#also joe was very sweet and polite

[petrichoraline]

i just dreamt of snuggling with ming and it was the best cuddle session ever so I will not be hearing ANY slander against this man whose show i've never seen

[absolutebl]

This Week in BL - It's the Dog Days of BL Again

Organized, in each category, with ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

May 2024 Final Week

Ongoing Series - Thai

Wandee Godday (Sat YT) ep 5 of 12 - The side couple is so damn pouty and adorable. So far as Yak and Dee are concerned, I love that they kept up with the cosplay stuff and didn’t just drop it as a one off. I'm just genuinely enjoying seeing how much fun they have together and watching them accidentally falling in love with each other and trying not to.

Linguistic corner!

I don’t normally watch any BTS stuff, but for reasons known only to my serotonin-seeking brain, I’ve been watching a few for this show. And I MUST talk about the way Great speaks Thai. It’s so different from all of the other Good GMMTV Boys. He’s way more casual. Not rude, but definitely not as formal or as polite as any of the actors around him. It’s difficult to describe but just LISTEN to the way he hops registers and pronouns pretty consistently. Sometimes in the same sentence. He even softens his polite particles. I've never heard an actor do that out of character. It’s fascinating. I wonder if it has to do with the fact that he is older (then most of his costars) and comes outta the Bangkok club scene, and was older when he joined GMMTV. Frankly, it’s the closest I’ve ever seen on TV to the way people actually talked in Bangkok. 

My Stand-In (Thai Fri iQIYI) ep 6 of 12 eps - honestly these two shows are neck and neck for my favorites running right now and Wandee got the edge because it left me smiling, but yesterday, Stand-In would have come out on top. Such a great show. It’s so sinister. So not romantic. Which makes me feel like... it's not really a BL. And, yet, I DO NOT CARE. Because I’m enjoying its little evil soul so much. “Poor Joe” is pretty much all that goes through my head the whole time I'm watching, and I'm enjoying poking at that pain.

We Are (Weds iQIYI) ep 9 of 16 - I love all of the 3rd wheels. Kluen is kinda great. And I’m not just saying that 'cause I have a crush on Title, it’s because Kluen is so open and genuine. (Unless they fuck up his character.) I even enjoyed the backstory for Fang and Tan. Honestly, the friendship group is the reason to watch this show, they’re great and funny, and make everything enjoyable. It’s a soap opera, like Only Friends, but gentle with its characters and us watchers. Which is what I really want from my BL. I don’t want all of this Friend Zone backstabbing bullpuckie. 

Knock Knock Boys (Thurs Gaga) eps 1-2 of 12 - I like it, frankly more than I expected to. It’s a bit slow moving, but the characters are interesting and the dynamic of everybody living in the same house together is fun. I haven’t seen this style of housemates centered Thai BL in years. I identify FAR too closely with the crass-talking bug-killing pansexual. On a completely different note, I really hope Best and Seng have an NC scene together. Last week I would never have said that, but now I think they have good chemistry. Am I crazy?

Only Boo! (Sun YouTube) ep 8 of 12 - They are sickeningly sweet boyfriends, and Moo is such a brat and so demanding. It’s charming. There was even a little bit of dancing together which I’m sure made @heretherebedork happy. Dancing okay but NO SINGING. 

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

At 25:00 in Akasaka AKA 25 Ji Akasaka de (Japan Thurs Gaga) ep 7 of 10 - Asami's past was cool to see. I enjoyed that his character finally got fleshed out and given some solidity. However, it felt like it came a little too late. Even though I know this is the way Japan tends to roll with BL timing. I wanted to like him sooner then this. Now I'm not really that invested.

Living With Him AKA Kare no Iru Seikatsu (Japan Thurs Gaga) ep 8 fin - It was an extremely good and very satisfying ending for a JBL, which we cannot expect, so I'm disposed to dole out top marks for that. Also we definitely have a new contender for Namgoong award for best wingman. (Japan's favorite: the bespectacled variant.)

