#((like sure it could be the other way around but seeing how mentioned richard feel bad the other day it seemed funnier to be richard xD))

[thetriumphantpanda]

close to you | javier peña

Take The Weight Off His Shoulders - Chapter Nine

Chapter Summary | A week of not hearing from Javi since he ran out has you tearing your hair out, so you throw yourself into your work as a distraction, with catastrophic consequences.

Chapter Warnings | mentions of drugs and the drug trade, alcohol consumption, threatening language, violence, blood, descriptions of a head injury and concussion, Javier Peña to the rescue, soft!Javi.

Pairing | dbf!Javier Peña x F!Reader

Word Count | 3.2k

Authors Note | I am forever appreciative of how patient you guys are for updates of this series! Thank you for hanging in there whilst my muse and creativity ebbs and flows, I love you all! We're getting towards the conclusion of this little story, with only a few chapters left so I hope you guys are still enjoying this! If you are enjoying this then reblogs and comments really do help and if you’d like to support me further, please consider a donation to my Ko-Fi. 

I no longer use taglists. Please follow @thetriumphantpandanotifs to be notified of new updates.

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You wonder when staring at the work in front of you might actually yield something worth writing about. It’s all you’ve done since you picked up this stupid story and decided to chase it. Staring at the pages on your desk has become all the more common in the week since Javi ran out on you. He’s avoided your calls to his phone, you’ve not seen him around town, and the one time you decided to call the house, Chucho answered and with the most sincere voice you’d ever heard, told you he wasn’t in but that he promised he’d ask him to call you when he got back. That had been two days ago, so you’d practically given up all hope of ever hearing from him again.

For the first couple of days, you’d cursed yourself, wondering why you’d kept any of that stuff in the first place. Newspaper clippings and annotated notes about everything he and his team had done in Colombia. You didn’t need it anymore, thesis done, completed, and with a better mark than you could ever have hoped for. But until you’d seen him in the flesh, knew he was back for good and safe in Texas, it was the only way to feel close to him. Stupid for sure. But then the anger had set in - he’d no right to rifle through your drawers, pick up your notebooks and thumb through them. The barrage of different emotions was hard to deal with, and at the very base level, you missed him, you wanted him back, and you wanted to explain everything to him - that’s incredibly hard when he won’t answer his fucking phone though.

Turning your attention back to your work, you try and focus. You’ve met dead end after dead end with this stupid story and there really is only one place left for you to go. If it’s not Tyler then it has to be someone else in the family that’s involved. You can’t imagine it’s head of the family, so that really only leaves Tyler’s brother. It might be stupid and you might make a terrible enemy out of the mayor’s family, but there’s something else going on here and whatever it is, you’re going to get to the bottom of it, no matter how.

You can still never get over the size of the Johnson family home. Richard and his wife had two sons, one their pride, the other, not so much, but if you looked at their house, you’d think they had at least twelve children. No family needed this many rooms, you think, as you walk up the driveway.

It’s the early afternoon and you can see Garrett’s car parked in front of the house. Tyler will be at work, as will Richard, and you’re pretty sure their mother is never at home. You don’t really know what it is she does, but it’s some form of charitable work that involves travelling more than it does time at home.

You take a deep breath and ring the bell, waiting the appropriate amount of time before ringing it again. It’s a huge house after all, it must take a while to get from anywhere to the front door. A few seconds later, the door opens, and Garrett is stood in front of you, dressed in dress pants and a shirt that has the arms rolled up to the elbows. He smiles at you and opens the door a bit wider, invites you in - it’s much warmed than the reception you got from his brother.

“Lovely to see you,” He smiles, guiding you through the foyer and into the kitchen, “Can I get you a drink?”

“Water would be great, thank you.” You smile back, waiting for him to put a glass in front of you, topped up with water and fresh ice.

“I assume you’re here from the paper?” He asks, leaning cooly against the kitchen counter.

“That’s right,” You nod, sipping at the water, “Has Tyler spoken to you recently?”

Garrett shakes his head, “No, I haven’t seen him in a few weeks actually.”

You hum, nodding your head, thankful that you have the upper hand of surprise still - that this part of the family don’t know you’re sniffing around looking for a reason that one of their houses was used as some form of drug den.

“How have you been since Dylan died?” You ask, “I know you were really good friends.”

It’s a question that makes sense, they were very good friends, and although it’s been a while, you’re hoping your feigned concern for his mental welfare might make him open up.

“It’s been hard,” He starts, “He was my best friend, and to suddenly not have him around anymore…” He trails off, “I miss him.”

You nod, hoping the look of concern you think you’ve got across your face is projecting enough to make him feel like he can trust you.

“Was he the reason your dad has started being heavier with drugs in town?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Garrett nods, “He saw how fucked up it made me to lose my friend and decided enough was enough, that someone needed to do something to fix the trouble we’ve been having in town for years.”

There’s another nod from you, “Makes sense,” You offer, “Not really working very well though, is it?”

“These things take time.” He offers, in that perfectly practiced politician way that they always answer things.

“Look, I’m gonna cut to the chase Garrett,” You sigh, “That house in town that got raided recently? We’ve been looking into it and it all leads back to you, to your family, and it doesn’t matter who I ask, no-one knows why that place was being used as a drug den, but someone in this family knows exactly why.”

Garrett scoffs, “You’ll want to talk to my brother about that.”

“Well, that’s the thing Garrett,” You speak, “I did, and that man is clean as a whistle, he hasn’t taken drugs in at least a year, and the last time he was at the house, it was clear of anything,” You shrug, “I can’t imagine your dad being involved in anything like this, so that just leaves you.”

You can see his demeanour change almost immediately, he’s uncomfortable, moving from foot to foot and you can see the start of perspiration on his forehead.

“You’re telling me you think I’m involved in something?”

“That’s exactly what I’m telling you.”

“Well, you’re wrong.”

“Am I?”

He pushes himself from the counter he’s been leaning against, takes a few steps towards you, trying to intimidate you, but you know you’re pushing in the right direction, he wouldn’t be reacting like this if you were barking up the wrong tree.

“Where’s your evidence?” He asks.

“Maybe you’ll have to buy the paper to find out?”

“Listen here you little bitch,” He spits, pointing his finger in your face, “You ought to be careful about this, you think this is just me?” He asks, stepping even closer to you, making your breath catch in your throat, “You think you publish this story and it’ll just be me you have to worry about? You’re dead wrong, publish whatever story you’re planning and you’ll have a rain of fucking fire to deal with from people you don’t want to get on the wrong side of.”

“So, it was you then?” You can help but smirk, having caught him redhanded in a confession, the recorder in your bag that you’d pressed on before he’d answered the door your little secret.

You watch some kind of fury flick over his eyes as he grits his teeth, his hands pressed into your shoulders to push you back, “Stupid little girl.” He says as he pushes, but it’s a lot harder than you’d anticipated and it makes you lose your balance, falling backward.

It all happens in a blur, the side of your head makes contact with the corner of the kitchen island, pain spreading almost immediately across your forehead, vision blurring as your backside hits the floor. You’re sort of aware of something warm and wet dripping down your cheek, which you brush away with the back of your hand as you try and quickly reorientate yourself. Then you feel a hand wrap around your arm and a presence next to you, not quite all there enough to push it away.

“Oh shit,” You hear Garrett speak next to you, “Shit, shit shit,” He’s touching your face now, “I'm sorry, I- oh god - I didn’t mean to push you that hard.”

You groan, letting your head tip back against the cool marble of the kitchen island, “Am I-” You struggle to speak, “Am I bleeding?”

“Oh god-” Garrett mutters, “I’m going to be sick.”

And then he’s gone, the sound of his shoes clipping against the floor as he runs to God knows where, leaving you disorientated and bleeding on his kitchen floor. You know you need to get out of here, slowly moving yourself just enough to push yourself to your feet, hands gripping the counter as you reach for your bag. You’re dizzy as you walk towards the door, looking down at the floor because as soon as you look up, you feel like you’re going to throw up and pass out. You can see yourself leaving small drops of blood on the floor as you move - a trail that follows you all the way down the driveway and to your car. You fumble with your keys, dropping them on the floor. When you bend over to try and pick them up, your vision goes fuzzy before you can grab them from the ground. You know you can’t drive like this.

In the haze of confusion you look around, a little way down the street you spot a phone box. It’s slow going, but you make it, pulling open the door, leaning against the glass wall, pinching the bridge of your nose to try and ease the ache behind your eyes. You shuffle through your bag to find your wallet, pulling out a handful of coins that you push into the slot. You think about phoning your father, but realise there’s only one person you want right now. Despite having his number memorised, you pull the worn card from your wallet, mainly to make sure that the haze of confusion doesn’t make you dial the wrong number. You drag your thumb over the faded number, watching a smear of blood cover it, and then press the number into the dialling pad, listening to it start to ring.

“Please Javi,” You whisper, “Please answer.”

You’re about to lose hope, expecting the phone to ring out, but through some form of divine intervention, the ringing stops and you hear the voice you’ve craved all week.

“Peña?”

“Oh Javi,” You sigh out in relief, feeling the prick of tears behind your eyes, “Help me.”

“Cariño?”

“Javi please, I need you.”

“What’s happened?” You can hear his tone change, concern and something else you can’t quite place, “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know, I just-” The ache behind your eyes is making you tired, “I need you to come and get me.”

“Has something happened?”

“Yes,” You reply, “I’m so tired Javi, I can’t drive.”

“Where are you?”

“The mayor’s house,” You reply, “Well- no - I'm in the phone box down the road.”

“You stay right there, okay?” He’s frantic on the other end of the phone, you can tell.

“Please hurry.”

He’s beside himself as he drives from the ranch and into town. A week of avoiding you, of avoiding his feelings towards you, and you’re hurt. He still can’t think about what happened. He doesn’t even know why he’d answered the phone this time - he’d avoided answering anything that had come through on his phone since he’d run out on you before, but there’s something today that made him pick up, and by God is he pleased he did. He doesn’t think he could have lived with himself if he’d let you call and left you hurt and injured in the middle of nowhere.

He thinks of all the other women throughout his life that he's let down. Lorraine and the way he left her, Helena and the way she risked herself for him, for the promise of a fucking visa, and paid the price. Most women in his life ended up hurt, emotionally or physically, and it was becoming evident to him that you were no different.

Not knowing, and not caring about how many speed restrictions he breaks, he makes it to the phone box in record time, cutting the engine and slamming the door behind him. He takes four or five big steps to the phone box, tearing open the door to find you slumped on the floor, eyes fluttering open at the disturbance. He takes a deep breath, dropping to his knees in front of you.

“Cariño, it’s me,” He speaks softly, “Can you hear me?”

He takes your face in his hands, turns it towards the quickly fading light, finding the cut on your forehead. The blood has dried and scabbed over, but there’s a trail of crusting blood down your cheek and side of your neck. He thinks of Helena in this moment, about draping his jacket over her naked body, cradling her to his body, reluctantly handing her over to a paramedic, not knowing what would come of her.

“Javi?” Your voice is quiet, but your eyes are looking at him, glassed over, but at least you recognise him.

“That’s me,” He speaks softly, “Are you okay?”

“Tired,” You mumble, and then you shake your head in his hands, “Head hurts.”

“Shall we move you?” He asks, knowing he can’t leave you here, “Come here.”

Letting go of your face, he runs his palms down your arms to where your hands are clasped together. He gently pries open your fingers and takes hold of the card there, holding it up. It’s the card he’d given you with his number on, edges torn and worn. He can clearly see where you've run your fingers over the printed text, and where it's sat in your purse, pulled out and slotted bacon whenever you've needed him. He tries to take it, but your hand clasps over it again.

“Don’t,” You whisper, “It’s mine, don’t take it.”

“It’s okay, Cariño,” He replies, “I’ll keep it safe, just let me have it whilst we get you into the car.”

“My keys,” You mumble as he stands up, leaning down despite the protest of his knees and his back, “I dropped them.”

He’s scooping you up, not quite able to carry you, but able to lean you against his side to walk you to the passenger side of his truck.

“Where did you drop them?” He asks, settling you into the passenger seat, leaning across you to clip your seatbelt in.

“My car-” Your head lolls to the side, eyes hooded as you look at him, “On the ground.”

He presses a kiss to your cheek, shutting the door gently. He finds your keys on the ground by your car, and then after checking that the doors are still locked, he shoves the keys into his pocket and focuses his attention back to you.

The drive out of town is slower, Javi conscious that he doesn’t want to jostle you too much. Each corner he turns makes you groan. He had considered taking you to your own home, but he decides instead to take you back to the ranch. He pulls up, noticing the lights on in the living room. He knows he’s going to have questions from his father, but he doesn’t worry about that, instead he focuses on getting you out of the truck and into the house.

There’s a look from Chucho when he bursts through the front door, but Javi gives him a clipped shake of his head and instead walks you up the stairs and into his room. He sits you down on the side of the bed, kissing your forehead as he grabs some supplies from his bathroom - a warm, damp washcloth and his bag of first aid supplies, put together by Chucho when he’d come back to the ranch - his dad not convinced he wouldn’t injure himself with the manual labour.

“Hey, cariño?” He speaks softly, on his knees in front of you, “Look at me?”

You do, but your eyes are barely open. He works quickly, wiping away the crusted blood from your face first before he turns his attention to the actual cut. Once he’s cleaned it a little, he can see it’s not as deep as he’d anticipated. He brushes it with an antiseptic wipe, soothing you when it stings enough to make you gasp, and then covers it with a small plaster.

“I’m sorry.” You mumble as he eases you back on the bed, head down on his pillows.

“What for?” He asks, sitting down on the edge of the bed, brushing your hair from your face.

“Scaring you off.”

“Oh hermosa,” He breathes, feeling guilt pool in his stomach, nut not ready to quite face the conversation of what really made him run that night, “I’m here now, okay? And I’m not going anywhere.”

He listens to you groan in approval, moving your body to get a little more comfortable.

“What happened today?” He asks quietly, trying to keep you awake so he knows who did this to you.

“Went to the house,” You speak, punctuated with a yawn, “Asked Garrett about the house.”

It’s almost like you get a second wind, trying to sit up, but he knows you need to stay still, so he gently pushes you back down.

“It’s him Javi,” You groan, “He’s the one dealing the drugs.”

“Shhhhh,” It’s the only thing he can think to do, “Just rest, cariño, we can talk later.”

Javi sits there for longer than he needs. You’re softly snoring within minutes, but he still sits there to make sure you’re out for the count. When he’s sure you’re settled and still breathing, he heads downstairs, ignoring his father’s knowing look as he pours himself a generous amount of whiskey.

“When were you going to tell me?”

Javi shrugs, “I’m not sure,” He answers honestly, “It’s new.”

“Not that new,” Chucho huffs, “You were always shit at sneaking around,” He picks up his own drink, “Saw you after my birthday.”

Javi tips his head back and can’t help but chuckle because it’s true, he was never good at keeping things from his dad. He just hopes you’ve both done a better job at keeping things from your parents.

“You know what you’re doing with her?”

It’s a question he doesn’t really know how to answer, mulling over the answer in his mind before he lets his mouth speak.

“I just know I want to keep her safe,” He speaks, “And that I think I might love her.”

Javi watches as Chucho’s mouth grows into a smile, a small nod given in his direction.

“Will she be okay?”

Javi nods, “I think so yes, hit her head pretty hard, but I think after she’s slept she’ll be okay.”

Chucho pushes himself from his chair, draining his almost-empty cup. He puts it in the sink and then puts a warm hand on Javi’s shoulder with a squeeze.

“I just want you to be happy, finally,” He says, “That’s all that matters.”

Javi watches as he walks away, off to his room to sleep, and speaks into the silence of the empty kitchen once he’s gone, “Thanks, dad.”

[bangaveragewhitewine]

soft slow, morning glow

Steve Harrington x Reader

A prosaic peek at Steve Harrington’s inability to sleep in and stay in bed and his reasons for changing his ways. 

October 1997; a cosy easy morning, where kisses are shared and ABBA songs are sung as a lullaby.

Word count: 4.3K

Content/Warnings: TW for talk of bleeding during pregnancy, borderline neglectful parents. 

Mention of sex (18+), not explicit. This contains dad!Steve & mom! reader toward the end; pregnant reader. Kinda rambling. Very soft. Low angst (but not none).

Note: Thank you to my ST rewatch for making me fall for Steve all over again. 

Proofread by @specialagentmonkey | Divider by @silkholland

Steve Harrington was always an early riser. 

As a honey-haired little boy, he spent Saturday mornings on the sofa watching cartoons with the volume dialled low as his parents slept. He knew not to make a mess with the cereal, or the milk, rewarded with a stack of pancakes or a new toy for keeping himself amused as Richard and Katherine Harrington slept off the previous evening’s dinner party hangover. 

