#I miss my Mary and Matthew

[mmfan1]

WIP - no name yet - another scene from the AU I started yesterday

“Not grieving so much as I should.  Our match was an arranged one, one that would keep our estate in our family.  You see my father is the Earl of Grantham and I am one of three daughters.  As you probably know primogeniture does not give the right of inheritance to daughters, but to the next male in line to the title.  In this case, my second cousin.  He was a nice chap, but had no sense of business, and I did not find him the best company.”

“How long were you married?”

“We married in 1912, after he survived the Titanic disaster.  My parents felt it was a divine sign that we should in fact be married.  Before that the engagement was not official and I thought I might be able to snag a duke and leave Patrick to my sister, to whom he was much better suited.”

“So I guess your husband was a lucky chap”

“For a while he was, survived the Titanic, served in the War, but ultimately made it through without injury”

“What happened to him?”

“He was killed in a stupid car crash on the day our son was born.  He held him once, told him earnestly that he loved him, and died on the way home”

“How awful for you, for the whole family.  When did this happen?”

“Robert Patrick is 7 months old now and he shares his birthday with his father’s date of death.  And yes it was awful, the shock of it, and also knowing Robbie would grow up without a father.  Because I do believe he would have made a good father, he was so looking forward to being a father and teaching our son to be the next Earl.  You see the whole point of our marriage really was to produce an heir and we were finally successful at that.  It had taken us eight years, I was beginning to think our marriage really had been pointless “

“Was there not a little element of love?”

“Oh you are so middle class.  There was some respect, perhaps appreciation.  But we spent more than half our marriage apart during the war.  And Patrick was quite injured by it.  Miraculously not physically, but mentally.”

“As most men of our generation “

“May I ask you something?”

“ I suppose you should be entitled to, I’ve done nothing but ask you questions “

“Do you still think about the war? More than three years later?”

“ I would be untruthful if I said I did not. But I do try to move on.  It’s just that so many things have happened since the war ended, not all of them good.”

“Does it hurt to talk about?  Because we don’t have to if you don’t want to.  Surely you did not come to this club to hear tales of woe”

“For now l will only share that I too have lost my spouse. She was sweet and Spanish flu stole her life not long after we married after the war.”

“Children?”

“I’m afraid not.  But this whole conversation has been way too serious for this club.”

“And what should we be discussing at a club like this?”

“Well I believe everyone is dancing, may I have the privilege of this dance, Lady….?”

“Lady Mary, and yes you may Sir…?”

“Not Sir, just Matthew”

He held out his hand, she placed hers in it and they headed to the dance floor.

[fairytwles]

guys im actually frothing at the mouth please

[nataliesscatorccio]

Shauna and the baby were probably both going to die. depending on your interpretation of the dream realm, maybe for a time Shauna did die. something brought her back, or kept her from staying there. but it wasn't Mari's "wilderness, I hope Shauna doesn't die" or Travis' well intended but useless blood magic (recall Lottie "can't this just be enough? please?" it was never enough) or even the baby's death covering the symbol on the blanket in blood. those are futile hopes and bargains. the baby was already doomed. and the wilderness doesn't trade, we know this. it chooses. someone has to die. it took Crystal and spared Shauna. Shauna thinks she's been snubbed by the group and by extension the wilderness when it takes Javi and Nat is crowned, but what she fails to see is that she was chosen first. she keeps being chosen! not to die, to live. Coach Martinez dying to put her oxygen mask on. Jackie dying to later feed her. the wilderness taking Crystal (where is her body? it belongs to the wilderness now) to get Shauna through a dangerous labor. Nat dying in her place as the queen of hearts twenty-five years later. maybe it always did like Nat best, but it killed for Shauna first. and it kept killing for her. for girls like Shauna (and for girls like the Wilderness) isn't that just the shape love makes? a knife wound.

[deerest-deer]

lottie + hugs

[clownthemedlizardlambs]

SEASON 3 HAS OFFICIALLY STARTED PRODUCTION

[oveliagirlhaditright]

Wow. The Chosen season 3, episode 7 was so great!:D

Too many good moments to list.

[nevadancitizen]

-> CH. 2: CHARLES SMITH, THE MAN THAT YOU ARE 

synopsis: charles makes sure you're getting on okay as you continue to try to evade arthur (poorly, might i add).

word count: 3k

ships: Arthur Morgan/Modern!Reader, Van der Linde Gang & Reader

notes: i almost leaked this to my classmate when sending her a link. nearly shat myself but we're all good this is all still under wraps

TOSoA taglist: @one-green-frog (if you'd like to be added to the taglist, just ask <3!!)

THE OLD SOUL OF AMERICA MASTERLIST

Charles was right. Even though you want to help, there’s really nothing to do besides hunt – and the good Lord knows you’re useless when it comes to that.

For the last day or so, you’ve just been hanging around the garage-made-kitchen. Even though Javier told you you weren’t intruding (and that “everyone needs shelter”), you feel like you are. It’s not a good feeling. So you stayed outside, in the company of a man who introduced himself as Simon Pearson and the camp cook, Charles, and occasionally Javier when he found the time to swing by. 

A fair few people have introduced themselves as well – Hosea Matthews, Bill Williamson, Lenny Summers, Reverend Orville Swanson, Leopold Strauss (who just oozed sleaze), Miss Karen Jones, Miss Tilly Jackson, Miss Mary-Beth Gaskill, and little Jack alongside his mother, Miss Abigail Roberts. Those who didn’t directly introduce themselves to you were pointed out by Karen and you were given a run-down on them.

So far, these are the people as you know them: Missus Sadie Adler is a grieving, skittish widow. Uncle is a lazy sack of shit. John Marston is better at being wolf food than being a father. Miss Susan Grimshaw is stubborn (but caring – somewhat like how neighborhood mamas care). Miss Molly O’Shea has a stick so far up her ass she spits splinters when she talks. The man tied up in the barn, Kieran Duffy, is an O’Driscoll (or ex-O’Driscoll, if what he insists is true is really true). Oh – and the blond man that punched Bill? That’s Micah Bell: a man with the eye of a viper tasting the air and the nose of a shark waiting for blood in the water. From what you’ve deduced, his general vibe is “I would take sexual relationship advice from Bill Cosby if given the chance.”

All in all, a healthily diverse group of people – even if the traits that make them diverse aren’t all that desirable. (Mostly Micah’s. Especially Micah’s.)

But Charles is nice enough. So you’ve stuck with Charles. Even if you need to hang around Pearson to hang out with him. Pearson isn’t an intrinsically bad guy, just… a little off-putting.

Right now, you’re able to put your hands to use by opening canned vegetables and putting them in the cauldron-looking pot Pearson has for rabbit stew. Across the table, Charles is butchering and deboning a rabbit as best he can with his injured hand. You try your best to keep your eyes on the cans of carrots and celery you’re opening. 

There’s footsteps. You glance up. It’s Arthur. You look back down. 

“I can’t believe it’s come to this,” Pearson gripes to no one in particular. 

You watch Arthur approach the fire and he holds his hands out towards the coals in your peripheral vision. He shakes his head. “Ah, we’re okay.”

“We have a few cans of food and a rabbit. For, what – ten, twelve people?” Pearson gestures over to where you and Charles are working. “Even more with them and that widow.”

Despite yourself, you can feel the tips of your ears start to burn. What do you have to be embarrassed about? Needing to eat? If anything, Pearson should be the one feeling embarrassed for talking about you in front of you. Yeah… that’s it. 

Pearson continues. “When I was in the Navy…”

Arthur immediately interrupts him. “I – I do not wish to hear about what you got up to in the Navy, Mister Pearson.”

And yet, he keeps going despite Arthur’s protest. “We were stranded at sea… for fifty days.”

“And you, unfortunately, survived,” Arthur drawls. 

You glance up at him from underneath your eyelashes and smile. His eye catches yours, and your gaze drops, as does your smile. Instead, you work on getting your finger under the tab of a can of chopped onions – which is hard, considering the thickness of your gloves.

You feel Arthur’s eyes leave you and let out a soft sigh of relief that clouds in front of your face. Charles holds out his knife to you. You tip the top of the can towards him, and he wedges the (bloody – ew) blade of his knife underneath the tab and opens it. 

“Thank you,” you say quietly. You clench your jaw when you feel Arthur’s eyes on you again – yes, very briefly, but still. You can count the number of times you’ve made eye contact with him on one hand, and you don’t want to add to that total. 

Thankfully, Pearson seems ignorant to your plight and continues complaining. “When we ran away from Blackwater, I wasn’t able to get supplies in!”

“Well, when government agents are hunting you down, sometimes shopping trips need to be cut short,” Arthur snaps. “We’ll survive. We always have. And if needs be, we can eat you – you’re the fattest.”