Summation:

Kindly Ryota goes to uni and ends up rooming with his former childhood bestie, Kazuhito. Kazuhito doesn’t have a girlfriend for, as it turns out, cute roommate reasons. Same director as Old Fashion Cupcake, the framing is gorgeous and it is a stylish piece. As a friends to lovers cohabitation narrative this was a classic 2000s sweet yaoi. I enjoy that kind of tradition out of Japan even if it (and the characters) come off as a little slow as a result. Still, it's nice to get a traditional BL out of Japan that is satisfying, not slapstick, AND did not hurt us. 8/10 recommended

Blossom Campus (Korea Thurs Gaga & iQIYI) ep 5-6fin - gonna have to wait until next week, for mysterious hotel wifi reasons.

It's airing but...

You Made My Day (Thai YT) ep 1 of 5 - mini series staring the I Will Knock You couple Tar & Bom, started but I couldn't find it. I also didn't try very hard.

The Time of Fever AKA Unintentional Love Story 2 (Korea movie) trailer released to Korean theaters 5/25. HoTae & DongHee, side couple from Unintentional Love Story are back! Same actors, same character names. I love them. I NEED TO SEE THIS. How?

OMG Vampire (Thai Sun ????) ep 2 of 10 - yeah I can't find it. Comments from last week suggest this is not my thing anyway, but Lee Long Shi very much IS my thing, so... maybe I'll put it on hold for a bit and y'all can let me know.

In case you missed

VBL (Taiwan) is released 'Special Episode' epilogues to their 4 2023 series on Gagaoolala, Viki & Viu - watch each on the respective shows' page: You Are Mine, VIP Only, Stay By My Side, Anti Reset.

My Biker 2 (Thai movie trailer) suposedly released somewhere, search me.

The Time of Huannan (Taiwan movie) went to theaters, not sure if we will get this, and it may not be BL.

And here's a 2023 that I missed and finally watched:

After Sundown AKA Saengrawi

ZeeNunew vehicle from 2023, recut into a movie on YouTube. It's from Mandee and horror, yet I enjoyed it more than I thought I would.

Pronoun use is ter/chan or rao (no nai or pom) because of the historical setting + softness of the relationship.

It's oddly sweet and wholesome, for a ghost story. Phloeng and Rawee enter into an arranged marriage for confusing prophetic reasons and a twisted fate, solving a mystery of the past that is haunting Phloeng's family and harming Rawee. Honestly, it makes no actual sense, but it's kinda historical, and very pretty, so I enjoyed it more than I should. 8/10

Next Week Looks Like This:

Upcoming BLs for 2024 are listed here. This list is not kept updated, so please leave a comment if you know something new or RP with additions.

June Releases

6/7 My Love Mix-Up (Fridays Thai Adaptation not sure where this will air) - I do love G4 and I did like the original and maybe this time these characters will actually kiss? I'm actually fine with this pick-up. I kind of enjoy seeing different countries remake the same IP. Especially if it's IP I'm mostly unfazed by.

6/7 The Last Time (Thailand Fridays YouTube?) - Convoluted story of loss and possible reincarnation or something?

6/9 Love Sea (Thailand Sundays MAME warning iQIYI - New characters to the Mameverse. While travelling, a writer has a one night stand with a very irritating man. YES I WILL TRASH WATCH THIS. Drinking will happen on Sundays I guess. (Look, I do usually travel on weekends, so it may end up being Monday Mame Trash - which jives.)

6/14 Let's Eat Together Aki and Haru 2 AKA Aki wa Haru to Gohan wo Tabetai 2 Haime! (Japan movie Gaga?) - Continues the (frankly) lackadaisical story from part 1.

