#Brownstone Productions

[demifiendrsa]

Cocaine Bear | Official Trailer

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Synopsis

Inspired by the 1985 true story of a drug runner's plane crash, missing cocaine, and the black bear that ate it, this wild thriller finds an oddball group of cops, criminals, tourists and teens converging in a Georgia forest where a 500- pound apex predator has ingested a staggering amount of cocaine and gone on a coke-fueled rampage for more blow … and blood.

[infraredmag]

COCAINE BEAR

COCAINE BEAR 1h 31m | Thriller | Rated R | 24 Feburary 2023 Inspired by the 1985 true story of a drug runner’s plane crash, missing cocaine, and the black bear that ate it, this wild dark comedy finds an oddball group of cops, criminals, tourists and teens converging in a Georgia forest where a 500-pound apex predator has ingested a staggering amount of cocaine and gone on a coke-fueled rampage…

[sharmerika]

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[illiterateaffairs]

behind the scenes chapter one | i enjoyed our meet cute

masterlist | next

pairing: jamie tartt x actress!reader (ted lasso)

rating: T

word count: 4,722

summary: you’ve been in richmond one day and you’re already having chance encounters with famous british football players, what are the odds?

a/n: welcome to the first chapter of my new jamie series, behind the scenes! fake dating is a god tier trope and i’ve always wanted to write something for it. it will also be very rom-com-y, just like ted would like. i really hope you enjoy the first chapter, i’m so excited to kick off this new story and can’t wait to hear your thoughts. also wanted to shout out @buckychristwrites​ who wrote an incredible fake dating jamie series called could this be and you should totally check it out if you haven’t already ♡

Your alarm goes off at 8AM on the dot but you’re already wide awake. You’ve been in London for 48 hours and instead of taking in the sights, you’ve been trying to reset your sleep schedule. After landing at 10AM Friday morning, you pretty much passed right out as soon as you arrived at your rented, two story brownstone. 

See, London was eight hours ahead of Los Angeles - your home base. While you were used to traveling for work, you’d never had a job in another country before. And jet lag was a bitch.

You’re an actor. You have been since you were 15, when you got a recurring role on a kids show after an opening casting call. Some called it luck, but you called it busting your ass in theater classes as soon as your mom could afford them. You’d been a “drama queen” since you were in diapers and you begged her to sign you up for every class, camp and play in your small town and she did everything she could to support your dream. She’s your biggest fan.

By the time you were 20, you’d had a sitcom and several supporting roles in films that made you an underrated fan favorite. Your biggest break came, though, when you were 22 and were given the opportunity to star opposite A-list actors in the superhero film of the summer. After that you blew up, you did a few more action movies and a couple other dramas. 

Now, freshly 25, with a lot of credits filling your IMDb page, there was one genre you still hadn’t tackled: romance. And that’s what brought you to London. You were filming your first romantic comedy in the beautiful town of Richmond. Usually when your job brought you to a new place, the first thing you wanted to do was explore it. However, spending the last couple days in and out of sleep was preventing you from doing so. Today was Sunday, your last day before production kicked off tomorrow, and you’d be damned if you didn’t get the chance to get out and do something before you were swamped with work.

You get ready quickly, eager to not waste another second inside. However, just as you swing your front door open, you come face to face with your assistant, who’s hand is poised to knock. 

“Oh, good, you’re already up,” she chirps, brushing past you and into your temporary home as she taps away on her iPhone. 

“Margot, I thought we agreed on no work this weekend,” you sigh, reluctantly following her into your living room.

“I agreed and you agreed, but Harry on the other hand,” she frowns holding up her phone, “He didn’t agree.”

You groan. Harry was your publicist. You’ve worked with him since getting the role in one of the Spiderman movies. He always had some crazy idea how to boost your public image, most of which you’ve shot down, but his most recent pitch he hasn’t been able to let go of. 

“He’s still bugging you about that shit?” you question, flopping down in an armchair. 

Margot perches on the arm of the sofa, “He’s only bugging me because you keep ignoring him. He still thinks it's a good idea.”

The good idea in question was agreeing to a fake relationship with another celebrity - or anyone really. Usually the goal of a PR relationship was to gain attention for one or both parties, or their upcoming projects. While that wouldn’t hurt, your publicist thought the benefit of having a fake boyfriend was that you’d appear more desirable. 

In your previous roles, you’d been typecast as the funny best friend or snarky sidekick. Not only was this movie you were about to film your first as the leading lady, it was the first where you were playing a romantic lead. You also haven’t been known to be seen with many suitors in your personal life as well. Not that you hadn’t had any significant others since entering the spotlight, but they’d been short lived and you tried to keep those relationships under the radar, not necessarily wanting the public’s opinion on your dating life. 

Of course, that didn’t stop journalists and people with Twitter accounts from speaking on it anyway. Since you got cast in this Rom-Com - Hopeless Romantics was the working title - you’d been subjected to criticism over how you couldn’t possibly be seen as a realistic love interest when you’ve yet to be painted as such both on and off the screen. Though, you’d love to point out that just because you hadn’t played a romantically driven character before didn’t mean you couldn’t now. You’ve learned to just ignore trolls like that. 

That didn’t mean from time to time the odd comment didn’t get under your skin. 

Still, you didn’t see the point in faking a relationship just to get these people off your back. You had the best fans in the world, who’d watch you do anything no matter the genre. And your co-star was Charlie Knox, who’d been pegged as this generation's Hugh Grant, so plenty of people would be buying tickets regardless. You could hardly argue, feeling flushed after your chemistry reed with the actor even though he was doing just that; acting. Harry had even previously suggested faking a relationship with him, which would be the perfect scenario according to him, but Charlie was of course already taken. 

“He’s going to have to give up eventually,” you shake your head, “Because I’m not doing it.” Margot makes a weird face and you tilt your head, “Don’t tell me you think I should do it.”

“No, of course not. You should have the autonomy to make your own decisions about your love life, real or fake,” she insists, “I just wish Harry didn’t make such a big deal about it.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry he’s bugging you about it. I can talk to him again.”

“No, don’t worry about it,” Margot sighs, “You should be enjoying your day off. Were you on your way out before? What were you thinking of doing?”

You shrug, not really having had a game plan, “I was thinking breakfast or something to start, and then seeing where the day takes me.”

She nods, once again tapping on her phone, “That sounds nice. Don’t be out too late, though. A car will be here to get you at 6AM for the read through.” As she stands up and starts walking to your door, she glances at you, “And wear a hat please. Last thing we need is you to be stampeded by fans like in The Lion King.”

“Margot, I love you, but there is no need to bring Mufasa into this,” you tease, “I promise I will be discreet, but only if you promise me you will also take time for yourself today.”

“I promise,” she says with a small smile, but before you know it, she's already back on the phone and out your door. 

You can’t be too hard on her. You were also known to prioritize your work over everything else most days. But she was not only the best assistant you could ask for, she was also one of your closest friends, and she deserved some time off. You’d have to talk to Harry at some point tomorrow to get him off her back. And yours. 

But first, food.

It had been one month - one fucking month - since Keeley had gotten back together with Roy. And it was the worst month of Jamie’s life. 

Yes, he still has feelings for Keeley. Yes, it hurt him to see her choose Roy, even if it had nothing to do with him. And it was twice as bad that Roy and him had finally started becoming actual friends after all these years. But that wasn’t really the problem. 

It was the way everyone has been looking at him since it happened.

It started with the apologetic look on Keeley’s face that greeted him when he answered the door one summer morning. Before she could get a word out, he knew what she was going to say. In fact, he’d seen it coming. Despite Keeley insisting she wasn’t choosing between him and the grumpy old fart who was now his head coach, the two had been spending more and more time together. Keeley was around the club more and Roy was less grumpy. That morning, Keeley told him she wanted him to hear it from her that they were thinking of starting things again. His stomach twisted, disappointed that he’d practically lost her for the second time. But, God, the look of sympathy she was giving him felt even worse.

That was nothing compared to the way Roy looked at him when he walked into the locker room later that day. Roy wasn’t one to talk about or express his feelings, but he still managed to somehow convey his guilt and apology through a single look. Jamie just shook his head, eager to not speak a single word about the topic and move on. For the first time he wished Roy would just yell at him like he usually did. 

Then a week later, Roy and Keeley were publicly a couple again. The rest of the team and staff were elated, but the few who’d known Jamie had been pining for the bubbly blonde again looked on at him sympathetically, patting him on the back and muttering affirmations on the way to training. In the grand scheme of things, they were just being nice, but he fucking hated it.

He was Jamie Fucking Tartt. He could be with anyone he wanted. Sure, the only girl who’s liked him for him and the only one he’s truly loved would rather be with someone else; someone else who was one of his best friends now. So what? The last thing he wanted was everyone around him treating him like a wounded puppy. He was fine.

It didn’t help that he saw Keeley and Roy all the time. At work. At team celebrations. At friendly gatherings. They were everywhere. In fact, they went the extra mile to include him in things to make him feel better, though it had the opposite effect. He felt like a charity case. He didn’t need them babysitting him, like he couldn’t spend a single night alone without collapsing into a full mental breakdown. 

To be fair, the last time he’d had a night to himself, he’d made the mistake of turning on The Notebook for the first time out of morbid curiosity and he wept for an hour. But it was The Notebook for fuck’s sake, what else was he going to do?