You bite your lip to suppress a laugh and clear your throat to mask any noise you might’ve made. You pour the onions in the pot and glance at the rabbit carcass, now carved up and stripped of meat.

“Damn, there’s nothing left on that thing,” you say. “You’re good at that.”

Charles nods in response. “If you’re done, you can put it on the fire.”

You lift the pot with a grunt – it’s heavier than you expected, but nothing you can’t handle. You move over to the coals and hang the pot on a hook over the fire while Pearson and Arthur continue talking. 

“I sent Lenny and Bill hunting, and they found nothing,” Pearson says. 

“Well, Lenny’s more into book learnin’ than huntin’,” Arthur says. You perk up at that. “Bill’s a fool. Unless those mountains are full of game that wanna read, ain’t no wonder they haven’t found –”

“Enough of this,” Charles interrupts. Even though his voice is relatively quiet and deep, it still cuts through whatever Arthur was planning on prattling on about. “We’ll go find something. Come on, Arthur.”

“Well, take them.” Arthur gestures vaguely in your direction. “Since they seem so keen on helpin’ out, and all.”

“I, um…” You shake your head. “No, thanks.”

“They don’t even know how to hold a rifle correctly,” Charles says. (His bluntness stings a little, but it’s true. You know how to hold a handgun, but not these old-timey types.) “If they knew how to hunt, we would’ve gone already.”

Arthur sighs and shrugs. “If you insist.”

“Wait a second, hold on.” Pearson hurries over to the table you and Charles had been working at earlier. He pulls out a can from the small pile you had organized and tosses it to Arthur. “You’re gonna need something to eat out there.”

“Hm… “assorted, salted offal”,” Arthur reads off the label. He levels Pearson with a dead stare. “Starving would be preferable.”

You stifle a laugh and, again, clear your throat.

“Come on, let’s go,” Charles says, adjusting the bandage on his hand. 

“You can’t go huntin’,” Arthur says. “Look at your hand.”

“I can’t stay here listening to you two,” Charles says. He gestures to you without looking at you. “The conversation they make is tolerable, but, again, they can’t hunt. Look, if there’s game in those hills, I’ll find it – and you can kill it.”

“You need to rest, Charles,” Arthur insists.

“You think this is rest?” Charles’ face twists into a scowl, then he turns and walks towards his horse with a “Come along.”

Arthur scoffs under his breath and his eyes flick to you. You do your best to suppress the temptation to duck away from his gaze, as piercing as it is. You win, and he looks away, following Charles to the hitching post. They quickly mount up and ride out.

You draw your shoulders up to your ears and shudder. When Pearson shoots you a questioning glance, you excuse it with “What? It’s cold.”

When a few seconds have passed, you roll your shoulders back. You settle down on the chair that’s inside the kitchen, just watching a few late, fat snowflakes fall outside.

After a good ten minutes of watching Pearson and playing with your hands, you figure he’ll be fine on his own and wander out along the footpaths in the snow. You find who you’re looking for quickly. 

Lenny gives you a polite nod as you stand across from him, the fire on the ground separating you two. He has a rifle – the sight of which doesn’t surprise you as much as it first did – and he settles the butt of the gun in the inner corner of his elbow. 

“You’re Lenny, right?” You try. 

“Yeah. And you’re…” Lenny gives your name. You nod in response.

“I just…” You clear your throat and bat away the embarrassment and anxiety that’s creeping up on you – something that always comes with approaching strangers. “Arthur mentioned that you like books. I, uh… I read, too. Sometimes.”

“Really?” Lenny says. “What kinda books have they got out in the Mojave?”

You look down at the fire and think, trying to come up with some excuse and build your backstory. “We don’t have a lot of books – I live in a pretty isolated part of the desert. But there’s traders, and they bring medical books, and a few storybooks. I like the medicine books they bring. You?”

Lenny seems to hesitate for a moment. “Poetry.”

“Poetry?” You hum. “Huh. Poems are nice.”

There’s a lapse in conversation. You don’t know how to fill it. You say the first thing that comes to mind. 

“Micah’s kinda a prick, right?” You blurt out. 

Your eyes snap up to Lenny’s face. He’s surprised, but his face quickly melts into a smile and he laughs. You feel the coil of anxiety in your stomach loosen. 

“Why, I didn’t expect you to come out and say it,” he says. “But your assessment is correct.”

“Yeah, sorry.” You laugh nervously, your eyes falling to the fire again. “I just get bad vibes from the guy.”

“Bad vibes?” Lenny echoes. 

The coil is tight again. You think for a moment. “Uh, yeah. One of the tribes I live with believes in, um… vibrational energy, that kinda thing. When you look at someone and you get a bad feeling without knowing them that well, they give you bad vibes.”

“Hold on,” Lenny says. “Vibrational energy?”

You nod and continue to pull things out of your ass and curse Lenny for being scholarly. “Yeah. Life… um, well. I don’t remember the explanation too well. But I remember White Bird – the Sorrows’ shaman – saying…”

You tilt your head and look to the side and think for a moment.  “He said, “All life is music – all music is rhythmic – all rhythm is life.” And that somehow relates to vibrations. I don’t know, you seem smart. Maybe you can understand what he was talking about.”

“Well, I don’t know what it means, but it sure sounds pretty,” Lenny says. 

“They’re good people,” you say. “Maybe you’d like to meet them someday – if you’re ever so far west you’re in the desert, I mean.”

Why the fuck did I say that?! You curse yourself in your head. They’re not real! The Dead Horses and the Sorrows and Joshua Graham and Daniel are all made up! They’re fictional characters –

“I don’t know, maybe,” Lenny says. “For now, it doesn’t seem like we’ll be goin’ that far.”

You hum and pretend to act disappointed while you fight the urge to crumple in on yourself in relief. “That’s a shame. I’m sure you’d like them. They’re interesting people, especially the Sorrows. Though, Joshua…”

You trail off as you check over your shoulder. Hoofbeats, you’re pretty sure. And you’re right – Arthur and Charles are riding back into camp, a dead, snow-dappled doe on the back of each horse.

“Brought some food back, boys,” Arthur calls.

They both hitch their horses at the post and hoist the limp does onto their shoulders, carrying them over to the kitchen. 

You look back at Lenny and jab a thumb over your shoulder at them. “Should we…?”

“I don’t think so,” Lenny says. “From what I seen, Arthur’s a butcher – a mean one, at that. I don’t think he’ll like it if his work’s disturbed.”

“That’s fair,” you hum. (Secretly, you want to thank Lenny profusely. You already know that Arthur’s a mean man – you don’t want to see him even meaner.)

You check over your shoulder again. From where you’re standing, you can see an old man has taken your seat in the kitchen, and you can hear Arthur giving him hell for whatever reason. What was his name again… Uncle, maybe?

Unfortunately, your staring caught Uncle’s eye. He beckons you over with a wave of his hand. You give Lenny a quiet, polite “See you later,” and head over, trudging through the thick layer of snow that’s settled on the ground.

“Yeah?” You nod at Uncle as soon as you step into the kitchen. You sidle up to the fire, warming yourself with the smoldering embers. 

“Thought it’d do Arthur some good to see the…” – Uncle waves you up-and-down – “…wonders some modernity will do you.”

“What? Modernity?” You repeat back. You tell yourself to calm down – you haven’t been found out. (Not yet.) “I’m far from modern.”

“Why, you’re perfectly modern!” Uncle says. 

“You don’t even know me.” You scoff and turn away. 

Your eyes catch Arthur wrapping wire around the back ankles of one of the doe corpses. He pulls it taut, then hooks both legs to the deer hoist. He lifts it with a grunt and puts the hoist on the hook sticking out of the wall. You avert your eyes before he turns around. 

“Well, I mean…” You shrug. “I guess I’m… sort of modern? But I don’t see any issue with what Arthur’s doing. He’s just hunting.”

Arthur’s eyes fly to you again when you say his name. You wish that the Spanish Flu had come sooner so you could wear a facemask to hide your pursed lips and clenched jaw. After a moment, he looks away.

“What a surprise,” Arthur drawls, “to find the camp rat loiterin’ around in the kitchen, chargin’ dimes for his thoughts.”

He pulls away from the deer hoist and walks over to the fire. He keeps a healthy distance, but you can still feel some sort of heat coming from him when he stands next to you. You guess a man that tall and broad would be a furnace in cold like this. 

“Is that any way to greet an old friend?” Uncle asks. “I feel we haven’t spoken for days.”

“I do my utmost to avoid you,” Arthur retorts.

Charles approaches the fire, standing on your other side. He gives you a small look that says “Ignore them. They can, and will, go on for hours like this.”

