#because it's been so long and i've been tinkering with this for a hot minute

[kairiscorner]

question of the day: who would fall the hardest if they ever fell in love?

well... i've got 4 candidates in mind, and i think... (4/4)

(reblogs are greatly appreciated, it helps get my content out there! if you guys like what you see, please reblog it too <:D)

hobie brown. — guilty of falling hard for you.

summary: hobie never thought that he'd feel anything more than a friendly feeling with you–and he never wants that feeling to end. pairing: hobie brown x gn!reader genre: fluff !!

hobie brown does not care about labels, they do nothing but confine him to one facet of himself, and he finds that utterly displeasing. he's finally able to live his life with such bohemian freedom that he doesn't wanna let go of it by conforming to what people think of him. though, there is one label he doesn't mind considering as the truth... being the boy who loves you the most.

hobie brown has always seen eye-to-eye with you, despite being strangers not too long ago. the minute he met you, he could tell here was something special about you; maybe it was the way you talked, the way you walked, the way you laughed, your personality, your determination to never give up so easily... but whatever it was, you had him hooked on you.

hobie brown had never met anyone quite like you, and that was the best part about you--you had your own uniqueness, your own spark about you. every time he thinks he knows everything about you, he's suddenly thrown into another world, another side of you that he had never seen before and inevitably got blown away by.

hobie brown loves how you're like a firecracker--colorful, unpredictable, fiery, and hot--you're full of surprises that only he knows about, you're full of life and vigor and he gets more and more interested in you the more he sees you this way.

hobie brown can't believe, though, how easy it is for him to just like you. everyone at the spider society, every one of his close friends, all love you, that's for sure. but what he can't believe is how innate liking you seemed to him; it came as easy as breathing and blinking, as natural as it was for his heart to beat and for his brain to function.

hobie brown was sure that you weren't just anyone, no, you were... ethereal, you weren't ordinary; and nobody thought you were ordinary, you were aware of that. you were never one to comply with what society declared you should appear or act as, you were you, and that was the person hobie was most fond of: the real you.

hobie brown found himself tinkering with a new gizmo he had going on, he was a little anxious while making this, in complete honesty. he hadn't always been confident that every machine he makes'll work out the way he wants them to or even work at all, but he's accepted failure as part of the process. what he's anxious of is... if you'll like it.

hobie brown is shaking in the knees right now, but he's trying to play it cool, to shake that shaking out of his joints and act as calm and composed as he usually does around you, but it's too hard. it's too hard to calm around literally the most perfect person in the world that looks up to you and calls you their closest pal and who also has the sweetest laugh and smile in the world and the most perfect personality that anybody could ever seek for in a lover.

hobie brown is conflicting with himself right now, and this hasn't happened to him in years. hobie's muttering to himself the lines he practiced, trying to run by himself how being cool was supposed to be, because when he's trying to get a grasp of himself back in his mind, his mind defaults to thoughts of you.

hobie brown is blanking out right now, finally faced with you. he clears his throat and involuntarily flashes you a tiny, quivering grin. he's stuttering and stammering, which is quite uncharacteristic of him, but he was always unexpectedly cute no matter how he carried himself.

hobie brown finally says 'screw it' and clears his throat for the final time. "now, i... i might sound ridiculous right now, but... i remember you said you had a music box as a kid back then, always played the melody you hummed and taught me way back when we first met. a-and, well... i'm not the most skilled artist in the world, but, i'm your artisan, like you say. and this artisan hopes... that you like it." he said as he handed you a little box colored in your favorite hues with all kinds of colored papers, paints, and little designs on them with a wind-up dial on its side.

hobie brown anxiously watches you open up the box, and as he takes your hands in his to show you how to wind-up the dial, a couple of cats were on the little pedestal that popped up and twirled slowly as a soft beat from a song in your childhood played.

hobie brown smiled wider as he watched you grin and chuckle at the adorable little thing, he felt his heart skip a beat or two when he realized you were happy seeing this, having this in your hand, hearing those familiar notes from your childhood... and it was also here, when you told him a 'thank you' that his world became brighter. he got a bit heated in the face, his smile unwavering but instead growing, and he nodded as you leaned closer against him. he's decided, finally, that he indeed, does love you; and from that love... he fell, and fell hard for you, wanting to see that smile of yours every day not because of the music box or anything he gives you, but because of him. that is all hobie wants and needs in his life, that is all he yearns for to be complete--you and your happiness.

tags !! @k4tsu3 @euphovlq @luvstarrstruck @toneystank-3000 @ii01vq @maxoloqy @popeheywardssecretgf @arachnoia @solecitoszn @conitagray

[icycoldninja]

so happy you're rested again to do requests! how have you been? ^^ <3

can i request some mgs4 raiden fluff? he's trying to learn to cook and do househusband duties because his gf/wife usually comes home late and has no energy to make dinner after tinkering away in a lab all day for work

Oh absolutely, enjoy!

Learning to be a househusband (MGS4!Raiden x Wife!Reader fluff)

Wearing a bright pink, frilly apron that he'd stolen from your closet, Raiden rocketed into the kitchen, determination set into his half human, half metal features. He had decided a while ago that today, he would make dinner for you, his hardworking wife, since you came home very late nearly every day and deserved a hot meal. Since Raiden was currently off duty and free to laze about the house as long as he wanted, he figured making dinner (in this case, spaghetti and meatballs) for you was the least he could do.

After studying the recipe sheet he'd printed out, Raiden set to work, first gathering his materials, then filling a pot with water. He didn't know how much water to put into the pot, since the recipe didn't specify, so he filled the entire pot to the brim. He reasoned that since water evaporates when heated, it made sense to fill the pot with as much water as possible. Once he set that on the stove, Raiden got to work making the sauce. This part was easy since the recipe gave him very clear instructions.

Very soon, the water began to boil. To Raiden's complete and utter surprise, the pot overflowed, water bubbling up and out, drenching the stove. Raiden quickly grabbed the pot handles and dumped some of the water into the sink before hastily returning the pot to the stove. All seemed to be well now, so Raiden figured it was time to add the salt, which he did, a whole cup of it.

Next came the pasta, Raiden reasoned. In his gusto, he didn't read the package he grabbed and ended up dumping a whole pound of fettuccine into the pot. That's fine, he thought. Fettuccine works just as well as spaghetti--besides, his meatballs were gonna be so good, you probably wouldn't even notice.