Things improved little by little as the weeks had gone by. Sam and Colin stopped giving him glances everytime Keeley visited the locker room to drop something off for Roy. Keeley stopped looking at him with guilt riddled eyes, but there was still a weird energy between them when they hung out. And with Roy things felt mostly normal. 

At least he thought so, but this morning Jamie’s been wandering around his house aimlessly waiting for Roy to show up for their regular early morning training. He’d been ready at promptly 4AM but there was no sign of his coach. He waited thirty minutes before calling but no answer. So, he plopped on the couch and watched some cooking show for another hour or so before trying again. It wasn’t until 8AM - four hours later - he got a call back from Roy.

“Hey, I thought old people were usually up early,” Jamie teased upon answering, “Did you oversleep, grandad?”

Instead of Roy’s gravelly voice responding, he hears another familiar voice in the background, “Is that Jamie? Tell him I’m sorry.”

Keeley.

Jamie’s stomach twists. Of course.

“Uh, yeah,” Roy’s voice eventually says, “Keeley was here and I forgot to set an alarm. We were going to get breakfast but then we can meet at the park if you still want?”

Roy grunts as Keeley speaks up again, voice distant, “Oi, ask if he wants to join us.”

Roy sighs into the phone, “Yeah, unless you want to come to breakfast with us?”

Jamie closes his eyes. Another pity invite. “Um, thanks mate. That’s alright, though. Think I’ll get some running in on my own and maybe we can meet up later tonight.”

“Yeah, that works…” Roy says before tacking on, “Sorry, Jamie.”

Jamie chuckles humorlessly, “Not a problem. Talk to ya later.”

He hangs up and tosses his phone across the couch. Not only did Jamie not like feeling like a third wheel, he didn’t like being one because the other two felt guilty. Especially when he was still getting over his feelings for one of them. He groans, forcing himself off the couch, eager to stay true to his word. He needed to run off these feelings. 

You’d been leisurely walking through the streets of Richmond for a little while, enjoying the early fall breeze and the sights as the leaves started to change color. You’ve been trying to keep an eye out for a place to grab breakfast or a snack, but you’ve been distracted by the shops and the people walking around you. For your part, you were donned in sunglasses with a ball cap tilted low on your head. So far no one has stopped you, which was nice. Not that you minded meeting the occasional fan. Most were sweet and you adored connecting with people face to face, but there was always the risk of someone just in search of an autograph or selfie despite not caring about you or your work, not to mention nosy paparazzi who pop out of nowhere to get a photo. So, you’re enjoying the semblance of normalcy while you can. You sense that once filming starts, those in the area will be eager to catch a glimpse of you and your costars any chance they get. 

You’re a little too comfortable with flying under the radar, when as you’re turning a street corner someone runs right smack into you. You both fall to the ground, your sunglasses flying clear off your face. Your heart hammers in your chest, wondering if someone had done this on purpose, but the stranger next to you also appears to be scrambling. 

“Fuck, sorry,” they mutter, grabbing your discarded sunglasses for you before pulling you both up. As he places the glasses back in your hands, his eyes meet yours for the first time, “Oh shit, are you…”

You smile sheepishly, his eyes alight with recognition. You’re still a little anxious from the encounter, as you try to get your breathing to return to normal. You vaguely wonder if this guy is going to ask for a picture or something, when you actually hear the familiar click of a camera and your blood runs cold. 

“Hey Jamie Tartt!” an accented man calls, “Who’s the girl, Jamie?

The man in front of you looks back at you with wide eyes and grabs your hand, “Shit, come with me.”

You can barely process what he’d said as he pulled you down the street, “What? Where are we going?”

“Somewhere private,” he explains as you continue jogging alongside him, “Where there’s one paparazzi, ten will follow. But I’m sure you know that.”

You can’t argue with him. But you do wonder who the hell this guy is that he’s so familiar with paparazzi. You also briefly consider if following a guy you’ve never met through alleyways is a smart decision, but you hardly have the time to dwell on it. 

After a few minutes, this mystery guy, who you can only presume is named Jamie if the paparazzi was right, leads you through an unassuming storefront that ends up being a charming and quaint little café. You look around curiously. It’s not completely vacant, but the patrons don’t bat an eye when the two of you enter. The middle aged barista behind the counter looks at your companion with a warm smile and greets him, once again, by Jamie.

After your heart rate returns to normal, you turn to the man beside you. He gives you a tiny shrug, “I come here when I don’t want to be bothered. Not many people know about this place but it has the best scones in Richmond.”

You squint at him in curiosity, “So, I’m guessing you’re…someone of note then, too? If that paparazzi was taking your picture and you have a secret hideout.”

He chuckles, looking a little bashful, which you have a feeling is out of character for this guy, “Uh, yeah, I’m Jamie Tartt? Premier League footballer for AFC Richmond?”

Your cheeks heat up, “Oh, uh, sorry, I’m not really familiar with…”

He cuts you off, “No need to apologize. Wouldn’t expect an actress from the states to know anything about English football.”

You chuckle, despite yourself, “Well, if it helps I don’t know much about American football either. Or any sport for that matter.”

Jamie’s lips quirk up again, “I know you, though. From that thing.”

You snort, “Well, I’ve done a couple of things.”

He shakes his head, “No, no, no, you’re in that one movie, what’s it called,” he snaps his fingers, “Meet Me in Melrose, that's the one!”

“Wow, that’s a deep cut,” you comment, the film being an indie you worked on years ago; one of your first bigger roles despite the lower budget project.

“Yeah, my old coach? It was one of his favorites, so the whole team became obsessed. We’ve watched a bunch of your stuff,” he explains.

“That’s cool,” you nod with a small smile.

He nods along with you before suddenly becoming very aware of his situation, “Uh, can I order you something? Or, shit, you probably had somewhere to be. I usually try to wait things out for a while here, but if you have to go…”

You once again consider the oddity of casually hanging out in a cafe with a man you just met, but he seems trustworthy enough. And even a bit intriguing.

So you respond, “No, I don’t. I was just out exploring before. I was actually looking for a place to eat so this is perfect. I’m happy to hang out here for a bit.”

“Okay, cool,” Jamie nods again, still feeling a bit unsure of what to do when a Hollywood movie star is suddenly in your midst, “Uh, do you like coffee? Tea?”

You shake your head, “You don’t have to buy anything for me.”

“Well, I was the one who crashed into you and abducted you here so it’s the least I can do.”

You giggle, “Okay fine, I’ll take a hot chocolate. Coffee makes me anxious and tea tastes like a worse version of water. No offense.”

Jamie laughs to himself before walking up to the counter to order for you both. He returns moments later with a hot chocolate for you and coffee for him, as well as two of those scones he mentioned, before leading you over to a small booth in the back of the cafe. 

“So, uh, you must come here often if the staff knows your name,” you say as you blow on your drink for it to cool, “Unless they’re all soccer - sorry - football fans?”

“Actually, Olive, the owner of the café doesn’t know shit about football. It's part of the appeal,” he tells you, “I manage to avoid photographers most of the time, but even if they’re not hounding me, I still like to come here to get away from things.”

“That makes sense. I feel like it's hard to do that in LA. Even the small businesses are overrun with influencers trying to find the trendiest spot nowadays,” you muse.

“Is that where you live? LA?” he asks.

“Mhm. Have you been?” 

“Nah. Been to New York before, but spent most of my time in some clubs,” he tells you, “Have you been to London before?”

“No, actually,” you admit, “I’ve always wanted to come but never got around to it. I’m actually here for a film.”

“Oh, yeah, a Rom-Com, right?” he asks and you nod, “It’s all anyone can talk about around the club these days. We’ve never had a big movie shoot in Richmond before.”

“Hmm, wait til everyone hears how you kidnapped one of the stars,” you joke, finally braving a sip of your drink.

Jamie laughs, “I think I’ll keep that one to myself. Plus, I don’t think they’d even believe me.”

You laugh along with him, thoroughly enjoying his company as well as the delicious cocoa. You also finally try the scone Jamie placed in front of you. Your eyes light up after the first bite.

“Is that blueberry?”

Jamie’s eyes widened, “Sorry, I should have asked…”

You furiously shake your head, “No, no, don’t apologize. I love blueberry.”

Jamie’s lips quirk up, “Me, too. It’s my favorite.”

You smile back, but it drops when you feel your phone buzzing in your pocket. Pulling it out, you see that you had a missed call from Harry along with a few text messages. Instead of responding, you roll your eyes and put it away, eager to forget that the man exists until tomorrow.

“Uh, everything okay?” Jamie asks tentatively. 

“Oh, yeah,” you reassure, plastering another smile on your face. Then you find a part of yourself that desperately wants to vent about your situation to an unbiased party, “Actually, uh, I’m not sure how much pressure football players are under for their image, but have you ever been asked or been in a fake relationship for PR?”

Jamie leans back, processing the question, “Uh, no. I haven’t really had a problem finding my own girlfriends.”

You snort, “Of course.”

“But I’ve heard of it happening with other footballers,” Jamie adds, “And there was this whole reality dating show I did and none of that was real.”

You gasp, “You were on a dating show?”

Jamie nods reluctantly, “Yeah. It was called Lust Conquers All. It was a low point.”