Uncle looks over at you and laughs. “He loves me, really. It’s his… sad way of showing affection.”

“I doubt that.”

“No, it isn’t.”

You and Arthur turn to look at each other. You hadn’t meant to speak over him, and from the kind of-surprised look he’s sending your way, you think he didn’t mean to speak over you, either. You nod, gesturing for him to continue.

“It isn’t.” He turns back to face Uncle and waves a hand. “Now shoot, get lost.”

“Well…” Uncle shrugs and stands. “See y’all later.”

Pearson swipes a bottle from Uncle as he steps out. He then looks over at one of the deer. “See you got on just fine.”

Arthur nods toward Charles’ direction. “Charles is a wonder.”

“Have a drink, my friends.” Pearson holds out the bottle across the fire. “Ya earned it.”

Arthur takes the bottle after you wave it away. He takes a swig and sputters, coughing. “Jesus!” His voice cracks. “What is that?”

He passes the bottle to Charles, who sniffs the rim and takes a tentative sip. 

“Navy rum, sir. It’s the only thing – the only thing!” Pearson laughs as Charles hands the bottle back. “Keeps you sane, it does.”

“Yes, seems to have done a treat on you.” Arthur glances at Charles and waves a hand in his general direction. “You go rest that hand, Charles.”

“I’ll be fine in a few days,” Charles says. 

He makes eye contact with you and nods towards the cabins, indicating for you to follow. You do so while listening to Arthur and Pearson talk about skinning the deer. (And you hide a smile when Arthur asks Pearson if he gets to skin him, too. He’s mean, but at least he’s funny with it.)

“You settling in okay?” Charles asks when you’re in a somewhat secluded area. It’s not all that isolated, but it’s out of earshot for most people.

“Yeah.” You nod. “Thanks. For… y’know. Not being a massive asshole about everything.”

“You’re lost,” he says. (You notice he leaves out the very obvious “and scared” he could’ve tacked on the end.) “And you need help. It would be cruel not to give it to you.”

Yeah, totally! You think to yourself. You’re literally one of the kindest people alive and I’m… what? A scumbag that’s taking advantage of you? Oh, it’s so sweet that you’re ignoring the blatant lies I’m throwing in your face! Thank you, Charles! Thanks a fucking million.

“Still. Thank you,” you say instead. “You could’ve easily kicked me out in the snow and left me to freeze.” 

“We could’ve.” Charles looks out at the horizon. The way he pauses almost makes you think he’s considering it. “But we didn’t.”

You let out a shaky laugh. “Yeah. You didn’t.”

Apparently, he doesn’t feel the need to reassure you or continue the conversation at all. After a few moments, you awkwardly hook your thumb over your shoulder.

“I’m gonna, uh…” You nod. “I’m gonna go. I’ll see you later?”

Charles is still looking out at the treeline, looking at the way the snow weighs down the leafless trees and the way even the smallest sound could disrupt everything. 

“Yeah. I’ll see you later.”

[bbjobo]

Hello hi it’s me, your resident entertainment PR enthusiast. I simply need to talk about the sequel announcement. This is all speculation, but I work in entertainment-adjacent communications and once convinced a household name celebrity to stay at my event to do select press interviews when his wife was going to go into labor at literally any minute, so I like to think I've got a pretty good sense of all of this.

So buckle in, because I'm about how actually fantastic this rollout was, because I’d wager they’ve been planning this since the premiere. 

RWRB came out truly smack-dab in the middle of the actors' strike. We all know just how much press we must have missed out on, because the strike started before promo would have kicked off in earnest. And when it was finally over in November, the actors are potentially out of contract for promotion, and that’s not even taking into consideration that the holidays are coming up and the six weeks from American Thanksgiving to New Year’s is truly a black hole of press. So this little movie has to rely almost entirely on fan reaction and word of mouth to hit because they’re so limited in what they can do for promo. And it IS a hit! Records are broken! Comments for an extended version (which, ok Matthew we get it, does not exist) and a sequel start almost immediately.

The marketing team makes the most of what they’ve got: they’re keeping up the official character accounts, they’re dropping deleted scenes and BTS. We get cornettos! The fireside scene! Bloopers! Notably absent? Brownstone Thanksgiving. We’ve seen BTS photos of it, we know it exists. Thanksgiving 2023 would have been a great time to drop it, but they don’t. This is the approximate point at which my own personal sequel speculation began. After the strike ends, the posting pace slows considerably but it’s still consistent. It’s just enough to keep it in your mind but not enough to be like “why are you still posting this much about it?” And this continues into 2024.

On the contracting side, conversations were likely actively happening at this point. I wouldn’t be surprised if negotiations picked up literally as soon as the strike ended. The producers would have had that time to get Matthew and Casey back on board and be fully prepped and ready to move on to contracting actors the minute they could. It’d be a shot in the dark to try to guess when these were finalized, but at some point between November 9 and May 9, yeah, they’re in.

But whew, Nicholas is booked and BUSY. Mary & George drops internationally March 5, The Idea of You closes SXSW on March 17, two weeks later M&G starts airing in the US and Canada, and a month after that, TIOY is available for streaming (and limited theatrical release, which is another whole post), and in between all those premieres, he’s everywhere. He’s criss-crossing the country (and tbh the Atlantic Ocean) for all of these appearances, truly going non-stop. The pacing of the premieres makes it nearly impossible to squeeze in another project announcement, and if they had, it would have been a bigger part of every interview he did after, which is something his own team would be working to balance. Plus between TIOY and RWRB, Prime would have been pitching stories against themselves. Better to let him finish out his other promotional appearances and then switch over.

At the same time, we’ve got awards and red carpet season starting. At nearly every red carpet appearance not for their own projects, both Taylor and Nick are asked about a sequel. If an interviewer is given enough time, they ask about a sequel. Sure, fans comment about a sequel on every vaguely rwrb social post from an official account, but the press asking about a sequel felt like a lot to me. Everyone always gave the same vague answer, that they’d be up for it if the story is right, that they don’t know but would be happy to. (Except one time, Nick does slip up and give an answer that feels a little more definitive here where he says “conversations are being had” all the way back in late February/early March). Press are asking the question so consistently that it felt like if it wasn’t happening, PR teams would have put the sequel on the do not ask list.

Then Prime starts actually ramping up on a FYC campaign for the movie. I'm gonna be honest, I was so surprised. It's a rom com, the odds of a rom com getting any sort of awards recognition is so slim, but I thought, "ok, sure, use FYC as a way to get the promo boost they need for an announcement of whatever's coming next." And then I looked up and Variety has picked it as the winner in the best television movie category, which is blowing my mind. The other categories they're submitting in are stacked and I think a nomination beyond television movie will be a long shot, but again, it's big for it to even be considered. And if they're being talked about, that means Prime's gotta put out a great showing for their FYC campaign.

Which brings us to this week. We start off on Monday with Nick at the Met Gala referring to Uma as his mother-in-law. Incredible. Love it. Wednesday and Thursday are a one-two punch of a FYC event and fan event, and the gang’s all here. At the FYC, we get the industry side of things: new portraits and interviews with Deadline, process talk, etc. Because this little rom com is actually doing pretty well and beating the odds? Knowing what we know now, the PR teams spent this week pre-briefing the press on the sequel announcement. Notable (at least to my knowledge) the sequel question doesn't get asked at the FYC event. Because the press already knows it's coming.

Now, on to yesterday. They do a fan screening and Q&A, and they literally roll out the red carpet. Nine months after the premiere and exactly six months after the strike ended, they get the gang back together with fans of the movie, who they relied on so heavily during the strike to help make the movie a success. The tagline on the screen’s giant promo image has been updated to specifically thank fans for “making history with us.” The moderator for the Q&A is the same person who interviewed Taylor and Nick at the beginning of FYC campaign season, their first joint interview since GQ (right? pretty sure. it's all a blur tbh). And at the end of the Q&A, minutes before 12 AM ET, when the embargo on the press release would have lifted, they make the announcement not to press, but to the fans. The fans who loved the book, who watched it over and over, who spread the word about the movie to help make it one of Prime’s top three rom coms OF ALL TIME.

It’s just… an absolute masterclass in how to execute a major announcement that embraces the fans in a time where fandom and interaction between creators and fans can be an absolute minefield. Prime saw the opportunity to lean into the fannishness of it all and they took it and it was a slam dunk.

So where do we go from here? IDK but here’s some unconnected thoughts in list form like Alex would want.

The book’s 5th anniversary is next Wednesday, the 14th.

Casey’s been posting about working on [redacted] for months at this point, which is almost certainly the screenplay

Nick mentioned needing to be back in the UK for filming soon

They would probably like to release this in US election off-cycle years, so that means 2025 or 2027 (and 2027 is too far away). 2026 would be less bad since it’s a midterm election, but still.