Always the first awake at sleepovers, he would wait with bated breath for Tommy to stir or feign a sneeze to wake him. 

He never had to be dragged from bed to go to school during the week, always up and at ‘em to go see his friends, play tag and swap baseball cards on the playground. 

As a sporty and popular teenager, he started running when he didn’t have early swim practice or basketball. Steve rose with the sun and waved to his neighbours politely as his shiny sneakers slapped the pavements of Loch Nora. 

He was never sure what he was running from, or towards, but the burn of chilly morning air in his lungs made him feel alive. 

When he started going to house parties and hangouts on Saturday nights, his Sundays still started early, dragged to show face at his parent’s church. It was less about faith and god and all about appearances. He snuck out of bedroom windows, hopped white picket fences as the sun rose, fought hangovers as the priest’s voice droned and caught the eyes of pretty girls from the convent school a town over - they always blushed when he smiled at them or dropped them a sly little wink as the collection plate was passed around. 

When his parents started travelling more, after the shortlived re-commitment to the church, Steve’s Sunday morning hangovers were kept at bay with cold swims in the pool or hot coffee and loud music in the kitchen as he tried and failed to focus on homework.  

Steve started working right out of school as punishment for unsubmitted college applications and lower-than-predicted grades. He volunteered for the opening shifts in Scoops Ahoy and Family Video - he liked the responsibility and having a purpose, having an excuse to be out of the house before his parents could tutt and fuss and lecture him. It was easier when they weren’t there; when the office in Indy needed Richard’s attention more than his wife and son did, when Katherine spotted smears of lipstick on his collars again and insisted she spend some time with him in the city apartment. 

In their absence, the Harrington house was a mausoleum of failure that Steve couldn’t bear to be in. So he raised his hand for early delivery shifts and stock takes and drove his friends to school when he didn’t have to, already awake after another night of nightmares, memories of flying fists. 

Steve Harrington rose early and burned bright; burned out quickly when he realised he didn’t know what to do with himself or what his purpose was. 

He filled his time with making himself useful to other people, chasing and seeking a purpose or a person to fill the gaps and spaces in his chest; the hollows once reserved for the people who didn’t return the outpouring of love he offered so freely, so innocently. He found and made a rag-bag bunch of friends, a found family, who returned the love he deserved in the ways they knew how. Woven and knotted friendship bracelets, squished candy bars, mixtapes, weed sold and rolled at buddy rates or for nothing at all.

Steve Harrington moved to the city with his best friends; a Beemer and a battered van filled with boxes and suitcases. The early morning drive made Steve Harrington glow golden in the rising sun, his excited eyes hidden behind dark-tinted sunglasses as Robin Buckley snored in the passenger seat and Eddie Munson listened to metal at an ear-bleeding volume in his van and flipped Steve off with that big grin in the rearview mirror. They stopped for strong coffee and sweet pancakes and started a new chapter in the city. 

When you fell in love with Steve in 1990, he found a reason to stay in bed a little longer. A reason to slow down, soak up the sunshine glow you shone on him. 

You spent Saturday nights with friends, a patchwork group cheering on Corroded Coffin and selling T-shirts and tapes at a merch table when they scored a bigger venue and a bigger crowd. Movie nights and takeout Chinese food and a stack of new and old movies from Blockbuster. Date nights at swanky bars and restaurants, with flickering candles and pizza on the way home because you didn’t want the night to end yet. You spent hours in bed together, night and morning, talking about everything under the rising sun and dwindling moon, learning about each other’s life and mapping each other’s body with kisses and gentle touches. 

In the morning he gazed at your sleepy softness and took his own pulse to make sure he wasn’t dying. No heart attack, just falling in love.

He brought you cups of coffee and sweet pastries from the bakery a block away when his limbs felt restless. He always got back into bed with you to cuddle and while away the morning without a moment wasted. With Steve, those mornings were syrupy slow; he worshipped you between your thighs and held your hands as the headboard bashed against the wall.

You became Mrs. Steve Harrington in the spring of ‘94. 

A small wedding. A big party for your friends. A honeymoon week where every morning felt like a perfect lazy Saturday.

When Steve found his reason to stay in bed, together you created a reason that kept you from it. 

Bethany Rose Harrington. Born June 21st 1995. 

Beth had her Daddy’s eyes and her Mama’s nose, and the sweetest little dimples in her smiley pink cheeks. She was her Daddy’s little doughnut, her Mama’s little bee. She inherited Steve’s charm and wrapped her extensive collection of doting uncles and aunts right around her tiny finger. She took after you in the way that Steve was completely and utterly in love with her. 

Just like her Dad, Beth liked to start the day early. After a few weeks of seeking out and settling into a routine, Steve spent the earliest part of the day feeding his little Bethie her bottle of milk in the cosy armchair nestled in the corner of her pale yellow nursery. As he watched her big brown eyes gaze and blink, felt her tiny fist wrap around his finger, Steve decided that these were the happiest mornings of his life. 

On those soft and slow mornings, you could hear Steve’s low murmur to your little girl through the baby monitor when his excitement to see her gummy smile or stop her sad fat tears bypassed the off-switch. You fell back asleep to the sound of Steve telling Beth about how the Cubs and the Bulls (their teams now) were doing this season, or about the walk in the park you were going to go on once ‘beautiful mama’ was awake. He sang to her; never typical lullabies, Queen and ABBA and Dusty Springfield. 

Steve basked in the joy of her little smiles, soaked in the soft cooing noises as Beth found her voice to talk back to her Daddy. When she fell asleep again, milk-drunk with her cheek against his heartbeat, Steve watched the morning sky shift and brighten and listened out for the sound of your waking time. The soft thud and shuffle from bed to bathroom, running water, your yawn and stretch, the gentle steps to seek and find him and your little treasure. You filled reams of camera film, documenting Steve as a Dad, your little girl's first weeks and months. Lit by morning light, by afternoon sun and the shade of the tree in your yard, and dusky nighttime lit by nightlights.

When your laundry list of chores allowed it, you took one of your three options on those mornings of parenthood - take turns to bask in the warmth of lavender and milk-scented baby cuddles while the other showered; bring the sleeping beauty back to your bed to gaze at the ten fingers and ten toes you had created together; or leave the sleepy and full-tummied grub to sleep in her crib again to spend the slow dawn hours holding each other and trading kisses, and knotting yourselves up in the sheets together once the doctor gave you the all-clear and a prescription for birth control. 

You did plenty of all three. 

Summer turned to Autumn, then Winter, and Steve balanced being a father and husband with keeping a roof over your heads and the final year of his programme to get his qualification to become a guidance counsellor. His mornings with Beth were part of his routine, leaving her smiling and drooly for you when he kissed his girls goodbye. Missing him during full days of supervised sessions and hours in the college library when he wasn’t in classes bonded you and Beth, thick as thieves and lovestruck for the golden Harrington boy-turned-man. You made sure that he never missed a moment with how many pictures you took, and Beth saved all of her firsts for when he was home. You coached her to say ‘dada’ in Steve’s absence and he sobbed happy tears when she parroted it back. (He had been coaching her to say ‘mama’ during their early mornings together).

Your late nights of talking turned to early-to-bed nights, sleeping when the baby slept and when your little home was some semblance of clean and tidy. Steve fell asleep to the sound of Bethie’s breath on the monitor, your heart under his cheek and the soft stroke of your fingers in his hair, along the length of his arm. 

Both of you were exhausted. Neither of you had ever been happier. 

When he graduated in the Summer, you and Beth cheered and clapped for your golden boy along with his best friends - the loudest bunch in the college auditorium. A picture of the Harrington trio - Steve in his shirt and tie and graduation gown balancing a smiley baby and his degree as you kiss his cheek and tickle Beth’s tummy for the camera - was placed with pride on his desk when he started a counsellor job that landed in his lap in the late summer of ‘96. He coached basketball two afternoons a week on the side; it was perfect for him.

You go back to work part-time and you balance taking care of Beth and each other with the utmost care. With help from your family and Steve’s trust fund from the Harrington’s, you make it work. You are what he holds dear, pride of place in the centre of his chest, once vacant and hollow. The gaping space he yearned to fill with the wrong friends, the wrong girls, watery beer and too many cigarettes. 

By the Fall of ‘97, Steve had learned to sleep again. Sleep when the baby sleeps. Enjoy your days off. Enjoy every moment. He is. He’s so tired but never happier. 

This morning, you wake first. 

Your little house in the Chicago suburbs is bathed in autumn darkness on a lazy Saturday.  Six a.m. and Steve snores peacefully. 

Beth is silent, dreaming of her two favourite things: fairies and pancakes. That top five list favourites is rounded out by her Daddy and Mama and Mrs. Murphy’s orange cat that visits the backyard. 

The littlest Harrington is an early bird too, twirling in your tummy beneath Steve’s protective hand. Until Steve can take the morning shift, you are the early riser.

Beth is your sleepy little dreamer, she loves her bed like her Mama. She sneaks in between you and Steve (and the bump now too) when she wakes too early; you spend those mornings gazing and counting fingers and toes again like when she was a tiny thing. 

This baby however seems to take after her father’s love of sport, the way she practices the aim and strength of her kicks on your bladder. You don’t officially know yet (they were less than cooperative at the last ultrasound), but you know it’s a girl. Steve swayed to boy for a day or two before realising you were right. Maybe next time… 

The flush and sigh-groan from your aching back pulls Steve from sleep. When you pad back in from the little bathroom, he’s just about upright and wild-haired. 

“Y’okay?” Eyes swollen with sleep, he reaches blindly for you to help you back into the cosy nest of blankets. 

“Mm, needed to pee.” 

You try to keep your cold feet away but Steve sandwiches them between his own size fourteen and always warm feet. His lips brush your shoulder and the back of your neck when you settle into a comfortable position; Bump dictates what will suffice as ‘comfortable’ and settles under her father’s comforting hand. Harrington’s magic touch is famed in your home; settling gassy babies and working out knotted shoulders, fixing leaky faucets and carrying all of the groceries inside in two heavy handfuls, making shadow-puppet shows on the bedroom wall and holding back your hair when you’re not well. 

Slowly, small-spooned by Steve’s bigger body, you drift again. Sleep comes and goes like an inconsistent tide, and you are anchored safely in his arms. Baby names ebb and flow into your tired head and you wish Steve was awake to tell you what he thought of ‘Heather’ or ‘Ava’. Whether your (very slow) re-read of Little Women was influencing you too much to ‘Josie’. You wonder about how much candy you should get for the trick-or-treaters, and whether Beth will be too scared to help you answer the door to them this year. 

You wish he was awake - because you always wish your every waking moment was spent with Steve Harrington - but you’re so glad he is sleeping soundly, snoring sweetly behind you. You wish you could take more responsibility, take the pressure he puts on his own shoulders from him, but this pregnancy is less easy than the first and you hate that you can’t do it all anymore. You take solace in the fact that Steve is asleep, not awake worrying or nesting. 

Turning in his sleepy hold, you place his hand back on the bump to keep the littlest Harrington settled and content, and watch your handsome husband look like the teenager you wish you had known. You map the laughter lines instead of the ones etched by worry, counting the happy memories (which are insurmountable) as you fall back to sleep with him at last. 

Sleeping Beauty herself slumbers on until almost 8 a.m., meaning that both you and Steve sleep until almost 8 a.m. too - later on you will toast coffee (decaf for you) over that parent win. For the next few months, the weekends mean Steve will be hitting snooze on his body clock when the chances arise. 

This morning Beth’s little voice sings his name down the hall. Steve wakes with a smile and kisses your sleepy face as you stretch and peel your eyes open. 

“You’re up, Coach.” Your voice is a tired yawn, mumbled into the fluffy duvet Steve untangles himself from.

“Bring her in for cuddles please.” You pout for a tired kiss and hum happily when he grants your wish. 

Steve’s ankles crack as he walks from your room to Beth’s. She’s wide awake and wild-haired, matching her Dad, and she sits up in her bed with her bunny-teddy clutched in her fist. 

“Hi bumblebee,” he gasps, his tiredness swept away by his genuine joy to see her. Steve lays down on her too-small-for-him baby bed and pretends to get comfy to sleep again. “Sleepover?” he asks, opening his arm for her. 

“Nooooo, yo’bed!” Her sweet voice crackles with sleepiness and the remnants of a cold she picked up as the seasons changed. 

In the warmth of your bed, you can hear the mini-eye-roll she’s giving her Dad as he plays up to her dramatics. Uncle Dustin has a lot to answer for. 

“Bethie,” you call from your nest, “I miss you.” 

Steve watches with barely restrained amusement as her face beams bright like sunshine before leaving him in the lurch to seek out Mama. “Hey! What about me?!” 

You can hear his grumbling as he hauls himself up from the tiny toddler bed but your focus is the bundle of sunshine that bounds her way to your room in her sky-blue jammies. Pushing messy hair from her face, she squeaks happily as you lift her before Steve can beat you to it. You didn’t want another moment apart from your girl and she burrows against your chest under the toasty-warm duvet. 

“Morning Betty Boop.” You press kisses to her smiling face and hear Steve stomp and flop back into the room and into the bed. 

“Is Daddy not invited to this love-in? Just for Mama and Beth?” he asks, scowling at your smushed-together faces. 

You cuddle Beth and stroke her back as the girl shifts her impish gaze to Steve. “What do you think, Betty? Kisses for Dada?”

She can never ever resist him and reach-grabs out to be gathered in his big strong arms for kisses and cuddles. 

Steve lights up, features relaxing from his feigned annoyance, as he gives and receives morning kisses. You are gathered up alongside the titch of a girl and with her help, you smother kisses all over Steve’s happy face. 

“Never ever not invited to the love-in, my love.” You kiss his shadowed jaw once and tuck yourself under his arm. 

“Kiss d’baby?” Beth’s messy head pops up and looks at you hopefully. 

“You wanna say good morning to Baby?” Steve asks, and she nods. “Mama?”

“I think she’s asleep, but I bet she’ll wake up when she hears Big Sis and Dada.” Beneath the pitched tent of the duvet, you lift Steve’s t-shirt and present the rounded bump for inclusion in the morning love-in.

Beth has been immensely eager to meet her baby since she took notice of your bump and realised the new baby was actually in there.

The little girl’s pillow-soft cheek rests against the curve as she hugs around your middle. “Moh’nin, baby.” Her little voice is still a little stuffed up, nasal. 

Your heart and tears swell as you watch her with Steve, who kisses the bump and murmurs hello. You’re at that point of pregnancy where you could cry when the wind changes and you cover your eyes so Beth won’t go out in sympathy-tears with you. 

Steve’s big hand squeezes your hand as he distracts Beth, who babbles in toddler talk to her sibling. His eyes are wide and worried as he looks up and sees the hitch of your chest. He’s had that worried look since you bled at ten weeks and the doctor put you on bed rest, just three weeks into actually knowing you were pregnant. Everything has settled bar your hormones and emotions; two perfect heartbeats, an active healthy baby, a happy but tired Mom. Steve is more scared now than he was with Beth but pretends to be brave for you.

You swipe at your hot tears, dry your hand in your t-shirt before reaching down to stroke through Steve’s thick hair. 

“M’okay.” You give him a watery smile. “She’s just… so sweet, Stevie.” 

Moving up to lie along your side, Steve wipes your cheek and presses a kiss to the trail of the tears left behind. “Sweetest. Sweet Bee. Feelin’ okay?” 

His hand stays on top of your bump and then passes over Bethany’s bedhead when she looks up curiously. 

Seeing that she is missing out, Beth decides she has had enough and wants to cuddle with you instead of the baby who won’t kick back hello. She wiggles up to lie on Steve’s chest, little fingers poking into the freckles and moles as he pulls the duvet back around you all like a cosy cocoon. 

“Feeling good. You okay?”

Steve has tucked away his worry again, but you still see the pinch in his brow - though the curious little fingers might be the reason for that. 

“Peachy.” He chases the poking fingers with a growling kiss, pulling a shrieking giggle from Beth. “Hello, can I help you? Why are we poking Daddy this morning, huh?” 

You giggle with Beth and kiss where her fingers had pressed, modelling the gentle sweetness you know she possesses in multitudes. “Poor Daddy. See, Betty? Gentle kissies.” A kiss is snuck onto his mouth for good measure. 

“Daddy,” Beth sing-songs, patting his cheek lovingly. 

“Bethie,” Steve sings back to her, echoing her melody. He accepts a wet baby-kiss as you curl close to them both.

You twirl a finger in the messy wave of her hair. “What will we do today? Do you want to get some library books? Or we could… go to the park?” 

Steve pats her back gently. “Oh wow. All the possibilities, huh?” His lips press to Beth’s forehead as she cuddles up to him, her fingers distracted by the gold chain he wears around his neck. “Gentle, please.” He kisses her head again and looks at you. “We can do both… Go get a t-r-e-a-t?” 