You can’t help but laugh, “Wow, I’ll have to check it out.”

“Please don’t,” Jamie groans, rubbing a hand over his face, wondering what possessed him to even bring it up.

After your laughter quells, Jamie eyes you curiously, “Why do you ask? About PR relationships, I mean.”

You sigh, looking down at your hands in your lap as you answer, “My publicist wants me to do the whole fake relationship thing.”

Jamie’s eyebrows furrow, “Why?”

You shrug, not eager to admit but still wanting to know his take nonetheless, “Apparently, I don’t seem like a romantic person, because I haven’t done a romantic role or publicly dated someone before.”

Jamie continues to look confused, “So? Isn’t that what actors do? Play new roles even if they haven’t done it before?”

“Yes, thank you,” you agree, nodding furiously, “But since I’ve only played cynical or sarcastic characters, that’s how people see me. Apparently, I don’t seem like a good choice for a movie called Hopeless Romantics.”

“But you’re not like your other characters in real life right?” he asks, “You’re not completely cynical about romance.”

You falter, your eyes flitting away from his. Jamie scoffs.

“Oh, come on, don’t tell me you’re anti-romance.”

“I’m not,” you sputter, “I just think dating is a little more complicated than the movies make it seem.”

Jamie doesn’t listen, “Wow, I can see why your publicist thinks you need a fake boyfriend for this to be a little more realistic. You can’t be against love and in a movie about love.”

You gasp, lightly shoving him, “Hey! I’ll have you know I’m not against love. It’s just…hard to come by for me.” You sigh, trying to figure out what exactly you’re willing to admit, “The last few guys I’ve dated weren't so great. They either only wanted to date me for the exposure or connections or money.”

Jamie’s expression sobers, “Oh.” 

“Yeah,” you nod, “My last relationship, if you could even call it that, was so short lived. It ended because he stole this fancy vase thing from my house.”

“Wow,” Jamie whispers.

“And jokes on him, it was from pottery barn,” you huff, “But yeah, basically its not love I don’t believe in. It’s other people. So I’ve been pretty content to be on my own these days.”

“I get that,” Jamie says softly after a beat, “I’ve dated plenty of girls who only wanted me cause I’m a footballer. Or cause I’m great at sex,” you snort, shaking your head, but he continues, “Not that I really wanted a real relationship, but it still hurts when someone doesn’t want you for you.”

“Exactly,” you nod, picking off pieces of your scone, “I’ve never been with someone who felt genuine. Have you?”

Jamie sighs and you sense there’s a story there, “Once, but I fucked it up. Didn’t realize what I had until it was gone. Classic right?”

You huff lightly.

“The worst part is she was kind enough to stay my friend even after the way I treated her,” he continues, “So not only does she treat me with kindness that I definitely don’t deserve, but I have to sit by and watch her be with someone else.”

You frown, “That must make it hard to move on.”

“You have no idea,” he chuckles humorlessly. 

“And you haven’t been with anyone else since?”

“A couple girls, but nothing serious. And no one recently. Haven’t really seen the point.”

“So I guess I’m not the only one who might be a little cynical then, huh?” you ask with a teasing smile.

He gives you a half smile. “Yeah, I guess I can’t be one to judge.”

You study him for a few more moments. After your introductions, you would have guessed Jamie Tartt was another classic playboy athlete, and after conversing with him that seemed to be his reputation. But now you weren’t so sure. He was…peculiar. 

You continue chatting for a while longer. He tells you more about his football team and you tell him a few spoiler-free details about the movie you’re shooting. Before you know it, you’d been camped out in this cafe with Jamie for a full hour. Time flies when you’re enjoying yourself. You had to imagine the paparazzi had to have left the area by now. And while you weren’t in a hurry to cut your conversation short, your hot chocolate was no longer hot and your scone was long gone. 

“Hey, this place is really nice by the way,” you comment, as you gather your trash, “I might have to come back here. That is, if you don’t mind sharing your secret hide away with me for the next three months?”

Jamie chuckles, following you back to the front of the café. “Feel free.”

You smile at him softly, as you walk out the door, “Maybe, I’ll uh, see you around?”

He shrugs his shoulder, “Yeah, I’ll be around. Maybe you could catch a football match while you’re in town.”

“I’ll definitely keep that in mind,” you nod, “Well, thank you again for the rescue. I owe you one.”

“Nah, it was nothing. Get home safe, yeah?”

“You, too. Bye Jamie.”

He bids you farewell, before you two reluctantly turn and head in different directions. You wrinkle your nose, recapping your encounter in your head. What a random coincidence to run into an apparent famed football star on your first day in town. You wonder if you ever will run into him again, but you assume the odds of that are low.

Meanwhile, on his walk home, Jamie is questioning whether or not he should have asked for your number. In a strictly platonic sense, just to keep in touch or to be available in case you needed a friend while you were in town. But he brushes the thought away. Like a famous actress would want to willingly hang out with him if she wasn’t hiding from paparazzi. Yeah right. Odds are this was all a dream and the boys would laugh in his face if he brought it up tomorrow. 

Real or not real, he’d remember your morning together fondly. 

a/n: please let me know any and all those! again, so excited for this story and brand new journey for jamie x reader. also! i will be starting a fresh taglist for this story, so let me know if you’d like to be tagged. the distractions taglist will stay the same for any one shots i may continue to post in that universe. <3

taglist: @respondingtoshowerthoughts-blog​ @royalestrellas​

[pod-together]

Pod-Together Day 4 Reveals 2024

Strawberry-Coated (Hannibal (TV)) written by Artemiaz, performed by Dr_Fumbles_McStupid Summary: At last, the monster turned its head. Cunning had departed from mercurial eyes. There was no pride in that sharp face; no wicked smile hidden at the corner of an insatiable mouth. Right now, Hannibal Lecter was just a man. “Will… don’t do this.” After five sweet years of domestic bliss, there’s only one thing that could sour the atmosphere between Will and Hannibal: the anniversary of Abigail Hobbs’ death.

Gifts Are Given (Not Taken) (Original Work) written by Hagar, performed by DuskDragon39 Summary: It is the tradition dictated by King Tharus, founder of the Kingdon of Artium, that his heirs renew his treaty with the dragon Kess'ar before they ascend to the throne. Unfortunately for them, Kess'ar also retains his right to not renew the treaty - and the dragon does not suffer fools kindly.

holding on where i am able (RWBY) written by hopelessgemini, performed by MistbornHero Summary: it is a quiet night in vacuo, and ruby rose can't sleep.

Death's Champions (The Sandman (TV 2022)) written by Lalaith_Quetzalli, performed by godoflaundrybaskets Summary: It is said that there can be no true life without death. Likewise, it is known that without one of the Endless, reality will eventually crumble. When the Magus and his Order of Ancient Mysteries prove smarter and stronger than expected, and succeed in summoning and capturing Death, something must be done in order to rescue her. What kind of individuals can be expected to undertake such a mission?

Brownstone Ghosts [text, audio] (Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston) written by Mansikka, performed by ToughPaperRound Summary: It's time for Henry to share some secrets with Alex. Past time, actually; if only he'd figured out a way to explain before those secrets all but introduced themselves. "Alex," Henry says, clutching a bottle of whiskey for support while giving him a nervous smile. "How do you feel about... ghosts?"

Perfect Days (The Furious Pain of Living) (Batman - All Media Types, Green Lantern - All Media Types, DCU) written by Mbira, performed by Poluche Summary: The thing is, Hal was meant to fly. To go, to see, to be, to not be stuck in the same place without moving forward, isolated without future. So yes, he was freaking out. Enough to ask a sketchy dude whose real name he didn’t even know for help. Or Hal is stuck in a time loop. Batman and Robin are there for him.

How Steve became "Sir Steve the Brave" [text, audio] (Stranger Things (TV 2016)) written by MeggieJolly, performed by steddiestories Summary: Eddie tells Steve a story about how Eddie the Banished and Sir Steve the Brave met. It was only supposed to be a fun little story, but it sort of turns into an accidental feelings confession. ~ »This is the story of Eddie the Banished, Sir Steve the Brave and their merry band of fools.« Eddie started with his usual dramatic flair. He had been stretched out on the bed next to Steve, but now he sat up to do his story - or well, maybe ‚performance‘ would be the better word - justice. »Their story happened a long, long time ago, somewhere in Europe. A place with castles and fortresses, with princes and knights, bards and fools. The kind of place that only exists in history books and fantasy these days. This was the world in which Sir Steve lived in a castle up on a hill overlooking a small town that was ruled by his parents. Sir Steve had been knighted a few years ago and fought in some tournaments to prove himself, but nowadays he was mostly stuck on his parents’ estate.«

A Gift of Flexibility (titanium) (Star Trek: Deep Space Nine) written by BardicRaven, performed by BardicRavenReads, audio production by onegoldenraptor Summary: When Julian is struggling, someone gives him a gift. A gift that helps. A gift of flexibility. When Garak is struggling, Julian gives him a gift. A gift of flexibility. A gift he hopes will help.