Filming could reasonably start sooner rather than later, and even without an unfinished script

I guess we’re back on content watch for blond hair and BTS pictures

[firstfullmoon]

hi pauline - my friend is trying to get into poetry (and reading in general) but hasn't really read much, and i was wondering if you know any poems/poets that are good for a beginner?

oh man I remember the first thrills of poetry creeping up on me. here is a list of good poems for beginners that have been sweeping me off my feet for years and will hopefully do the same to your friend. most poets mentioned here are really great for beginners in my opinion so feel free to explore more of their works

“Wild Geese” by Mary Oliver

“The Thing Is” by Ellen Bass

“How to Not Be a Perfectionist” by Molly Brodak

“A Blessing” by James Wright

“Having a Coke with You” by Frank O’Hara

“What the Living Do” by Marie Howe

“Gate A-4” by Naomi Shihab Nye

“Stolen Moments” by Kim Addonizio

“Ode to Friendship” by Noor Hindi

“Wish” by W. S. Merwin

“The Great Blue Heron of Dunbar Road” by Ada Limón

“Elegy for My Sadness” by Chen Chen

“When I Tell My Husband I Miss the Sun, He Knows” by Paige Lewis

“For M” by Mikko Harvey

“Try to Praise the Mutilated World” by Adam Zagajewski

“Someday I’ll Love Ocean Vuong” by Ocean Vuong

“[i carry your heart with me(i carry it in]” by e.e. cummings

“Small Kindnesses” by Danusha Laméris

“Good Bones” by Maggie Smith

“The Peace of Wild Things” by Wendell Berry

“Please Read” by Mary Ruefle

“Grass Moon” by Matthew Dickman

“O Small Sad Ecstasy of Love” by Anne Carson

“Mountain Dew Commercial Disguised as a Love Poem” by Matthew Olzmann

[goldenlikedayl1ght]

mary on a cross - m. murdock

a/n: guys i am so down bad for him. like i need him desperately. what the hell is happening to me. matthew just one chance. also this is dedicated to my friend morgan and everyone who loves matt but he's pathetic and a loser. i also wrote the second half of this fic high. im sorry about that. warnings: mean!matt, loser!matt, relationship is kind of toxic, reader is disgustingly down bad, porn, fingering, dirty talk, lowkey embarrassment kink, use of pet names (baby, honey, pup), smut with an angsty ending, matt burns the reader in a mean way, reader has no description or pronouns but they do have female anatomy! word count: 3.1k summary: you're not sure if matt loves you.. or if he's even your boyfriend. pairing: mean!loser!matt murdock x reader now playing: mary on a cross - ghost "your beauty never ever scared me/mary on a, mary on a cross/if you choose to run away with me/i will tickle you intnernally/and i see nothing wrong with that"

You try to convince yourself that Matt is a good boyfriend.

He—

Wait.

Is he your boyfriend?

You tell yourself he’s your boyfriend, really you try to believe it because he is so damn gorgeous you cannot fathom that you actually have someone like him interested in you.

Really, it’s not like you’re particularly a catch anyways. You’ve only had one boyfriend before Matt, and he never wanted to do much with you other than kiss you. You bake brownies from a box, you have a horrible smoking habit, and you cry over every little thing.

You’re licking leftover brownie batter from the spoon when he knocks on the door. Of course, you answer it. You greet him with a grin.

“Hey, Matt. What’s up?” You lick some of the batter off the spoon, and you watch as his head tilts and his nose twitches. He looks sort of sad and far away, like he’s trying to come to terms with death, or maybe he’s just sad looking. Maybe he looks older than he is and you’ll never know him as young.

A pit in your stomach that sits there most of the day, rocking your conscious and insides back and forth like a storm over a sea becomes warm and light.

What you do know is that you have got to have him.

As you stick the spoon in your mouth to hold it there, Matt listens to the way the metal clatters against your teeth. He thinks about you biting down on his cross to keep you quiet.

“Missed you.” Is all he responds, stepping into your apartment. He notices the way your heart stutters at such a small comment, but he says nothing. He sheds his jacket, then his hat, and he’s just in a sweater and black jeans. “Do I smell brownies?” He almost gags at the artificial smell that accompanies the brownies.

“Oh, yeah. I’ve been spending too much money on little treats on the way home from work, so.. Brownies.” You shrug, and he just nods. Your apartment is small, but he’s been here enough times, and often enough, to know the layout. It’s pretty much a studio.

Your bed sits in the corner of the main room. It’s just a few feet from the doorway, and to the right of it is a small tv on a night stand. It’s just far enough for you to use your bed as a couch. The nightstand hugs the right wall, which has three large windows on it. Most of the wall is a window.

Then, around the corner from the doorway is your kitchen, with a small dining room table in the center. Your bathroom is in the back of the kitchen, right next your washer-dryer unit (one of your favorite aspects of the apartment).

But your apartment is also kind of messy—Clothes scattered across the floor, an ashtray on the windowsill, dishes in the sink, a stack of papers and mail on your counter. Candles everywhere.

You move to light one, and Matt hears the flick of your lighter.

“Which candle are you lighting?”

“Uh, the eucalyptus one I like.”

“Light the vanilla one instead. It’ll go better with the brownie smell.” He tells you as he sits on your bed. His fingers find the soft silk sheets, a suggestion he had made when he first started coming around. He fiddles with the blankets he’s planning on fucking you on, but his head tilts when his hand finds an unfamiliar fabric. He listens as you light the candle, as he tries to identify what it is he’s found. When he picks it up, he hears a light jingle of a bell. Then, it clicks. A smirk plays on his face as he asks, “Who is this?” He asks, and your head snaps over to him.

Oh, god.

“Wait, no, give me that—” You lunge at him, but he holds the stuffed dog just out of reach. You’re attempting to climb over him to grab the dog, insistent that you might be able to be faster, or maybe stronger than him, as he shakes the stuffed dog, tempting you with the jingle of the bell.

“Aw, tell me her name,” He requests gently, holding you back easily with one hand. “tell me her name and I’ll give her back.” You’re not sure why, but you find yourself letting out an exasperated whine.

“Him!” You demand, still reaching.

Something about the way your desperation makes his face twitch with desire.

“Okay, tell me his name, and I’ll give him back.” You frown and glare at him.

“You’re being mean!” You tell him, and before you can stop it, tears prick your eyes. He smells the salt in the air. He needs you.

“Just tell me his name.” He tells you, “Then I make everything better.”

“Fuck you.” You find yourself saying, and his free hand grips your chin.

“Tell me his name.” He demands, his grip tight. You’re ready to get down on your knees.

A beat.

“..Jellybean.”

Jellybean was the one thing you allowed yourself of your old life when you moved to New York. A small keepsake of the person you once were, of the little kid who dreamed of a big city apartment, a fancy job, and a loving boyfriend who was kind to you. You usually kept him under your bed, hidden away from Matt and all the things that you have brought into your life.

Matt was never ever supposed to find him, you just.. got upset last night. You got lonely and reached for your childhood friend, holding him close. But, between work and making brownies when you got home, you forgot to put him away.

Now you’d deal with the consequences of it.

“Aw, Jellybean,” Matt laughs, leaning his head back. “A little pup..” He coos, and he moves it towards you and rubs the soft fabric of the dog over your skin, and his cock twitches at the way you squirm under his touch.

“Matt—” You start to object but he gently hushes you.

“Here. Take it, little pup.” He says, handing you the dog. You take it back and grip it hard for a few minutes before leaning away to tuck him under your bed. He just smirks, leaning back, leaning on his hands. When you’re done, you find yourself climbing onto his lap, and your lips find his.

He kisses you back, his hands coming up to your jaw. His rough hands caress your face with so much gentleness that it almost takes you back. His finger gently rubs the back of your ear, and you hum softly into the kiss. He pulls away just to smirk at you.

“You know, most puppies like it when they get their ears scratched—”

“Oh my god,” You huff, pulling away from him to go walk away. He grabs your wrist to pull you in for a kiss, but you pull away after a few moments. You turn towards your window and pull out a cigarette and your lighter before cracking open the window.

Matt frowns and gets up, going over to you as he listens to you flick the lighter. Without another word, he takes the lighter from you.

“You shouldn’t smoke.”

“Are you gonna give me the ‘it’s bad for you’ talk? I’ve heard it all.”

“No,” He tells you, “It’s much more selfish than that. You taste like cigarette smoke after you smoke, I don’t like it.” That is Matt’s polite way of telling you he thinks it’s absolutely fucking disgusting, and he has been trying to think of a way to tell you that he’d rather swallow nails than taste another cigarette.