You smile and nod, covering Steve’s hand on Beth’s small back. “I like t-r-e-a-ts. What do you want to do, big guy?” 

Steve’s fingers slot with yours. His lips brush your head as you share his pillow - the firm one to help with his neck pain. “Just be with you two. Could stay right here all day and I’d be the happiest guy.” 

You press your nose against his cheek and close your eyes; you’re both surrounded by your favourite people, it is utter bliss. 

“I love you.” Your voice is soft and tired against his stubbly jaw. 

“Love you. So much, babe.” 

Steve tilts his head so you can share a morning-breath-be-damned kiss. He wishes he had woke up sooner, before the wide-eyed toddler, so that he could have showered you with kisses, made out like teenagers (despite the baby bump between you). 

“No! Me!” The frustrated little whine makes you smile apologetically to each other, chancing one more peck before you both look to scowling Beth. 

“Sorry, Bee. Mama’s too delicious for me to resist.”

“Steve!” you tuck your face in his neck as you laugh, an affectionate headbutt. 

“What? The kid’s gotta know.”

The two-year-old smushes her face to her Dad’s chest, still too little to comprehend her Dad’s silly banter when she just wants to be the centre of both of your attention. You have a few months left to figure that out before the baby arrives, but it scares you that she might feel like she’s not the best thing that ever happened you (bar her Dad, of course). 

Your pout matches hers and you push back the stinging Mom Guilt Tears. She is only coaxed away with sweet little cheek-kisses from you as you hum-sing Take a Chance on Me (accompanied by Steve’s tapping fingers on her back ‘take a chance, take a chance, take a, take a chance-chance.)

The girl's smile splits her frustrated face, a quiet giggle as she is serenaded by her current favourite song (you have just got I Was Made For Lovin’ You out of your head after Steve had introduced her to KISS in the car). Her little arm hooks around your head as you whisper how much you love her, soft voice tickling her ear and cheek. 

Beth’s laughter coaxes a fluttering kick against your belly, which Steve feels against his side as you spoon against him. He wears the same wide-eyed joy on his face every time he has felt your babies kick. 

“Oo, she’s awake again. Finally joining the party.” You rest your hand against the side of your rounded belly and telepathically tell the tiny one how much you love them too, how you can’t wait to meet them but please stay in there until they’re fully cooked and ready. 

Steve’s free hand - the one not keeping Beth upright as she sits up on his torso - joins yours and echoes your telepathic communication to the littlest Harrington - I love you, I can’t wait to hold you, please stay safe in there and be nice to your Mom. 

His wide palm on your bump settles the fluttering before she aims her kick right against it Hi Dad! Okay, Dad!

You share a secret little smile with him and kiss his cheek as his eyes shimmer before rolling onto your achy back, feeling the satisfaction of the pop and crack as your spine relaxes against the mattress. Steve’s hand stays on your belly, and you hug his arm to your chest, as Beth sings her toddler-babble version of an ABBA mashup for you both from her throne. 

Steve’s face hurts from smiling as he listens to her, hears some semblance of the lyrics in Beth-speak. He doesn’t remember mornings like this with his parents, few and far between were the times he was even allowed to cuddle with them in bed on a weekend morning.

You glance at his face, watching shifting emotions come and go as he remembers, tries to forget and focuses on the memories being made right now in your cosy nest of a bed. You squeeze his arm and hold his hand on your belly - matching gold wedding rings clicking against each other as your fingers intertwine. 

Steve squeezes your hand, three pulses. There is simply nowhere he would rather be. 

[herefortheships]

I guess Bj wouldn't be as kind and selfless to let Lydia marry someone else, so is the dream theory more realistic?

I guess it depends entirely on interpretation, but my take on it is that for Betelgeuse to be selfish and possessive enough of Lydia to intervene in her relationships it would depend on the person she's involved with and how the relationship is going. Like I mentioned before in this post, he simply might not have had the power to intervene or even reach Lydia beyond just projecting flashes of his presence around her, when she was with Richard, but I can also believe that he just let her go and be happy during that time. However, he definitely wanted to intervene in her relationship with Rory, because Rory was a toxic partner and would eventually destroy Lydia. He was already destroying her, as a matter of fact. So in this case, Betelgeuse would never allow this man to have his Lydia, no way. He'd have done anything possible to get in the way.

When it comes to Lydia, Betelgeuse is just different. Lydia is special and he does love her, so he might just have been putting her best interest and her happiness first when she was with Richard, even above his own feelings, which is big for someone like Betelgeuse if you ask me. I don't know for sure how long he was like trapped in the model before Barbara and Adam dug him up (probably since the moment Adam built the model?), but my assumption is that even before he was bound to the model he was strapped down some other way by Juno in the afterlife (and if I add my own little headcanon, even before he was stopped by Juno he was an aimless spirit unable to move on, bound to the ritual of marriage), so Lydia is definitely the first woman he loved since Delores (don't think there were other ghost ladies in his afterlife, is what I mean), it would be natural that he became possessive of the one person he made a connection with in hundreds of years. Lydia is the first woman he's fallen in love with since Delores. This is confirmed in the wedding dance scene. That said, if he loves her truly, part of loving someone is letting them go if their happiness depends on it. (Once Lydya is free after Rory, though, the story is different; now Betelgeuse has a shot and I don't see him letting her go any time soon 😉).

I already shared my thoughts about the Dream Theory before, but I can add a little more here to answer the question more completely. While I personally have a different interpretation of the events in the movie, I do find the Dream Theory very intriguing and interesting to read. I can say in some ways it can be more realistic, considering Betelgeuse's nature, and looking at Lydia as a character. Lydia is attracted to the darkness; she likes the strange and unusual, and she described herself as such in the first movie. She might have at some point called on Betelgeuse after the Maitlands moved on, and opted to live with him rather than to live with another living person. The first Beetlejuice movie doesn't really go into Lydia's head when it comes to Betelgeuse. It could be that any persistent negative ideas she had about him were all put in her head by Barbara. As she grew older she might have changed the way she viewed him and even be intrigued by him. The Maitlands were definitely more her parents than Charles and Delia ever were, and Lydia always connected more with the dead than the living (we can throw in Astrid's resentment about this fact here as a reflection of guilt in Lydia's subconscious about it, if Astrid truly is a dream figure existing only in the dream). This is all speculative, of course, but yes I don't think it's unrealistic to conclude that it was all a construct of Betelgeuse's power. I have a different interpretation, which I talked about in the post linked above.

When it comes to Lydia, Betelgeuse is softer, and I think he would do pretty much anything for her. Whether that is being selfless and allowing her the freedom to love someone else, when he failed to reach her, or building a dreamverse for her to experience the things she can't have while being his forever partner.

[starogeorgina]

𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐬

Paring: Harwin Strong × Targ OC

Warnings: Swearing

3.02

Your hand presses into the cold stone cobbles of the wall as you try to regain your balance after almost slipping on one of the damp steps. It’s hard to know if the noise of your foot slapping against the ground is hard enough for others to hear over the sound of heavy rainfall and your own heartbeat echoing in your ears.

Aerion was sharing a room with his cousins, and while you lay in bed staring at the ceiling, a sudden feeling of nostalgia overcomes you, and you decided to go a walk down the secret passageways that you used many years ago to see your now husband when you were first pregnant, but you didn’t except to overhear Alicent and Criston discussing you and Rhaenyra’s children.

“The princess Rhaenyra is bold enough to flaunt her bastards proudly at court; why should her sister be any different?”

“Spoiled cunts.”

“Whores of the keep.”

You become bored quickly of listening to them repeat the same slander they had been for years. However, you do question if their constant badmouthing is why your other siblings haven’t spoken to you since they arrived back. Helaena offered you a curt nod. Aemond acted as if you were invisible whenever you attempted to speak to him, and you had yet to see Aegon.

You suddenly feel as if the air has been sucked from your chest when Alicent mentions the death of Ser Richard, alluding to Larys somehow being behind his death.

This was dangerous—far too dangerous.

Carefully step backwards and slowly go back into the passageway where you are completely out of sight. But if you do remain by the doorway while trying to gather your thoughts, how would Harwin feel if he heard such a thing? Larry was odd and creepy, but being behind the murder was unthinkable.

Suddenly, Criston’s voice is closer to you, and what he says next makes your head spin.

—

Rhaenyra practically leaps from her bed when she becomes aware of your presence. She claps her hand against her chest. “Sister, what are you doing in my chambers at this hour?”

“Do you wish for me to leave?”

Rhaenyra shakes her head before moving closer to the wall and pulling the covers back so you can sit beside her on the bed. You spoke softly to one another as her newborn was sleeping in his crib placed next to the bottom of the bed. Moonlight filled the room, allowing you to see the worried look on her face. You explain everything you overheard between Criston and Alicent.

“Forgive me… Jacaerys' father, what Criston said…”

Rhaenyra brings her knees to her chest and wraps her arms around them. “How could you ask me such a thing?”

You squeeze her hand; the last thing you wanted was to upset her, but if what the knight said was true and neither Ser Laenor nor Ser Richard were at court around the time she fell pregnant with Jace, then the greens would have something else to use against her. “I love you, Rhaenyra, and my sweet nephews, and I want to keep you safe.”

“I…I…”

“I know they are Laenor’s sons, my sweet.” You rub circles on the back of her hand with your thumb in an attempt to soothe her. “But if the greens somehow find a way to convince—”

“Criston.”

You stare at her, puzzled.

“Laenor was still mourning his lover, and I had yet to meet Richard.” Tears stain her cheeks. “I was so lonely, Vaella, and despite everything that happened, I turned to familiarity for comfort.”

Her confession lingers in the air as her words seep into your mind. Criston was Jacaerys biological father.

“We never spoke of it; I don’t understand why he would do this now. Not even Laenor knows.”

Hearing Rhaenyra’s voice break caused your own eyes to glisten with tears. You couldn’t imagine how hard it was for her to keep a secret like that to yourself. You cup her face gently. “Sister, I promise you, I will do whatever you need me to.”

“I need to know Criston won’t mention it again.”

You nod and say, “Then I shall make sure of it.”

Rhaenyra cries in your arms, letting out years of pent-up emotions. Eventually she pulls back, a small smile on her lips. “When Joffrey is a few weeks old, I think me and the boys should come to Dragonstone.”

“To live?”

“Yes, long as you don’t mind.”

You kiss her on the forehead and say, “Don't jest, I’ve been begging you to live on the island with me for years.”

You spend the rest of the night with your sister, assuring her that no matter what, you'll always look out for her. You stay with her until daylight breaks through, and you return to your chambers to get ready for the day.

—

You had watched from one of the towers as the boat your husband and children were on docked a few hours prior. It wouldn’t be long now until they arrived at the keep. You were going to fly down on Varos to greet them, but due to how exhausted you are, you were advised against it, which gave you plenty of time to think, and you’d come to the conclusion to mention what you heard about your brother-in-law at a later date, so not to ruin Harwin’s reunion with his father.

You’d been waiting in the court yard for some time, unaware you’d been watched, until you felt a presence behind you. “How long have you been lurking for, Aegon?”

“You’ve gotten fat again.”

Rolling your eyes, you smile, “lēkia.”

“Mandia.”

You’d chosen to wear one of the dresses Harwin gifted you; the blue fabric swirls around your legs as the winds pick up.

Holding onto your hand tightly, Aerion looks up at him curiously and says, “Hello, uncle.”

Aegon stares at him for a moment, then looks up at you. “The dragon keepers have brought three eggs Dreamfyre has laid. I thought you might like one for your new child.”

In high Valyrian, you say, “Perhaps you can help your nephew pick one.”

Aegon puffs out his cheeks dramatically like a brat but does say, “Nephew, do you want help picking a dragon egg?”

Aerion looks up at you for permission. “You may go, SweetPea, but don’t wonder away from your uncle.”

You catch the eye of one of the ladies who mainly serves Rhaenyra, but also yourself whenever you return. You ask her to keep an eye on your son and brother from a healthy distance. It would mean a great deal to you if Aegon bonded with your sons; you’d heard that he was pretty closed off from everyone in the family, and you didn’t want him to become as lonely as Rhaenyra once was.

“You look truly breathtaking in that color.”

“My loves!” you say excitedly, hearing your husband's voice. Harwin had been beaming at you while walking behind your children. Vaegon holds onto Ada’s hand tightly, making sure she doesn’t wander off. “I hope your trip was good.”

“It was,” Harwin kisses you on the cheek, then glances around the courtyard. “Where is Aerion?”

“With Aegon.”

Harwin raises his brows and says nothing, but you can hear the unspoken question in his silence. You greet both your children before continuing. “They have gone to pick a dragon egg,” you rub at your growing bump. “I’m actually surprised that my brother brought it up; he wanted to know I’d like one of Dreamfyre’s.”

Your husband's lips press into a thin line. He knew how badly you wanted to have faith in your brother, but he didn’t trust Aegon or Aemond, despite them only being young. “That was kind of him to think of the baby.”

You smile while watching as Ada, who is still holding onto Vaegon’s hand, takes Harwin’s as well.

“Come, let’s get you both inside before the rain becomes heavier; your grandsires are dying to see you both.”

As you walk up the stairs, heading towards the king's quarters, you catch sight of Criston lurking nearby. You’d need to deal with the threat he poses to Rhaenyra and Jace immediately.

Brother - Lekia

Sister - Mandia

— Another Harwin & Vaella image —

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

The Temptation Chapter 3

Summary: Father Barnes is devout, steadfast, and undeterred by flirtatious congregants.  So why does this fallen angel tempt him so?  You cannot serve two masters.  Will he choose God, or his heart? This is a short chapter...Priest!Bucky x curvy!reader Warnings: eventual smut; religion (yes it's a warning); mentions of past sexual assault

Previous chapter Next chapter

The day after Christmas Y/N snuck into the church quietly.  It was late and she didn’t want to risk running into Bucky.  She skirted around the edges of the area as nuns walked around, cleaning up after Mass the day before.  She managed to get one nun’s attention.

“Excuse me, Sister, um, are confessionals being held tonight?”

“Yes, they are, both Fathers are here tonight,” the Sister smiled at her.

“Okay, uh, could you tell me which one Father Richards is in,” Y/N felt like she was shaking as she asked.

“He’s in…oh, he should be in that one on the far end.  I don’t think anyone is in there now.”

“Thank you.”

Y/N walked over to the farthest confessional room, tapping on the door a few times to make sure no one was in there before entering.  As she shut the door behind her and settled on the uncomfortable seat she sighed, waiting for the telltale noise of the screen moving so that the priest could hear her.  There was a scraping noise and a rattle, and she could hear the sound of breathing on the other side.

“Bless me Father, for I have sinned,” Y/N immediately started.

Bucky nearly choked as he heard her voice.  He looked over, being able to slightly see who was in the box even though they couldn’t see him.  There she was, looking apprehensive and jittery.  He cleared his throat.

“What troubles you?” he asked, trying to make his voice sound different.  He wasn’t sure why he did this.

“Father Richards?  You sound…different, are you alright?”

And there was his reason.  She wanted to talk to Richards, not him.  He knew this was a lie, but felt compelled to keep up the ruse.  “Forgive me, I’ve been battling a cold for a while.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I hope you feel better soon,” Y/N rattled off, very little care in her tone.  Bucky smiled at that.  “Um…I’ve been having impure thoughts lately.”

“Impure thoughts?” Bucky ventured.

“Yes, about someone that I shouldn’t be having them about.”

“And may I ask who you’re thinking about?” Bucky didn’t need to be asking this, Father Richards would probably have not asked, but he needed to know.

“It’s about…Father Barnes.”  Bucky let out a quick breath.  He was feeling elated, pure ecstasy flowing through every limb.  “And I know I shouldn’t be feeling this way, thinking these things.  He’s a priest for Christ’s sake…oh God I’m sorry!  I mean gosh!  Ugh,” she grunted in frustration.  

“I see,” Bucky kept his voice low, trying to sound less than interested.  “And how long have you been having these thoughts?”

“8 months,” she breathed, rubbing her face with her hands.  “I’m trying so hard not to.  No offense but I hate coming here, so I never do, and yet somehow we keep running into each other.  I was just wanting, needing, a friend, and it very quickly morphed into this sick, twisted thing that I don’t know how to stop.  I feel like I can’t trust myself.  And then Sister Carter called me his temptation, a Jezebel–”

“She called you a what?” Bucky seethed, somewhat keeping up with the facade.

Y/N sighed heavily, a hard sniff coming from her on the other side.  “A Jezebel.  That bitch…sorry,” Y/N sounded exhausted and exasperated.  “That’s what Father…I mean, someone else called me a long time ago, and now I’m just…I don’t even know why I’m doing this.”