The Art of Not Letting Go, Chapter 2 (Ted Lasso (TV)) written by rockinhamburger, performed by klb Summary: Beard takes a deep breath and gives in to the impulse he’s been restraining for weeks: “But with your permission, I'd love to run off this plane and into her arms.” Ted’s eyes widen now, and Beard watches anxiously for hints of how he’s taking this. Ted leans back in his seat and closes his eyes for a few moments, like he’s doing some internal reflection. Then he opens his eyes again, looks at Beard, and says, soft and quiet, “No.” No. The no hangs in suspension as Beard struggles to make sense of it, that’s how sure he was Ted would say yes. He’s too surprised to speak. He must be taking too long because Ted shifts forward, expression conflicted. “Now, obviously you got free will, Beard. I’m not about to tell you what to do. You’re free to make whatever choice you want, so if you wanna stay here… stay with her? I trust you to make good choices, and I’ll support whatever you choose.” Ted lets out a slow, emotional breath. “But if you’re asking for my permission, I—” He visibly swallows, “I’m not giving it.”

The Doctor Doesn’t Text [text, audio] (Doctor Who (2005)) written by waltztangocache, performed by rscreighton and oddfront Summary: The Doctor shares some near future communications technology with Donna.

refreshing as an evil forgotten [text, audio] (魔道祖师 - 墨香铜臭 | Módào Zǔshī - Mòxiāng Tóngxiù) written by unitaryexectheory, performed by Wonderlandian_Geek Summary: Mo Xuanyu dies to bring back Wen Ruohan.

[rwrbmovie]

Prime Experience, Prime Video’s annual Emmy FYC activation, is back for its 2024 edition. Held at a new venue, NYA West, across the street from last year’s location, the event will let invited members of the Television Academy and Hollywood guilds get closer to some of Prime Video’s top series, movies and specials through in-world installations, interactive exhibits, show-inspired menus and panels.

Opening April 24 with an “Inspiration & Innovation” panel event featuring showrunners from across the slate, Prime Experience will runs through May 20 with a lineup of 12 screenings, panels, and additional special events.

Featured FYC panels will include Expats, Fallout, I’m a Virgo, Maxine’s Baby: The Tyler Perry Story, Mr. & Mrs. Smith, Red, White & Royal Blue, The Wheel of Time, Amazon Music Live with Garth Brooks, Jim Gaffigan: Dark Pale, Jenny Slate: Seasoned Professional, Tig Notaro: Hello Again and For Love and Life: No Ordinary Campaign.

Recreated in the space are the post-apocalyptic world of Fallout, the Hong Kong night market of Expats, the New York City brownstone of Mr. and Mrs. Smith, and Gen V’s Godolkin University campus. Each interactive installation provides a glimpse into the show’s production design, cinematography, visual effects, casting, music, and hair & makeup.

Additional Prime Experience exhibits include life-sized manuscript pages from contenders in writing and other categories like Red, White & Royal Blue and I’m A Virgo; in hair & makeup, with a wall of portraits from programs like Wheel of Time, The Greatest Love Story Never Told and This Is Me…Now; and in sound and music, with a pair of listening booths with comedy clips from Jim Gaffigan: Dark Pale, Jenny Slate: Seasoned Professional, and Tig Notaro: Hello Again.

[transmutationisms]

i keep getting so disoriented here bc all the streets look exactly the fucking same and i realised (this is obvious in retrospect) it's literally just bc essentially 100% of the built environment that exists now is less than 200 years old like it's just the homogeneity of extremely recent settler colonialism. even older colonial cities have more distinctive areas inside them like montreal and quebec city are both examples where you can clearly see some of the historical progression (though ofc some of this is now restored/redone/etc). and then there are cities like paris where what a lot of ppl think of as its 'classic' look is p much just a product of haussmannisation so it's kind of in general less 'historical' than often perceived. but still the point is there are like, distinct styles in different areas whereas like, places with a recent 'land rush' have so much more of this uniformity even if they were built by nominally different corporations/states. right now the big local fight here is the city wants to put a better bike lane on [large ugly wealthy street pretending to be styled like a parisian boulevard but not even succeeding at that] but the residents are putting up a stink bc it would detract from the 'historic' character of the street which is a foolish position regardless, but esp when you're talking about shit that was built in like 1890 at the earliest. and it's not even homogenous in like an interesting way, it's the same pseudo victorian brownstones you can see anywhere anglo and moneyed, and then dotted with like neoclassical churches... dc also has that confluence but it's more expected there bc in dc it's all about projecting soft power which is why there's that split between gov't buildings where they're either greco-roman nonsense or straight up concrete box brutalism. but who cares about doing that here is my question like why does it have to look manicured in this specific way, no one actually important even lives here it's not like some kind of power nexus lol. im always literally so lost thinking like, have i seen that hardware store before? and then im on a street called like edgecum lane with three fresh roadkills in the middle of it

[sulanimami]

A Beauty Salon

Download

SulaniMami (aka ME!!!): Prints

Annigo: OMSP

Sim4Fun: Beauty Salon (tray & scissors)

Pierisim: MCM 3 (conditioner, cream, lotion, shampoo, spray bottle | MCM 5 (wigs & hairbrushes) | Domaine du Clos 4 (field flowers in a vase)

Harrie: Coastal 3 (marble kitchen countertops) | Kwatei 1 (door) | Brownstone 2 (steel windows 2 tile) | Spoons 2 (tabletop menu)

Hvikis: Coffee table books

MyshunoSun: The Art Room (cart)

PlatinumLuxeSims: Luxe Hair Tools Set

Forever Designs: Samsung TV

PixelVibes: Beauty Salon Chair | Beauty Saloon (chair with sink & hair dryer)

The Dew of the Sea: Apothecary Bath Products

MXIMS: String Shelf System

SimCredible: Realce towels

PeacemakerIC: Spendid Paneling

[dizzymoods]

Jessie Malple, everyone’s cinematic mom, has passed. She was involved in so many aspects of film. Importantly beyond the production aspects (writing, camera, editing), she was involved in union efforts as the first black woman to join the camera union who wrote a manual for how other women can join; as an educator; an exhibitor of black film from her own brownstone. This is an unfathomable loss

[jennyboom21]

It might seem strange, especially for those who only know Marshawn Lynch for his football career, to see the Super Bowl champ in a comedy about queer high school girls launching a fight club.

Bottoms (in theaters now) features the 37-year-old former NFL star in a scene-stealing role as Mr. G, a clueless teacher overseeing the feminist after-school club launched by Rachel Sennott’s PJ and Ayo Edebiri’s Josie. Even the film’s director and co-writer, Emma Seligman, admits she initially thought landing Lynch was a long shot.

“It was such a random movie for him to be in that I was so shocked that he even was considering it,” the Shiva Baby filmmaker (who goes by she/they pronouns) tells PEOPLE.

But the real reason for this unlikely casting is altogether more personal: Marshawn Lynch’s queer sister, Marreesha Sapp-Lynch, says he asked her whether to add Bottoms to a growing acting résumé that includes Westworld and Murderville.

“From the beginning when he read the script, he said that I came to mind,” recalls Sapp-Lynch, 34. “I was like, ‘Most definitely you should do it.’ I just told him, ‘It'll get you to understand, get more knowledge about the lesbian community.”

Like the characters of PJ and Josie, Sapp-Lynch has identified as a lesbian since high school. It felt easy coming out to her mother Delisa, she remembers — “She'll tell me to this day, 'I always knew you liked girls!'” — but brothers David, Marshawn and Davonte had a less straightforward reaction.

“They were understanding, but they didn't understand,” Sapp-Lynch tells PEOPLE. “Marshawn had a lot of questions and was thinking it was his fault: ‘What did I do?’ Because growing up he would always say I couldn't have a boyfriend, ‘You can't talk to boys.’ We’d go to a party and he'd be asking everybody, ‘Did you dance with my sister?’ But I wasn't attracted to boys, so I didn't dance with them!”

Her brother has accepted and celebrated her sexual orientation since those teenage years, Sapp-Lynch says. Case in point: Marshawn helped plan her 2021 wedding and walked her down the aisle.

“I asked him to walk me down the aisle because our dad passed away,” says Sapp-Lynch with a smile. “He cried the whole time,” she adds.

“He doesn’t cry — or I don't see him cry. The fact that he did cry and shed some tears, it meant a lot to me.” (Marshawn was so invested in his sister’s wedding, in fact, he urged the pair to reschedule it from 2023 to 2021. “He was very much involved in the whole planning... He called us at 5:00 a.m. talking about the cake designs and party favors.”)

But with Bottoms, a comedy produced by Amazon’s Orion Pictures and Elizabeth Banks’ Brownstone Productions, Marshawn had a bigger opportunity to honor his sister. Discussing the role of Mr. G with the footballer, Seligman, 28, remembers thinking there must have been “more of a connection here beyond him wanting to be in a funny movie or something.”

“In his words, he said he wasn't amazing about it when Marreesha came out in high school and that he felt like this was the universe giving him a chance to right his wrongs,” she adds. “He made it seem like that was really what was interesting him the most about it.”

Throughout the film’s shoot in New Orleans, Seligman says, “he kept on bringing up Marreesha.” Especially when Sapp-Lynch and her wife visited the set, she recalls, “He kept on being like, ‘That's my sister.’ In a way where it was like a proud parent [of queer kids] — a proud brother.”

And when Orion Pictures president Alana Mayo suggested Marshawn for Mr. G, Seligman says, she realized it might expand the moviegoing audience of Bottoms. “Him believing in these girls and getting to know them and getting to understand them means a lot in the grand scheme of things within the crazy conservative town that they're in.”