The meatballs turned out better than he thought. Once again, the recipe was very explicit in its instructions, leaving little room for error. Even though there was a huge mess of raw meat and spices all over the counter and cutting board, the meatballs themselves cooked up perfectly. Raiden was extremely proud of himself for managing this alone, so much so that he forgot the pasta was still on the stove.

Had he not remembered in that exact moment, the pasta would have disintegrated into mush. Thankfully the cyborg managed to drain the soggy pasta before it got any softer, much to his relief. After rooting around in the fridge for a jar of pasta sauce, Raiden drenched the meatballs in the tomato-y goodness and heaved a grateful, content sigh. Almost as if on cue, Raiden heard the rumble of your car engine as you neared home.

Giddy with glee, Raiden raced to the door to welcome you in, eager for you to try the food he made all by himself.

"Oh, hey Raiden," You said, grinning. "You look...umm..." You looked him up and down, settling on his clearly stolen apron. "Interesting." You finished, lamely.

"I've made dinner." Raiden announced, a slight crack of happiness in his voice. "Come eat." Smiling, you set down your bag(s) and followed your husband into the kitchen, where he was already plating the fettuccine--which had begun to stick together because he'd forgotten to add oil after draining it. The pasta was now mostly a clumpy lump that needed to be cut with a knife in order to be plated. Raiden's nails tactical claws made it very difficult for him to hold the knife properly, so he gave up and used his own sword to slice the pasta.

It took 30 whole minutes, but he finally managed to wrestle the glued together noodles into a bowl, ladle some meatballs and sauce over it, and even grate a few shavings of parmesan cheese on top.

"Enjoy," He said, with a perfectly straight face.

"Thanks for this," You replied, still with a bright smile.

It wasn't a 5-star gourmet meal and the pasta was too salty and gummier than candy, but Raiden put time and effort into making this dish for you because he loved you, and you loved him for that. It'd take some time, but you were sure witjn diligent learning and proper training, Raiden could become a capable househusband.

[chayscribbles]

chayscribbles’ monthly writing update ☆ january 2024

☆ STATISTICS.

projects worked on: The Gemini Heist. also i glanced at Andromeda Rogue but gave up on that real quick

proudest accomplishment: i uhhh drew some really cool gemini heist aus

books read: The Long Way to a Small and Angry Planet by Becky Chambers; The Blighted Stars by Megan E O'Keefe; System Collapse (Murderbot Diaries #7) by Martha Wells. i got the first one for christmas and I CANNOT RECOMMEND IT ENOUGH. the other too were really good too.

☆ GENERAL COMMENTS.

hi! i have been very scarce from writeblr lately (and that's probably not gonna change soon) but i am alive and still creating! i mostly drew this month tbh but i did get some writing in, surprisingly!

you may or may not have noticed, but i'm no longer putting my wordcount in these updates. i've realized it's just not a valid metric for me to be measuring my progress. like, just because i haven't written any words in my draft doesn't mean i didn't make progress on my wip in other ways. and it doesn't make sense to use it for things like editing or revising, where words get cut all the time.

in wip news: i'm still reaaaally struggling to edit andromeda rogue, and after tinkering with it a bit at the beginning of the month, i made myself put it aside until february. which is... tomorrow. we'll see how that goes.

in the meantime i got some progress on gemini heist!

more specific wip-related comments + featured excerpt below.

☆ COMMENTS: THE GEMINI HEIST (draft 0)

this has got to be the messiest drafts i've ever written. my first drafts are usually somewhat clean, but this? it's placeholder city in here, i've skipped writing any kind of description, there are plot holes that i only realized existed later but forced myself to ignore for now in favour of moving forward. this is fine.

i'm not going to lie... i still don't have most of the heist figured out. i'm a plantser but i've been pantsing a lot more than planning and it feels like i'm flying blind and i'm gonna crash into a wall at any moment. this is totally fine.

not to mention, a ship i did not expect has emerged and punched me in the face, and since i have little self control, everything is even more messy, especially between these characters, and i have no clue how the hell i'm gonna resolve any of this. everything is fine. (and no, i'm not saying who is involved, but at least [REDACTED] has two hands. sorta.)

i'm having fun, though. that's what matters, right?

☆ FEATURED EXCERPT.

since i haven't really posted any writing in a hot minute, here's a slightly longer, VERY gay excerpt 😏 for context, this is right before the girls are set to crash a coronation party, and Gabi has asked Euna to help with her makeup 😌

“Thank you,” Gabi said, beginning to stand. “It’s not done,” Euna protested, taking her wrist to pull her back down. “I still have to do your lips.” “Oh,” Gabi said, settling back onto the bunk. She squirmed in place. “It’s not that important— I don’t want to take up any more of your time—” “It won’t take long,” Euna promised, taking out a tube of shimmering pink lipstick. She brought her other hand up to Gabi’s face, pausing right before touching her. “May I?” Gabi nodded, her neck bobbing slightly as she swallowed.  Euna gently cupped Gabi’s chin and drew her closer so she could see better, uncapping the tube with her teeth and spitting it out onto the bunk. Gabi sucked in an audible breath as Euna pressed the lipstick against her top lip and carefully smeared colour and glitter from one side to the other. Her hand slowed as it dragged the stick in the opposite direction along Gabi’s bottom lip, coming to a complete stop when she reached the end. For a moment, she stayed frozen in place, holding the lipstick to the corner of Gabi’s mouth, her other palm pressed against Gabi’s warm cheek, feeling her racing pulse at the tips of her fingers.  “Is… is something wrong?” Gabi asked in a whisper, barely moving her lips. Euna quickly withdrew both her hands from Gabi’s face. “No,” she said, groping the covers around her to retrieve the cap. “Just, ah, making sure I’d done it correctly.”

☆ TAGLISTS. let me know if you want to be added/removed to any of them.

general taglist:

@nicola-writes @dgwriteblr @the-orangeauthor @onomatopiya @quilloftheclouds @ashen-crest @writeblrfantasy @celestepens @stardustspiral @pepperdee @extra-magichours @avi-why @lefttigerobservation @chazzawrites @bardolatrycore @innocentlymacabre

gemini heist taglist:

@florraisons @akindofmagictoo @cream-and-tea @nicola-writes @memento-morri-writes @antique-symbolism @rose-bookblood @afoolandathief @pepperdee @avi-why @zonnemaagd @chazzawrites @analogued @enchanted-lightning-aes @innocentlymacabre @kahvilahuhut @celestepens @cilly-the-writer @extra-magichours @onomatopiya @outpost51

[shynmighty]

#12 - Be honest, how many outfit tabs do they have? And #13 - Let’s see those outfits! Which of the outfits is their main outfit and why?

