just-the-fics-maam reblogged
THOR (2011) - LOKI SERIES (2021)
› request by @sineads-art
Lokasenna: One Shot
I read some of the Eddas, scribbled a draft, then episode 4 tied up my loose ends. Dedicated to @flappyhappyhiddles on the occasion of her auspicious day of birth! Angsty smut to make up for me missing your celebration because Elsa will not Let It Go.
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The banquet is in three hours. Sif sits on the cold marble seat and stares listlessly into the polished metal mirror, her reflection sharp and lightly golden. Her hair is long and yellow, her lips rose and plum, carefully painted by the servant women who breeze in and out and say little. She frowns.
The crowning moment of your life, her father Heimdall had said, holding her shoulders and beaming. To take Thor’s hand and move forward by his side, truly the wife of a god. Nothing less than this would be suitable for my own beautiful daughter.
Her father loves her. And she likes Thor.
But.
Anonymous asked:
Hi new reader here and first I’d like to say how much I enjoy your work! I’ve been reading the Tom and Amelia chapters and for some reason I get a URL not found page when attempting to read the Winter chapter of Seasons. Would it be possible for you to send me the link to this chapter somehow. I really need to know what happened in that chapter. It just feels incomplete skipping over it. Again I really love your stories and you’ve gained a new admirer.
Thank you! I appreciate the compliments. I had no idea that was missing. I have reposted it in a better format. I'm glad you have enjoyed it! xx
Seasons: Winter (Tom + Amelia Multi-Chapter)
So apparently this got deleted somehow?? I have no idea how. It was originally posted back in 2014 and I just got an Anon ask about where to find it. I couldn't find it anywhere except in the original image files saved in the recesses of my own archives, so I'm re-posting. This was originally formatted to look like it was typed on little note cards to slip into a book, but there are issues with the continuity of the text and it isn't optimized for screen reader, so I'm just retyping it below for ease of reading for everyone.
A,
-The house is dark and the nieces and nephews are asleep and Christmas comes in the morning. It's almost here. I love the night before Christmas. It's always somehow calm and quiet. All the striving is over, all the working and shopping and wrapping and singing and everything is done, and what is wrapped up is wrapped up, and what isn't isn't, and everyone rests and sits with a mug of cider and just exists, just for this one night.
I bought a tin of French hot chocolate with me to my sister's house but the children don't like it. Can you believe that, darling? It's the loveliest thing I've ever tasted but they had no interest in it at all. They only wanted the kind that comes in paper packets with the hard little marshmallows in it that only half-inflate when you add hot milk.
It made me miss you.
Everything makes me miss you.
But that is neither here nor there. The things I want to say:
1) I was wrong. Never more wrong. So terribly, horribly wrong. It took me a week to realise it and by then you were gone, scrubbed out, no trace left and I don't blame you.
2) You are written all over my life. I see you every time I eat and every time I watch a film and every time I run past the Sakura noodle bar in the half-light and think about you and me in that tiny paper-walled booth. It makes me wonder if we would have made it longer, if we would still be together now, if I could have kept us walled in and safe from the world, the rice-paper doors slid shut, but I know it wasn't the world. It was me.
3) I'm different now. I'm older, though only by two years and a few months, and I can see now that the triple blow of losing the film, losing my treasured uncle, losing my vision of myself as strong and steely and vital somehow cracked my self into shards. I had never been broken like that before, Amelia, and then seeing you there in my kitchen -- my love cut me in two pieces completely, because I felt suddenly I could never give you what you needed.
If only someone could have told me that being broken is like being reborn!
When I started to feel better I wanted you with me, to hold my hand. I wanted to tell you everything. Even my success pains me because I can't tell you about it, and you aren't there to make fun of my seriousness and tease me into laughter.
I'm older now, and I'm better. I can love more deeply now, although of course now I can't find anyone to love. Not like that. Not like you.
4) I miss so many things about you, these tiny ridiculous details like the way you would always eat breakfast standing up and leaning on the sink because you said you couldn't start the day sitting down. The way you couldn't keep from dancing whenever you heard the Bee Gees on the radio and the way you cut through all my bullshit with your profane, mischievous, dirty, gorgeous love.
And the one last thing - my favorite Amelia-thing of all, which I will save as a secret relic of my love, and not write it down here to please Dr. Anderson but rather I will hold it in my heart, and I will only tell you if I see you again, even if you are old and I am old and you can barely hear me speak the words. I will hold your beautiful face in between my hands and tell you my favorite thing about you, and I will kiss you whether or not either one of us still has teeth, and then after that it's up to you.
