods): a supercat camp counselors au | chapter 1

After a bad hacking scandal, Cat Grant and two of her employees volunteer at a summer camp for some good publicity. With a cabin full of snotty 14-year-old girls and a bouncy, preppy, infuriating co-counselor, this is going to be the longest summer of Cat’s life.

A COLLABORATION WITH @sarahbloodymanning 

                                                –

The moment Cat steps foot on the grounds of Camp Friendship, she knows she’s making a mistake.

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Brothers Grim Part 3

Meet Brothers Grim - Meet Brothers Grim Part 2

Author’s Note: The much requested third installment for the first fic I wrote! If you haven’t read the first two chapters you’ll need to for this one to make sense (just wait till you see how much my writing style has changed in 4 months). Reader is a young hunter who’s running from something in her past (the mystery during part 1 and 2) and then she meets Dean and Sam. It’s leaning towards being Dean x reader. I like that the story line is pretty unique/mysterious, and there’s lots of Sam and Dean being their weird selves. There’s way too much going on to fit it all in this part alone. I’ll do more if you guys like it! 

Warnings: language, reader’s desire to just giving up, violence, mention of blood, injury, little ptsd.

I wasted no time catching a cab and heading back to my motel room. My run in with Sam and Dean left me frazzled and skiddish, the sooner I could get out of town the better. Besides, I had seen the signs. He was catching up to me again. Three mysterious deaths in the past 32 hours alone, each one increasingly violent. I traced my finger between a wrinkled map and several photocopies of police reports. It was no surprise when I found that the location of each murder or suicide was another fifty miles closer to the town I was in. Given another day, he would be right on top of me. I leaned over the table in exhaustion and tried to ignore the still-burning sensation forcing its way through my ribs. I was wounded, and he would see that as easy prey. But there was something inside me far more debilitating than pain alone. Exhaustion seemed to draw my bones down to the floor, a constant pulling force reminding me of how little I had slept in the past few months. The desire to just lie down was overwhelming, and my drive to keep running was waning weak. 

A jagged sigh filled the stuffy silence of my room. The knives, guns, and research scattered around each corner was a reminder of my mission. I was a fighter. There wasn’t a single problem in my life that I didn’t try to solve with my bare hands and blind sarcasm. My mantra had become something along the lines of bleeding means you’re still alive, and if you always fight, dying means you tried. But this, I couldn’t fight this. 

The red pen marks on the map seemed as rich and bright as blood. They might as well have been, since each represented a life lost. And each one was my fault. As long as I ran, he would always be following, silently leaving behind a body count to remind me of his power. Maybe it was time to just stay and rest, to stop running in place. I bent my head down in surrender, my lips brushing against the velvety fabric of Sam’s button down. I could still feel their hands on me as they attempted to put be back together again. Their smiles and reassurances, it was more affection than I had allowed myself in ages. If only they truly understood what nipped at my heels… 

I couldn’t ask for their help, not for this. The gentle background noise of the neighbors television was like a siren’s call, begging me to just lie down and stop living a life of retreat. Instead of packing my bags I sank to the bed and closed my eyes.

*

“I love stakeouts.” Dean spoke through his full mouth, a half demolished burger gripped tightly in his hands. A few empty food wrappers littered the floor around his feet and a stack of napkins sat on the dash. 

“No, you love sitting in the car, eating and listening to music.” Sam watched with a look of disdain as his brother continued to make love to his lunch. Again he reached to turn down the radio, which always seemed to somehow become louder every time he looked away. The occasional passerby walking through the parking lot frowned at the vehicle and it’s occupants. They could probably hear the Metallica blaring through the closed doors. “You do realize a stakeout actually requires paying attention to something other than your lunch right?” Sam squinted towards the motel they were parked in front of, noting the drawling lack of activity. This place saw most of its action after dark. Dean smeared the ketchup off his lips and tossed his trash into the backseat. 

“I’m paying attention. The owner of that white sedan is a middle-aged, balding motel manager who presumably hasn’t been with a woman since he had a full head of hair. And that’s been a while.” Sam craned his neck to get a glimpse of the man being describing, surprised that his brother has noticed anything besides the food he had been nursing. Dean took the opportunity to turn the stereo up two notches. 

“He probably smells every female tenant’s sheets after they check out. A real winner.” Sam grimaced and shook his head in an effort to loosen the image from his mind. His shaggy hair followed the motion and came untucked from behind his ear. 