6/15 Sunset Vibes AKA SunsetXVibes (Thailand Saturdays) Star Hunter and MosBank on iQIYI so if nothing else it's gonna be a wild and sexy ride. A one night stand but "uh-oh he’s my boss," adapted from a web series. I’m game. Maybe it’ll have a better story than Big Dragon? Maybe it will have a plot? We can but hope.

6/26 The Rebound (Thai Weds VIU?) - MeenPing are back in their 3rd BL together, a basketball based romance (Meen was a national basketball player, so yay for that). I like this pair better than most (I still do miss Meen with Est but Est has a fantastic looking new BL coming from GMMTV so yeah...) Anyway I'm up for a sports romance starring a man who, yah know, actually played that sport so... I'm game (pun intended).

(Speaking of, why can't Est be a merman? This... I ask you?.)

Why You? (Khmer movie - Billed as a horror romance BL this is supposed to release this month.

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENTS

In my world we call this smug. (Only Boo!)

LOOK AT HIS ARM?! This has been your Goodness Gracious Great Guns Of Huge 2024 moment.

(All Wandee Goodday)

(Last week)

Streaming services are listed by how I (usually) watch, which is with a USA based IP, and often offset by a day because time zones are a pain.

The tag BLigade: @doorajar @solitaryandwandering @my-rose-tinted-glasses @babymbbatinygirl @babymbbatinygirl @isisanna-blog @mmastertheone @pickletrip @aliceisathome @urikawa-miyuki @tokillamonger @sunflower-positiiivity

@rocketturtle4 @blglplus @anythinggoesintheshire @everlightly @renafire @mestizashinrin @bl-bam-beyond @small-dark-and-delicious @saezurumurmurs

Sigh, Tumblr in it's infinite wisdom doesn't like too many tags.

There's these tricks, remember.

[kisses4kaia]

based on this .. hehehehehehehehehe also corio is very joe goldberg in this one. (dedicated to my baby 🤍. @casualhedonists)

coriolanus snow had many a screw loose, and you were not oblivious to that fact.

the thing about power-hungry psychopaths, is they are aware that their greed will never be fulfilled if they reveal their true intentions at the jump. coriolanus snow was dangerously good at playing the game, and he was not used to losing. you had almost let it go over your head, the red-like-blood hued flags, but something inside you had signaled, more like alarmingly blared, that something was very, very wrong with the boy you thought loved you.

and so, on a storming and unbecoming night, you packed up your whole life, leaving behind your people and all that was familiar, and you moved to district 4 and set up residence on the beach. you’d met a man, a gentle, caring, fisherman. no, he could not afford to buy you diamonds, but he could string organic pearls on a chain and that was enough. you ate all the fish your heart could ever desire and you let the sun kiss your once pale skin; which was due to the constant cover of clouds and gloomy mist in the capitol. you were content with your little life, truly, up until you received word your mother was sick and needed her next of kin to help her sort the affairs that would allow her to move peacefully onto the afterlife that awaited her.

the trip was short, but every second of it was spent with a worry for your mother gnawing at your heart, and apprehension to see a certain white-as-snow haired boy. you’d brushed off all thoughts, and figured since the capitol was a big city, the chances of you seeing him were slim—especially considering you’d seen in the newspaper that he was making a name for himself in the political world of panem. he most likely was much to busy to care or even become aware of your returning.

you were wrong. the second you stepped through the gates of panem’s state of the capitol, you felt eyes on you. even after checking over your shoulders and finding nothing but stone architecture on display all over the city, the uneasiness of it all still twisted your gut.

nonetheless, you spent your time in the city of lights and glamour as intended, caring for your mother until she succumbed to a painless, peaceful, death. you saw to the funeral details with a heavy heart, and it was there you felt your heart drop to your toes. the man you’d spent so many years away from, standing in all his haughty glory. his ultramarine, icy, eyes containing nothing but a crazed longing within them. he’d stood across the cemetery in a long, black, fleece, trenchcoat. his hair was no longer a mess of ruddy, gold, curls, but now a styled as a contained, important, slick back—hauntingly, he resembled a ghost, and in a way, he was. a ghost of your past, the scariest one. his eyes glued onto yours as the pastor spoke a few words in honor of your late mother, and you had to swallow your fear for what would follow after the ceremony.