Plus, the story’s homophobic characters are obsessed with the high school football team, Seligman points out. “To have a legendary football player like him playing this character that's getting to know this subsection of this town, and see them as real people with valid desires and hormones and feelings — that's pretty cool that Marshawn is representing that kind of straight, male character.”

Sapp-Lynch agrees, and says seeing a movie full of gay characters like Bottoms while coming out in high school “would've helped me make me feel easier, make me feel better about me being who I am.”

“I didn't understand my sexuality in high school, so I actually think it might've freaked me out,” admits Seligman. “It would've excited me. Maybe it would've jumpstarted some things!”

Of co-writing the film with Sennott, she says, “I really just wanted to see my high school self in a stupid comedy.” She recalls a quote from Edebiri: “Being stupid is a political act.”

“Just having queer characters in something so silly and that's not serious feels subversive,” Seligman continues. “I don't think we're trying to prove anything political or have some sort of deeper message or meaning out of the movie. Other than ‘Gay people can be funny, sexy and horny, and that's normal.’ Sometimes just normalizing something is enough.”

“Marshawn in the movie,” she adds, “beyond him being a wonderful actor and improviser and a lovely human being, it is wild that it might be seen by so many more people who wouldn't have otherwise seen it.”

[gaybananabread]

☾༺Just a Bit Longer༻☽

~So I’ve been brainrotting over RW&RB for a solid month now. The goblins need a walk, and I cannot productivity until they get one. I love these two’s dynamic; they’re just so silly. Not my best work, but writer’s block be damned; I needed to post something this week. This is completely self-indulgent, but if it’s your thing, I hope you Enjoy!~

Lee: Alex

Ler: Henry

Summary: Alex is overworking himself, going late into the night and working hours without breaks. Sick of his lover’s dreadful work-life management, Henry takes it upon himself to get Alex to sleep.

Warnings: mild Red, White & Royal Blue spoilers! This is a tickle fic, so if you don’t like that, scroll away!!

Life for Alex Claremont-Diaz was the best it had ever been. Henry came over almost daily from his Brownstone, and he finally felt like he had a definite idea of where his life was headed. The only downside: he was still in school.

The NYU Law course was a bit more rigorous than he’d expected, but it was definitely what he wanted. Sure, that meant long, painful hours of reviewing for extremely difficult exams, discovering that tort is a real word, and trying to figure out a system for coursework that didn’t make his brain want to explode.

His sleep schedule was already shit, so he didn’t think any of it would be a problem. If he just pulled a few all-nighters and pumped out some late-night essays, he’d be fine. What he didn’t think about, however, was how Henry would take it.

Alex was working late on another essay, running off of coffee and pure determination. He hadn’t meant to put it off, but with the three exams he’d had that week, his mind was a scattered mess.

Henry had put up with it for most of the night, but as two AM rolled around, his understanding had run dry, replaced by concern.

Knocking the “shave and a haircut” pattern on his lover’s door, Henry entered the room. He was immediately greeted with the strong smell of coffee and desperation.

There sat his boyfriend, hunched over a computer with a half-eaten ham sandwich (he couldn’t handle turkey anymore) by his side. The blonde couldn’t help the sad sigh that escaped him.

Alex looked up, his glasses nearly all the way down on his nose. It was unfairly cute, though Henry shoved that feeling down for the moment.

“Uh…hey, Hen. Not done yet; gimme, like, another half-hour.” Alex’s gaze was back on his computer in seconds.

Henry rubbed his temples, already feeling a headache brew. For once, why couldn’t Alex just use common sense?

“Alex, darling. It’s two in the morning. You need to sleep.”

Alex scoffed, not stopping for even a second. “Says you. You stay up later than I do most of the time.” While that wasn’t untrue, Henry’s problems were because of insomnia. Alex was just a stubborn asshole.

“Look, I’m going to be brutally honest here. You look terrible, you seem exhausted, and the bags under your eyes could fit the entirety of the Royal Wardrobe. Go. To. Sleep.”

Henry laid things out bluntly, crossing his arms. It was meant to leave little room for negotiation, but defying Henry’s expectations was Alex’s special talent.

“This is due at eight AM…uh, today. I’ve only got six hours to finish this thing, but I’m almost done. I promise, just a bit longer.” This would have been more comforting if Alex hadn’t already said that three times.

“Alex, please. If you sleep now, I’ll wake you up at six, and we’ll work on it together. It hurts to see you like this, dear.” He used pet names, trying to sway Alex to listen. It was a last-ditch effort; if he still refused, Henry didn’t have much of a plan left. Sure enough, he did.

“It’s fine, Henry. I’m all good, just a little spacy. I promise, the moment I’m done, I’ll eat your face. Okay, baby?” Alex flipped the other man’s strategy back on him, hoping to fully bury the concern. He was fine: end of story.

For Henry, though, the tale was just beginning. He racked his brain, searching for anything to help him get Alex to cooperate. He could only remember one time anyone was successful.

Alex had invited him to the White House for June’s birthday party. As the night dragged on, everyone but Alex was drunk and exhausted. To tire him out, June had employed some rather…unconventional methods.

Methods that would be extremely useful to him at that moment.

Casually approaching his boyfriend, Henry put a hand on the laptop. Then, after making sure the work was saved, he closed it. He pointedly ignored Alex’s scoff and protests, grabbing his chin and pulling him in for a kiss. Alex still squirmed, though a smile was breaking out on his face.

That was all Henry needed to continue. He gripped Alex under his thighs, lifting the man up and plopping him down on his nearby bed.

A surprised sound left him, his cheeks gaining a nearly imperceptible red hue. He was expecting some push-back from Henry, but nothing this active.

“Just couldn’t wait for me, could you~?” Alex weteased, starting to sit up on the bed. Henry was quick to stop that, grabbing Alex’s arms and pinning them above his head.

Before his lover could make another joke, Henry tapped a few fingers on his side. That shut him up, if only for a second.

“Henry, I swear to fucking god, if you try anything-” He was cut off when Henry squeezed his side, resulting in an indignant squeak.

“Sorry, dear, but I’m afraid I already have~” With that, Henry clawed his fingers into Alex’s stomach, straddling him.

The tired man tried to bite his lip, but the coffee wasn’t quite enough to give him that energy. A few giggles slipped out, quickly followed by tiny curses.

“What’s the matter, Alex? Something bothering you?” Henry chuckled, leaning down further to try and hold him still.

Kicking and squirming, Alex tried anything to get away from the evil fingers. He was tired, though; his brain was moving at half-speed and felt like it was running through soup.

“Gehehet ohoff me, youhuhu prihick!” Henry has decided to move up to his ribs, scritching and scratching between each bone.

Even on a good day, it’d be hard for Alex to get out from under him. With no sleep, coffee fumes and pure spite, he had no chance.

“Why on Earth would I do that? I’m quite comfortable here. Besides, you seem to be enjoying yourself, if that blush is any indication,” Henry taunted, jutting his chin out. He didn’t really need to, but it was a sure-fire way to rile Alex.

“Fuhuhuck off! Hehenry, I swehehear- quihit!” Alex tried to bury his face in his shoulder, though he only drew attention to a new target. Henry leaned down, blowing a raspberry on his boyfriend’s neck. Alex would rather die than repeat the squeal that left him.

“Wow, Alex. Perhaps the Barbara Streisand accusation wasn't so far off,” he teased, his voice about as smug than Alex had ever heard it.

The typically witty man was in giggly shambles, trying his best not to sound like a child. He wasn’t very successful.

“SHUHUhut uhup, youhu douche!!” Laughing like a toddler, Alex was still pumping out insults. Henry was about to put a stop to that. Going for the kill, he hooked his thumbs into Alex's hip divots, kneading and squeezing the area.

That seemed to work quite well.

“GAH- HEHENRY! You- YAHAHA! FAHAHACK!” The law student lost his shit, practically cackling under his boyfriend.

Alex arched his back off the bed, only bucking into the ticklish feeling. There was no room in his mind for witt; the best he could do was “fuck fuck fuck it tickles oh my god-”

Hearts practically formed in Henry’s eyes at the adorably hysteric reaction. Still, as cute as it was, he had a mission.

“This all ends the moment you agree to rest. Or…would you like me to continue? I bet I could just tickle you senseless all night. You’d surely be exhausted then, wouldn’t you?”

Alex couldn’t even get a word out, shaking his head as he laughed. His curls went wild, getting in his eyes and puffing up. Henry wanted to brush it from his eyes, but he had to keep his priorities in order. There would be time for fawning over him later.

“HEHENRY! PLEHE- snrk” It took a solid minute, but Alex’s resolve was weakening. He was already tired beforehand, and laughing his ass off wasn’t helping. The squirming had died down almost completely, snorts slipping into the lax cackles.

While it wasn’t an agreement, the Prince could tell that his lover would be out in seconds. Henry stopped, switching to gentle traces down his sides. The first son tried to calm down, a steady stream of giggles pouring from his lips.

“H-hoholy shihihit… Thahat was evil.” He tried taking some deep breaths, rubbing his cheeks. Alex hadn’t laughed that hard in a while. He was close to just passing out right there, pure exhaustion hitting him like a freight train.