Oooh we're diving into Aeony's wardrobe for this one!

(From these asks)

Pic of Aeony because I love her!! 🥰

Sooo...this is gonna be long so I'm just gonna go ahead and...

12. Be honest, how many outfit tabs do they have?

The short answer is 10. But we're being honest here, so...honestly... some of those slots have been replaced over time. Going by the number of outfits she's had historically, she probably had closer to 15 or 16 outfits. Some of them were pretty awful and I feel bad for disrespecting my baby like that. I've had Aeony the longest of my current characters, so I've done the most tinkering on her.

13. Let's see those outfits!

So... A bit of a disclaimer about Aeony's wardrobe. It's very much a work in progress. I first designed Aeony during the DARK TIMES (ie...before Arcann was an available love interest) and my concept for her was "Make a character so I can pretend to romance Arcann." I won't get into detail about her characterization because this post isn't about that, but my concept for her aesthetic was "Matchy Matchy with Arcann." So I decided early on that her colors would be either white, or white and gray (and this kinda spilled over to the rest of my legacy). And I wanted to avoid going totally matchy matchy by using Thexan's robes. Thus...the great adventure to find Aeony the perfect outfit began!

So without further ado, here are the outfits I have collected for her over the years!

This one was an attempt to give Aeony a Zakuul aesthetic, but...eh. I wasn't jazzed about it. I hardly ever use it, and to be honest...I kinda forget it's even there.

This is an EARLY outfit, and Aeony did wear this for a hot minute back during her first run of KotFE/ET. She hasn't returned to it since the time before stamping your weapon was a thing, so her gear lightsaber is showing! I actually kind of like this look, but for some reason it doesn't click as her MAIN outfit.

Aeony actually wore this for a looooong time, but didn't accomplish anything in the story. It's a nice outfit, but for some reason it's also just not clicking for me.

I actually thought this would be her main outfit, but I think it's a bit too rugged and doesn't QUITE mesh with her personality.

This is the closest I've come to finding THE ONE TRUE OUTFIT. I love love love this set, and it looks amazing dyed white, BUT....

See, here's the back. The black is un-dye-able. Booooo. It looks kinda cool, but doesn't match Aeony's carefully crafted aesthetic. So I thought to myself, maaaaybe I can make it work if I fuck around with it?

Here's my attempt to fuck around and find out... it looks okay, but it probably would look better with a black & white dye...and that's not Aeony. It's a bummer, because from the front I think it's actually decent. But I'll be seeing it mostly from the back. And I can't handle the un-dye-able black. I CANNOT. *stamps foot*

This is Aeony's OLDEST outfit, which she completed most of her class story with. You can tell it's old because Aeony was in her pointy headdress era. I like this outfit. But it belongs to a bygone era...Aeony has moved on!

Another oldie but a goodie....Satele's set! I think I ditched this look because at the time EVERYONE else was wearing it. Including Satele. One of them had to change, so I decided it would be Aeony...and then Satele changed her outfit 😂

Getting near the end now! I love this outfit. It's probably the closest I've come to finding Aeony's signature "look"...but I dunno. Something is keeping me on the fence about it.

I using this armor currently...and so is everyone else...but it's a good placeholder, I think. The search for Aeony's perfect outfit is eternal and ongoing. But the outfit of my dreams is out there, I just know it!!!

And those are her outfits! This was such a fun ask, thank you so much!!! 🥰

[12timetraveler]

Something In The Orange

Chapter 6

Summary:

After the Christmas party, reader and Hosea try to find some time for themselves.

Notes:

Sorry this chapter took so long. I'm still trying to do a posting schedule but... Well... I'm struggling to keep up on it. But I wanted to get this chapter out there.

Also this chapter had to be broken up into two (again) because it was getting too long. So the next chapter will wrap up Christmas break. It should be a bit shorter.

Anyway I hope you enjoy!

