what larks!

[marketchippie]

Five things:

1. I finished The Hour and fell into an hour's worth of mild feelings coma. Romola's hands! Everyone's face! The way Abi Morgan writes about wartime coverage! I'm pleased (putting it mildly) to hear that it's getting a second season; but how awfully long the wait's going to be. (Before there's a next season, I'll at least be seeing Oona

Comments

[ironthrone]

i only watched one episode of the hour so far so i need to catch up asap. all those great ladies. i think the only thing that's keeping me from watching rn is ben wishaw lawl.

also, gurlllllllllll, you need to write zuko/azula fic.

[moetushie]

I've never gotten into steampunk for the reasons you describe -- it looks cool, but eh, it lacks a sort of internal logic to it. But it looks cool.

(so basically Charleses, amiright)

[marketchippie]

They tuck up behind a wall, listening to whispers filtered through plywood and peeling wallpaper; he lays his gun flat against the wall, next to her cheek, arms on both sides of her shoulders.

"Push off," she whispers, mouth in the crook of his neck, and the peroxide froth of her hair makes its way into his mouth and nose-he coughs, tasting pomade and perfume at the back of his tongue with a grimace, and she claps a hand over his mouth; "Harry, you lummox, we don't have time for this."

Her eyes are gleaming. He'd pressed a kiss into the confusion of her hair; he'd deny it if she asked.

PROMPTS WHICH MADE ME HANDFLAP: THIS ONE.

[marketchippie]

The snow outside Lubyanka is up to her ankles, in her hair, weighing down her lashes and catching in the fur of his coat-she bolsters her hands against the fur of his collar, ungloved, feeling it melt into the pelt beneath her hands. She has always liked braving the cold; her teeth furrow against her winter-chapped mouth and she finds she is not even shivering (she can feel the heat of his skin near her hands, beneath scarf and fur the thrum of his throat).

He reaches out, cupping her chin in his hand and running a gloved thumb over the curve of her lower lip. They do not kiss beneath this streetlamp; they do not have to: his eyes are hot as electrodes and she thinks ty-mne, ya-tebye, a Party mantra they've always worn easily. You for me and me for you. Quite by accident, the Party has written principles for them; there is nobody more loyal. Her hand slips into the inside pocket of his coat, sleek and utility-deep. Nobody more willing. Next to his heart, she can feel the stark metal line of his gun.

Her fingers linger there-for luck

[crazyumbrellas]

I WOULD LOVE AZULA FIC FROM YOU. THE ONLY FIC I WANT FROM THIS SERIES IS PRE-SERIES FIC AND POST-SERIES FIC.