Bucky tried to regain control of his rage as he vowed to give Sister Carter a verbal beating.  “I’m sorry she said that to you, that was wrong of her.  You are not either of those things.”  

Y/N scoffed.  “Aren’t I, though?  She said she sees the way I look at him, the way he looks at me.”

“What did you mean when you said you can’t trust yourself?” Bucky reverted to her earlier statement.

“Oh…awkward,” Y/N huffed out a laugh.  “Yeah, I uh, I’m afraid of being left alone with him.  Not that he would hurt me or vice versa, just that, if given the chance, I wouldn’t say no.”

Bucky palmed himself through his pants.  Listening to this was torture, sweet, delicious torture.  “I understand,” he cleared his throat again.  “So you want him…sexually?”

“Desperately,” Y/N whispered.  

Bucky’s head tipped back as he absentmindedly reached into his pants.  He was definitely going to hell now.  Jerking off to a confessional?  He hadn’t touched himself in years, and it felt too good to stop now.  “What are these thoughts you’ve been having?”

“That seems kind of personal, Father,” Y/N sounded dubious.

“You’re right, but I need to understand the level of impurity so I can help you…” Bucky slowly stroked himself, biting back a moan.

“Um…well, just, things of a sexual nature.  Him having me in some, inappropriate places, in inappropriate ways.  Like the altar,”  She sighed.  “Me taking him to my favorite places I’ve traveled…having fun on a beach in Bora Bora.”

Bucky bit his lip, his eyes shut tight as he imagined it.  Him and Y/N on a beach, her barely covered curvy body on top, riding him into oblivion.  Him laying Y/N down across the altar, hiking his sermon robes up and taking her right there in front of God.  He shuttered and then felt his balls tighten, a sudden gush coming from him.  He covered his groan with a cough.  He tried his hardest to keep his voice even.  “What do you plan to do?” 

”What can I do?  He won’t choose me.  I don’t want to make him choose at all.  I have to leave.  Once everything is figured out, I’ll move on and get back to work.  I’ll be the temptation, the harlot he was able to withstand.”

Bucky wanted to jump through the screen and shake her and scream.  How could she think of herself that way?  She wasn’t in charge of him or his choices.  As much as he wanted her, as evidenced by the mess he made of his pants just now, that was his choice he made.

”You are not a harlot.  Temptation is not a sin, and even giving into it isn’t always a sin, either.  You are human, as is Father Barnes.  I think…” he paused, unsure of how he wanted to go about this.  “I think you should talk to him.”

”Talk to him?”

”Not as a confession, just as a friend, to clear the air.  And then you can decide what to do from there.  Until then…” he snuck his hand out of his pants, using one of the tissues in the room to wipe his hand, “I absolve you of your sins.  Say three Hail Marys.  The Lord be with you.”

”And with your spirit,” Y/N answered automatically.  She scoffed at herself.  “Thank you Father.”  She left the confessional room.  Should she actually talk to Bucky?  It felt like putting herself in the line of fire.  Father Richards was getting old, maybe he just had too much fun hearing about a congregant having a crush on his junior priest.  Pervert, she thought.

**picture if from Pinterest, it's A.I. so there's no "artist" or "creator"**

@wintrsoldrluvr

[ntmx8783]

Nakata's Sri Lanka Diary

Title: Nakata's Sri Lanka Diary Author: Nanako Tsujimura Originally Posted: November 26th, 2019 -- First posted in the The Case Files of Jeweler Richard Fanbook

TL under the cut in full. I had a lot of fun translating this one! I hope to translate some other short stories from the fanbook soon too, but it may take a while.

I suddenly have free-time.

Hey, Iggy here.

Just like the title says, I suddenly have some free time in Sri Lanka. The client I was supposed to visit had to go on an urgent trip, so it turns out I have the whole day off.

Since I have the chance to do whatever I want, and my Boss said I couldn’t study, I’d like to ask for your opinions on what I should do. I’m pretty sure there aren’t many people living in Sri Lanka that read this blog so general suggestions are fine too. Whatever you like to do to relax and stuff.

By the way, I usually like to cook when my friend from work visits me here, but I recently realised I don’t really cook for myself. The curry from Sri Lankan restaurants is just too good.

Ely_03 Heya, Iggy! I always have fun reading your blog here in Greece. My daughter is studying abroad in Japan right now so I’m interested in Japanese culture. I’m really happy I’ve found this blog.

1975Hallelujah Are there any nightclubs? Have you tried finding one? Greetings from Egypt!

BB_Typhoon How about cleaning your room? It’s probably surprisingly messy.

Archangel Hello, it’s nice to meet you, Mr. Iggy. If you’re in Sri Lanka, I've heard there’s a type of spa called an ‘ayurveda’. Because it’s a cultural aspect you haven’t experienced before, and because you happen to have the day off, wouldn’t you agree it’d be nice to go see what it has to offer?

I found this place online. I think it looks rather pleasant.

[This link can only be seen by site administrators.]

Please take care on your day off.

I went to an ayurveda spa!

Hey, Iggy here!

Thank you for the comments on my last post.

I was super excited to try something new again, so I ended up going to the spa Archangel recommended. Those sorts of places have a bit of a reputation as being somewhere only women go to in my country, but it ended up being so relaxing that I wish I had visited one sooner…

Also, the masseuse there spoke Tamil! I wish I had been able to talk to her a bit more.

I feel really refreshed thanks to you guys.

Well then, until next time!

Archangel Mr. Iggy, there’s truly nothing better than having pleasant days. I consider the most effective method for your studies to be thinking of language and gemstones as two wheels on a bike. By learning about them in tandem, I hope that the study of both will become more enjoyable henceforth.

Punk_Of_England I always have a blast reading about whatever fun thing you’re doing! If there had been a ‘Like!’ button, I’d probably have spammed it by now. Take care of yourself, yeah?

Man, anonymity sure is convenient.

Three-Wheeler

Hey, Iggy here. Sorry for the lack of updates recently.

Does anybody remember the last time I posted, when I mentioned buying a small type of car called a three-wheeler? Well, I’ve become a bit addicted to driving it around lately.

I had a license back in my home country, but I was the type of person that didn’t own a car or bike or anything, so it wasn’t until I rode one of these here that I realised how fun it could be.

The one I have is the version that only has a canopy overhead instead of a roof. Feeling the wind on my face is great!

I drove past the water reservoir and spotted waterfowl on the lake there. Seeing that made me feel really content.

Well, I’m going to go study now. I might even go for a drive in the three-wheeler when I finish. It seems like it’ll be fun!

Archangel Hello, Mr. Iggy. I’m very pleased to hear that you’re enjoying your new vehicle. This may be a bit excessive, but if you’d allow me to express my concerns, I’d like to ask you to be careful while riding. Though it is a great casual vehicle, it is not suitable in preventing crime. What I mean by that is that there are no walls to protect you if an assailant were to come at you from the side while you were stopped. I suspect your senior and your boss have already told you that it’s better not to use a three-wheeler when carrying around valuable items, but please be careful regardless.

Iggy > Reply to: Archangel

Thanks for all your comments. I do recall my boss telling that to someone too…

I don’t carry any valuables when I drive so there’s no need to worry, but I’ll keep that in mind anyway. Thanks again!

Ilovestones I just read the post about buying the three-wheeler. How cute!! I never see those sort of cars in my country, but it looks fun to drive. I bet that’d be super convenient for when you want to check out all the strata near your house or something. I’m so jealous!!

Punk_of_England Man, I feel like peoples’ quirks really come through in their comments even though it’s ‘anonymous’. But I really can’t tell if he doesn’t actually know it’s them, or if he’s just ignoring the fact…

Men in Skirts

Iggy here. Just like the title says, I passed by a ton of men wearing skirts today. I guess it was some sort of traditional clothing? Anyway, it was so colourful and had such a casual look that it really surprised me! I can’t tell if I was staring rudely or not, so if I did, I’m really sorry! It was unintentional!

Archangel > Reply to: Iggy

Mr. Iggy, you are correct, that is a traditional Sri Lankan textile called a ‘sarong’. Please refer to the URL below for more information.

[This link can only be seen by site administrators.]

It is my understanding that they’re used for formal occasions, so I would assume that the group of men you saw were part of a wedding ceremony. Please do not be discouraged if you were staring.

I received a sarong!

Iggy here! First of all, check out this image.

[This image can only be seen by accounts authorised by site administrators.]

It has a red and blue gingham pattern! It’s really nice!

I assumed it would be since the locals wear it, but it’s really breathable and prevents sunburns… and that’s not to mention how easy it is to walk in!

As you can see in the photo, it only reaches to my ankles. But it helps a lot that it’s longer than a Scottish kilt. I was told that these are often worn to weddings, which is awesome, but the best thing about it though is how suited it is to Sri Lanka’s climate. A sarong is definitely better than the bermuda shorts I’ve been wearing.

I received this one from my neighbour, but I like them so much that I plan on buying a couple more.

I probably can’t wear them daily though…

Singhalion Sri Lankan native here. The fact that you’re interested in my country’s traditional wear pleases me greatly. Sarongs have recently become very fashionable to the elite college students, so if you happen to live in a neighbourhood near one, the boutiques nearby will be your best bet in finding another. I hope you continue living a comfortable life.

By the way, I’ve noticed one user leaving a large number of comments. Are you alright? If they become a nuisance, there is a block button you can utilise. Well then, I’ll leave my concerns at that.

Archangel > Reply to: Singhalion

Singhalion, it is nice to meet you (I presume). Please cease saying unjust things about people you haven’t met.

Too Many Sweets

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I made way too much…

That’s a photo of coconut rolls, pudding, and date caramel.

I obviously can’t eat it all by myself, but my neighbour also refused to take any and got a bit mad, saying it’d be bad for their kid’s teeth… What on earth should I do now…

My Coworker Visited!

The excess sweets didn’t go to waste! Man, that’s lucky. What a crazy coincidence too! I’m really glad though. I wonder what I should make for him the next time he comes to visit.

Please leave a comment if you have any suggestions! Right now I only know about Sri Lankan ‘watalappan’ and the sweets sold at the Otoha Station kiosk. Rolls, cream bread, coconut dango… stuff like that. But even that’s delicious too.

Anyway, please let me know your suggestions!

Archangel Mr. Iggy, I’ve read your posts with great interest. However, I think it’s important not to forget the purpose of your internship. Please use your days in order to improve your skills, mind, body, and soul. For that reason, I believe the type of sweets you should make are the ones you already have skill in making. What do you think?

Singhalion > Reply to: Archangel

Overprotectiveness becomes a vice when taken too far. Haven’t you learned that already?

Archangel > Reply to: Singhalion

Singhalion, please stop speculating on things you know nothing about. You and I know nothing about each other.

Punk_of_England Whew! Things are getting interesting here! I’ll keep watching the events unfold!

Ilovestones Um, can you guys leave it at that? You’re probably bothering Iggy. This is his blog, after all.

Archangel I’ll be more careful in the future.

Singhalion My apologies.

Punk_of_England Sorry!

Mura_Shimo Yo, Iggy! It’s your good friend H.S. here! I came to check out your blog! Man, there’s a lot of comments here, fun! It’s pretty impressive considering you said you didn’t advertise it at all. Is this just part of your natural charm?? We gotta meet up and chat again sometime soon! Let’s catch up!!!

I’ll do my best with guitar practice ‘till then!

Punk_of_England The chance that he was overlooking it just plummeted to zero, didn’t it? Mr. A, are you okay? Or are you seriously gonna stay silent forever?

Archangel I have no idea what I should say, so I am hesitant to comment. Silence may be the safest option.

Archangel_of_Archangel Hello, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Iggy.

I read your entire blog. It looks like you’ve been having a lot of fun, huh? That’s a big relief. Though it wasn’t Sri Lanka, I have experience working in a Southeast Asian country myself, so reading all the fun adventures you’ve had made me remember that time when I was younger, which in turn caused me to laugh and cry. What a wonderfully vivid blog to bring your colourful days to life.

Seeing all the people in the comment section watching over you brings tears to my eyes as well. Speaking of which, is it really true that the commenters have no actual connection to you, and are just watching over you from this blog alone?

> Reply to: Archangel Mr. Archangel, can I speak with you again?

Mail Account:

Sent From: Richard@xxx.uk Sent To: N_Yasuhiro@xxx.jp Message: I will contact you using the regular number.

Sent From: N_Yasuhiro@xxx.jp Sent To: Richard@xxx.uk Message: Understood. Thank you for always looking after my son.

The number of comments decreased?

Hey, Iggy here. Ever since my last post, the people who usually comment seem to have gone quiet… Did I write something weird? I guess this request will also be weird, but if it’s not too much trouble, please go back to being lively. Since I have a lot of times when I’m on my own, reading the comments gives me the energy to keep going.

The city is bustling with preparations for the Perahera Festival. It looks like there’ll be a lot of events happening in the summer! I wonder if I can experience them here too.

Until next time!

Archangel Greetings, Mr. Iggy. I will leave a long comment for you soon.

[deadendtracks]

Response to @divinekangaroo's reply to me in this thread:

Reading your comments up above, it also struck me I'm falling into the Myth of Tommy Shelby as that educated self-critical man, too, which he sort of presents - when in fact he's frequently very uncritical / unplanned and just *does the thing* then suffers the consequences after. (Also the kind of: Tommy saying "i'm an extreme example of what a working class man can achieve" - the delusion in this statement. "I have no limitations." again, the delusion. Does he even believe these words he's saying?)

Yeah, that's just it: he's not educated (traditionally) -- he's an autodidact. He's very intelligent but he is *not* an intellectual -- he doesn't have the time or patience for it. For most of the show he doesn't *care* about philosophy of any kind, let alone political philosophy.

In s5 he's reading Freud and Shakespeare and Greek literature for pragmatic reasons. The Freud because of his own struggles with mental illness (it's implied whatever psychiatrist he'd gone to recommended Freud). The Shakespeare (Richard III I think, on his nightstand) and Greek literature (mentioned in the exchange with Churchill) probably have to do with his paranoia about losing his 'crown' and trying to work on his rhetoric/speech writing skills for Parliament, respectively. Which I don't really see as the same thing as trying to 'pass' as upper class; he's trying to develop his skills to get what he wants in Parliament and be effective. I don't see him going around dropping quotes at people socially in order to look educated, for example.

What I'm trying to say is he's not reading these things to be enlightened or to assimilate to the upper classes and pass as educated; he's reading them for very specific reasons. They're *tools.* Mosley points out that he doesn't have a traditional education, that he's not familiar with Nietszche. Tommy's reaction isn't one of being caught out as uneducated and therefore not 'passing' -- it's wariness about Mosley's reasons for bringing it up (and Mosley's specifically bringing up Freud). It's less Mosley rubbing his nose in his lack of education (though it is that) and more fucking with him psychologically, but that's probably a whole other essay. I've gotten off topic!

But what I mean to emphasize is that yeah, Tommy's *not* educated and he doesn't *try to pass himself off as educated* either. And I don't think you could call him 'self-critical' in the way an upper class educated man would be either.

He's fairly self-aware a lot of the time, but he's definitely not above self deception and rationalizing things. And I'm not sure self-aware is quite the same thing as self-critical. He knows what they do (the crime) is not good. He has no self deception when it comes to how they hurt people -- he says so to Michael, for example. I think he sees this as a means to an end and as you said, one of limited choices, and he *does* want to get out of it. And there's the fact that for a long time he's not fully feeling the impact of any of it, either (which I think is different from deliberately looking away from the impact. I think due to his PTSD he literally cannot feel it in a frozen/numb way, it literally does not impact him even if he looks right at it). It's interesting to contrast him with Arthur, who says he's a good man whose hands 'belong to the devil' -- it's a very different way of looking at himself; I don't think Tommy would be self-deceptive enough to call himself a good man.

But when you're talking about him being aware that going to a prostitute is specifically *sexual* violence (the way we'd understand it, i guess) and that he looks the other way because that would interfere with what he wants, I just don't think that's at all what's going on there.

He doesn't have a thought out coherent political philosophy up through s5, not in the way that might be expected of an 'educated man' (or even a working class Communist like his sister) -- Ada comments on this (if he believed anything he said he'd be dangerous) and this is evident with both Jessie Eden and his 'champagne bubbles' ramble and in that line from s4 about being an extreme example of what a working man can achieve. He sees what Mosely is and the immediate danger of fascism *and the specific threat to he and his family* but he's not a dedicated Socialist despite running as one. His only real political philosophy by s5 is that he's dragged himself up by the bootstraps.

His reasons for getting into politics in the first place aren't about political belief (and would be another essay); but he *does* start to develop beliefs and act on them almost despite himself once he's in office.