As always below is a little teaser. Read the full thing on AO3

~~~~~~~~

The morning after the Christmas party was quiet. Everyone was pleasantly tired after the fun night and were sleeping in, sleeping off the hangover.

You heard Hosea get up pretty early. A muted cough alerted you to him being up. A few minutes later you heard footsteps creep past your room, down the hallway and down the stairs. Part of you wanted to drift back off to sleep, but another part of you wanted to jump up and spend a little time with him.

The back door closed a few minutes later, and your decision was made. Quickly you threw on some warm clothes, sneaking down the stairs so as not to wake anyone else. You slipped on your boots and followed Hosea’s trail out into the barn.

Hosea had a hammer and was smashing the ice in one of the water barrels inside a stall when you found him. He looked grumpy and adorable, brow furrowed, grumbling under his breath as he smashed the ice.

“Need a hand?” You asked. He startled slightly, not hearing you approach. But he broke out into a wide grin.

“What are you doing up?” He asked. “I didn't wake you did I?”

“I usually get up around this time,” you shrugged. Hosea didn't really look like he believed you. “I thought it'd be nice to just... Hang out. Plus I can help look after the animals,” it sounded lame when you said it. But Hosea just smiled.

“Well alright. If you'd like,” he said. “Let me just finish this and you can help me feed ‘em all.”

“Do you have to break the ice on every bucket? Every day?”

“Well,” Hosea grunted, breaking the last of the ice. “In theory, no. I've got this waste of money in every barrel,” tugging on a black cord he lifted a small black device out of the water barrel. “This is supposed to keep the ice from forming, keep the water above freezing. But every day I have to fix one of these damn things.” He grumbled. Using his teeth he removed one of his gloves so he could inspect the device better, scraping some ice off the de-icer.

He looked around for a minute, glove still hanging out from between his teeth. “Hand me that screwdriver, wouldya?” He asked behind the glove. You grabbed the tool from the little toolbox and handed it over to him.

It was Melvin the shire who's stall Hosea was in. The big draft had been ignoring you mostly. But with a few kissy sounds you managed to coax him over for some skritches.

“Hey there big boy,” you murmured. “Look at you all shaggy with your winter coat. Bet you feel nice and warm,” Melvin huffed out a hot breath of air at you. He snuffled at your jacket, looking for treats. He found none, but seemed to decide your scratches were worth hanging around.

“He likes you,” Hosea noted, still talking around his glove. You glanced over to see he'd stopped tinkering with the de-icer to watch you. You rolled your eyes and reached out, grabbing the glove and tugging it lightly from between his teeth. “Oh thank you,” he mumbled, like he forgot he was still holding it like that. “Arthur and John can't hold this old brute’s attention for more than a couple seconds.”

“He's just a big softy,” you cooed, turning back to Melvin. “Aren't you? You're just a big fluffy teddy bear. Yes you are.”

Hosea chuckled at you, baby talking the giant horse, before turning back to the task at hand. After a few minutes he seemed to find the problem.

“Oh you goddamn piece of shit,” he growled. “Wire came loose on this one too. God. Cheap piece of crap. I'm gonna have to find new ones. This is ridiculous. Never buying this brand again.” He was muttering to himself, and you had to bite your tongue to keep from giggling at him.

A few minutes later Hosea seemed to have it fixed, and the little device began humming. “There. God,” he growled, dropping the device back into the barrel to do its job. He stepped forward and patted Melvin on the neck. “There you go, boy. Now you should have liquid water for... Well until it breaks again.”

Melvin snorted and stomped his foot. As the big horse turned to go he bumped his nose against Hosea, pushing him back just a step before lumbering out into the run that attached to his stall.

“Oh fine. I see how it is. Pretty face shows up and gives you attention and I can just go hang,” Hosea called after the horse. You giggled, handing Hosea back his glove and taking the screwdriver to put back in the tool box.

“So, how can I help?” You asked. Hosea handed you the hammer.

“Would you check everyone else's waters? Break the ice if you see any, and let me know which ones need fixing. I'll start getting everyone's breakfast put together.”

Chores went by quickly and easily from there. Boadicea’s water was frozen, but you were able to break up the ice. That one was an easy fix, as Bo herself had been playing with the de-icer it seemed, and had pulled it out of the water barrel, so you just had to put it back in.

Then you joined Hosea in the feed room, where he was meticulously scooping out different feed mixtures at different ratios into the different feed buckets. You could tell he had it down to a science, and knew each animal's diet by heart. Once he had them filled with their grains and meals, the two of you added some warm water to make a mash, and began distributing the food to each resident of the barn. Additionally grain was tossed to the chickens in their indoor winter coop, and vegetable scraps from last night's feast were passed out. Most went to Buster the pig, but everyone got a little.

Finally Hosea declared you were done, grabbing a dog bowl and filling it with wet and dry food for Copper, who was likely still snoring in Arthurs room, and taking it inside with you. The house was quiet, everyone else still sleeping.

“I'll go release the hound if you want to get coffee started,” Hosea suggested, setting the dog bowl of food on the kitchen floor. “Normally he's up with Arthur and eats in the barn, but I guess he's sleeping in as well.”

“Sure,” you said, stepping up to the coffee machine while Hosea quietly ascended the stairs to get Copper. You'd seen Hosea make coffee enough to know where everything was, and you began brewing a slightly stronger brew, knowing the house’s occupants would need the boost.

Just as you turned on the machine you heard the scrambling of paws on the floor above, headed down the stairs and straight for you. Turning so your back was to the counter, you braced yourself for the sloppy good-morning kiss from Copper.

Almost on cue the hound rounded the corner, pausing at his food bowl, but passing it by when he saw you. You laughed quietly as he jumped up, placing his front paws on your shoulders. God he was a big boy. He may have been crossed with a vizsla, but his size was all coonhound. He was easily 80 lbs, and he would have knocked you over if you hadn’t been prepared. But actually he was pretty good at holding his own weight when he jumped up on you, even when he bayed in your face before covering you in slobbery kisses.

“Good morning to you too,” you said, trying to keep your voice down so as not to wake anyone. As if the dog hadn't just sounded an alarm fit to wake the whole ranch.

“Copper, down,” Hosea's sharp, hushed command immediately caught the dogs attention, and he flopped his head back to look at Hosea, and let out another bay. “Shhh shh. Okay look,” Hosea picked up Copper's bowl. “You want breakfast?” The dog pushed himself off of you, coming to sit at Hosea's feet. “Better. Thank you. Here.” He said, setting the bowl down for the dog to eat. “Sorry about him.”

“It's fine,” you laughed, grabbing a paper towel to wipe the drool from your face.

“He’s got quite the mind of his own. Even our trainer says with hounds you don't command, you negotiate,” he chuckled. “We've found a pretty good balance but if he sets his mind to it, well,” Hosea shrugged.

“He's just a big softy. Like his boy,” you chuckled. Just like Arthur, Copper could be loud, and certainly could throw his weight around, but really they were both just goofy boys looking for some fun.

“Yeah,” Hosea chuckled, looking down at the dog fondly. “Anyway, is that coffee ready? I don't know about you but I sure need a boost.”

[domesticated-feral]

ao3 tag game!

thanks for the tag @scribeoffate i forgot i was tagged for a hot minute hehe

How many works do you have on ao3? 99. NINETY NINE!?!?!?!