“You won’t kiss me if I smoke?” You ask, and he just scoffs.

“If I tell you yes, will you stop?”

“I don’t know.”

“Here.” He flicks the lighter and lights the cigarette, but before you can even inhale the smoke, he plucks it from your lips. You frown, and go to protest, but before you can, he gently presses the lit cigarette into your wrist. He listens to you yell, whine and squirm.

“Matt! What the fuck?!” You whimper, tears filling your eyes. He flicks your cigarette onto the ashtray. His hand comes up to wipe your tears, and you are ashamed to say how easily you lean into his touch. Matt has never hurt you before, but you have a feeling he’s trying to teach you something.

“Does that hurt?” he asks, tilting his head. His voice has an echo of condescension.

“Yes! Yes, it fucking hurts you dick!” You’re mad at him now, and you step away from him.

“Well, lung cancer hurts a whole lot more.” He tells you. “C’mon.” he requests gently, taking your free hand to guide you to the sink in your kitchen. He turns the cold water ends and takes your hand to run it under the cold water. “Aw, poor baby,” he tries to tease but you just glare.

“You’re mean to me.” You tell him.

“I’m sorry.” He tells you gently, his thumb rubbing your skin gently. “Your habit is bad. Do you know what I want for you, little pup?”

You raise an eyebrow.

“What?” you quietly ask the man that dictates the quality of your life.

“I want you to live until you’re one hundred and one years old. I want you to marry someone who will be good to you, someone safe. I want you to have three or four, or even five children. I want you to die old and warm in your bed. And I want you to live that life healthily. Maybe one day you’ll even make brownies from scratch. But you won’t get that if you keep smoking.”

You want to ask him why he can’t be that man. You want him to tell you that he’ll be the one to give you three or four, or even five children. You want him to be the one to hold your hand as you die, old and warm and one hundred and one years old.

But as if he can read your thoughts and he doesn’t want you to ask, or maybe he doesn’t want to answer, and he continues before you can speak.

“The brownies are burning, little pup. Pull them out and let them cool.” He requests gently, leaning forward to kiss your head and then going back to your bedroom.

You decide to take the time to cool down, give him a bit of space. But you can’t be away from him long, so you find yourself climbing on top of him as he lays against your blankets. His hands find your sides, and you lean down to kiss him gently.

“Still mad at me?” He mumbles against your lips. You just hum into his lips, and before you can react, Matt flips the pair of you over, his hand going to your leg to gently caress your thigh, silently asking you—telling you to bend your leg around his torso. You do without hesitation.

He deepens the kiss, finding himself grinding against you, as your hands move to try and pull off his sweater. It’s thrown somewhere else, somewhere far far away. His hands begin to sneak up your top, and he relishes in the way you squirm with giggles.

“Matt—” You whine, and he hushes you gently.

“Be a good pup for me, huh?” He requests, and you nod before he kisses you quick. Then, his hands slip your shirt off, and he leans down, starting to plant kisses down your neck. Your fingers fumble at the waistline of his pants, and he quickly kicks them off before starting to work on the waistband of both your shorts and underwear.

He’s leaving little bites and marks across your skin as his hand finds your clit, rubbing small circles into your skin—Slow, agonizing circles. He’s mostly interested in hearing all your little noses and feeling you squirm against him.

Your fingers tug at his hair gently, relishing the feeling of his teeth grazing against your skin as your fingers threaten to pull his mouth right off of your skin.

When a finger slips inside of you, you start to moan but Matt’s hand comes around your skin. He gently squeezes, and you feel like you’re in fucking heaven. Well, you were in fucking heaven, but your boyfriend-maybe-not-boyfriend lives in a church basement. Maybe don’t bring up God while you’re fucking. Or.. maybe he’s into that.

He pulls his face away to come up and kiss you as one hand fingers you, and the other gently squeezes your neck. As his fingers—two now—pump in and out of you, he licks your limps and recalls his thought about you biting down on his cross. Then another embarrassing idea comes to mind. He pulls away from your kiss to ask,

“You wanna cum, pup?” He asks, and you just let out a soft whimper of a moan. “Aw, I know.. Beg me. He asks.

“Fu—Matt, please.. Baby, please I wanna cum so bad.. Pretty please..” You breath out.

Matt smirks softly.

“Then bark.”

The question takes you out of it just for a moment.. But only for a moment.

“Stop being mean—”

“Oh, stop, I’m not being mean,” He tells you. He kisses you gently, “Just bark for me like a good puppy.” He requests, and your face is flushed. If only your good Christian parents back home could see their baby now, giving barks in exchange for an orgasm.

You bark quietly at first. But your boy is cruel.

“Honey, I can’t hear you,” he says, and you want to bite him because he somehow always fucking hears you. When you bark a little louder,  he just smirks against your lips, “Go on, puppy, let go for me.” He purrs, and you do not need to be told twice. Your legs begin to shake as his pace slows down gently.

He’s not always the nicest, but Matt knows you. Maybe better than anyone ever has. And damn if the man doesn’t know how to make you cum, doesn’t literally make you see stars. Oh, Matthew.. He is like the stars. Oh, so tempting.

After you take a few minutes to breath through your high, you look to the man whose phone number you do not know, and you feel like you’re melting, right under his touch.

And the man whose phone number you do not know and a last name that eludes you, gently presses his lips against your head after aggressively fingering,

“Ready to keep going, pup?” He asks sweetly, and you just grin at him.

“Totally.” You purr. He leans in and presses a soft kiss to your lips. Then, he slowly slips into you, and you let out a gentle groan, leaning in so that your lips touch his. His pace starts out slow. He leans down and kisses the skin next to the burn scar from earlier.

Your fingers gently claw at his skin, and with that, his pace quickened, his grip on your thigh tight as he thrust everything into you—all of his frustrations, fears, trauma into you.

“Fuck…” You groan.

“I know, pup..” he huffs happily intro your ear.

And then you can’t keep it in. You’ve been slowly growing addicted to him. You cannot think straight. You immediately know you’ll regret it every day until you die.

“I love you.”

His pace does not slow, it does not stop, it barely stutters as his pace keeps on you. The only reaction you get is his hand moving down to massage your clit, and before you know it you’re clenching around his cock. His fingers massage faster, and without more effort than that, Matt bites down on your neck as the two of you cum at almost the same time.

Slowly, he lays down, right on top of you. He leans forward and kisses your head gently, before he lays his head down on your chest. You cradle him for a few minutes. When his breathing finally slows and his sweat stops..

Then, Matt sits up, and rubs his eyes gently. He slips on his boxers, taking a moment to tilt his head, listening to your heartbeat. He slips on his socks as he breaks that heart in the next six words he says.

“We can’t see each other anymore.”

You stop, sitting up.

“Wait, what?” You ask, baffled. Matt focuses on finding his pants.

“We can’t do this anymore.”

“Wait,” You grab one of his tee shirts and your shorts and slip them on. “Wait, is it—is it because I said I love you?” You question. “Because.. Because I didn’t mean it! That wasn’t an ‘I love you’ I love you, that was-  that was a mistake, a ‘stupid middle-of-sex’ I love you!”

He moves to slip his sweater on and you grab his arm like a child clawing to their parents leg as you get dragged off to your first day of school. He says your name gently, like he’s laying you to bed.

“I just.. it can’t happen, okay?” He mumbles, as he manages to lace up his shoes. You fumble out of the bed and grab his shoulders, then his jaw.

“Matt, please, I fucking promise, I don’t love you!” You whimper, tears running down your face. Matt leans forward and kisses your head gently. “Matt. I don’t love you.”

He doesn’t need his heightened senses to know you’re lying.

“I’m sorry, pup.” He says quietly. “I’m so sorry.”

“Matt..” You say quietly, as he moves to get his jacket and hat, not bothering to put them on as he opens the door and grabs his cane. You make one desperate attempt to pull him back into your apartment, tears clouding your vision.

He doesn’t say anything. He just pulls away from you and closes the door behind himself.

He’s a shitty boyfriend. He always has been, even before that building fell on him. Never enough time for them, always off at work or being Daredevil.

But he has a sneaking suspicion that he’s hit a record low as he walks towards the entrance of the apartment, trying to drown out your sobs.