What I'm trying to get at in this digression is that despite his (proto?) Communist past, after the war he's about ensuring he and his family and his gang get enough capital to go legit; his circle of caring so to speak is literally that limited and everyone outside it -- including the 'working man' -- is excluded; and he sees even himself and his brothers as tools in reaching that goal for the family in a more military kind of way, where he will put them (and himself) at risk for the 'greater good.'

His limited 'circle' is evident in s4 when he's using factory wages and the possibility of a strike for his own ends in the vendetta. And this is tied in with what you have talked about re: the subaltern, of course, because everyone outside his family and gang have excluded him, including those supposed fellow working men.

What he says to May about laying off people versus the violence of the gun -- i think he's struggling with this point. He *does* see what the upper classes do to workers as violence, but is it any better than the violence he does with the gang? Is it worse? He feels the gang violence is more honest about what it is. They're worse than us. But he doesn't have what I'd call a coherent political stance with all of this, as self-critical as it might be, because he's seeing that ok, if being a gangster is violent and being a capitalist is violent and the alternative is being exploited as a worker, where does that leave you? Might as well keep being a gangster.

So he's gotten that far, but I don't think he'd be able to frame sex work as specifically *sexual* violence. Women just literally got the right to vote, you know?

It would be completely anachronistic to look at it that way, as far as I can tell? I haven't done a ton of research here; but going within the 'world' of the show, *nobody* looks at prostitution as sexual violence *unless the John is actually physically violent* -- someone like Tommy, who's most likely pretty straightforward, nonviolent, and pays decently (given the way Lizzie likes him, I think it's fair to say that's probably the case) wouldn't be seen as sexually violent for using a prostitute and neither would he think of himself that way. It's just not remotely on anyone's radar.

Anyway this is an example of me not being remotely concise.

What I'm trying to say is Tommy most likely looks at it as something most women would rather not do, and when he has the chance he helps Lizzie get out of it the same way he thinks of his own criminal enterprises as something he'd rather not do (and there's stigma to being a gangster -- not the same! Kind! at all! the power dynamic is completely different obviously, but it's also something he wouldn't have gotten into if *he* felt he had any other choice, either). He sees *himself* in Lizzie -- sees someone doing something to get ahead they'd rather not be doing, with ambitions to be something else. I really don't think he has any conception of *himself* as *sexually* violent towards Lizzie, even in a way that he has to squash down. It's definitely not something he's deliberately looking away from to get what he wants, you know?

It's possible I'm being really pedantic here in focusing on the 'sexual' part of the 'violence' but I think it's an important line. I do think it's closer to what you said about the way he treats himself. I'm just not convinced he'd be able to remotely articulate that any of this is specifically *sexual* violence. I don't think he can articulate for himself that what he did with Diana (what Diana did to him) was a kind of sexual violence. He'd be aware he didn't want to do it and did it anyway, and that it's impacting him in ways he thought it wouldn't and doesn't fully understand.

I think the way he equates sex work/his own trading of sex with *working* is important. If he was seeing this as *sexual* violence that he looks away from or won't engage with -- idk, to me it's much more unconscious than that? I really don't think he sees it as different from the exploitation of factory work. It's not just a rationalization he gives Finn in s4 -- it's what he says about himself, to Polly, about sleeping with Tatiana -- that he was *working.* And he gets upset at all of them for thinking he did it because he couldn't keep his dick in his pants.

It's fully possible we're talking in parallel about this? Maybe because by then the whole world is violence to him. It's probably not even a conscious repression, it's just happens, he squashes stuff down rather than examine it closely. He isn't actually that self-critical or meta-thinking a guy at all despite occasionally sounding like it?

Yeah this is closer to how I think it is for him. He's self aware of doing things that are 'wrong' to get ahead. He's aware that people get hurt. I have a whole theory about him getting into owning factories only to find out if you want to actually make a profit you *have to* exploit your workers and the impact of that on him -- I don't actually think he'd thought about it very deeply before that, when he was on the other side of it. His disgust about the whole thing to May feels kind of newly discovered, the way his "they're worse than us, they will never let us into their palaces" rant felt newly discovered, rather than something he believed all along? If that makes any sense.

The way he *doesn't have the words* about the war, I don't think he has the words for what we'd call sexual violence that isn't outright rape, and I don't think he'd have any conception that prostitution is sexual violence unless someone is literally violent. Otherwise it's just sex for money, and a job people would probably rather not do, but there's a lot of jobs people would rather not do where they're exploited by people with more money and don't have a lot of choices.

By s6 he's trying to actually change things politically to the point where people might not be forced into these kinds of choices -- the housing projects, for example. My guess is if we saw him post-s6 he'd be much farther along on his political 'development' so to speak.

Christ, sorry this was so meandering. I have no idea if I've made a coherent point or not. There's a whole thread about the impact of PTSD on all of this I haven't really even touched on but glancingly.

[ecoustsaintmein]

Native Son, why it works in Ep 8 of MotA, and why it doesn't

I've written a quick post about it a while back, about how Rosie reading Native Son in Ep 8 makes sense thematically for the episode.

I reread it this weekend, and I have thoughts:

Background --

Native Son was published in 1940 and was written by Richard Wright, about a young black man who lives in Chicago, raised in a life a poverty and systemic racism which led to a life of crime.

Connection with the Tuskegee Airmen --

Within the first 50 pages we have this exchange between Bigger and his friends, when they saw a plane up in the sky:

"Looks like a little bird," Bigger breathed with childlike wonder.

"Them white boys sure can fly," Gus said.

"Yeah," Bigger said wistfully. "They get a chance to do everything."

(...)

"I could fly one of them things if I had a chance," Bigger mumbled reflectively, as though talking to himself.

Gus pulled down the corners of his lips, stepped out from the wall, squared his shoulders, doffed his cap, bowed low, and spoke with mock deference:

"Yessuh."

"You go to hell," Bigger said, smiling.

"Yessuh," Gus said again.

"I could fly a plane if I had a chance," Bigger said.

"If you wasn't black and if you had some money and if they'd let you go to that aviation school, you could fly a plane," Gus said.

For a moment Bigger contemplated al the 'ifs' that Gus had mentioned. Then both boys broke into hard laughter, looking at each other, through squinted eyes. When their laughter subsided, Bigger said in a voice that was half-question and half-statement:

"It's funny how the white folks treat us, ain't it?

"It better be funny," Gus said.

"Maybe they right in not wanting us to fly," Bigger said. "'Cause if I took a plane up I'd take a couple of bombs along and drop 'em sure as hell..."

(...)

"God, I'd like to fly up there in that sky."

"God'll let you fly when He gives you your wings up in heaven," Gus said.

The text was published in 1940. Also, spoiler alert -- Bigger was on the death row by the end of the book, so when we come back to the story of the Tuskegee Airmen, who does ALL the things that Bigger wants to do but couldn't -- those men were actively challenging the stereotype of a Black American of that era. And also fulfilling the prophecy that they will fly after Bigger's death...

And Bigger's conversation with Gus about how the white folk treat them -- it was unsurprising, but also reflected in (some of) the ways the Black PoWs were treated in the desegregated camps in ep 8.

Also interesting that Bigger mentioned how he wants to fly a plane to drop bombs...

Why it doesn't fully work (for me):

While I can see why Native Son was featured in not one but two (!!!) scenes, I can understand why Rosie was reading that (will come to that later), but I'm still struggling to find the significance of Sandra gifting it to Croz.

Also -- given all the points and themes that the book has attempted to discuss, and attempting to weave it into the plot of episode 8, it still sits uncomfortably with me that the Tuskegee Airmen were only introduced after 8 episodes (as if it is an afterthought, even if it wasn't meant that way), and that they barely get any lines at all in episode 9. Harking back to what Bigger and Gus just talked about:

"It's funny how the white folks treat us, ain't it?

"It better be funny," Gus said.

I'll let you judge for yourself.

Rosie and Native Son

I know we don't know, but -- whose book is it that Rosie is reading? Is it his? From the library?

In the final chapters, Bigger was charged with murder and rape, and he was represented by a Jewish-American lawyer named Boris Max, whom I feel to be the most unproblematic character out of all the characters in the book, and defended Bigger with everything he's got (think Atticus Finch, but with more communist-leaning).

Who else is a Jewish-American lawyer...oh wait. Rosie.

Max, like Rosie, is a non-judgmental character and basically a good listener all around, even if the intellectual points that he tries to make sometimes goes over Bigger's head.

This paragraph is telling of Max's character traits (and why it reminds me of Rosie's own strong-will and desire to keep fighting):

"Mr Max, if I was you I wouldn't worry none. If all folks was like you, then maybe I wouldn't be here. But you can't help that now. They going to hate you for trying to help me. I'm gone. They got me."

"Oh, they'll hate me, yes," said Max. "But I can take it. That's the difference. I'm a Jew and they hate me, but I know why and I can fight. But sometimes you can't win no matter how you fight; that is, you can't win if you haven't got time. And they're pressing us now. But you need not worry about their hating me for defending you. The fear of hate keeps many whites from trying to help you and your kind. Before I can fight your battle, I've got to fight a battle with them."

All in all, I can talk forever about the significance of the book and how it fits thematically into episode 8. However, it still leaves me wanting more from the Tuskegee Airmen plotline, and perhaps maybe more of Rosie's lawyering.

[maya-matlin]

Pick your most unpopular opinion about each of these shows (only if you want to!!): Degrassi, OTH, Gilmore Girls, Friends, Riverdale, That 70s Show, and Dawson's Creek :)

Degrassi:

This is so difficult because I feel like I've stated so many opinions in the past. Okay. I think the Degrassi nudes arc was theoretically really interesting from a psychological standpoint as well as how a survivor would cope after going through a very public sexual assault trial with the details of what happened to them being well known. Because it feels like something so human and yet so misguided, I don't view Zoe's role in it as harshly as others do. To be fair, the writers lost the plot. Literally. It got really sensationalized with blackmailing and cheerleader dolls and fake hostage situations. I also really hate how it turned into a Zoe vs Frankie situation with zero nuance. Their past involving Frankie being an unsupportive friend who victim blamed Zoe multiple times was never brought up once in lieu of Frankie being turned into Zoe's victim. So while I wouldn't say I like the arc itself, I feel like it had potential. The writers just weren't committed to seeing it through and let Zoe down as a character. The aftermath was really underwhelming and made the whole story line irrelevant.

OTH:

Even though I like the shooting episode for what it is, it's a pretty mediocre depiction of characterizing a school shooter. Following Jimmy's suicide, the writing consistently expects the audience to feel sympathy for him and remember him as a good guy who did one bad thing. It's to the point where the entire school ends up signing his high school yearbook. To be fair, a lot of the Jimmy romanticism came from Mouth, who had weird morals himself considering he was the show's resident incel. But beyond that, Jimmy quickly stops being the villain of the episode to orchestrate a scenario where Dan just happens to stumble upon Keith and a gun, giving him the opportunity to murder him. Also, every other scene features monologues given by the characters that are blatantly trying WAY too hard to be deep and profound. Not to mention this episode marked the official return of romantic Lucas/Peyton, but because Peyton was bleeding and supposedly didn't know any better she can't possibly be held responsible for selfishly making a move on her best friend's boyfriend in what she believed to be her last moments. Sorry, fuck that. Your last moments shouldn't include complicating things for two people you claim to care about. Especially not when you were the one who helped ruin their relationship the first time around, and you know for a fact that your best friend still has trust issues over what happened.

Also, Brooke was the love of Lucas's life. I'll die on this hill. Blame Chad Michael Murray's inability to stop giving his ex-wife heart eyes even during scenes post-Brucas, but it is what it is.

Gilmore Girls:

It's difficult to know what is or isn't popular in the Gilmore Girls fandom. I guess I'll say that Rory dropping out of Yale was the right decision? The way I see it, nothing bad was ever going to come out of that. Rory was in a transitional place where she was questioning a lot of her life decisions. She didn't currently feel up to attending school, so she took some time off. It was completely understandable, yet the narrative insists that this was indicative of Rory going down a bad path. I can understand Lorelai wanting Rory to take some time to make sure this was what she wanted but if anything, Lorelai's overreaction probably made Rory take even more time off from school. Had Rory had her mother and best friend in her corner, maybe she would have realized by the beginning of the next semester that she was emotionally ready to return to Yale. Just.. everything with Lorelai, Richard and Emily feeling as though they could force Rory to go back to school as though she was suddenly going to lose her place and never be able to return was stupid. Out of the two of them, Lorelai was the pettiest and most in the wrong during their estrangement. Lorelai was the parent. Lorelai chose not to tell her daughter she was engaged. Rory shouldn't have ever felt as though she couldn't come home until she basically did everything her mother wanted her to do. Considering Lorelai's own history with Emily, you'd think she'd realize that. But again, the writers made sure we knew how badly Rory was ruining her life and making bad decisions for committing the crime of taking a leave of absence from school and daring to try other things in the meantime.

Friends:

My opinions on the Ross/Rachel infamous "break" are all over the place. Technically, I think Ross is right that their relationship was no longer intact when he slept with another woman. Their communication absolutely sucked during this story line. No attempts at clarification were ever made. Ross just walked out when Rachel said she wanted a break, and Rachel let him. Honestly, I don't even think Ross sleeping with someone else so soon after splitting up from Rachel, in whatever form you consider that to be, makes him an asshole. In an ideal world where everyone makes rational decisions all the time, Ross wouldn't have coped with intense heartbreak by immediately sleeping with someone else. But it was a human reaction, and I don't fault him for that. What I do fault him for is hiding it the next day, running around town trying to stop other people from telling Rachel. It's all but admitting that Ross and Rachel were still emotionally connected and in the mindset of being in a monogamous relationship. Even if they technically weren't. What I also fault him for is being so stubborn and adamant on being right that he never admits fault or owns up to causing Rachel pain for several years after that. So what if he didn't technically betray Rachel? To Rachel, it felt like one. Sometimes, when you love someone, you have to be understanding of the complexities of emotions and just take the fucking L, even if you're technically faultless by definition. And honestly, Rachel was part of the problem, too. What kind of relationship or connection do you really have if you're having the same, obnoxious argument for eight years, never able to get on the same page? Like, I know it's a comedy, but Friends wasn't playing up the comedy angle during this arc. Anyways, they definitely shouldn't have ended up together if they were going to keep getting tripped up over one argument for eight years.

Riverdale:

I don't know how unpopular this actually is, but Veronica is extremely underrated and never gets the love and appreciation she deserves. Looking across the entire series, including time jumps, different universes, and eras where the characters literally had powers, Veronica was consistently the most selfless and considerate character on the show. Half the time, she was the mean girl in name only. There were countless occasions where Veronica forgave even when she shouldn't have and/or should have held out for more remorse and effort from the person that wronged her. The attempt to compare Veronica kissing Ginger Judas in the pilot after knowing Archie and Betty for two seconds to Betty doing it three years into Varchie's relationship is.. it has some nerve. Anyways, Veronica was wonderful, ambitious, and everyone on that show was better for having known her. Sadly, she was underappreciated more often than not, rarely ever getting her due. I really wish anyone but Archie had been the love of her life, because he really didn't deserve her by the end.

That '70s Show:

Sometimes, Hyde gets way too much of a pass for his treatment of Jackie. I feel like he's overall the most popular character on the show with his relationship with Jackie being the most popular, resulting in a lot of his questionable behavior getting swept under the rug. Obviously Hyde had issues he needed to work through stemming from his childhood and struggled to let other people in. But Jackie was consistently a pretty great girlfriend for him, going out of her way to show love and affection, only for him to not 100% reciprocate. Fuck Danny Masterson (and honestly Mila at this point too), but a lot of what made that relationship what it was is the chemistry between Danny and Mila and how they chose to demonstrate the love between those two characters. Hyde was still miles ahead of Kelso and Fez and had great moments with Jackie. But it still needs to be said. Hyde put Jackie through a lot.

Dawson's Creek:

While not perfectly written, most of Andie's fall from grace during season 3 makes a lot of sense. I even think Andie cheating on Pacey was in character. It's a controversial take because no one wants to believe that season 2 Andie would have ever done such a thing. But the reality is, Andie had a literal mental breakdown. She says it herself. When Andie went to get mental health help, she was no longer the same girl Pacey fell in love with. Andie was in a dark, lonely, vulnerable place, and she met someone else. This guy understood parts of Andie's mental health struggles that Pacey couldn't, and it led to a friendship that became an emotional affair. They made their own world together, and then had one, impulsive slip up. It doesn't cheapen Andie's love for Pacey, but it's still understandable that Andie crossed a boundary of Pacey's that couldn't be uncrossed. After this, Andie's attempts to recuperate post-breakup, including her treatment of Pacey and even stealing the test were pretty consistent based on how desperately Andie wanted to appear normal and as though everything was under control. However, I also think early season 3 stacked the deck too far against Andie, resulting in her character leaving the show early. The supposed "false accusation" meant to make Andie look bad from a misogynistic, ableist showrunner took it too far. I personally think even during that episode, there are enough hints, including Rob's desperation to shut Andie's story down when she hadn't even gone to the authorities, indicates she told the truth. Seriously, his happy ass was all cocky when Pacey confronted him, but once he sobered up he practically sprinted to Joey's house to use Andie's mental health against her, even manhandling Joey multiple times to force her to listen. But whatever. The intent was obvious, and I still hated it. Anyways, Andie McPhee was great, and I wish people would still appreciate her at her worst. After all, it's what led to season 4 Andie, probably the strongest iteration of her character even though she sadly wasn't around for long.