What's your total ao3 word count? 215,544. woah.

What fandoms do you write for? Mostly Teen Wolf. I wrote and uploaded 1 fic for stay (2005) and I wanna write more for other fandoms like Brokeback Mountain, Merlin.

What are your top five fics by kudos? YFHAPBOS Fake It 'til You Make It The Mischief is Hereditary In An Empty McDonald's Parking Lot At 3AM Intoxicating

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? Yes, I love responding to comments!

What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? i exist to nobody but you. it's angsty all throughout so yeah.

What's the fic you wrote the happiest ending? Most of my fics end happy so i'm just gonna pick one out the hat and it's Riding Drag! a fun little stackson one shot!

Do you get hate on fic? No, not on fic, fortunately!!

Do you write smut? Yep. Most of it is unpublished though but there's a great deal of it on ao3.

Do you write crossovers? i have like 2 smut wips of one of my two crossover ships. I really want to get more ppl in this crossover ship but i cant do that as long as these wips stay inside my docs smh

Have you ever had a fic stolen? not that i know of. hopefully not?!!!

Have you ever had a fic translated? not yet, but i'd be glad to have any of them translated by anyone!

Have you ever co-written a fic before? not really, the most co-written a fic has got is having one of my dearest friends watch me write it live on docs and them hyping me up and giving suggestions.

What's your all-time favourite ship? Stackson, I suppose. But you know what, I'll take this moment to also plug in my best friends, my current most-obsessing over ships, Scackson, Scerek, and my two brainrot crossover ships, Ditch Lapp (Detective David Loki/Mitch Rapp) and Scott McCall/Donnie Darko (these ships might not be an all-timer but they sure do feel like it)

What's a wip you want to finish but probably won't? HIYA, i want to finish it but i also dont want to touch it.

What are your writing strengths? i can pavlov's dog myself into writing specific wips sometimes with the help of music. (if i listen to the brokeback mountain soundtrack, especially riding horses, i immediately have to work on the stackson cowboys fic)

What are your writing weaknesses? sometimes i lose motivation for long stretches of time

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? i haven't done it before i think, nor am i comfortable doing it with languages i don't know very well. i am already writing fics and stuff in my second language soo yeahhh

First fandom you wrote for? bandoms. I was one angsty tween/teen. I still have the residual teen angst in me.

Favourite fic you've written? Right now, it's Recollection. I've been tinkering away at a companion piece for it because I love writing Sam's pov but also Henry in Sam's pov.

[varric-tethras-editor]

Hello lovely Tumblr friends, I bring you WIP Writing for the first time in a looooong time! Here are some little crumbs, I hope you enjoy.

______________

The final sip of wine sends a shiver through Fenris as the bitter dregs of the Agreggio collide with the back of his tongue. The liquid trickles down his throat and the empty bottle finds itself carelessly tossed in a corner to be dealt with, likely never. 

The sound of the glass hitting the floor tiles clamors through his otherwise silent Hightown mansion. He can feel it’s getting late- his muscles are sore, but are otherwise nicely numbed from the wine, and the usually unbearable chitter of Nobles that plays outside of his home most hours of the day has died down into only the occasional call of a bird.

Fenris doesn’t find himself feeling tired- he’s restless. His skin feels itchy and agitated, more so than usual, and he paces the rooms while contemplating his current situation.

It’s been almost six months with no sight or sign from Danarius. Fenris isn’t certain that he believes the threat is over. No, Fenris is quite sure as long as he can still glow the threat is present and following him. His former Master would always see him as an investment far too valuable to lose permanently. Danarius would return, it was only a matter of when.

In the meantime, however, Fenris would wait. His mansion, formerly Danarius’s, was as fine as any place to wait. There was plenty of space, even if it was littered with cobwebs and magically preserved corpses, and the wine cellar was plentiful enough to keep Fenris occupied. 

Most of all, he got to be alone.

He had stored up not quite half a lifetime of memories, all spent living under the watch of another. Now he was free. Free to do as he pleased and no longer take his biddings from anyone else. Free to drink the wine rather than serve it and free to throw the bottle on the floor and not be expected to pick it up. Ah, yes, Fenris was a free man now.

__________

I think that for now I will keep the details of this project a secret for now, but just know that this idea has excited me in a very interesting way and there's a lot more than meets the eye here.

Tagging: @kantrips, @ellenembee, @little-lightning-lavellan, @pikapeppa, @dreadfutures, @the-dreadful-canine, @blueheaded, @tevinterdays, @emerald-amidst-gold and anyone else who feels so inclined to share something in the works.

[ocw-archive]

A Night in the Life of Owen Wilson - Premiere Magazine, December 2002

by Christine Spines

The curiously refreshing star sets off an impromptu tour of his old Dallas stomping grounds with no idea where it will lead.

No more than ten minutes have passed since he appeared on my hotel lobby couch, slouching like a kid who'd just been grounded for a month. Now we're riding through the streets of Dallas on an impossibly hot September night, and suddenly we're skyrocketing. Owen Wilson has just issued the mandate, a towering challenge that will test the skills and resources available to us at 10 p.m. on Labor Day. "You know what? Let's just make this great," he said, flooring his brother Luke's late-model Cadillac out of the hotel parking lot. "We're going to make this the best there ever was. People won't know what happened to them after reading this story. It's going to change lives, change the world as we know it. This thing is going to be great because we're going to make it that way!"

His eyes are twinkling like new toys. It's hard not to believe that he can make great things happen just because he wills them to be so. As pained and put upon as he first was by the prospect of taking time away from a long weekend at his parents' house to be interviewed, the 34-year-old actor is unwilling or unable to let the experience pass without mining it for whatever drama or adventure it may hold. The car's outdoor thermometer reads 98 degrees, and Wilson devises a plan on the fly as we sail past the crowded trattoria he just nixed from the agenda. Too stuffy. "Do you like ice cream?" asks Wilson, wearing khakis, an untucked black T-shirt, and ankle boots that sometimes catch the hem of his pants. "I'll take you to a place I've been going to a lot. I got into going and getting smoothies in Los Angeles. But then I was thinking that maybe smoothies aren't that good for you. Have you ever thought of that, that smoothies are nature's cancer?"

Wilson is not actually health-conscious. He is acutely conscious, though, that neurotic behavior in a seemingly laid-back guy like him is always good for a laugh. In fact, he's built his career on crafting these casually eccentric characters ever since stepping in front of the camera in Bottle Rocket as Dignan, the irrepressible outlaw naïf who seeks to find substance, excitement, and a career in a life of crime. Wilson cowrote the movie with director Wes Anderson, whom he met in a playwriting workshop at the University of Texas, and the two went on to collaborate on the screenplays for Rushmore and The Royal Tenenbaums, creating a menagerie of funny-sad characters whose outsize passions and foibles can never be contained by the worlds they inhabit.