“How disturbingly observant of you, but that has nothing to do with why we’re here. This is Y/N’s motel, and she hasn’t left more than once. From what we’ve read and heard, it’s not like her to stay in one place so long like this.” Dean shrugged and folded his arms across his chest in a less than comfortable, upright attempt to sleep. He must have felt Sam’s prying gaze because his eyes flicked open before he spoke again in a matter-of-fact tone. 

 ”Well, if you were paying attention, Sammy, you would have noticed she came back with a bag from the liquor store.” A long legged woman sauntered by the Impala and scowled in disgust when Dean’s eyes traced her from head to toe. Sam snickered at the silent rejection but Dean just rolled his eyes before returning to his cat nap. “Looks to me like our Miss Independent hunter is just taking a day off to get boozed up. A girl after my own heart.” The idea wasn’t completely unbelievable. All hunters needed a break here and there, especially one that involved alcohol; but it was the actual taking it that didn’t happen very often. 

 ”I don’t know Dean, I’ve for a bad feeling about this. It doesn’t sit with me right. She doesn’t seen like a day off kind of person.” Sam reached to tune the music back again but a hand slapped his away, despite its owner’s eyes being shut tightly.

“Well maybe you could learn a thing or two from her and loosen up a little.”

*

Getting drunk in a motel room by myself wasn’t exactly my idea of a good time, but it was passing the time. And time felt like all I had left. My clumsy fingers set the bottle of gin down on the floor and dug around in my pocket for the one thing I could always rely upon being there. I was relieved when I felt the sleek surface of a photography, although it was crinkled age and wear. The picture was faded from months of rubbing against the bloodstained denim of my jeans. Two smiling faces started back at me, one of them a younger, more happier version of myself. I couldn’t believe how cheerful we both looked, or how without a care I must have felt. That kind of lightheartedness was lost to me now. The man with his arm around me was handsome and wholesome looking. A less observant person wouldn’t even have noticed the way he gripped my shoulder or the whispers of a bruise left on my cheekbone. We could have been the sample couple that comes in a new bought picture frame. Even then we were so happy together. 

I stuffed the painful memory back into it’s dark home and drunkly pushed myself off the couch. There was too much racing through my mind and chest, I needed to pace around a bit. He would be hear soon. I’d never stayed in one place this long, and I didn’t have a doubt that he was be there within the day. If this shitty motel room was the last place I would see, at least it was the closest thing to home to me. When my wandering feet brought me past the curtain-shaded window I had to do a double take. I paused and squinted towards the dusty patch of dirt that substituted a parking lot. 

“Oh you’ve got to be kidding me…” There was no mistaking the large, black vehicle parked a little ways away. I groaned and pulled the shades closed as tightly as I could. Those stupid brothers were going to get themselves killed if they didn’t stop sticking their nose in business that wasn’t theirs. The last thing I needed right now was two more lives to be worried about, not that I was terribly concerned with my own at the moment. Suddenly I heard the clink of a bottle coming to rest on the table behind me and my spine stiffened. I tried to see through the distance if the Impala was occupied, but it was too far off. The sound of my swallow seemed deafening. 

“Are you here to get your shirt back?” I silently prayed that I would hear Sam’s gentle voice responding but I couldn’t imagine how either of those goons would sneak into my room so effortlessly. A bone chilling cackle shook the air and familiar fingers gripped my shoulder, just like those in my crinkled photograph. 

“Think you’re mistaken babe. I’m here to get you back." 

*

I had thought about this moment for months on end. I played over how I would react in my head a thousand times. But now, with his hand on my clavicle and his crooning voice in my ears, I was paralyzed. There was nothing I could have done to prepare me for him finally catching up with me. I reached out to steady myself on the windowsill, but my shaking fingers snagged the curtain instead and it ripped downwards off the window. 

"Easy there. Don’t make a mess honey, you know what happens when you make a mess.” Memories were flooding my spinning mind. I could still feel every time he had hit me fresh on my skin. The bruises were long gone, but the scars kept me staring up at the ceiling all hours of the night. The fingers on my shoulder tightened and pulled me back. I fell into him like I was made of paper. When my hand instinctively grabbed for the blade sheathed on my thigh, he pinned my wrist against my hip. I yelped loudly, but secretly I was relieved that he knocked the weapon from my grasp. It spared me the embarrassment of trying, and not being able to, stab him. 

All this hunting, all this killing, it was practice. I was honing my skills to be able to slaughter him one day for everything he had done. For all the people he had murdered just to keeping me running. Not a single person I loved was spared, except for himself. Moist breath panted against my neck in another prideful laugh. 