I should have left it up to you. I should have let you love me, darling, and I should have loved you, too.
-T
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Spring // Summer Part 1 // Summer Part 2 [audio - nsfw for profanity - headphones recommended] // Fall // Winter // Second Spring
I haven't been pushed out of bed by the muses in such a long time. I woke up again tonight, hungry and restless, and thought of the way it has been for these past several years.
There is difficulty sometimes in life that causes me to back up, to look at all of the big picture things only, and to even have to stop noticing the small things at times. As a people within the world we have experienced a lot of the same: tyranny and fascism are pushing their way back in, climate change is boiling the ocean and crisping the treetops, a pandemic is making us suspicious of our own bodies, waking with a scratchy throat for the past year, my first thought is why haven't I finished updating my will yet? And at other times in the recent past I have had to start each day ready to die, and still able to live in that context as well.
I have a weird block around writing directly about my divorce these days. It has a lot to do with the legal system, and the need to appear pathologically fair, balanced, even-tempered, and serene as a Renaissance madonna gazing down at baby Jesus with fat pale thighs. You are carefully watched for signs of revenge, and he is not watched at all for whether he rightfully deserves wrath. And it has a little to do with a small shaming message I got from a family member not long after I split with my ex, several years ago now. He said look, I know it's a hard time and all, but... don't write about your divorce. Don't write about it publicly. The thing is, I know he meant well. And even worse, he was right. Clamming up on public channels about the whole process did make the machine run more smoothly, and did simplify and streamline my journey out the other end.
But then?
What do you do when you've almost voluntarily silenced yourself, when the fact that you wrote the truth is the thing that sparked violence and hatred and abuse, when the fact that you wrote truth about that is met with a finger on the lips and a knowing smile, when the dust has settled and the cards are dealt out, and dinner is eaten, whiskey drunk, cigars smoked, and you push back from the table, then what?
I have built a new life but the stones are silent. I kept them silent to keep myself safe. But safety never set anyone free, did it? Something can keep you from dying and yet not be a good way to live.
Believe it or not, I think of these things now because of the new Loki GIFs dancing across my dash, and a few scenes where the old glint of mischief is there in his eyes, and I remember what this character did for me way back then.
I came to the fandom in a similar way to most, and the thing that captivated me most in those early days of gobbling up every YouTube interview I could find was how interactive Tom was, and in seeing that, the lightness of his smile, the banter with the host across the desk, I saw something I needed and was missing, that I didn't even know was missing.
Slowly, surely, and with an incredible amount of pain, the journey pushed me out into freedom, and the things I used to write about because I could only write about them, and nothing else -- love, sex, affection, freedom from religion, warmth, and the quiet, wordless consideration of two people for each other -- came into my life, settling into the places that the fiction and fangirling had created and carved out.
So where are we now?
My life has been so many Big Things. The small things don't matter when the things are so Big, but now the Big things recede, and thank goodness.
And I feel sad, and I feel relieved, and underneath it all is a thrumming, humming happiness. When I first started this journey, it was the opposite: I was often happy on the surface, but underneath was an emptiness so vast I could hear it echo within itself. A loneliness so lonely that it didn't even have a word.
The feelings drive the fic -- that's why I love it so much -- and so what are the feelings now?
For me, a desire for the little things to matter again. I understand now why so many love stories are set with a backdrop of war, because war brings into focus how incredibly important a smile and a toss of the hair and a laugh shared over two heavy glasses of something that tingles a little on the tongue. Then, I longed for big love. Now, I long for little validations. To be seen in the tiny sunset moments, and really understood.
That is where the writing is now: in the warm light. At my workshop bench at 2:30am on a Thursday. Aching to articulate those tiny, golden moments.
Those are life, and I want to live.
just-the-fics-maam reblogged
Welcome Home | just-the-fics-maam | One Shot - 1.2k | January 2014
Sometimes it’s nice to be able to bring comfort to someone you love.
[Note: Ms Ma'am has written heaps of beautifully subtle, emotionally charged content over the past 8 years, most of which can be found exclusively on tumblr. Her works have included Tom, Adam, AU and canon Loki, and probably the most impressive Oakley story on the Internet. This work is a peaceful vignette I return to read regularly, as well as a great introduction to her style.]
It’s late. And cold. And damp. But inside, where you are, it is warm and dry, although perhaps a little lonely.
You sigh and rest your head back on the pillows. It’s been a challenging few weeks, but you knew it would be. He’s been busy, invigorated and exhausted at the same time. Long hours on the stage. Even longer hours at the stage door.