The same might be said of Wilson, who has spent the past eight years volleying between the spirited art films he cowrites and the high-concept studio affairs that have transformed him from a scene-stealing bit player into a bankable headliner. In a series of small roles in summer spectacles and event movies following Bottle Rocket, Wilson managed to upstage Jim Carrey (The Cable Guy) and Robert De Niro (Meet the Parents), and provided badly needed moments of effortless humor in Anaconda, Armageddon, and The Haunting. When Wilson applied his offbeat characterizations, astute satire, and script tinkering to his first big-budget starring roles, in Shanghai Noon, Zoolander, and Behind Enemy Lines, he scored a trifecta of critically praised sleeper hits. This winter he's partnering with Eddie Murphy for I Spy and Jackie Chan for the Shanghai Noon sequel, Shanghai Knights. Then he'll star opposite Morgan Freeman in The Big Bounce, based on the Elmore Leonard novel.

Still, Wilson has yet to fully embrace acting, a career he stumbled into. He's mortified by the idea of displaying any typical "actorly" traits. "Smoking is obnoxious," he says, pulling onto the highway. "It just fits the profile of some young actor driving, like, an old Mustang with a cigarette. It's like, did you ever see Barfly? And this is actually kind of a cliché to talk about Bukowski. But I love the part in that movie where Mickey Rourke talks about the bartender who just stole his girlfriend, saying, 'Why did it have to be Eddie? He symbolizes everything that disgusts me: obviousness, unoriginal macho energy, ladies man.' "

Wilson checks the rearview mirror repeatedly. He had a run-in with the police earlier today riding shotgun while Luke was pulled over for speeding, and he amazingly managed to talk the officer out of the ticket. "I've developed a really good method for talking to cops," he says. "I used to get so many moving violations in Dallas, and then not pay the tickets and get arrested, that I've developed a really good rap, which is kind of like, 'Look how crazy this all is. Here we are . . .' You just go off his expression and try to get him to laugh." It's hard to imagine a Texas cop pocketing his ticket pad just because Owen Wilson made him laugh by inviting him along for the ride. But that seems to be what happened. "I said, 'Uh, sir, I've gotten a lot of tickets and I know I deserve it, and we deserve this one, but can I just say in my brother's defense that I was urging him to go faster. We're going to meet our dad. Luke has to go back to the airport,' " he says excitedly. He seems proud of the con, not for having gotten away with something but rather for having passed the ultimate test of his storytelling abilities.

Wilson's humour is all in the delivery. His off-tempo cadence and extravagant pauses combine with his slightly nasal voice, inflected with just a hint of a Lone Star drawl, to give him the baffling ability to transform the most mundane phrase or word into a hilarious joke the moment it leaves his lips. Case in point: not long after he arrives at the ice cream place, Wilson is hoisting a giant spoonful of chocolate chip gelato into his mouth when a couple of high school girls ask if they can take a picture with him. He needs to do no more than put down the spooon, grin, and say, "Well, allright!" and all the nearby tables erupt in peals of laughter. Why is that funny? Who knows. But the joke hit its mark perfectly, stashed in there somewhere between "all" and "right". It would be easy to assume, based on most of the evidence so far, that Wilson is the real-life imbodiment of all his movies with Anderson. But that story would be far too obvious and pedictable for Wilson. "I think of myself as a doom person", he says. "I'm a worrier. Like about movies and sustaining work. But I like the idea of being an optimist." He's self-aware enough to know that it's hard to reconcile the guy who showed up tonight determined to make it great with the guy who fears the party will be over before he's ready to leave. "Wes really stuck with "Bottle Rocket" when we had terrible test screenings. I was looking into joining the Army. I swear," he says, grabbing his keys, ready to move on and resuscitate the mood. "Maybe I'm the kind of optimist who deep down knows it's not going to work."

Wilson knows that every good story needs a worthy villain. And as a cocreator of tonight's experience, he knows what needs to be done. With that in mind, Wilson has decided to pay a visit to Harvey Goff's hamburger stand. A rundown, fluorescent-lit joint tucked into the fringes of an affluent Dallas neighborhood. Goff's seems to operate in its own world by its own rules. First, there is the sign declaring "America Won." And then there is Harvey Goff himself, a patriot of the highest order, a man known for tossing off withering insults to well-meaning customers.

Tonight Wilson has ostensibly come to settle a score. The last time he was here, Goff called him a dummy and kicked him out of his seat even though the entire restaurant was empty. But truly this is a thrill-seeking mission--so much so that when he learns that Goff is not here yet, he decided to order a burger and wait. Our caper now has become a stakeout, and Wilson is pumped. "You know, I think this is going pretty well," he says, devouring an enormous chili burger. "We're having some fun. I'm kind of energized, waiting for Harvey."

Wilson has developed a reputation for working well with, shall we say, challenging personalities. "I'm probably better with eccentric people than with someone who seems like they've got it all together," he says. He hit it off with two of Hollywood's most notoriously tempestuous directors. "Jan De Bont was really nice to me, and people said he might not be," he says of The Haunting's director. "I got along great with Michael Bay." Wilson has won over such commanding costars as Robert De Niro (Meet the Parents) and Gene Hackman (Behind Enemy Lines) by showing up on the set armed with a battery of devastatingly funny unscripted lines and a keen attention to his characters' quirky idiosyncrasies.

When star Ben Stiller suggested that Wilson play the Renaissance man ex-boyfriend opposite him in Meet the Parents, both director Jay Roach and costar Robert De Niro had trouble envisioning Wilson as the kind of wholesome beefcake the role seemed to demand. "Bob was kind of skeptical of Owen," Roach recalls. " I remember him saying, 'Ben is more athletic-looking than Owen.' And then when he worked with him, he completely got it. It one scene, the take that really killed everybody was when Ben Stiller goes, 'I'm a nurse,' and Owen's scripted line was 'Oh, that's interesting. I wanted to do some volunteer work, too.' But Owen just starts riffing, saying, 'Just the other day I was driving and saw this golden retriever that had a gimp.' He started describing his experience of seeing this dog and De Niro just kept losing it. It may have been the only day when he actually couldn't get a line out."

Wilson even managed to endear himself to his I Spy costar, Murphy, who has a reputation for being standoffish on set. "Neither one of them wanted to meet each other [before shooting], and I thought it could be a disaster," recalls director Betty Thomas of the duo, who play a boxer (Murphy) and an international spy (Wilson) who go undercover to scuttle a European arms dealer's nefarious plans by penetrating a fight he's organizing. "But I thought it would the be ultimate buddy move to have two types of comedy. Eddie goes for the joke. He knows where the joke is, and he goes for it. [Whereas] Owen can say a joke and you go, 'That might not be funny.' But with Owen saying it without treating it like a joke, it is funny."

Though undeniably a broad comedy intended for the widest possible swath of moviegoers, I Spy experiments with a post-modern approach of combining the old grand master of the buddy comedy (Murphy) and the new (Wilson). Every era has a maverick comedian who defined what was funny to a particular generation. After Trading Places and 48 Hrs., Murphy was considered subversive and was constantly quoted in the '80s college dorm rooms in the same way that Wilson's self-styled lines have become today's all-purpose punch lines. Just try not to laugh while saying this classic that Wilson wrote for his bit part in Anaconda: "Is it just me, or does the jungle make you really, really horny?"