“Baby… I was really hoping you’d struggle a little more. You make this too easy.” I barred my teeth and thrashed against his hold, but he was inhuman in strength. “Tsk, tsk. I think you fought more in bed. What a good little girl you were.” My world was a blur as he turned me around in his arms. I tried to avert my gaze, but he snatched at my chin with a greedy hand that ended on my neck. 

“Look me on the eyes, Y/N.” A sob broke through my clenched jaw when I finally saw his face. The features I knew and loved were contorted and exaggerated. A hellish smile was topped by two wide eyes, both black as night. They rolled freely like the dead, marbled iris of a taxidermied wolf 

“No more running.” He came close to me and drew in a sharp breath through his nose. “I want to know what your blood smells like on my hands… It’s been so long since I gutted you last.” I refused to close my eyes to my fate, so I stared up towards the ceiling in surrendered calm. This was it; it was over now. All that running for nothing. My free hand swept over the photograph in my pocket. At least I could finally rest at last. 

When the door to the motel room ruptured, wood slammed against the wall with a loud crack. Adrenaline and fear slowed my perception to a crawl, and I watched as Dean pushed the unhinged panel out of his way and raised his weapon with quickness that could hardly be seen. Sam was following after, but he couldn’t cross the threshold before his brother was rigid and ready to fire. 

“Put her down!” My assailant shoved me behind himself in an ironic gesture of protection. The three men stared at each other for a stunned moment, heavy panting filling the room. The man in front of me cocked his head like a curious and demented creature. 

“What’s this? You have two play things that I haven’t met yet? Naughty girl Y/N.” His eyes must have been back to their usual blue, because Dean didn’t seem to know what he was or how to respond to his maniacal behavior. Sam trained his own weapon and crept forward. 

"What’s going on here?!” The nervousness in his stance was evident as he switched his weight back and forth defensively between gated legs. Dean on the other hand was stone still, face unwavering and vicious. 

“I don’t need to know what’s going on to see that this son of a bitch needs to get capped.” He set his jaw and brought his finger over the trigger. I could see the fire in his eyes, and knew I had only seconds before a deafening shot would pierce the air and the man shielding me. I felt torn between relief and panic. That bullet wouldn’t stop him, not in the way they hoped, but it would tear a hole in the body that I knew better than my own. I thought of the photograph in my jeans and was possessed by drunken passion.

“No Dean! Stop!” Before I could regain control I was throwing myself in between the man in front of me and the two brothers. As soon as my body passed in front of Dean’s gun his eyes shot wide and he wrinkled his brow, but not before lowering his weapon immediately. Sam yelled, Dean lunged forward, and I braced myself for whatever form of collateral damage I was about  to become. 

The shattering of glass was the only indication of my captor’s escape out the window. The remaining half of dingy floral curtain was still waving lightly when I turned around. He was gone. Dean screamed after him and pounded his fist into the wall with furious strength. It wasn’t till then that I realized I had been holding my breath for far too long, and I collapsed to the floor in gasping relief. Arms wrapped around me and searched me for any injuries. While Sam was comforting me and smoothing the wild hair from my face, Dean paced and turned with crazed frustration.   

“What the hell was that?! I had a clean shot!” He glared and barked his question towards me, but I didn’t have the words to respond. I was still reeling from the conflicting emotions that seemed to rip me apart. Sam’s wide hand rubbed over my back with just enough pressure to remind me that he was still there. When he spoke his voice was soft and chastising.

“Dean, don’t be so hard on her. She’s drunk and scared…” The elder of the two threw his arms up, one hand still waving the gun he was robbed of firing. 

“Shut up Sam, she can speak for herself!” Sam’s jaw tightened in aggravation, but he too must have been curious. He looked down into my face with an encouraging smile, yet his brow was furrowed in questioning. I gathered enough breath to stutter out my explanation.

 ”You can’t shoot him…” The eye contact between Dean and I was smoldering with distrust and challenge. His mouth fell open in shock before he clicked it shut sharply and rubbed at his temple. 

“I can and I will! Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t? We saw him with his hands all over your neck!” His words reminded me of the pain I was feeling where hand shaped bruises would soon form. I was used to those marks, although it had been a while since I wore them. He always used to say purple was my color…

I grit my teeth and pushed Sam away enough for me to stand, although he remained at my side the whole way up. Dean watched in partial surprise as I reached into my pocket and produced wrinkled piece of paper. I unfolded it, flattened it, and shoved it in his direction.

 ”You can’t shoot him Dean

because he’s my husband.”