Still, it’s been fun to watch. You love to peek when he doesn’t know you’re looking, and watch the animation flicker on his features. That thing, that daily, nightly, hourly contract with the audience, that interchange of energy – that is what makes him burn like a flame. That is why he was born, and when he leaps into it with both feet, it’s more than just attractive. It sounds so terrible – so clichéd and lovesick – but it’s inspirational. It pushes you onward with your own projects, with your own trajectory, which now seems, perhaps, to be connected with his.
Oh my goodness, thank you!! I miss writing so much. I have 3 jobs to bring home the bacon to take care of my kids including one as a professional writer, so a lot of times when I get done I'm just tapped out. I know I'll be back, though. I've been dreaming up some Jane Austen fic, of all things. Your message really made me smile! What a warm compliment.
Anonymous asked:
Hi! I just wanted to say hi and that I miss seeing you on my dash and that you're talented and lovely and I hope that everything is ok :)
Hello! I’m fine, just have had so many deadlines up until a few days ago, so no time for fic writing. Happy New Year! :)
Hey Anon, thanks for your kind messages and the prompt! Don’t worry, they were all anon. I may have some time to write over the holidays and I will keep your idea in mind! I like it a lot. A lot a lot. xx
Any other one-shot prompts
Send them my way. I'm in a feelsy fluffy/romantic type mood these days, but I'm open to anything for inspiration.
Anonymous asked:
Prompt: You and a special someone spend an afternoon and evening in a seaside place like Amalfi. I hope this helps! Thank you for sharing your writing with us; I’ve read your work for years and I think it’s amazing!
Thank you for the prompt! This led me on a nifty little hike. It’s so fluffy fluffy super fluff. I hope you enjoy. And thank you for the compliment! It means a lot.
Never Forever
After her sister’s wedding, the thought of love at all soured Theresa’s stomach. She cringed when she saw couples in the grocery store, debating over which cereal to buy. She left work silently, pushing the old Nova to its limits, out to the pier, walking silently in the salt breeze, her phone in the car.
And when she returns to it, on Monday and Tuesday both, there is only one text, short and gentle, from Henry.
I feel like writing a fluffy one-shot
Anybody want to anon me a prompt? It can be a quote, an idea, whatever you’d like to read. If something sparks an idea I’ll write it up and post. xx
just-the-fics-maam reblogged
oldfarmhousefallfeatures
Spring in the woods🌿
thank you for the beautiful pieces you have already shared. I will miss your updates and I will continue to follow in case your muses begin to speak again. Just wanted you to know that your writing is appreciated.
Thank you! I really appreciate it. I am working on some one-shot ideas, so the problem of finishing stories has to be resolved within one post rather than in a series of several. :) I am guessing as my brain clears up in other areas of my life, the stories might start flowing again.
Some Writing Thoughts
La Luz - Chapter 1: The Banquet
Journalist Mari June has just gotten her big break when a shake-up at the LA Times leaves her rudderless. That is, until she is recruited by an underground reporting collective. At first it’s just talk, but then she gets the assignment of a lifetime. Will she be able to keep her focus on investigative reporting? Or will the charms of bacchanalian life in Camp Ventura distract her from telling the story the people deserve to hear?
It’s only a 45-minute drive from LA to Camp Ventura but my editor insists I take a plane there, an awful tippy little thing that gets buffeted by the updrafts from the bumpy, mountainous terrain. By the time I shove all my luggage into the hold, get myself strapped in, and listen to the useless safety lecture, it’s already been nearly an hour.
“I still don’t understand why I had to fly,” I complain to my sister, Jo, over the phone as I watch the pilot standing on the tarmac, hand on his hip, smoking a cigarette. “I could just drive it myself. It isn’t that far. Or they could send a car if they wanted. Whatever.”
“...Yeah. It’s weird,” she says. Her voice sounds far away.
“Are you bored?” I ask.
“...a little.”
“I’m sorry. I’m just so… I don’t know. Maybe it’s the tiny plane. I’m on edge.”
“You’ll be fine,” she says. There is a faint scream in the background.
“Elliot!” she shouts. “Get down off the-- No! I said No!”
I laugh. “Bye, Jo,” I say.
“Bye, hon,” she says. “Text me when you land.”
“Will do. Love you.”
“Love you.”
I mean to ask the pilot if he knows why I have to fly into the Camp, but he steps up into the cockpit, straps himself in, and switches everything on immediately, the buzzing din of the props drowning out anything but the loudest scream. He turns around to face me, giving me the big thumbs up sign. I give him a thumbs-up back, and take ten cleansing breaths in a row. By the time we take off, I’m a little lightheaded.
It doesn’t help.
*****