It was in the mystical realm of the comic imagination that the I Spy stars connected on their first day of shooting together. "I was nervous around him because he's really quick and funny, and it was hard to figure out how I was going to fit in," Wilson says. "We were sitting in a car about to come into this big party, so there were mounted guards on horses. We don't know each other very well so it's kind of uncomfortable because it's just us, and Eddie says, ' I wonder what horses think.' He wasn't saying it to be funny, but it's the exact type of thing I like to think about. So I was like, ' Yeah, I wonder what they do think.' I could see that as kids we probably would have gotten along."

Wilson's ability to tap into the mind-set of his younger self may be the source of his ability to reinvent standard-issue roles as singular characters whose lines often out-funny the rest of the script. Even in a broad comedy like I Spy, Wilson signed on to a heroic secret agent role that he had no intention of playing. "My first thought was to try to change the script and make it something I could relate to by making my spy not such a tough guy," he says. "That was something I could see myself playing."

Thomas first envisioned him for the role after going to the premiere of Shanghai Noon and witnessing his bloodhound ability to dig up the funny in any line he's given. But there is an ineffable quality to Wilson's appeal: an inexplicable desire to laugh at the moment the camera lands on him. Strangely, Thomas is either unwilling or incapable of expressing what she responded to in his performance that made "this Owen dude" a perfect foil to Murphy. "[It's] because I don't think he's normal," Thomas offers, curtly. Silence. Well, what is normal? "Normal is when people go after the joke, and Owen goes aggressively against the joke."

Wilson, on the other hand, is the rare comedian who has no trouble laying out his own laws of levity. "Our humor comes from insecurities or earnestness," he says, referring to the writing he does with Anderson. "What I mean by earnest is that I'm not interested in jokes, or people, like, telling jokes. I've never gone to a comedy club. I think stuff that's funny is stuff in real life. It's like some earnestly trying to talk rather that looking to make a joke. A lot of stuff I describe as funny is really sad."

We've been here for nearly an hour when a loud screech echoes across the parking lot just beyond our table. Harvey Goff hops out of his shiny white sedan. Wilson's back straightens as he whispers, "Look at him, he's got a gun." Sure enough, the tall, fiftyish man in a perfect crew cut is marching toward us armed with a glare and a fat pistol stuffed in the back of his polyester slacks.

Owen: Harvey! How's it goin'?

Harvey: [scowling] You writin' a book?

Owen: I've brought a friend I'd like to introduce you to. She's a journalist.

Harvey: Friend? That's not a friend. That's just another beast you brought in from the woods.

It's hard to fathom another circumstance in which I could be called a "beast from the woods" and genuinely laugh it off. But Wilson's obvious delight in the purity of this man's ill temper is contagious. Hanging out with Wilson is like entertaining the fable-like world of one of his collaborations with Anderson, where people's foibles are never suspect and always celebrated.

It's nearing midnight and Wilson grows quiet as he drives off from Goff's. "It was going into places like this that we got Kumar in the movie," he says, referring to Kumar Pallana, the diminutive Indian man who has appeared in each of the Wilson-Anderson movies, most recently as Pagoda the butler in The Royal Tenenbaums. "Kumar worked at this place we eat, the Cosmic Cup." He drives for a few minutes in silence. "You want to go?"

Wilson clearly holds a deep nostalgia and affection for the simpler days of making Bottle Rocket and his collaborations with Anderson, which have become less frequent as Wilson dedicates more time to his acting career. "I think Bottle Rocket means the most to me," he says, "because it was the first movie, and it's got so much of me and Luke and Wes in it."

By all accounts, Wilson is a world-class collaborator, partner-in-crime, buddy. As we've seen tonight, he's a guy who can be relied upon to show up and try to make it great. "He's a really fun person to hang around as a guy friend," says Ben Stiller, who cast Wilson in The Cable Guy and then appeared with him in Permanent Midnight, Meet the Parents, Zoolander, The Royal Tenenbaums and a forthcoming Starsky and Hutch. "It's definitely a childlike quality. I don't mean he's not mature. But it's a way of working that is just like having fun with your friends and making up things. And what you do together is always better than what you get separately."

It was in this spirit of mutual inspiration and power in numbers that Wilson and Anderson conceived of Bottle Rocket. "Wes and I were roommates, and we wanted to try to write a movie together because he wanted to direct. I was an English major and had written some short stories, and I saw a ton of movies," he says, parking on a side street near the Cosmic Café, as the establishment is now called, a small converted house painted in a mosaic of wildly colorful Indian deities, where he and Anderson would often write. "Wes had the title Bottle Rocket, and we had the characters, and so then it was trying to spin a story out around them." For a time, Anderson says, "Owen didn't think it was a good idea for him or Luke to be in it. He thought we should have real actors, and that it would somehow make us unprofessional. But obviously, no one was going to be as good as Owen."

The first moment he stepped in front of a camera, any self-consciousness evaporated immediately. "He's the most naturally gifted actor I've ever seen", says Polly Platt, who produced Bottle Rocket with James L. Brooks (Terms of Endearment). "It was mainly because I knew he had no training. Their mother visited the set one day and said to me, ' How can you just let them make a movie?' and I said 'They're going to be movie stars'".

Wilson insists that his life remains relatively untouched by the changed brought with the realization of Platt's prophecy. But when asked how is screenwriting process with Anderson has changed with each project, he's clearly conflicted about what it says about him and who he is as an artists that he's allowed his acting career to push his screenwriting with Anderson into the margins. "[During] Bottle Rocket we were living together. Rushmore and Tenenbaums, it was just trying to find the time…" he trails off. "I don't know how to type or use the computer so Wes would do that stuff. I'd use notebook paper or say it out loud or send it to Wes," he says, brushing his shaggy blond hair out of his eyes. " I should write more. Writing's hard." He looks heartbroken when asked about their next project together, in which, tellingly, Wilson will participate as an actor, but not a writer. "Wes has a story about an oceanographer that he came up with a long time ago. He has an idea or me and Bill Murray to play this father-son thing," says Wilson. "He's writing it. When he gets a draft done, he'll show it to me and maybe I can, uh, be helpful as an actor."

Sitting on the steps of the closed Cosmic Café, Wilson brightens when he spots and Indian man emerging from the back door. "Sir!" he yells, grinning. "Do you ever talk with Kumar?" The man eyes us suspiciously. " I think Kumar is at the multiplex right now," the man says with a hint of scorn. This is the kind bittersweet moment full of irony and pathos and humor Wilson could easily have written into any of his movies, and right now he's savoring it. " I don't think he was disdainful," the actor giggles. "It was more like, ' Oh, you poor guy, just sitting around wondering what Kumar was doing.'"

The mischievous middle child of transplanted New England liberals--his mother, Laura, is a photographer who used to work with Richard Avedon; his father, Robert, ran the Dallas PBS station before launching an advertising business--Wilson was the kid who always took supreme pleasure in getting away with something. But Wilson's scamartistry was never an act of malice or rebellion. It was simply a way he'd devised to keep himself engaged, interested, and inspired as he made his way through the St. Marks School of Texas, a prestigious prep school. The role of troublemaker also happened to be one that that was available. His older brother, Andrew (an actor who appeared in Rushmore and The Royal Tenenbaums), "was the hero of the family--a great athlete, dated the prettiest girls. Luke and I really looked up to him," Wilson says. " I don't think I was the clown. My dad was the funny person of the family. I was kind of thought as being creative...and getting into trouble."