“Possibly. You deserved it, though.” Henry leaned down, gently kissing his curved lips. This sight was one of his new favorites: Alex, his toned skin flushed, practically a puddle of giggles beneath him.

Alex flipped him the bird before melting into the kiss. He weakly pulled his boyfriend down, snuggling against him. He’d all but forgotten about his essay, eyes closed the moment he laid still; the poor guy was wiped. It wasn’t terrible by any means, but all his energy was gone.

Carefully grabbing his phone, Henry set an alarm for six AM.

They’d finish that research paper; he was certain of that. With a bit of sleep, Alex would be a writing machine. True, the slightly rushed grammar would be atrocious, but that’s what Henry was there for. Pulling the sheets up over them both, Henry breathed a happy sigh.

“Good night, love.”

[testudoaubrei-blog]

So a lot of people have pointed out that the writing in Elementary is better than in Sherlock in terms of character development (for Sherlock, Watson and basically fucking everyone), portraying Sherlock's deductive process, and setting up mostly self contained mysteries in the spirit of the original, as well as just being fun.

But actually I also think that it is more interesting to look at? Sherlock is praised for it's high production values and fancy camera work and stylistic way of showing shit like text messages. But for all that I can barely remember anything about what it looks like, particularly the sets. I kind of understand this because they were going for something minimalist and stylized. And there are a couple of iconic and interesting scenes that have real visual impact (even if it is muddled by how Moffat never knows where exactly this is going). But also, the show feels like it takes place nowhere - a generically dark and stylishly dingy cityscape. This is fine for one-off locations, though it gives the series a kind of unreal feel that ubdercuts it as a realistic modern adaptation. But I have no memory at all for what Baker Street looks like.

Contrast this with Elementary. The one off locations are not necessarily iconic but they feel like real places rather than ultra stylized set pieces. The use of location shooting makes the show feel like New York. And the repeat sets - the police station but especially the brownstone - are rich and textured and feel real.

I love the Brownstone. It is perfect for the show. Decayed Edwardian oppulence turned into a boheimian haven, it's Baker Street as a squat. It's perfect for reimagining an Edwardian hero as an early 21st century trust fund hipster with a heart of gold. I kind of want to live in it, but then again I love shitty apartments. Also I have lived in places like this.

[jerzwriter]

Choices Artist Appreciation Day

Tobias x Caesy are my OTP, and I typically squeal a little every time I get lineart, never mind the finished product!! These are some of my favorite commissions of my babies over the past year.

The carriage ride, "brownstone" kiss, movie kiss, birthday surprise, and the bottom two family commissions are by the lovely @/artbyainna on Instagram.

The skating shot is by the incredibly gifted @weetlebeetle

The "Peter, Peter Pumpkin Eater" (lol) is my most recent commission by the simply lovely and talented @callmebeem.

The family Christmas card is by the incomparable @rosefuckinggenius

Thank you to all these wonderful artists for sharing their gifts with me and the entire fandom! ❤️

@choicesfandomappreciation

[stevenbasic]

GITJ Post 332: A Saturday at Melissa's, p7 (5pm, Shanette)

”So,” I started, after an early hug hello in the middle of the mall, like, center-hallway-thing, “tell me about the TV station. You were there a long time.” Melissa of course looked great, all gussied-up and professional in a short purple dress.

“Omigod yes Shanette,” Missy agreed, stepping back and throwing her long dark hair over her shoulder as we started walking. We were headed first to Hera’s, where she wanted to pick up some new clothes for Dr. J. “After I thought I was done they got a call, and they needed to do more photos.” 

“Huh well that’s cool,” I said, feeling myself fall naturally into the hot-girl strut I always used in public, “it’s kinda like you being a model again.”

“Yeah kinda,” she replied, glancing over at some guy trying to be sneaky and snapping a picture of us. It was weird, now, sometimes, being out in crowds like this. I mean, me and my boobs always got looks. I get it. I’m tall, I’ve been big up top since high school, I’ve got the legs. Missy the same, even more - people were always looking at her, ‘cuz she was so pretty and built, and tall too. But now, crap. I’m 6’1” now  - 6’5” in these heels - and she was like a fucking giant. We, the two of us, walking side by side down the mall, like, hallway thing, towered over everybody. I get it, we stuck out. But these people - well, the guys - they fucking stared. They stopped what they were doing to just look. It was like a hush came over wherever we walked and though we pretended to ignore it it’s like, wow. Some guys followed us, some trying not to be noticed, some not caring at all. Things are different these days, for sure. Guys were different. And that’s why we’re here…

So, anyway. Missy continued to tell me about her day, as the crowd around us just kinda parted and let us walk, like I said the heads were all turning. I knew the Channel 5 people - which, I hear, is like all girls-in-charge now - wanted to do a story about the grand opening of the new wings in the office. That was coming soon; I was just there today in the new clinic for guys and it’s wow so beautiful. And they wanted my help! In setting up some stuff in the new clinic where I’ll be working. But I guess they also wanted to do a whole profile thing about her. They want to talk to her about her career, film her in the gym. Yeah, it was all timed for when some of the new products came out. Some marketing thing, probably. She was like the ideal woman for this new, like, age. 

“I’m so proud of you!” I told her as we got to the department store. I was! I was proud of her! We’d been friends forever. We were even roommates for a while until the doctors at Evolution wanted her to move out of our rented brownstone in the city and into the facility with them - that was a couple years ago, now. It had been a nice enough little place they set up, part of the clinic there, deep in the building I guess. It looked like a real apartment if you didn’t look too hard, she’d said. But I’d never been there; she hadn’t been allowed to have visitors. They kept close tabs on her, and I knew they were, like, studying her. She never really complained, at least to me, until recently. Since she started dating Dr. J she began to get frustrated, like they were looking over her shoulder all the time. She wanted some more freedom, some more privacy, and when her mom left the house for some travels she took the chance to tell them she was moving out, into her mom’s place. They didn’t like that, I guess, but good for her! Missy has been too nice in the past, always doing what other people told her. It’s good she put her foot down, and when the new apartments for us were ready over the office we’d all move in there like one big, happy, big-boobie family.

“You’re so beautiful…” someone said, a medium, nervous guy with an old fishing hat, as we passed him on the escalator. He was looking at Missy, of course.

“Oh thank you!” she sang, flashing him a brilliant smile over her shoulder as we rose up above him, him on the moving stairs going down. She didn’t seem to pay it much mind - we went right back to chatting - but it was, like, a reminder of just how simpy men were getting. It’d only been a few days since the election-thing, but everyone was saying it’s different already, even just since then. Guys just seemed, I dunno…smaller. Sillier. Less important. And more, like…timid and scared but also more, I dunno…eager. To show how much they liked us. I don’t know if Missy even realized it but if she called out, right here in the mall, and wanted them all to, like, do something - sing her name, give her money, maybe even haha get on their knees - I’m pretty sure a lot of them would do it. In fact I said something to one guy that was really staring at us, once we got to the top of the escalator and into the  “Young Men’s” section, where we were headed. I told him to ‘get out of the way of your goddess’ and he actually said ‘yes ma’am’ back to me.

So freakin’ funny.

Anyway, Melissa had been telling me about her feelings for Dr. J. She was really in love, but she worried about him. “I mean,” she’d said, “I really, really like being the dominant one in the relationship, and I am...”

I agreed with her, she was. For sure. She was a stronger personality, and absolutely she was physically stronger than him. By like, a lot haha. I’ve seen this girl lift up a couch recently.

“...but more than just being his, like, what do you call it..?”

“Superior?”

“Yeah…more than that, I want to be his protector. The world’s getting weird for men, and he’s…needy.”

“Yeah he is,” I agreed, “and things might get tough for guys like him.”

“And I mean, of course I want to be the boss,” she giggled, “but I also want to be, like…”

“Like a superhero for him?” 

“Omigod yes,” she said, as we started browsing the racks. We we’re like that; we knew what one another were thinking, lots of times. Like sisters.

“Here check these out,” I offered, showing her a section of decent choices. She was looking for grey khakis for him, some that would fit. He’d probably need a size 12, she said.

“Yeah it’s funny you say that,” she said, “We’ve been talking about it recently, him and me, him needing me, and already I can feel my body changing. In different ways than before…”

Ok. Let me tell you a little bit about Missy. Some of this you probably already know. She has a way - she always had, ever since I met her when she moved into town in high school - of getting what she needs. Of becoming what she needs. Math classes were tough? No problem, bigger boobs help get better grades. Needed to move up at that job, when the boss was an ass-man? Easy. Boom. Ten more pounds where it counts. Wanted your friends to be as hot as you so you could all hang out and torture boys? Done, bingo. I tell you, maybe it was just luck but it seemed like she had a way of changing herself and everything around her so she would succeed and get what she wanted. “The Missy Effect” we called it. She’d just laugh when we asked her about it, lament that she still couldn’t spell, but I swear to god it was real.

“How do you like these?” she asked, holding up a pair of pants for me to approve.

“They look like little boy pants,” I giggled, making her giggle too.

“Maybe I should get a couple, in a few colors?”

“Hm maybe but you don’t want to get too many, in case he, y’know…”

…keeps getting smaller, we both knew. Like sisters. 

“Yeah maybe these and just one more, in tan.”

But anyway, she kept telling me about Dr. J.