[sporesgalaxy]

since i dont want an entire "zim age debate" on your blog im keeping this off anon so you can answer this privately if you want

im ALSO not trying to "convince you" to change your interpretation of zim because thats stupid and completely defeats my entire point that its up in the air. thatd also be pretty mean of me!

but my main point is that i think different writers on the show have different ideas for how they see him, considering jhonen is not the sole opinion-haver there and his favorite thing to do is make shit up. like richard and andy((zim and dibs voice actors, respectively)) im pretty sure dont think hes an old man otherwise the puppet kiss incident or the "i love you zim" wouldnt have happened. ((not that i want this to be About shipping but thats a big example)) and then theres advertisements calling zim an "alien kid" or jhonen himself calling zim a child in the old pilot bible

i understand what you mean with tak the hideous new girl however thats also the episode where he tries to Date tak under the impression that shes a human child and id rather not see my funny greenboy as a predator. i just always thought that the 60 years joke was "haha isnt it funny that were using ridiculously long periods of time and theyre still children"

not to mention mopiness of doom where it shows that zim and dib are grossly codependent enemies and i just dont really want to imagine a 60+ year old man and a child depending on eachother like that,,,,,

theres more "evidence" but i think this ask has gone on long enough

ALL OF THAT BEING SAID!!!!! theres no definitive proof either way and i find that unless youre shipping or really want to dig into the child soldier angle((which i personally find interesting)) it doesnt really matter. again this isnt supposed to be a persuasive essay just like,, idek. i like discussing this show and the characters in it! theres story benefits to either interpretation of zim and i like your art either way

uhh,, cheers and also sorry i think!!

eh. I had to write so much to respond to all this, it seems wasteful not to post.

TL; DR

There is no way for me to 100% guarantee that zadr will be read the same way by everyone, because it won't be, as is the nature of all media. That is exactly why I don't think that everyone who interprets Zim as a child necessarily has ill or manipulative intentions.

But I can provide arguments like the following for why I think zadr and kids who ship it would be a likely target for groomers, and therefore why I feel it is a good idea to discourage this ship.

As I mentioned in the previous ask, I think that said discouragement should be approached with the mindset that not everyone involved is malicious or arguing in bad faith. It is necessary to determine how best to act depending on the situation.

Personally, I'm going to continue pointing out the problems I see with the ship as much as I can in hopes of changing peoples' minds, whenever I have the time and energy to do so.

re: the VAs: This does not refute my point about Zim being easily read as an adult bc of the 50 years comment/ many other contextual implications made by the show. If anything the vagueness about Zim's age because of his alien society could make this a more useful grooming tool. I feel the same way about Bill Cipher x Dipper. Bill has just as much childish adult coding and just as little certainty about his age within the context of his alien species.

•••

re: the pilot bible: the show changes lots of things from the pilot bible so this is no more reliable than any other "word of god" (input from creators of the show rather than material within the show) from Jhonen.

That said, I think the VAs were joking around and did not put much thought into it. Joking around by making characters act the opposite of normal (hating each other -> liking each other) is common.

That said, I think the unprovable nature of the intentions behind the VAs comments is a good argument for excluding word of god from the Zim age conversation entirely. I think that zadr is still Not Good and should be Discouraged even if you only look at the show with no additional outside input, for all the reasons I explained in the first ask and have added here.

re: advertisements calling Zim an alien kid: a bunch of characters in the show call him a kid because they are genuinely convinced he is one, so it doesnt surprise me that advertisement/bumper writers who arent really paying attention would call him that.

re: trying to date Tak: in that episode it is made VERY clear that Zim does not understand romance at all, and does not care to beyond what's necessary to blend in. He clearly does not genuinely want to date her and only wants to use it to seem more socially normal. The Keef episode established a precedent for how Zim treats human relationships he's unfamiliar with, and it's by doing the bare minimum and then ditching them immediately. It's not GOOD behavior by any stretch, but he isn't acting with genuine predatory intentions.

re: 60 years joke: yeah sure that is a joke the show might make. But the additional cultural context we have for Zim's life (that he has been a soldier for a long time + that he trained to become a soldier for a long time, as we see in The Trial) gives Tak being a janitor for 50 years more potential to be taken literally.

re: mopiness of doom: yeah honestly I just personally don't like that episode script. But also, as codependant as they are and as weird as that is, nothing about it is inherently romantic. My frenemies argument from the end of the original post still stands, as do all of my arguments about the ship being potentially useful for grooming because of the lack of clarity.

re: your conclusion: The fact that Irkens HAVE child soldiers IS interesting, yes, and we see in The Trial that Zim has been trained to be a soldier basically since birth, which is also interesting to consider for Zim's character.

However, I explained in the previous ask how I think reading Zim as a child during the current events of the show weakens some of the show's core themes about incompetent, unquestioning adults. I think the whole show just makes more sense if it is centered around a socially shunned child and socially shunned adult fighting against each other. The fact that Zim is old and still a loser further highlights how futile both his and Dib's aspirations to greatness are within their respective societies-- and they are CLEARLY meant to be seen as futile.

I cannot think of a theme or character arc that would be served by Zim's age being unclear, so I do not think it comes across as intentional, even if you rule out word of god. But still, even if nothing I've read into here was intentional, what matters is that it is lends itself to being interpreted as an adult/child ship, or being interpreted as an age gap that "doesnt count" for superficial reasons. And NO I am not claiming that there is any way to conclusively determine that a ship with an unclear age gap has crossed the line into potentially harmful territory. It HAS to be considered on a case-by-case basis. And you've made it clear that there are muddling factors to sift through for this one in particular!

But I feel very strongly that these muddling factors are more circumstantial than, less intuitive than, and ultimately outweighed by, the parts of the text which contextually place Zim as an adult, and will continue providing examples supporting this conclusionc whenever I am able to.

[mychemicalimagines]

Ray of Sunshine-Dwayne Hoover-Chapter 6

Summary: Seventeen-year-olds Dwayne Hoover and Tyler Walker (or Ty as she’s affectionately known in the Hoover house) have been best friends since they were born. His mom and her mom are best friends too, so they had every chance to be together. They only have each other and are madly in love. However, the other person doesn’t know about their friend’s feelings. Will a chaos filled trip to California for his little sister’s beauty pageant allow these feelings to surface and let the childhood friends become more or will the the inseparable duo keep them bottled inside, not wanting to risk that cherished friendship that’s always been a little more?

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! Language, Talk of Underage Sex, Mentions of Attempted Suicide - not by Dwayne or OC, Fat Shaming of a Seven Year Old, Absent Parent, Death of Character - Not Dwayne or OC, ALL Warnings for the movie apply to this series!

Words: 3,848

Tag List: Reblogging

A/N: I’ve been waiting to post this since I asked for 5 comments and I only got a few. I wanted to get this series finished so here’s a chapter. This is a big one! Feedback gets us to write more!:]

To be tagged: Comment, Message Me, Submit an Ask or Tag Yourself in My Bio.

Third Person POV

After stopping at a McDonald’s for dinner, the Hoover family plus one are ready to relax for the rest of the night. Richard walks to the front desk and checks them in, only getting three bedrooms, two of which have two double beds. When he comes back, everyone grabs their bags from the trunk before making their way up the stairs toward the rooms. 

“Here’s eleven. Frank, you’re twelve.” Sheryl says, turning around to hand him the key. “And Grandpa’s thirteen.”

He smiles down at her before walking toward the room.

“Mom? Can I sleep with Grandpa?” Olive says, glancing up at her. 

“Well, you’ll have to ask Grandpa.” She answers, looking at each room number.

“I got two beds. You could still use some rehearsing.” He says, following behind them.

“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking.” She says, smiling up at him. 

“Alright everybody. We have a long day tomorrow. So, I’ll knock on your doors at 7 am. That means no lollygagging! We have to be packed and on the road by 7:40.” Richard says as everyone stops at their doors. 

“Are you sure you’re okay with Ty staying with you guys?” Sheryl asks, looking over at her brother. 

“Of course. It would be weird otherwise.” He shrugs, putting his plan into motion as he opens the door. 

“Thanks, Frank.” Tyler whispers, bumping in with her elbow before walking into the bedroom.

Everyone says their good nights before all three doors close. Tyler turns around to look at the two men in the room. 

“Do you care if I use the shower first?”

Dwayne shakes his head but his uncle voices his opinion.

“No, go right ahead.”

“Thank you!” She says, rushing toward the second door in the room. 

The two guys put their bags down and sit on their claimed beds, facing each other. Dwayne knows she loves the right side of the bed so he doesn’t even have to ask her what side she wants. Frank waits for the shower to start before looking at his nephew. 

“Dwayne, can we talk?”

The younger male raises an eyebrow before nodding at him. 

“Do you like Tyler?”

The younger boy pulls out his notepad and writes a few simple words that almost pains him for writing. 

‘She’s my best friend.’

“No. I don’t mean in the friend way. Do you LIKE her?” Frank says, holding the notepad out to him. 

He doesn’t take it as he freezes in his spot and looks away from him. It takes him a second, but he shrugs, not wanting to admit it to him. His uncle sighs and leans forward slightly, wanting to make sure he hears him clearly. 

“Dwayne, I see how you two are. I know you like her.”

The teenager just glances up at him as he crosses his arms and licks his lip, shrugging again. 

“She likes you too.” His uncle says, causing the boy to look up at him quickly. “Like I said, I’ve seen you two together. I may have only been around for two days, but I’ve been around you guys almost every second since. You just have to tell her how you feel.”

Dwayne takes the notepad from him and flips the page, scribbling a few words. 

‘What if you’re wrong?’

“I’m not. Do you want to be with her?” He looks at his nephew who nods at his words. “Then this is what you’re going to do. You’re going to write down all your feelings and when she comes out of the bathroom, you’re going to invite her to go outside and you’re gonna give her that notepad and wait.”

He looks down at his notepad and sighs silently. He’s thought about doing this a million times in the last few years, even before his vow, but he always ended up throwing the paper away. Before he can start writing, a normal pen is put in his eyeline. He looks up to see Frank standing there holding a hotel pen. 

“I think it would be better to write with this. So you have more space.” He smiles.

Dwayne takes in a deep breath and takes the pen from him before writing down his feelings onto the pad. His uncle watches before walking to his suitcase. Tyler’s been in the shower for about twenty minutes and Dwayne has finally finished his note to her. He has read it over and over again, nervous of what she is going to say when she reads it. 

When she walks out of the bathroom, she’s wearing shorts and one of his old t-shirts. She drops her bag down on her side of the bed, looking through it for a moment, not seeing her best friend watching her. He smiles to himself, thinking she looks absolutely beautiful. 

“My turn.” Frank says, grabbing his own bag before walking around her toward the bathroom. 

He stops behind her to look at Dwayne who looks up at him.

“Do it.” His uncle mouths with a smile before closing the door behind him. 

Dwayne takes in a deep breath before flipping a page in his pad. Writing down a sentence and making sure she can’t see anything else, he holds it up to her, capturing her attention.

‘Want to sit outside?’

“Sure!” She smiles and slides her tennis shoes back on. 

He discreetly flips the page back over, his feelings staring back at him for a moment before they walk to the door. He opens it for her and allows her to walk out first after he makes sure he has the keys in his pocket. Closing the door behind him, he leans against the railing in front of their room. Tyler looks up at the night sky, smiling to herself.

Neither notice that Frank left the bathroom and is discreetly watching them from the window, wanting to know if it worked…or if his plan completely backfired. After a few moments of comfortable silence, Dwayne finally gets the courage and gently elbows her. She looks over at him with a smile before raising an eyebrow at his notepad.

The words are smaller than his usual writing so she takes it from him and begins to read. Her heart starts pounding as each word is entering her brain, flipping the page when it gets cut off. 

‘Tyler Walker, I have liked you for years. Even though we spend every minute together, you never leave my mind. I constantly think about you all the time. Whether we are sitting alone in my room reading or walking to our special spot in the woods. I’ve been too scared to tell you how I feel because I don’t want to ruin our friendship. You have been by my side since we were born and because of that, I can’t even pinpoint the exact moment I knew you were right for me. I wouldn’t want anyone else in my corner. Especially now. Will You Please Be My Girlfriend?’

She bites her lip and looks at him to see him watching her closely.

“A-are you serious?” She whispers, praying to God that it’s not a prank. 

He takes in a breath and nods nervously. A smile slowly appears on her face as she leans toward him, looking into his eyes. 

“I like you too, Dwayne. I have for a very long time.”

His eyes widen slightly before he tilts his head, silently asking her a question. 

“Yes, I’m serious and I’d love nothing more than to be your girlfriend.” 

He smiles widely before standing straight up from the railing, towering over her slightly. He reaches up and gently cups her cheek. She blushes slightly, looking up at him. Gaining even more courage, he leans down and gently presses his lips against hers in their very first kiss. She smiles into the kiss, closing her eyes as she returns it, sparks flying through them. 

In their motel room, Frank is silently cheering, throwing his hands up that his plan has worked out. Their kiss continues as the world slowly fades out around them. Nothing matters to them at this current moment as their lips mold together and move in sync. Not the beauty pageant. Not the stupid Nine-Steps. 

Nothing.  

Sheryl opens her door before she closes it slightly, watching as her son and his best friend kiss in front of their door. Making sure to stay quiet, she closes the door as a smile appears on her face for the first time in hours. ‘Finally’ is the only thing running through her head before she, herself, cheers silently, almost forgetting about the fight she and Richard had earlier that hour. 

Dwayne and Tyler finally pull away, panting slightly as they look into each other's eyes. Smiles appear on their faces again as she leans up and quickly pecks his lips in another soft kiss. 

“Come on.” She whispers, hating to ruin such a wonderful moment. “We have to go to bed.”

He nods slightly before leaning down to kiss her again, wanting one last one before they have to go back to the real world. After all these years, they could have been together. It doesn’t matter now. What does matter now is that it happened and that there is nothing that can possibly ruin it.

Despite the wonderful night of cuddling and kisses, well…secretive kisses, not knowing that Frank already knows what happened, the next morning, everything goes downhill. Olive had woken up her parents to inform them that Grandpa wouldn’t wake up. After everyone had gotten changed, they rushed to the emergency room, where they are now waiting for any kind of news. 

Frank, Sheryl and Richard are sitting down in the lobby’s chairs while Dwayne and Tyler are standing in the corner, staring out the window, holding hands. Olive, not understanding what is going on, is grabbing medical flyers from the cubby hanging on the walls.

“You want to take an eye test?” She asks, looking toward her brother and his now girlfriend. 

Both of them shake their heads before looking back out the window. 

“Uncle Frank? An eye test?” She asks again, to which her uncle shakes his head with a small smile, knowing she doesn’t mean anything by it. 

“Olive, come here. Put those away. We’re gonna have a family meeting.” Sheryl says, waving her daughter toward her. “Dwayne, family meeting. You too, Tyler.”

Dwayne gently pulls her over to the chairs next to his mother, his hand leaving hers when they sit down. Sitting down next to each other, Tyler gently picks up Olive and seats her on her lap before wrapping an arm around her waist to keep her close. Dwayne reaches over and takes her hand again, rubbing her knuckles with his thumb, wanting to comfort her despite the man not being her Grandfather. 

“First of all, the doctors are doing everything they can to help Grandpa right now. He’s had a long…” She searches for the right word. “Eventual life, and I know he loves the three of you very much. Yes, Ty, even you. I know he has joked, saying he had three grandkids.” She takes a deep breath as a small but heartfelt chuckle escapes her lips. “If God wants to take him, we have to be ready to accept that, okay?”

The three of them nod, the older two knowing how severe the conversation was. Sheryl takes another breath and continues her speech. 

“Whatever happens, we’re a family. All of us. What’s important is that we love each other.” She tears up. “I love you guys so, so much…”

She covers her face as she starts to cry. Frank immediately leans forward and puts his hand on her knee, silently comforting her to which she grabs his hand, squeezing it slightly. Dwayne quickly lets go of his girlfriend's hand and pulls out his notebook. Flipping to an empty page, he writes down three simple words before showing them to his sister. 