His most defining moment came in the tenth grade, when he was kicked out of St. Marks for stealing his geometry teacher's textbook to expedite his math homework. Following that incident (which might explain the comic-tragic fate he and Anderson later wrote for Rushmore's Max Fischer, who was also expelled from his beloved academic haven), Wilson suffered the greatest indignity of all: a stint in public school. "I like not studying and being lazy and goofing off when I knew that wasn't the thing to do," he says, but he didn't enjoy being " at a school where no one cared, no one does homework, and no one was like, 'Owen's special' anymore." He then opted for a place that made even less sense: military school. " I graduated private first class, lowest-ranking person in my grade," he says of his two year stint at New Mexico Military Institute. "If you look at your life as a story, I kind of like the fact that I went to military school."

It's after 1 A.M. and Wilson is now back at the hotel, splayed out on the lobby couch. He checks his cell phone. He's missed a call from a woman he was hoping to meet up with later. He silently considers his options and decided that he's not yet ready to give up on our interview. "We made a commitment at the beginning of the night and I'll be damned if I'm going to waver," he says. "I'm going to finish strong! I want the record to show that we're here and we're doing our best to figure out what makes this guy tick." Abruptly, he cuts himself off. " I only wish the article could be like this. They never sound how our actual exchange was."

Wilson approaches his every role with a similar alchemy of excitement and dread. " I never dreamed I'd be an actor I always though I would be a writer," he says. After being cast opposite Jackie Chan in Shanghai Noon, the move sent his career sailing into the mainstream, he was in no mood for celebrating. " I was in Dallas trying to work with Wes and I was freaking out, like, 'This is going to be a total disaster.'"

The feeling was mutual for director Tom Dey when he started receiving faxed, hand-written ideas for the film's opening scene from Wilson, weeks before production began. "I got nervous because I didn't know him, and the scene read like a really conceited actor writing his entrance full bravura. [His concept for his character] was like a rock star in a bed full of hookers," Dey says. "And I'm thinking 'Oh, no!' But I wasn't reading it knowing Wilson's sense of humor and the tongue-in-cheek nature of it."

Ultimately, Wilson's I'm-a-lover-not-a-fighter interpretation made it into the movie. But his most enduring brainstorm came during production while dining with Chan one night and watching him play rapid-fire drinking games with the stuntmen. "Owen saw that and said 'We gotta put that in the movie,'" says Dey of what became Shanghai Noon's signature bathtub scene. " I wouldn't have known how to put that in. That's the difference between Owen and someone else."

Wilson finally was able to learn to stop worrying and love his job while making Shanghai Knights, Noon's sequel, which takes the original characters to Europe on a quest to avenge the murder of Shanghai Kid's father. " I already knew [the characters], so I didn't have to fight any battles in myself or with other people," Wilson says. "I could just keep figuring out funny situations and lines."

"Some of the most brilliant stuff in the movie is Owen off the top of his head," says Knights director David Dobkin (Clay Pigeons). "He has the ability to manipulate the written word and make it his own. In one scene, when Jackie says, ' This woman wants to sleep with me,' Owen who has popped movies. He would fit into that world."

Anderson's opinion is one of two in this world that seem to matter most to Wilson. (The other is his mother's.) He seems to regard Anderson and their work together as the true expression of his best self. The struggle now is to find creative ways to find a connection between his two alternate universes. " I don't feel like I'm a hundred times happier than when I first started going to the Cosmic Cup," Wilson says. He rolls his eyes skyward, ponderously demanding answers from the deities. "Can't we petition someone to make it so that outside stuff is the key to happiness? I'm tired of people always saying, 'It's gotta come from you!' Can't it come from, like, a new pair of shoes?"

Wilson's eyes are now marbled red and his body is slightly listing to the left. No one could have predicted at the beginning of the night that his lofty ambitions for this interview experience would test endurance, heart, and spirit the way it has. " I was making a joke in the beginning of the night. My lord, I didn't know we were going to be slouching towards Bethlehem here," he says, sitting up straight, fortifying himself. "Let's push forward. One more topic."

There is a searching sincerity to Wilson that flickers on and off throughout the night between jokes. He wants to know what my impression of him was, based on his movies (innocent, unjaded, romantic). He likes that, "romantic," but "I'd have to say I'm probably a better friend than boyfriend," says the actor, who has been single for the past year. His last long-term relationship was that with singer Sheryl Crow, whom he lived after meeting on the set of the 1999 indie thriller, The Minus Man. "We're still friends," he says, averting his eyes.

Fortunately, he is not the kind of actor who makes apologies for enjoying the social perks of his job. He seemed briefly but genuinely disappointed when he missed that cell phone call earlier tonight from a woman he'd met today "while eating a taco." Picking up women at taco stands! There's got to be a better way! "It wasn't a taco stand," he corrects with a grin. "It was, like, a sit-down place." He's made the young actor's requisite pilgrimage to the Playboy mansion. " I had a great time," he says. "It was like a pajama party, so the girls were wearing lingerie and you just kind of walk through the grotto. It's not so different from anything else."

Wilson understands that what makes him different is the source of his power onscreen. But he remains surprisingly tender about the subject of his most outwardly unconventional attribute, his nose. Wilson is widely admired and desired for proving that an aquiline nose is not a job requirement for being a bankable leading man. His nose, which remains unfixed after being broken once in the ninth grade and again in a college football accident, is distinctly asymmetrical, with a slightly cubist effect of shifting shape depending on the side from with it's shot. It is the think that makes women want him and men want to be like him: comfortable with who he is. And yet all signs of that defiant spirit vanish when he's asked about his most distinguishing feature a week later over breakfast in Los Angeles. "Can't you read about that some place?" he asks quietly, with a wounded look that seems to ask, "How could you?" We came within reach of making it great but now a pact has been broken. The unexpected depths of Wilson's vulnerability have flooded the room. " I never knew my nose was, like,… I guess because no one would say something until recently. Most people are too polite, so I was able to go along cheerfully thinking I was fine. And then I've had to confront this issue."

In truth, the confrontation is primarily an internal one, between the ardent individualist and the sensitive writer who stumbled into the glare of movie stardom. And though this is undoubtedly an uncomfortable moment form which we will never recover any of the shimmering abandon of our Dallas escapade, this slip into the melancholy is perhaps the most authentic way to close a story by or about Owen Wilson--unexpected, unordinary, original. He'd have it no other way.