“So we had our date night, last night,” she continued, two pairs over her arm as we moved over towards the sweaters. The girls had been calling it ‘Boob Night’ once they heard her plans, which also made her laugh. “And it kinda showed me that I want to move our relationship to, like, the next phase…”

And that’s where I come in. Shanette Stevens: ‘Professional MommyGF’ haha. 

She looked at me, and I chuckled. “Let me tell you how it’s going with Scottie,” I said, as we started circling the mannequins with their cute little sweaters. It was getting chilly, being November, and the winter stuff was all out. There were two guys watching us from behind some racks but we just pretended they weren’t there. 

“I’m so happy you two are dating..!” she said, smiling, those brilliant green eyes of her sparkling. I love her so much.

“Yeah yeah, yeah…” I agreed. Scottie…Scott Hempsted, Scottie-Two-Times…was a guy, a guy friend of ours, mine and Missy’s, since way back in high school. I always thought he was cute in a goofy yellow-lab kinda way, and I knew he had the hots for Missy (like everybody else). Anyway years, now, out of high school we still all hung out once in a while, and he and I had finally started dating. I had a few conditions for him, haha, of course. For one, he couldn’t just use me to try to get to Missy. It wouldn’t work and I’d kill him. And second, I wanted him to be my baby.

“Oooo this one’s nice,” Missy exclaimed, finding the perfect blue-and-white-striped crewneck, in a boys’ large.

“That is nice,” I agreed.

The feelings had been strong, for a while, and since I started working again with Missy they’d suddenly gotten stronger still. I wanted a man to spoil and dwarf with affection, I wanted a boy to baby. These were getting common, these urges, in a lot of girls, and these big boobs of mine wanted to be put to good use…and as they got bigger they got harder to ignore. It sounds funny maybe but overwhelming a guy with cooking and cleaning and putting his head in your lap when he’s tired or sad or scared was just damn hot. I told Scottie I wanted to be his Mommy Girlfriend, and haha I can still see his face when his jaw dropped. He started shaking and nearly passed out. Boys liked that idea too, these days. A lot.

Missy knew what we’d been doing, together, mostly, Scottie and me. She and I shared that sort of thing. She knew that our favorite sex toy as a couple, for real, was a baby bottle. 

And now I think she was looking for advice.

”Okay, so,” I started again, after Missy added the blue sweater to the pile. I’d dropped my voice a bit, so those guys who were still staring at us couldn’t hear. “I spent the whole day with Katarina,” I said, “She told me some crazy shit. Did you know there are places, not here in America but like in the world, like colonies, new colonies, where the guys are all, like, small.”

“Small?” Missy asked, maybe a little confused. She was looking through some sweater vests that, yes, would have been adorable on him. 

“Like, made small. Smaller,” I clarified, “Shrunk. Like almost made into babies. Ooo - get that argyle one!”  Missy smiled as she’d already decided on it. Blue argyle - so cute! Anyway, I continued with what Katarina had told me. “And the women, the women in these places are all, like, their moms. Or, like, become their moms, their mommies. They all live together in these, like, yeah…little colonies.”

“omigod,” Missy said, eyes wide, picturing it. 

I paused for a second, making sure for sure that we weren’t being overheard: “Katarina asked if I wanted to visit one,” I whispered, “That maybe I could take Scottie…”

“Omigod Shanettttttte I can’t even,” she said, not worrying about lowering her voice in the least, “I’m going to soak through my panties for you.”

Just then, a crash from behind a nearby rack. The guys had been listening, or trying to. One of them was now, their cover blown, running away. The other stood frozen. 

“That’s right, run, little man,” I called out, after the one who’d bolted. Then I turned to his friend. “And you too, twerpo. Or we might just sit on you.”

That got Missy laughing, and I laughed too as they now both fled away from the big, mean ladies.

“So your first step,” I started again, as we got back to our conversation and started looking for socks for him, “is to show him how nice it can be to be with a girl with, like, strong maternal instincts. With a maternal woman.”

“I think I can do that,” Melissa giggled, pressing out her twin KK (or whatever they were today) cannons. They seriously looked huger every day, and threatened to burst out of the simple, conservative, wine-colored dress she’d worn to her interview. “These are just full of maternal instincts..!”

“Haha yeah those’ll definitely help,” I laughed, seeing that we maybe had another admirer over by the shoes, another pimply, sweaty-faced stalker. “But even more than the boobs, there’s other stuff. And not just doing his laundry or arranging his drawers.”

“Such as..?” Missy lead, picking out some black dress socks, and then thinking again. The ones with stripes were cuter, I agreed. 

“Do things for him. Like, you should be the one that calls in to order, like, pizza,” I said, taking the pants and the sweaters off her hands so she could grab more socks, “and any other thing that, like, implies someone making the call or taking care of a decision. Speak up for everything he´s too shy to say. He’ll appreciate it, and eventually he’ll come to depend on you for it.”

“Ooo I like that,” Missy agreed, eyes wide, “and I like these socks, too. How ‘bout you?”

“Ha, maybe a little much, at this point,” I said. Even Scottie wouldn’t agree to Sesame Street socks. Well, yet haha. 

“What else?” she pressed. 

“Well, how ‘bout…driving,” I started, “You do all the driving, right?”

“He doesn’t have a car, anymore,” she said, knowing I knew that of course. 

“But does he ever, like, offer to drive you guys around, in your car, ask for the keys? Does he even want to drive anymore?”

“I dunno,” she answered, nodding, and moving over to the belts. She was considering the idea, for sure. “He doesn’t really ask…”

“He doesn’t ask to drive because the truth is he doesn’t want to drive,” I said, “He wants you to do it. Because he’s getting afraid of it.” I helped her pick out a nice brown belt for little waists. Reversible, too. “And soon, he won’t be able to do it anymore.”

“Yeah,” Missy agreed, biting her lower lip and staying quiet. But the sparkle in her eye when she glanced at me told me everything. She liked the idea, I could tell. 

“And when you drive him, do you make sure he’s buckled in, all nice and safe?” I asked. 

“I…I should, huh?”

“Well of course,” I smiled, “and buckle him in yourself, make sure it’s done right.” My own eyes were sparkling now, I could feel it, and I could see Missy picturing smooshing her boobs into him the way I do into Scottie when I buckle him in. I also kiss him on the forehead, and wrinkle my nose when I tell him he’s cute. 

“He does like the tender stuff,” she said, “and he likes it when I take care of the things he knows he can´t. The mommy-girlfriend stuff.” There were some shoes that caught Missy’s eye, and we drifted that way. “But I know he also likes the bigger displays of my, like, power. How strong I am. When we’re, like, alone.”

I giggled, thinking of it, imagining what it must be like to be as strong as her and toss a guy around in the bedroom. She’d told me about the table, and pinning him to the wall, lifting and carrying him. “That’s okay,” I finally said, “you can do both. You can be his, like, Super Mommy.”

That made her laugh, but when she bent over to check out some little sneakers on a lower rack I saw our greasy little admirer from before glance her way. Her ass was way in the air, and he was staring. 

“Getting a good look?” I snapped, immediately grabbing the guy's attention. His eyes went wide and as Missy stood up…and up…and up…now peering down at him, realizing what he’d been doing, he started to back away. He was maybe fifteen feet down the aisle, retreating.

“Yeah you’d better run,” she said, her voice suddenly bigger and deeper than I’d ever heard it, eyes on the squirrely little man as he kept taking steps backwards. I saw Melissa’s eyes flash, darkening, and then in a big voice which I swear to god made the overhead lights flicker and the whole room shake she boomed “RUN!” and the guy was literally knocked off his feet, blown backwards by the sonic power of her voice. Whether it was from him falling or just the strength of her, the racks rattled,  shoes fell, and a “30% off boy’s shoes” sign across the aisle was blown clean over. 

We both watched as the little man clambered to his feet, panicked, and ran away like a scared rabbit. A mannequin toppled over. 

“Oh my god, Missy,” I breathed, finally able to speak, looking at her with new eyes. Did I see that right? What had she just done??

“Haha wow…” she said, her voice suddenly back to normal, but her smile with a weird curl, “…that’s new.”

==================================

more? Patreon.

[newyorkthegoldenage]

Warning: the first photo of the five below shows a dead body. If you do not want to see it, either scroll past it quickly or skip this post.

On April 8, 1947, investigators finally found the body of Langley Collyer in his house on Fifth Avenue and 128th St. in Harlem. He had lived there for decades with his brother Homer, whose body had been found some two weeks earlier. Homer had apparently died of starvation. Because the ground floor was completely filled with 50 tons of debris, policemen had to enter through the upper floors. It took them several days to clear the ground floor.

The four-story building was crammed to the rafters with sewing machines, the body of a Model T, weapons, baby carriages, busts, mangled Christmas trees, thousands of books, 14 pianos, an organ, newspapers packed in boxes, and other items. The total came to 120 tons.

The brothers had lived there since 1909, when Langley, a lawyer, was 28. After the death of their mother 20 years later, they lived there alone. They were notorious for their extreme thrift—Homer walked to work on paper-thin soles to save money for the subway, they canceled their phone service in 1917 and, after disputes with utility companies in 1927, they went without water or electricity.

Some time in the early 1930s, they stopped working and became recluses. Langley left the house only at night, leading neighbors to call him "Ghost." Homer went blind and also suffered from severe rheumatism. The two became paranoid, convinced that thieves were out to get them, and installed traps all over the house. It is thought that Langley fell into one of his own traps.