‘Go hug mom’.

Olive slides down from Tyler’s lap before walking over to her mom. She wraps her arms around her neck. Sheryl wraps her arms around her daughter, holding her close. 

“Are you the family of Edwin Hoover?” A doctor says, breaking their small moment. 

Everyone’s head snaps up toward him as he walks further into the room. 

“Yes.” Richard says, walking toward him. 

The Hoover family, now including Ty, stands up and looks at him, wanting to know any kind of news he can give them. The small expression on his face reveals everything they need to know but he continues anyway.

“I’m sorry. We did everything we could. He was…” He looks down to see Olive and quickly changes his words, not wanting her to know exactly what happened. “It was too much. He probably fell asleep and never woke up. I’ll have someone come talk about handling the remains.”

“Thank you.” Richard nods slightly, his heart crushed at the news. 

The doctor nods and turns away, yelling for a woman as he leaves the room. 

“Mom?” Olive speaks up, looking at her. “Is Grandpa dead?”

Sheryl sits back into the chair she previously occupied and sets Olive on her lap.

“Yeah, honey. He passed away.” She whispers to her. 

They both start silently crying, comforting one another. Dwayne pulls Tyler to the window, not wanting to show any emotion, but still needing her comfort. She tears and bites her lip as she wraps her arms around his waist. He quickly wraps his arms around her neck and holds her close to him, resting his head against her own. Edwin might not have been her actual grandfather but she always treated him as one. 

She doesn’t know her own and it’s still devastating. After what seems like hours but was only a few minutes, a woman walks into the room with a folder of papers. 

“Hello, I’m your bereavement liaison, Linda.” She says, causing Richard to stand up and walk over to her. “My consolations for your loss.”

“Thank you.” He whispers as he shakes her hand. 

No one in the room pays attention to their conversation until Linda raises her voice at him. 

“Sir, you are not the only one that’s had somebody die here today, okay?” 

His family looks up at them, Frank raising an eyebrow at her words. Who does this woman think she is?! Tyler shakes her head and digs it further into Dwayne’s chest as he holds her. Richard takes a breath and glances at his family before an idea pops into his head. 

“Is there any way…that we could view the remains?”

Everyone walks down different hallways as she escorts them to his intensive care room. 

“Now, we haven’t had a chance to move him downstairs.” She says, stopping in front of a curtain. “Someone may come by in a few minutes to take him to the basement but just tell them who you are. They’ll wait.”

“Thank you.” Richard nods at her. 

“When you’re done with the paperwork, I’ll be in the nurse’s station.” She continues.

“Okay, great. Thank you, Linda.” He nods as she moves the curtain for them to walk through. 

After the curtain is closed, Sheryl and Olive stand on one side of the bed while Richard walks to the other. Dwayne, Tyler and Frank all stand at the bottom, separating the husband and wife. They all stare at the sheeted body laying there for a moment until Richard reaches out. Not wanting to freak out Olive, he lifts the sheet on his side to see his father laying underneath. 

Tyler looks down at the floor, not wanting to see the deceased man. Frank and Dwayne both follow her movements without realizing. 

“Goddamn it, Dad.” Richard whispers before dropping the sheet. “Goddamn it.”

He sighs and turns away, slamming his hands down on the counter behind him, mumbling ‘Stupid’. Sheryl hugs Olive and strokes her hair, both girls trying not to cry. The older woman bends down slightly and looks at her daughter.

“We’ll do Little Miss Sunshine next year. Okay, honey?” She whispers causing the young girl to nod slightly. “Next year.”

There’s silence throughout the room until Richard turns around, a determined look on his face. 

“No. No, we’ve come seven hundred miles. I’ll be damned if I’m not making that contest, Sheryl.”

“Well, Richard, we can’t leave him here.” She whispers, looking at her husband.

He picks up the papers that Linda had given him not even ten minutes before and throws them into the nearby trash can.

“We’re not going to leave him.”

He then walks over to the curtain and opens it slightly to see how many people are in the hallway. Tyler looks up at Dwayne who is just as confused as she is before they both look toward Sheryl who is watching her husband. 

“Richard, what are you doing?” She whispers to him, but he ignores her.

Richard walks back into the room and puts his hands on his lips. 

“Fuck…”

He looks desperately around the room before walking to the window above the counter. When he tries to open the window, he finds it locked and rushes to the window above the bed where his deceased father is laying. When he finds that he can open it, he turns toward the teenagers who are staring at him with wide eyes. 

“Ty, Dwayne, go around outside…” He gestures when his wife cuts him off. 

“Richard, what are you thinking?”

“We’re gonna take him with us.” He says, continuing to mess with the window.

“No, no. That is not happening.” She shakes her head and rubs her fingers through her hair. “It’s not happening.”

“He’s better off with us than with these people.” He says, pulling his keys from his pocket and tossing them to Tyler since, among the teenagers, she’s the only one who can drive. “Ty, you get the car. Dwayne, I want you to go around outside and underneath this window.  Frank, you go with them.”

Tyler’s eyes widen as she looks toward her mother figure, confused and nervous beyond all hell. Her boyfriend is shocked at what his stepfather is suggesting. 

“Don’t you dare move.” Sheryl points toward them before looking at her husband. “Look, you stay here. We’ll take Olive. Tyler or Frank will drive!”

“Sheryl, we’ll be there in two hours. Listen, I’ll call a funeral home once we get there.” Richard says, before looking at his family. “If there's one thing my father would’ve wanted, it’s to see Olive perform at the Little Miss Sunshine pageant.” He begins to push the sheet around his body. “I believe we’d be doing a grave disservice to his memory if we would just give up now. There’s two kinds of people in the world: winners and losers. And what’s the difference? Winners don’t give up. So what are we here? Are we winners? Or losers?”

Dwayne nods at his words, understanding what is trying to put out for everyone. Frank keeps glancing toward his sister, knowing he’s only going to follow her lead. Sheryl looks toward Olive before looking at the teenagers and her brother. She takes a breath and nods. 

“Okay, okay. Let’s do it.” She says throwing her purse down onto another counter before putting her arms under her father-in-law. “You guys go. Olive, watch the curtain.”

Dwayne gently pushes his girlfriend toward his uncle who is walking out of the curtain. He makes sure to close the curtain once he makes it through before following Frank. Together, the three of them walk down the hallway, trying to seem unsuspicious as they move past Linda who is talking on the phone. 

When they make it to a door, Tyler pushes the button for them to open before they rush outside, surprised they’re stealing Grandpa’s dead body. The three of them make it to the window when Richard and Sheryl start pushing the body through. 

“Wait, wait.” Tyler whispers loudly, noticing an older couple walking out of the door. 

The husband and wife pause all movements until the couple walk in another direction. 

“Okay, go ahead.” She whispers, watching as Richard starts pushing the body through. 

With Sheryl and Olive running outside to help, they get the body down after the sheet rips slightly. Frank, Dwayne and Sheryl all start carrying the body, trying not to raise any suspicion with Olive keeping watch. Tyler rushes toward the bus, opening the trunk. They make it to her only a few seconds later, and they hoist the bundle in. 

It’s very difficult with how large he is so they have to maneuver him in. 

“Keys?” Richard says, running up. 

Tyler tosses him the keys while Sheryl and Olive run around the side of the bus toward the sliding door. Richard starts the bus as the teenagers and Frank get Grandpa situated. Just as the bus is ready to move, they close the back hatch and start pushing. Olive is already inside so Sheryl jumps in after the wheels start turning. 

Tyler jumps in next while Dwayne pushes his uncle to move faster, just like every time before. 

“Did I mention I’m the pre-eminent Proust Scholar in the US?” Frank asks, breathlessly as he runs causing his nephew to silently laugh as they both jump in.

After a little bit of driving, the bus is completely silent. Frank is staring out the window as Olive listens to her CD player. Dwayne is leaning against the side of the bus with his right leg bent so his foot is on the seat with his head tilted down looking at his girlfriend. Tyler is laying down with her head on his left knee as he plays with her hair.

“Dad?” Olive speaks up, pushing her headphones back, capturing his attention. “What’s gonna happen to Grandpa?”

Richard just bites his lip, not knowing what to tell her. After sitting in a few more minutes of silence, Olive looks up at her uncle, mumbling his name. He looks down at her, curious as to what she’s going to ask. 

“Do you think there’s a heaven?”

“That’s hard to say, Olive. I-I don’t think anyone knows for sure.” He says, glancing up at his sister who never turns around.

“I know but what do you think?” She looks up at him. 

“Um…” He pauses. “Well…”

“I think there is one.” She says, cutting him off.

“You think I’ll get in?” He asks, watching her. 

“Yes.” She nods with a large smile. 

“You promise?” He asks, a smile appearing on his own face.

“Yes.” She nods again, grinning away at her uncle.

Tyler looks up at her boyfriend who is watching her with a small smile. His sister is so innocent. He’s thankful she has something to believe in before this world starts going to shit for her. Almost as if she knows what he is thinking, she gently takes his hand and places a small kiss on his wrist.

He continues to play with her hair, thankful that she’s by his side, especially now.

[mercurygray]

Random prompts: 82. (Sail) with Joan (& Dick and/or Kurt, if so moved?) Please and thank you!

I have no idea where 1890s Newport came from, but here we are.

It was sunny today, in Newport - too sunny for her mother, at that. Mrs. Warren had gone to bed with a headache and instructions to her two children not to be too loud in the house, as if Frank and Joan were still twelve, instead of twenty-seven, and needed instructions like that.

Frank and her cousin Warrey were taking the boat out today, with Lew and Mr. Winters, to get ready for the regatta at the end of the week. Kurt had laughed at that, down at the clubhouse - You couldn't get a better fourth, Warren? Has he ever even been on a boat?

But Lewis stood by him, and that meant her brother and cousin would, too. They liked Lew's friend, or seemed to, anyway - unlike Kurt, who only put up with Lewis because he couldn't afford not to. The Nixons were new money, sure enough, with government contracts for the Navy - but Richard Winters was no money at all.

A secretary at the firm, he was introduced as - a way for old Mr. Nixon to keep his son on a somewhat tighter leash down here in Newport. Met at college, as far as anyone was aware. Dressed well, and spoke well, when he had a mind to. A bright fellow, if a little somber - Mrs. Fish complained he put her numbers out, but everyone knew her numbers were a thing of the moment anyway and no one gave that any mind.

"He's a good fellow, Joanie, even if he hasn't any money," Lew had said, the other night after dinner, enjoying his cigar on the terrace under a full moon. The breeze coming in from the sea was brisk, and the other ladies were all back inside complaining of the cold, but Joan liked it outside. "And he likes you."

"Me?" She didn't know why she was surprised by it - she was used to being admired. Most of the men of her circle were quite vocal about it, the practices of their admiration almost passe - flowers and cards and loud endearments over tennis matches, promising like the knights of old to win this tournament or that contest. Quiet, unspoken longing was …something new, and there was something almost sacred in being someone's secret.

Trust Lewis to make a joke of it, though. "It may surprise Miss Warren to know that she's rather pretty in most lights."

"Lewis."

But he had his moments, Lewis did. "I'm being very serious, Joanie. He gets awful quiet when your name gets mentioned and then he won't meet anyone's eye. He'll make something of himself at the firm, I know he will- partner, surely, in a few years. He's respectable, honest, he doesn't gamble with his money or anyone else's, and once you put him on something he won't say die." Lewis looked at her and grinned. "He's a lot like you, in some respects. Unafraid to be better."

Unafraid - what a word! She shivered in the wind, watching the water of the bay. The wind was wild today, waves crashing up against the shore with tremendous power, the sunshine making as pretty a picture as a watercolorist could hope for. She hadn't brought her paints out today, though - she merely wanted to watch, to see.

Here they came now, around the point, sails brilliant against the sea, boating sweaters on and the wind whipping their hair, Warrey fair and sandy at the wheel, Frank and Lew dark-haired, and Mr. Winters, red-headed as a viking. Her heart seized a little on the sight.

"How do you like your chances, for the regatta?" She'd tried to change the subject as soon as possible.

"Well, Kurt's got a crackerjack boat and a couple of good fellows to handle it, but Frank and Warrey know their sailing and we're not such bad hands either. He'll try something showy, for the ladies, but we'll go for speed. And Dick's a competitive bastard - he loves to win. We'll be out all day for the practice, if he'll let us."

Joan smiled into the wind, feeling the fringes of her skirt beat back against her ankles, the handle of her parasol heavy and reassuring in her hand. She'd met them, this morning, before they'd gone down to the dock, her brother and cousin talking quickly between them about the tides and shoals and the need to consult a chart, Lewis ambling after them with his hands in his pockets. Collars present and correct, practically gleaming in boating whites. And Winters, loping slowly, tall and serious behind them all.

She intercepted him at the back door. Around them the house was quiet, save for a case clock striking somewhere upstairs. The maids were busy making beds and she could hear, down the hall, the muffled sounds of the cooks getting ready for luncheon. "Mr. Winters."

"Miss Warren."

It was the work of a moment - another secret just for them. She felt him inhale as she kissed him, his whole tall body tensing with the unknown, obviously holding himself back, his hands held patiently at his sides. (Kurt wouldn't have done that. Kurt would have taken the rest without asking.) "For luck," she said, pulling away. "There's another one in it for you if you beat him."

There was no need to say who 'he' was - Kurt, who never cared for new men. He always assumes, Kurt does, that the world will go his way, that he'll win. That I'm his, and I want - I want someone who tries. Someone relentless.

She didn't like to play with men, and she wasn't sure if this was playing, but there it was - the glitter in his eye. He likes to win - and I do, too. We're unafraid of it.

[trash----panda]

More background

Ok so tw. Abuse, seggs mention, death, ect. Their background is a result of my tweening and though i tweaked it it is still a little eh

Birth years:

-1446 Adam's birth -1451 Richard's birth -1452 Cassity's birth -1453 Dani's birth -1454 Liam's birth -1460 Minx's birth -1470 Kit's birth -1536 Boa's birth

Dani was afab, so in the 1400s it was basically the same mentality as a Medieval setting. Though he tried to be a good kid and work with his father in the field ultimatily his father decided this "im a boy" talk was too much, going as far to kick him out. For the longest time Dani lived on the streets, even before immortality being pretty durable, he'd pretend carrages ran him over for compensation or simply to pick their pockets. Sometimes he managed it, other time he got beat to a pulp and had to have Adam fix him up. But either way he some how survived. He managed to transition pretty well and make himself appear more male, thinking his father would accept him better if he saw it. He went back to the farm to try and ask if he could return but his dad immediatly accused him of working with a demon, striking him with the pitchfork he was brandishing. The stunned Dani ran, assuming that he'd get away or survive but the adrenaline was the only thing keeping him from collapsing, which that didnt last forever. He ended up collapsing in the middle of the forest, in the ruins of an unfinshed ritual, his blood pooling in the carvings of the floor. Just before he passed he managed to summon a demon who kept his soul tethered to this plane to make a deal. She only wanted one thing, and that was him, he was a perfect specimen and being a rather young demon Shadow assumed she could seduce him. He accepted but never actually had real feelings for her. When she found this out (after the creation of Kit) she asked to change the terms, to consume his misery instead, he added his own terms as well, wanting his family to be sustained too. She agreed.

Cassity was saved just barely as she was fighting Orc who'd stormed her village.

Liam who'd locked himself in a dungeon had stopped starving suddenly.

Adam didnt know until Dani pushed him off a cliff.

And Dani, he let the world burn, recruited a dragon, fed his father to it. He'd kinda assumed he would come back but someone who denounnces you as family isnt family anymore. Not that it mattered, just solidifying his hatered. He ended up destroying the village and going on to continuously bring chaos and misery though the years. Adopting and making more Newmans as he pleased.

Until he met Cass. He teased and prodded at the demi-god, harming him as a "joke" since they both healed. Until Cass scratched back, leaving an actual scar on his chest. Seeing he had power against the human Cass became an enemy that always tries to attack on sight with Dani. The human had to be saved by one of his friends who managed to talk the demi-god down from ending him. It's only been in the recent 100 years but that's when it hit him how scary death was, how horrible he'd been being, his personality dulling a little. The immortal now docile instead of his normal choatic neutral attitude. He started helping people out and ended up going to applogize for bothering Zane and Kori in their youth only to find them married. Of course intruding on their lives, like a stray cat making himself at home and coming and going as he pleases. Afterwards finding Vix after his cult burnt down, taking him to live with two dads who'd love him very much. Finally having a family to protect him. He didnt expect it, but has come to better understand affection, though he's still pretty sure people just keep him around cause they cant get rid of him.

[weepingwillows-sweethibiscustea]

OKAY. RWRB MOVIE REVIEW.