[tending-the-hearth]

putting this into a separate post BUT here we go

as i've said before i try not to go too much in the religious direction for all my narnia overanalysis posts, but at a point it's hard not to just because of the symbolism that's included, so this post is going to be primarily religion-focused so feel free to skip this if you'd like!!

which apostle each of the pevensies represent and why:

lucy:

this one is a bit obvious, but lucy is quite obviously meant to be a representation of john the beloved apostle. john was the one who never wavered from jesus' side, who stayed with him through the entirety of his mission, who sat on his right side during the last supper, and who followed along the walk to calvary and was the only apostle to stay at the foot of the cross as jesus died.

at no point in the story does lucy's faith in aslan fail. she continues to believe that he will come and help everyone. she and aslan have the closes relationship, he calls her "dear one", she is his favorite child.

i do also think she could be a mix of john and andrew, as andrew was the first apostle called by jesus after his baptism, and he is the one who brought his brother peter to follow jesus, just as lucy was the first to enter into narnia, and she brought edmund in after her, and became the bridge between her siblings and aslan/narnia.

edmund:

in no way shape or form is edmund judas. he is completely and utterly meant to be simon peter, the apostle who denied jesus three times and then repented. peter was one of jesus' closest apostles, part of his inner circle along with james, john, and andrew. judas never sought forgiveness after he betrayed jesus, while peter did, confirming his love for jesus, which is what sets the two apart.

edmund betrays his siblings and aslan, but after his rescue speaks with aslan, and recieves forgiveness for what happened. he is changed after his experience, and follows aslan without question. he becomes a great figure, someone whose justice is respected by his kingdom. he more than proves himself to be loyal and caring towards his siblings, his kingdom, and aslan.

peter:

i fully believe peter is meant to be a representation of thomas, the apostle who doubted jesus' resurrection. thomas was one of jesus' apostle throughout his entire ministry, but missed the first appearance of jesus to his apostles after the resurrection. because of this, thomas refuses to believe in what has happened until he sees jesus, and when he does, he proclaims "my lord and my god".

this is moreso due to the fact that peter does not believe lucy when she says she saw aslan, and is completely convinced that they are alone when they return to narnia. peter loves aslan and believes in him, but does not truly believe he is there until he sees aslan before him.

susan:

okay so personally, i see susan as mary magdalene rather than one of the 12 apostles. mary magdalene, while being one of the main female disciples, was also one of the only people standing at the foot of the cross (she was there with mama mary, mary, the wife of clopas, and john the beloved). mary was also the first that jesus appeared to after his resurrection, and did not realize it was him until he said her name.

susan is the other one with lucy who is there when aslan dies. she's there when he comes back to life, and she is always portrayed as being right beside him with lucy. while lucy is aslan's favorite, susan is close behind. she holds a special place of importance, and though she falls away from narnia for a little while, i like to think that she has dreams of narnia, where aslan says her name and she remembers everything, and she knows she is welcomed and loved.

also i think susan and lucy are VERY martha and mary coded

bonus caspian:

he is so matthew!!!! the tax collector, the outsider of the group, a man who was heavily disliked by the people around him because of who he worked for and what he did.

caspian is part of a kingdom who hurt narnians, his uncle tried to wipe them out. he was seen as an outsider, only to become a great king of narnia and a trusted successor to the kings and queens of old.

@wilder-fangirl

[fromabasementonthehilll]

My Girlfriend Is a Witch (pt.1)

͙⁺･༓☾ - Summary: after finding the cabin, lottie ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‎‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎had begun acting weirder than usual.

Pairing: lottie matthews x fem!reader

Warnings: ...

Pt.2

a/n: thinking of making this into 2 or 3 parts?? this is more of a build up so I'm sorry if it's a bit slow!

���₊✧────────────────────✧₊∘

It had been a week, maybe more, after the crash. You counted the days - believing it wasn't long until you would all be found and saved. Everyone followed the same belief, but it slowly began to lose its appeal as the days got longer and there was no promise of rescue, and you had lost track anyway.

Misty had treated you alongside everyone else, she wrapped your gashed shoulder up with a bandage out of some emergency aid kit in the planes cabinet, which you had been unwrapping everyday to keep clean. It was fine at first, but the shortages of antibiotics and extra bandages had it healing much slower than it should've, it hurt like a bitch and you were putting up the best 'tough' act you could to avoid adding anymore stress to the situation.

You sat outside of the cabin on a broken log, setting up fire to cook dinner, faintly smelling the herbs in the air that Mari managed to find whilst the others were either doing laundry or getting water from the nearby lake. Lottie hadn't been doing much, though. Her mind was in a different place ever since the crash, you noticed as she began to act differently recently, but you thought nothing of it - everyone else had been stressed, unorganised and tired, so why would it be out of the ordinary for Lottie to feel the same?

You and Lottie began dating a month before the flight, she had confessed to you one day after practice - you watched panic on her face as she barely managed to get her words out, before you laughed in reassurance and told her you felt the same way. Neither of you had told anyone about your relationship and wanted to keep it that way - it wouldn't benefit you or her.

"Hey, you okay?" she came up to you, sitting on the log opposite of the one you sat on, her expression ardent each time she saw you.

"Yeah, is Shauna done with the meat yet?" You asked, feeling hunger eat away at your stomach. "No I don't think so, she's trying to get Jackie to do something," she explained, "I'm sure she'll be done by the time you set up the fire, though." you nodded, giving up on rubbing sticks for the time being. "You look real good for someone who's stranded in the wilderness, y'know" she laughed, watching you trying to rub off the ash from last nights fire, "Shut up, Lottie" you teased with the same toothy smile she loved.

It took you a while to get used to the new situation, though more often than not you were helping around with things. In around 5th grade your parents thought it was a good idea to get you into girl scouts, you partially hated them for it - the uniform sucked and you'd always be covered in dirt. You had been mentally reciting the folklore stories told by the counsellors; as the wilderness caved in some of your old memories, often wondering if they had any truth to them. You stayed there until you turned 14, learning a bunch of survival skills that you brushed off as stupid, it was ironic how useful they were now.

"Lot, how are you?" You hadn't asked that in ages, too preoccupied with surviving, just as everyone else had been. Lottie's breath hitched, knowing she wasn't fine at all, considering her meds ran out. "I'm fine, I just missed you (y/n)." She smiled sheepishly, suppressing the doubt she had in her own words. She truly did miss you, the distance that brewed between you two wasn't as bad as it could've been, but she needed you the most right now.

You could sense her unease, standing up to sit next to her, "You can talk to me, you know that right?" You moved your hand towards hers, smiling warmly as you looked at each other. her eyes were filled with anguish, her jaw clenching before she spoke,

"Promise you won't think I'm weird?"

"I promise."

You leaned towards her, watching as she tucked her hair behind her ear before letting loose of her worry, "I've had these strange visions," Her gaze was diverted to the floor, "and I've been hearing things." she shook her head in disbelief, almost shocked; confused. "What kind of visions?" You kept your eyes on her, not thinking any less of her. "I don't know, it's like I can see what happens before it happens." She gave you a sorry look, you opened your mouth to speak before being interrupted by Shauna, "Here." Jackie stood behind her as Shauna handed you the meat, looking at it in complete disgust.

Lottie wasn't given the opportunity to offer you an explanation, but it made sense to you, considering her strange act for the past week.

-

The night grew colder than the last, you had been sleeping in the attic with lottie for the past few days to prove it wasn't haunted, and you struggled to keep heat upstairs. "Just sleep here, near the fire." Shauna stated after you had tried to haggle for more blankets, you refused, though, wanting to spend more time with Lottie and keep an eye on her after she had opened up to you. "well feel free to come downstairs, there's always room." she finished, laying down the pillows.

You climbed the ladder to see lottie already there, facing the window - illuminated by the moon and stars. sitting behind her, you spoke, "Another vision?" It was a couple days after she had spoken to you about them, and she told you what she could. They weren't too frequent, but when they happened you'd stay close to her.

"I heard a baby crying this time, it went on and off for a while, but I cant figure it out." Her words were cold and hurt. You were the only one who knew about her newfound state, since you swore not to tell anybody to avoid Lottie seeming crazy to the others, and that's why you tried your best to understand, to help her. but often your help was useless, you figured it might've just been a trauma response to the crash, and you stuck around. You wrapped your arms around her shoulders, hugging her from behind, bringing your body close to hers and resting your head on the back of her neck.

"Things'll gonna be okay, Lottie." Your voice was warming, bringing slight comfort to her discomfort.

You two sat there for a while, your eyes resting as she gazed at the night sky, before she turned to face you. "What if they won't be?" She bit her lip, making constant eye contact with you. She'd wear your jewellery often, you assumed it just got lost in the crash until you noticed, but she just wanted you close to her when you weren't around, and talking to each other for more than a minute was rare lately, so she had resorted to constant distress and longing.

She couldn't risk hurting you as a result of her own disturbance, just like she had before, and she subconsciously needed your reassurance that things wouldn't go that way.