Because the brothers had no heirs, their property passed to the state. The city had the brownstone demolished.

Over the years the Collyer story has inspired films, plays, and books. There have been off-Broadway stage productions such as Mark Saltzman's Clutter and Richard Greenberg's The Dazzle, a nonfiction book, Ghosty Men, by journalist Franz Lidz, Richard Finkelstein's series of drawings of the Collyer house, a Glasgow musical called "Tunnel Visions," which set the brothers' story to a music and light show, and, in 2009, the novel Homer and Langley by E.L. Doctorow.

All photos from the AP via Der Spiegel. Anthony Camerano took all but the top, which was taken by Jacob Harris, and the bottom, which was the work of Harry Harris.

[strangerqueerthings]

Meeting the new "King."

He didn’t like parties. Not the kind that came to mind when someone mentioned “high school parties,” anyway.

His idea of a good party was a small group of friends deep in the woods or overlooking the quarry at night, shooting the shit around a bonfire, music playing from the speakers of an open car door or a portable boombox, with a cooler full of beers and Mountain Dew, a few pizzas, bags of chips, and a few well rolled joints.

Good, close, safe company. Like-minded friends, with shared interests and compatibility based on trust.

A party with music so loud that it’s impossible to hear, mixed with the equally loud shouts of people fighting to be heard over it, in rooms packed with dancing bodies, couples doing everything but fucking in corners, and meat heads over-estimating their alcohol tolerance and yakking all over the floor- or in the bushes outside if they make it that far- was not his idea of a good time.

Eddie Munson was rarely, if ever invited to these kinds of parties- and even if he was, it’s not because anyone wants him there.

When Tina approached him between classes- after everyone had vacated the hallway, because she couldn’t be seen actually socializing with him- and handed him the flier, it wasn’t because she wanted him there. She wanted him to bring his product.

“Think you have enough for most of the senior and junior class?” she asked, only half-way joking.

He studied her for a moment, considering his options. He hated parties, he really did. He could say no, that Rick was in jail and as his main supplier, he simply didn’t have that kind of stock. He didn’t want to go, but the prospect of that many sales was too much to pass up.

He was so close to getting the last hundred bucks for that gorgeous guitar he’d seen in Chicago, and sales of that level would not only get him that last hundred, but enough for the gas to Chicago and back- and even some leftover for new picks, maybe, if he was lucky, even enough for a new amp.

The shopkeep told him he could only hold the guitar for him for so long, and Eddie was pushing that deadline to the very edge.

The truth was, he did have the stock- Rick had shown him where he grew the stuff, told him how to care for it. The cops hadn’t found it, and now the crop was his. At least until Rick got back.

So he’d told Tina he’d be there, but because it was late notice, his prices would be higher. Tina had reassured him she’d let interested parties know, and told him what time to be there, and where to “set up shop.”

So here he was, in the back yard, just on the edge of the light and dark from the back porch’s flood lamp, exchanging bud for bucks, grateful he was outside where it was nice and cool, and not nearly as loud and overwhelming.

He was vibrating with nerves and excitement. Nerves, because he’d seen Jason Carver, Tommy Hagan, and Steve Harrington- and he never could trust if they’d rat him out or not. Excitement, because he had sold over half the product he’d brought, and his pockets were full of cash.

He’d made close to two hundred bucks tonight, and he wasn’t sold out yet. That guitar was as good as his- he just had to finish selling and get the fuck out of dodge.

“Hey Freak.”

Eddie’s heart sank. He knew that voice. Hagan. Bully. Hot-head, obsessed with his girlfriend, and butt-buddy to Harrington, who was right beside him, approaching with Hagan. Great. Harrington. Goody two-shoes who lived in Loch Nora in a fucking brownstone with a heated pool, drove a BMW and wore designer clothes with his perfect hair.

Eddie had heard what Harrington did to Jonathan, and he wasn’t keen on letting him know what mattered to him, or what his hobbies were, lest the jock decide to do something similar to him.

“Tina invited me to sell, so don’t start shit, Hagan,” Eddie warned. “I’m staying out of sight, so I’m not tainting your precious party.”

Hagan gave him a shove to the chest, lifting his brows when Eddie kept his feet planted and didn’t budge. When Eddie knew he had every right to stand his ground, he did, and wouldn’t move- and he knew he had every right to be there in the capacity he had been invited for.

“Still peddling for Rick?” Hagan sneered. “Is it that garbage he sells for stupid high prices?”

“If you’re trying to get a sample, it isn’t gonna work, Hagan,” Eddie shot back. “You can pay like everyone else- it’s fifteen bucks per quarter ounce, cash only, no receipts, or fuck off.”

Harrington rolled his eyes as Hagan stepped closer.

“Tommy, it isn’t worth it, just leave him alone.”

Ignoring him, Hagan stepped closer, almost chest to chest with Eddie- who refused to back down.

“How about you give me enough for a joint, and I don’t call the cops on you, you little shit.”

“Yeah, call the cops on an entire house of folks drinking underage, ruin the party, make Tina mad at you, and end up in the doghouse with Carol. Don’t be fuckin’ stupid, man,” Harrington said, shaking his head. “If you want some that bad, pay the dude.”

“Level headed intelligence from you, Harrington?” Eddie asked, unable to stop himself- even if his tone was tinged with gratitude.

“Don’t push it, Munson,” Harrington shot back.

“Make way for the KING!” roared a very drunk voice, and Harrington immediately walked away as a shirtless guy in a kilt- whose name escaped Eddie- approached.

Hagan grinned wolfishly.

“Have fun dealing with the new King of Hawkins High, Freak. He probably won’t be as gentle and understanding as I am- not someone who does nearly a full minute keg stand.”

He followed Harrington back into the house, and Eddie turned his attention to the guy approaching him- the guy in the kilt had sat down hard on the stairs, too drunk to keep going.

Eddie felt his mouth go dry.

The new “King of Hawkins High” was probably the prettiest boy he’d ever seen in his life.

Golden skin and flaxen hair, sharp blue eyes and a chest and abs left bare under a black leather jacket, with his jeans practically painted onto his sculpted thighs, he looked like a gilded Rob Lowe, or a fairer, tanned Richard Marx.

A modern day Adonis, and Eddie felt his knees tremble a little before he remembered to lock them.

“So you’re the guy who has the good shit. Eddie Munson, right?” the gorgeous boy drawled, white teeth flashing brilliantly in his golden face, his grin wide, dangerous and gorgeous in equal measure with a Marlboro dangling carelessly from the corner of his mouth.

Eddie swallowed, hoping his throat didn’t give him away as he nodded.

“Yeah. Grow it, dry it, cure it, and sell it myself.”

“Folks say your supplier is some guy called Reefer Rick,” the boy said.

“He was. He’s in jail. I’m tending his shit until he’s out,” Eddie replied.

The boy nodded, his face serious.

“I get it. Gotta fill the void, make a buck, skip the middle man. Good business, if a bit risky.”

“You buying, or looking to invest?” Eddie joked, and his heart skipped a beat when the other boy laughed. It was like the pealing of a bell during a rolling clap of thunder.

“Invest? No, no, too much time involved. I don’t plan on staying in this shithole after I graduate- I’m just wanting to buy and enjoy a buzz to distract me from the misery that is being in a podunk like this pit.”

His blue eyes glittered, staring directly into Eddie’s like a wary, hungry wolf’s, and he felt pinned under that predatory gaze.

“So. What’s your rate?” he asked casually, flicking the butt of his cigarette with his tongue to move it from one side of his mouth to the other.

“Fifteen per quarter ounce,” Eddie replied, and the other boy pursed his lips, the cigarette flicking upwards as he reached into the impossibly tight back pocket of his jeans and pulled out his wallet. He rummaged through it, frowning.

“All I’ve got is a twenty. Got change… or willing to do a special for a new customer?”

Eddie wanted to tell him he could have half an ounce for free if he’d tell him his name, but he swallowed his stupid star-struck feelings that would have him driven out of the state.

He put on a show of considering, frowning, putting a hand to his chin and rubbing at his lower lip with his index finger for a few moments before dropping it with a shrug.

“You’re new…. And I believe in good first impressions… so I can be generous,” he finally said, shrugging his bookbag off and opening it. He rummaged through his stock and pulled out a pre-packed and weighed bag containing half an ounce of weed.

“Twenty for half an ounce- but if anyone asks, you paid thirty for it. Can’t have anyone coming back for refunds,” he said, holding it out.

“Thanks,” the boy said, taking the bag and placing the twenty in his palm.

“Good doing business,” Eddie said, shoving the twenty into his pocket. “Just uh… go easy with that batch- that particular bag is pretty heavy. Don’t smoke any unless you don’t plan on going anywhere for a while.”

The boy grinned again.

“Just what I need- especially since there’s nowhere to go in this shithole.”

He put the back in the pocket of his leather jacket, and before Eddie could lower his hand, he grabbed it, shaking it. His grip was warm, firm, the tendons of his hands feeling like whipcord under the calloused skin.

“Name’s Billy Hargrove,” he drawled. “And I will likely see you again.”

Eddie sure as hell hoped he would.

He was no longer regretting coming to this party.