(Disclaimer that these are all only my opinions)

I imagined Philip as looking more like Philza Minecraft, to be completely honest. So tell me why they made him kinda..???

THEY FUCKED UP HIS CHARACTERIZATION (imo). In the book, he’s just a victim of what he was born into as well. He’s rigid & kinda a dick because it was what he was taught to be to survive, the movie completely took that away, giving him literally two scenes.

AND THEN THEY GIVE GOOD GRACE TO THE KING? Bro. No. Stop it.

I feel as though they were afraid to criticize the British monarchy too hard, which is why they gave the king the good grace they did (plus other changes done, I don’t think they included the cliticization of the British Museum stealing all those artifacts either)

Frothing at the mouth over the fact they not only took away Luna, but completely got rid of the fucking sex abuse scandal in favor of a jealousy plot. Explodes you with my mind.

Going back to my point above that one, I feel they might not have wanted to add that seeing how many Richards are out there. Can’t fan too many flames, huh?

They also gave Bea way less screen time, & took away the whole “Powder Princess” thing, I think the way they talked about their dad passing & how it effects the family was kind of cheap.

AND they fucked up Henry’s moms characterization. She just straight up wasn’t in it, only mentioned, & in a negative light. Again, they really didn’t give the dad passing the attention it deserved.

The beginning went by pretty damn fast. But in all fairness for that & I suppose a lot of points, the movies already two hours long with all that missing, so I suppose I can give some leniency on some of these points.

June obviously wasn’t there either, but it at least doesn’t feel like anybody’s missing. I guess they managed the Nora & June merge well. THEY DID NOT MANAGE THE LIAM & LUNA MERGE WELL.

Seriously fuck them for taking away Luna & subsequently his character arc

THEY UN-DIVORCED ELLEN & OSCAR. I UNDERSTAND IT WOULD HAVE ADDED A LOT OF SCREEN TIME THEY DIDN’T HAVE BUT COME ON.

Do love all the terms of endearment Henry uses, honestly don’t remember if that’s in the book or not.

Can we circle back around to how attractive Philip is. Sorry who said that.

I like the way they handled the cake scene better, definitely feels more realistic.

Admittedly also kinda happy the Henry magazine photo thing wasn’t added, kind of made me cringe reading about it lmao

OH YEA THEY TOOK OUT THE SCENE WHERE ALEX CALLS HENRY TO VENT ABOUT HIS PARENTS(?), IT WAS SUCH AN IMPORTANT MOMENT FOR THEIR RELATIONSHIP BOO

Is there a copy right reason they couldn’t include Henry being a Star Wars fan? If they just simply choose not to then I am Disappointed.

Really liked how they did the phone calls, with them appearing in front & them as though they’re in the same room, together. Great touch.

Edit to add this bullet point because it’s really important to me. Alex says he’s bisexual, Henry says he’s gay. Ellen asks if Alex is gay, fluid, bi, pan. Ellen references transgender people. They talk about the LGBT+ community. They say all these words, they don’t whisper them, or talk around them. They say them loud & clear as day. Idk, this just makes me really happy because of how often you’ll see people talk around these words like they’re bad or dirty words (yes I’m aware this is a movie where they have gay sex multiple times on screen but it’s still important to me shut up)

FINAL THOUGHTS.

It was alright. I don’t regret watching it. It was entertaining, but admittedly not the type of movie I’d usually watch, so I think other people could enjoy it way more then I did. But I definitely still enjoyed it despite all my criticisms.

Definitely not as good as the book, but not bad at all. I’d say it’s absolutely worth the watch.

I’m sure you can also find posts that can better articulate why this movie is so groundbreaking & important as well, which is something I didn’t particularly touch on in this post.

[disappointingyet]

These are my favourite films released in the UK in 2022 – as far as I can tell (it’s getting increasingly hard to work out what snuck out when. Taken as a whole, the list looks a bit Nordic, a bit gloomy, short on action. I’ve put together a round-up of some of the other movies I saw this year, including the critics’ favourite and at least one notorious turkey. And, as ever, there was a lot I didn’t see, because I didn’t get around to it or because I didn’t want to. Specifically, I should mention Top Gun: Maverick, which by most accounts is an excellent piece of film-making – but going to watch a sequel to a film I found excruciatingly dull and full of unappealing characters seemed kind of perverse. And The Banshees of Inisherin:  Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri is unforgivable racist trash, I didn’t like In Bruges (or his brother’s film Calvary for that matter), so I’m not willing to give Camberwell’s Martin McDonagh another chance.

Anyway, on to the list (and do let me know what you think I might have enjoyed but missed).

1. Licorice Pizza 

Paul Thomas Anderson in fun mode, telling the story of an entrepreneurial teen in early 1970s LA. It’s beautifully specific, and rather than making cheap and obvious jokes  based on stereotypes of the era, it builds punchlines from history. Contains (words I never anticipated writing) a cameo from Bradley Cooper that’s just gobsmacking.

Full review here

2. Hytti nro 6 (Compartment No6)

This is a Finnish train movie set in super-bleak post-Soviet Russia. So yes, you will feel cold and uncomfortable just watching it. Our mismatched travellers are a Finnish mature student exiting a relationship with a Moscow-based academic and a young Russian miner. The question, of course, is how these two will find common ground, but this film – with moments of sharp humour and excellent observation – avoids the obvious and earns your time and patience.

Full review here

3. Verdens Verste Menneske (The Worst Person In The World)

I remain baffled by the title, which does come from a line in the film, but sets off all sorts of false expectations. The central character is no monster (nor, despite what one of the other leads tells her, a particular good person), just a typical contemporary female lead, struggling to find something fulfilling to do as her twenties and early thirties drift past her while dealing with the inadequacy of men, whether as relatives or partners. This is told in 14 sharply written chapters. In particular, the one in which two strangers at a party play at testing what they can do without technically cheating on their partners is great film-making. One quibble and a question: the film sympathises a bit too much with the I’m-just-saying-it-as-I-see-it comix writer dude, and can a bookshop assistant and a barista really afford a flat like that in central Oslo?

(MUBI)

4. White Noise

Middle-aged angst, teen angst, fear-of-the-apocalypse angst, married angst, it’s-the’80s angst, American consumer angst, academic rivalry angst… all these angsts and more are explored in Noah Baumbach’s dark comedy, adapted from a novel by Don DeLillo. Adam Driver and Greta Gerwig play the couple who know that in many ways they should be happy, but of course that just amplifies their misery. Baumbach does a fine job of recreating the 1980s and manages several switches in scale that could have easily tipped the film off balance. Make sure you stay for the closing credit sequence, which is great although it does make hard to actually read who the key grip or the catering company were. 

(Netflix)

5. Bergman Island 

A filmmaking couple go to Ingmar Bergman’s old stomping ground to get some writing done. All does not go smoothly. Much less heavy-going than that makes it sound, and at least as reminiscent of Richard Linklater’s Before trilogy as it is of Bergman. I found it captivating.

Full review here

(MUBI)

6. Emily The Criminal 

Pleasingly spare, low-budget gig economy and scam economy LA thriller that makes superior use of Audrey Plaza's particular screen presence and vibe. Firmly recommended.

Full review here

7. Les Olympiades, Paris 13e (Paris 13th District)

Shot in very lovely black & white, this is essentially a sweet comedy-drama about the romantic misadventures of a trio of young(ish) Parisians, although it was marketed as something a bit edgier than it really is. Director Jacques Audiard is best known for male-centric crime movies, but maybe the co-writing credit for Céline Sciamma (Portrait Of A Lady On Fire, Petite Maman) gives a better steer on what this is like. 

(MUBI)

8. Madres Paralelas 

I’ve been mostly underwhelmed by Almodóvar’s recent run of what could be called anti-melodramas: stories of wild coincidences and personal tragedies told in numb, mostly humour-free fashion. Madres Paralelas worked better for me: he makes an odd choice of framing the central narrative with a very different one involving the same characters. It’s jarring, but I think it ultimately makes its own kind of sense.

Full review here 

9/10. Bodies Bodies Bodies/Triangle Of Sadness

I wasn’t expecting to be repeatedly reminded in 2022 of Very Bad Things, a (not very good) 1998 comedy starring Christian Slater and Cameron Diaz that’s like The Hangover only with a high body count. These films are both vastly superior to VBT, but echo its rapidly escalating nastiness. Both involve the privileged classes placed in situations of extreme discomfort, although the politics of Triangle Of Sadness are more explicit and (it feels) more central to the film than those of Bodies Bodies Bodies.

In BBB, a bunch of twentysomethings gather in big, isolated house just as a storm is approaching. They start playing bodies bodies bodies (known in my time as murder in the dark), only… well, you can guess. There’s a strong 1990s vibe to this, especially the way the movie seems to feel about its characters, while being very 2020s in its casting, the sex lives of the characters and the woman worried her podcast (‘a podcast takes a lot of work!’) isn’t getting any respect from her friends. I really enjoyed this.

If you have seen Ruben Østlund’s Force Majeure or The Square, you’ll know to expect fairly broad satire and the lives of the pampered going very wrong in Triangle Of Sadness. (If you haven’t seen any of them, start with Force Majeure, which is the best of the trio.) TOS ups the stakes on Force Majeure’s ski resort by putting its characters on a luxury yacht. There’s a deceptively low-key beginning in which we’re introduced to Yaya (the late Charlbi Dean) and Carl (Harris Dickinson), models in a relationship driven - at least for her - by the potential for Instagram influencer synergy. The intensity builds when they bag a free holiday on the yacht, where Østlund attempts to outdo The Square’s much-discussed party scene. At which point, it’s fair to say that as much as Jean Luc Godard’s Week End and assorted Buñuel films, this is indebted to American gross-out movies. Subtle this film is not, but if you have a strong stomach and a taste for comedy that’s grotesque and openly political, this is a blast.

11. Competencia Oficial (Official Competition)

Take the title of the movie itself plus that of the film-within-the-film – Rivalry – and you’ve got the theme of this Spanish comedy. An aging billionaire decides to fund a potentially prize-winning film in an attempt to cement his legacy. He’s advised to hire the talented-but-eccentric Lola (Penelope Cruz) to direct and she casts a very serious theatrical type (Oscar Martinez) and a mainstream movie star who has houses in LA and St Tropez (Antonio Banderas).  The two actors, inevitably, clash over their contrasting lifestyles and approaches to their craft, with Lola’s interventions pushing up the tension. The film is essentially a three-hander, as the trio rehearse the film in the vast, empty, marble spaces of the rich dude’s foundation. 

It stays more on the leash than I was expecting – there are multiple opportunities for things to get unhinged that the film doesn’t take (or mostly). I did properly laugh a fair number of times, and with Almodóvar seemingly sworn off comedies for good, this does a decent job of filling that void.

[allthemusic]

Week ending: 23rd July

Hmmm. In some ways we've got two sides of the same coin this week. Of course, the coin is just "men being terrible", and one side of it makes for a much more appealing song than the other. Still, there's definitely a thread running through these songs, with two different men who need dumping, pronto!

Living Doll - Cliff Richard (peaked at Number 1)

Of the two songs, this week, this is by far the better known. It's Cliff's first ever Number 1, it hung around for a whopping 15 weeks, and I'd say even nowadays a fair few people could hum a bar or two for it, or at least name it as a Cliff hit. It's not the first one you'd think of, you know, but it's there, in the public consciousness, nonetheless.

Unfortunately, compared to a lot of his previous non-Number 1 hits, it's pretty toothless, without any of the bite of, say, Mean Streak. The Shadows are credited (though they're still technically going by "the Drifters") but they've been given precious little to do, and it shows - there's none of the sharpness or edge that previous Cliff hits have, just a sea of rather nondescript strumming, which Cliff sings along with gamely, but already sounding very much like he's on autopilot. I think he's going for a hangdog sort of country-esque delivery, perhaps, except it mostly just comes off a bit bored. The pace is slower than usual, for Cliff, too, which doesn't help matters - it makes the song feel slow and mushy, but it never quite slows down enough to work as a ballad, either. It just ambles along a bit pointlessly, you know?

Of course, this could be salvaged, if the lyrics were good. But instead, the song sets its sights firmly on "creepy", with lyrics about how he's got myself a cryin', talkin', / Sleepin', walkin', livin' doll. This was apparently inspired by an ad the songwriter saw in the newspaper for a toy doll for children that could "kneel, walk, sit and sing". But that doesn't really make it less icky - especially when we get to the lines inviting you to take a look at her hair, it's real / And if you don't believe what I say, just feel. And then we stray from "kind of gross, as a metaphor" to "straight up serial killer stuff" as he sings about how he's gonna lock her up in a trunk / So no big hunk hunk can steal her away from me. Which is genuinely one of the most terrifying lines we've heard in this project so far. You're going to lock your girl up in a trunk for fear of other men stealing her? You were literally asking them to feel her up, just one line ago, Cliff! Neither of these are okay things to be doing or saying!

It's objectification at its most literal, a song about treating your girl like a literal toy made for your pleasure, with no mention of her having anything resembling agency or choice in the matter. She's a prop, no more, no less - in many ways, it's the same kind of trope that Aqua will play with a full 38 years later in the song Barbie Girl, except at least there's a bit of irony and a bit of playfulness, there. You get the impression that Cliff means it, here - or at least that he doesn't see anything wrong with it. Like I said, gross.

It was written for a film, Serious Charge, so I guess you have got the old "oh, but it's the character singing, not Cliff" defence, for whatever that's worth. He apparently plays a pretty minor role in it, though - it was his screen debut, and by all accounts a decent but not hugely well-known film, kind of melodramatic. It's notable, though, since we've not really seen British singers stars doing films, before. Sure, your Elvises and your Frank Sinatras have crossed over into film. But British artists haven't, until now. A trend that's going to continue? Or just another way that Cliff's trying to emulate his American peers? I guess we'll see if other British artists follow suit, or if it's just going to be Cliff making the leap to the silver screen...

Ugh, I'm still listening, and it gets creepier every listen. Let's hope the next song has something more fun in store...

Lipstick On Your Collar - Connie Francis (3)

Okay, if you've read any of my other posts on Connie, you will know that I love her. She's seriously been one of my favourite discoveries so far, with her sass and her youthful energy. She's had a few minor missteps - notably, I haven't enjoyed many of her slower songs - but give her an upbeat, angry song, and Connie really can do no wrong, in my books. And this? This song might just be Connie at her most bitingly accusatory. It's like if Who's Crying Now were just a little bit more vicious in its takedown of its addressee, and I am here for it.

It's a story song, which are always fun, and the setting for this one is just deliciously dated, as Connie picks the story up when you left me all alone at the record hop / Told me you were goin' out for a soda pop. Immediately I'm transported to a wholesome 1950s diner, lots of teens ordering milkshakes and putting dimes into the jukebox and drinking coca cola through bendy straws. Except all is not well with Connie and her date, as she notes how you were gone for quite a while, half an hour or more. And just what did Connie spot? Lipstick on your collar told a tale on you / Lipstick on your collr said you were untrue. So, Connie's man's been cheating. Except it gets worse, as he tries to convince her it's hers - a stupid move, since it's the wrong colour. And then, the vindication and the betrayal as who walked in but Mary Jane, lipstick all a mess / Were you smoochin' my best friend? Guess the answer's yes!

Through all this drama, Connie manages to sound suitably pissed off, but also like she's kind of revelling in revealing all the juicy, salacious details, detective style, catching her man out in a bare-faced lie, before finally gearing up for a big, public dumping: bet your bottom dollar, you and I are through. Yeouch! It's messy, and it's trashy, but there's something pettily satisfying in it all, the way Connie completely takes her man apart, with a sort of catty side-swipe at Mary Jane, that shameless tramp (!) It's very reality TV, very gossipy, and I'm not ashamed to say that I could eat it up with a spoon. I just enjoy the way it unfolds, and how utterly un-heartbroken Connie sounds. She's just done with this dude, and you know, I can't even blame her. What a cad!

It also helps that it's a pretty catchy number, and well made. Connie can still sing, you know, and I'd even say that the guitar solo here, despite very much not being the point of the song, works better than Cliff's did. It's pacy, and it's got a lot of energy. what's not to like?

Like I said, two songs, two men being just the worst. Except while Connie's man of the moment is clearly meant to be a bit of a melt, Cliff seems to have stumbled into it accidentally. I try to give songs from the 1950s a bit of a pass, because if I objected every time there was some sort of outdated sentiment, I'd be having a lot less fun with this project. But even for the 1950s, something about "my girlfriend's a literal doll, and I'm gonna let you touch her hair, then lock her in a trunk" is a step too far. Plus it's got none of the verve of Connie's song, which only compounds the issue. Give me the trashy drama, any day.

Favourite song of the bunch: Lipstick On Your Collar