"Why would you think that?" You shook your head, seeing Lottie avert her gaze to your shoulder, "Because things haven't been in our favour for a while." Her feelings were daunting to figure out, you looked up at her with sad yet hopeful eyes. "Stressing about it isn't gonna make it any better, Lot." You chuckled lightly, sensing tension brewing and wanting to avoid her mind going back into the dark place it would often wander to. She smiled in return, her eyes softening at your remark. "Hey do you remember when we would go on those road trips? you'd be so tired driving, I'd have to remind you not to crash into a tree" Lottie spoke, you saw her jaw soften and heard her laugh filling the wooden room, "And you would play shitty music just to rile me up," You added, "What?? I played it because I liked those songs (y/n), don't judge me,"

You two would often drive to seattle in your old beaten up sedan to visit your family, though you'd always make sure to turn it into a full blown camping roadtrip each time - since Washington was on the complete opposite side of New Jersey.

"You think we can go again after we're back home?" It didn't even cross your mind that Lottie thought there was chance of rescue, you were taken aback for a moment. When Lottie was with you something would alter inside of her, as if everything negative she ever believed had dissipated, you gave her hope.

"We'll go wherever you want."

She smiled a moment before her eyes looked up to yours and then down to your lips - then back to your eyes again, she kissed you and you could've sworn you felt religion in her lips; how they caressed yours with trails of grace.

-

"Are you fucking kidding me lottie?? what's gotten into you?" A riled up voice spat under lottie who had just stood there. "Nat, calm down." Shauna intervened, you walked out of the cabin, rubbing your puffy eyes as they adjusted to the light, woken by the voices after the best sleep you'd had in a while. "What's going on?" You looked towards Nat and Lottie.

"Lottie's acting like she's in The Craft or something, sort her out before she casts a spell on one of us." Natalie faced you with annoyance, your bottom lip slightly hung out - still half asleep. Everyone knew something was up with Lottie after she bashed her head into the window, it wasn't that much of a secret after all. Most were worried and you could tell, and so Natalie's reaction had you confused, you looked around to see everyone waiting for your response.

"She's been through a lot, like the rest of us. just leave her alone, Nat." You sighed, everyone went back inside - Natalie flailing her arms as you gestured for Lottie to follow you somewhere deeper into the forest. "What happened? are you okay?" You stopped amongst the woods, "Yeah, fine." she looked distressed and distant, crossing her arms, "Just ignore her, she didn't mean it," Lottie cut you off as her rushing thoughts came out,

"But what if she's right? what if I really am going crazy?"

"You're not crazy Lottie, you're just as fucked as the rest of us, nothing more." Your reassurance seemed to get through to her, your words meant the world to her and you knew it.

"You don't think there's something wrong with me?" Her face was almost pale, skin rough and almost loving eyes.

"Oh my god, of course not," you faltered into a feathery smile, "You're perfect, Lottie." You watched as her face began to regain her warm colour, softening at your words. Sometimes it felt like the world stopped around you when you were near her, you would've done anything - just to see her okay again, and she would've done anything to see you carefree and happy, just like you used to be.

She looked to the ground, laughing in relief while small tears left her eyes. "And I'm the sappy one?"

"Yeah okay, I'm not the one who wrote a love letter as an apology," She slapped your shoulder and you kept giggling like a maniac, before you were stopped dead in your tracks by Misty carrying an empty water bucket, "Are you two planning on helping?" One hand on her hip and the other holding out the bucket, "It's unfair to think you're exempt from helping when we should all be-"

"Jeez okay we'll fill it up." Lottie suppressed her laughter the best she could, running to take the bucket from an impatient Misty.

After getting back to the cabin, you settled on the living room floor with a blanket and a book. You never read books much before, however somehow it had become a routine by now.

"What're you reading?" Lottie asked, sliding down next to you.

"To the Lighthouse, Virgina Woolf. I found it in one of the drawers in the attic."

"Any good?" You never took Lottie as a reader, her interests only really came to surface when you would talk about yours, "I'll finish it and let you know." You looked at her with a smile, closing the book and resting it to the side for the time being.

-

Your mouth was filled with sickening sweetness as you chewed on the last of your food, which just happened to be the gummies your mom packed you 'for the road'.

There was no food left, and your hunger began to yearn for something else - someone else.

And her winter was cursed with your bewitchment,

the loving haze which she had caused upon you herself.

[sillypenguinwitch]

isaac's books in heartstopper s2

episode 1:

Tillie Walden: I Love This Part

Faridah Àbíké-Íyímídé: Ace of Spades

episode 2:

Nina LaCour: We Are Okay

Oscar Wilde: The Importance of Being Earnest

episode 3:

Ocean Vuong: Night Sky with Exit Wounds (the one he is carrying under his arm, I'm assuming that's his and not for the display?)

has read: Ritch C. Savin-Williams: Bi: Bisexual, Pansexual, Fluid, and Nonbinary Youth

Emily Henry: Book Lovers

episode 4:

Victor Hugo: Les Misérables

Antoine De Saint-Exupéry: The Little Prince

Kate Chopin: The Awakening

Nina LaCour: We Are Okay (again)

episode 5:

Albert Camus: The Outsider

episode 6:

Martin Handford: Where's Wally? The Great Picture Hunt

Meredith Russo: Birthday

Jules Verne: Around the World in Eighty Days

Sara Pennypacker: Pax Anne Berest, Audrey Diwan, Caroline de Maigret, Sophie Mas: How to Be Parisian Wherever You Are ? ? ? Damian Dibben: The Color Storm Alice Oseman: Loveless Susan Stokes-Chapman: Pandora Katy Hessel: The Story of Art Without Men ? Evelyn Waugh: Rossetti Arthur Conan Doyle: The Hound of the Baskervilles A.O. Scott: Better Living Through Criticism ?: Then We Came to an End (?) Ruth Millington: Muse Dr. Jaqui Lewis: Fierce Love Charlotte Van Den Broek: Bold Ventures - Thirteen Tales of Architectural Tragedy ?

Richard Siken: Crush

episode 7:

Garrard Conley: Boy Erased

George Matthew Johnson: All Boys Aren't Blue

Samra Habib: We Have Always Been Here

episode 8:

Akemi Dawn Bowman: Summer Bird Blue

Angela Chen: Ace

bonus:

Truham school library pride display (seen in ep. 3 and 8):

top to bottom, left to right: Angela Chen: Ace Andrew Holleran: The Kingdom of Sand Mary Jean Chan and Andrew McMillan: 100 Queer Poems Scott Stuart: My Shadow Is Pink Lotte Jeffs: My Magic Family Tucker Shaw: When You Call My Name Ritch C. Savin-Williams: Bi - Pansexual, Fluid, Nonbinary and Fluid Youth Alok Vaid-Menon: Beyond the Gender Binary George M. Johnson: All Boys Aren’t Blue Mason Deaver: I Wish You All the Best Alex Gino: George Melissa

on top of shelves (left to right): Kevin Van Whye: Nate Plus One Xixi Tian: This Place is Still Beautiful Becky Albertalli: Leah on the Offbeat Mya-Rose Craig: Birdgirl Bernardine Evaristo: Girl, Woman, Other Connie Glynn: Princess Ever After Saundra Mitchell: The Prom

Charlie's choice at Shakespeare and Co (ep. 6): Allan Hollinghurst: The Swimming Pool Library

That's it for now.

Sorry about the ones i couldn't identify and sorry if i missed any! Might try and do some of the ones in Isaac's room later but that'll take a minute

[nostalgiclittlespace]

Spotify Suggestions for Little Space!

Some of my personal favorite songs (and their artists) from my agere playlist! Anything with dashes (/) means there are numerous versions I listen to. Almost everything is clean, but I did mark the ones that are explicit (if I missed any pls let me know!)

Feel free to add your join suggestions in the comments! Hope this helps someone!

Little Space (of course)—SXYE

Million Dreams, Lullaby—Music Box Lullabies

Pure Imagination—Dream Easy Collection

Dearly Beloved—Video Game Music Box

Treehouse—Alex G, Emily Yacina

safe place—Tony22

Boys will be Bugs—Cavetown (TW: Explicit)

Coconut Mall, Mario Kart Wii—Arcade Player

Hikari—Video Game Music Box

Build a Bear—Maggie Brewer

FNAF Security Breach: Daycare theme—Dario D’Aversa/Saccharinne

This is Me—The Greatest Showman

Bubblegum K.K—Qumu/Jayn

First Date—Frad

The Strawberry Cafe—IllustratorJake

UWU—Chevy

Zelda’s Lullaby—Amy Turk

Strawberry Milk—Fluffy Fluff

Flying Strawberry Cow—FroggyChair

It’s a Small World, Lullaby—Hamasaki vs Hamasaki

Face My Fears—Ralpi Composer

Winnie the Pooh—Melody the Music Box

K.K Love Song—Kazumi Totaka

Shadow Bonnie Music box—b1n4ry

Jump Up, Super Star! (Music box version)—Boxyboard

I See the Light, music box version—James Strange

Stars in the Sky—Kid Cudi

Welcome to Wonderland—Anson Seabra

King—Lauren Aqulina

I’m Cute—Animaniacs

Rainbow Connection—Weezer,Haley Williams

Mii Channel—G4M1NG

Fur Elise, Reimagined—Alexander Joseph

Animal Crossing New Horizons Theme—Lullaby Legends

Twinkle, twinkle little star— Sabelia Robles

Wrap Me In Plastic—CHROMANCE, Marcus Layton

Lovely Date—NomnomNami

Gay Fairytale Music Box—Saccharinne

Brahms Lullaby—Lullaby Time/Elliot Gordon

A Thousand Years—Christina Perri/Jade Facer

Try Everything—Shakira

I’m Still Here—John Rzeznik

Nobody—Faith Marie

Flying Stars—Celestaby

putting a spin on big girls don’t cry—egg

putting a spin on love you so—egg

The Court Jester—thquib, FUKASE

Reach for the Stars—Sega Sound Team

Get you to the Moon—Kina, Snow

More than Anything—Hazbin Hotel

Peter Pan Was Right—Anson Seabra

Keep your Head Up Princess—Anson Seabra

The NeverEnding Story—The Birthday Massacre

Any Disney soundtrack (Disney Princesses, Disney Channel themes, Pixie Hollow Fairies, etc)

Music box versions of Disney soundtracks—Melody the Music Box

Sugar Crash!—ElyOtto (TW; Explicit)

Cry Baby (Album)—Melanie Martinez (TW: Explicit)

K-12 (Album)—Melanie Martinez (TW: Explicit)

House Song—Searows

I’ll Always Remember You—Hannah Montana

Bunny, Bunny, Bunny—The Golden Orchestra

Goodbye to a World—Porter Robinson

Liminal Space (Album)—mxmtoom

All We Do—Oh Wonder

You Might Not Like Her—Maddie Zahm

you not the same—TileKid

Kids—Current Joys

Change my Clothes—Dream, Alec Benjamin

I Bet on Losing Dogs—Mitski

Cardigan (TikTok Best Part)—Luke Willies

Disney Classics on Classical Violin (Album)—Matthew Castle

Disney Serenade on Classical Violin (Album)—Matthew Castle

Classic Pops on Classical Violin (Album)—Matthew Castle

Lon Lon Ranch—Super Piano 64

Alice—Avril Lavigne

[apenitentialprayer]

In Christ, YHWH Himself Becomes the Accursed One, by Christopher Powers.

According to the Gospels of Matthew and Mark, nothing good happens to Jesus once he is put on the cross. All the signs are against him. He has been mocked, and the mockers have asked for a sign that he is the Son of God. Well, the sign has been given. Here is the sign that Jesus is the Son of God: darkness. God has pulled back.

Reader, do not miss the point. Everything turns against Jesus: the cosmos, the political world, his compatriots, his fellow religionists, his chosen companions, nature itself. There is no mercy. There is no grace. There is not even a fragrant breeze.

And have you ever thought about this? There is no silence.

One might hope to come to one's death in peace, to have a calmness and quiet about you within which you could compose yourself to face your end. Jesus had no peace. Not only did he have the pain from the nails and the agony of suffocation; he had the horror of screams. A crucifixion scene is a scene of screaming. Raymond Brown says that crucifixions were "particularly gruesome" because of "the screams of rage and pain, the wild curses and the outbreaks of nameless despair of the unhappy victims." There was screaming around Jesus for hours from the others, only a fragment of which is recorded in the Gospels (their taunting of Jesus). And finally, in the end, Jesus himself screamed.

Yes, Jesus screamed out in the midst of his pain, not in rage, not in a curse, but in a loud cry. The Word of God incarnate does not merely speak; it is a screamed-out question, and it is his death cry. My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me? What does it mean?

It means, I think, the obvious thing: that Jesus died in the worst way possible, that he died in unimaginable pain, and that his physical pain was accompanied by the mental and emotional pain of being abandoned by God. He entered into our human condition; he came down from heaven and was begotten by the Holy Ghost of the Virgin Mary and was made man. And then he went down further. He entered into the saddest and lowest human conditions; he entered into griefs and degradations and betrayals and tortures. He entered into them, he went down, and then he went down further. Jesus plumbed the absolute and literal depths of what it is to be human. He wept, sometimes with us and sometimes over us. He visited our tombs. And —it sounds trite but it's literally true— he shared our pain.

This, to be honest, is good news for us. There are no depths to which we may have to descend that Jesus has not already descended. However bad your life gets, Jesus will be with you. He can be with you, because he has gone down even further.

[... A]ll of us know that we have untested limits. For Jesus there were no untested limits. And with trembling in our bones we can voice the sacred truth, that it is . . . good . . . that Jesus was so completely tested. For when Jesus screamed, it was, as I said, not in anger, not in rage, but in: a prayer. Although screamed out, the words My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me? are a prayer.

Jesus feels nothing but abandonment from God, and yet nonetheless he prays to God. He no longer feels any intimacy with God — less than twenty-four hours earlier he was praying to his "Father" that he be spared of all this; now he cannot pray to his Father, but he can still pray like any human being can pray, to "God," to indeed "my God." He screams, yes, he cries out, yes, but it is a question that he cries, and a question rests upon a relationship, on the reality of one to whom a question is addressed. Jesus goes all the way down to the very bottom of human existence, and even at the bottom, even in the midst of all the pain in the universe, even in the absence of any sign at all that he has a divine Father, even there at the bottom a human being can still pray to God, can still ask, if nothing else, why this God, to whom he is speaking, why this God has forsaken him.

We find God by going down this road, down the road that goes down. Leonard Cohen, in his song "Suzanne" (which Susan used to sing to me), saw deeply, if not perfectly, when he said Jesus realized "only drowning men could see him." Jesus saw this from the cross (I think this is what Cohen means by "his lonely wooden tower"), where, Cohen says, he was "forsaken, almost human."

No, that last modifier is wrong: forsaken, fully human is the point. Yet it may be true that only drowning people can see Jesus. We who have suffered the depths can catch sight of him, I think, because Jesus was fully human all the way down: in the darkness, beyond the darkness, forsaken, fully human, he sank (as Cohen almost says) beneath God's wisdom like a stone.

Rev. Canon Victor Austin (Losing Susan: Brain Disease, The Priest's Wife, and the God Who Gives and Takes Away, pages 135-136, 137-138). Italics original.

There is no pit so deep that He is not deeper still.

Betsie ten Boom, as recorded by her sister.

[serialadoptersbracket]

Round 2, Match 51: The Bat vs. The Cat

Submitted kids:

Bruce Wayne: Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Damian and Athanasia al Ghul, Cassandra Cain, Jarro, Stephanie Brown, Barbara Gordon, Terry and Matthew McGinnis, Helena Wayne, Harper and Cullen Row, Duke Thomas (Mod note: I’m told people are gonna fight in my notes over this. Be civil about it, but I do have my popcorn. Don’t disappoint me.)

Thomas O’Malley: Berlioz, Marie and Toulouse

Propaganda under the cut!

Bruce Wayne:

1. “I have a strong feeling Batman has already been submitted before and for good reason. That man sees an unattended child and is like "is anyone gonna adopt that?" and not wait for an answer”

2. “He has so many kids I only included the ones that I probably missed a few. There's a running gag that if he met a child crime fighter he would just adopt them on the spot. He's such a serial adopter that DC made a whole webcomic about it called Wayne family adventures. At one point he missed his daughter's ballet recital so he rented out the area so she could still show him how well she did”

3. “Dude blinks and like 10 children appear, orphaned, at his doorstep. Fixes his trauma about his dead parents by being an alive parent. Over and over and over again. I mentioned a few of his kids from different timelines and universes but thats just like. 3 of the most well known ones its doesn't come close to covering the hundreds of different Batgirls and Robins hes taken under his wings throughout the multiverse. In the beginning the adoptions were spaced every 24 weeks. Then 12 then 6 then every 2 weeks. The last one was in a week. In 4 days we could be seeing an adoption every 8 hours, until theyre coming every 4 minutes. We should witness a double adoption in seven days.”

4. “Genuinely could not tell you if I got them all. I feel like I'm missing six.”

(Mod note: Full propaganda list coming soon!)

Thomas O’Malley:

“That cat was immediately all about the family of the lady cat he fell for. Well, he was slightly put off at first but he adapted quickly and was all about keeping them safe.

He was Disneys first canonical stepfather!”