the second the final ‘amen’ left father glenndon’s lips, you turned on your heels, whispering a quiet goodbye to your the soil your mother laid beneath and made a break for it. he was so tall, legs so long and graceful, he caught up with you within a moment. as his cold, ring cluttered, fingers brace the sides of your arms, forcing you to a halt against the tallest stone grave in all of the graveyard, obscuring you from anybody’s view—which only fed your terror—you had to focus on your breathing so as to not let fearful tears slip from your eyes. “get your hands off of me,” your voice was shaky, because you knew just how unpredictable he could be and right now, all that you knew for a fact was that he wasn’t above tearing apart your life right here if you made the single wrong move. he did have the money, influence, and power for it, after all. coriolanus’ voice was sickeningly sweet, gentle, akin to your man back home. “hey, hey, i won’t hurt you, i promise. just wanna talk, that’s it, hm?” his hands move from your shoulders to your face, caressing his thumb against your tear-stained cheek. you shake your head, to deny the request and to get the feeling of his skin off of yours. “no, no. please, coriolanus, let me go home. i have a fiancée, who loves me and-“ your rambling is cut short but a wide-eyed, almost concerned, interjection from him. “he doesn’t love you like i do! i would kill for you, do you understand? he wouldn’t go to any lengths necessary to keep you safe—can’t you see that? i mean, there isn’t a line in the world that i wouldn’t cross for you! i’m not mad, i forgive you for leaving, i know you were just scared, just wish you talked to me, is all. please, dove, come back to the capitol. i haven’t been able to manage since you disappeared. can’t live without you, dove, i won’t,” you wince at the nickname, not having heard it since you left. “i can’t. i have a life in four, snow. i can’t just leave,”

there’s a pained flinch at the use of his last name, having been so used to your sweet, little, pet names you once used just for him. you probably call your fisherman back home those things now, and that thought made his blood boil more than any other. suddenly, almost as if stepping into a role, a character, his eyes deepen, like a bottomless pool of sorrow. “you didn’t seem to think so all those years ago,”

his devastating voice, his despaired, tragically blue, eyes distorted your judgement, and all of a sudden, he wasn’t coriolanus snow anymore. he was corio, your corio.

somehow, in some weird, twisted, round-a-bout way, that’s how you ended up here, writhing on his fingers, his venom-slick sweet nothings spilling into your ears as praises as you come undone on his hands. then on his tongue. and finally, after he’d spent so long giving himself orgasms with only the memory of you spurring him, you’d unraveled on his cock.

and he knew, he had you. he knew, baby came home.

[icallhimjoey]

To Have And To Scold

♥ ♥  Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your best friends are getting married, and who else can they ask to be their best man and maid of honour but you and Joe? It’s just that… you don’t really get along all that well, do you? At least, that’s what you think.

CW / disclaimer: sort of enemies to sort of lovers, slooow burn, language, drinking, hangovers, rpf, fem!reader, eventual smut

Author’s note: this took me a good minute, and listen, i promise there'll be smut!!!!!! just, give joey a minute, all right?

Wordcount: 4.7K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five - part six - part seven - part eight - part nine - part ten - epilogue

Joe didn't sleep a wink. How could he? He was in his bed, in his clothes still, and your behind was pressed up against his front.

All night he'd laid awake. Listened to you. Smelt you. Felt you. Around the 4AM mark, he'd built up enough courage to let his fingertips stroke the skin he could see in front of him, drawing shapes and writing words he was too scared to vocalise.

Pretty.

Sweet.

Hot.

Across your shoulders, down your arms, the back of your neck. He got to freely feel and gently caress, hidden in the dark of night. He only stopped when you hummed too loudly, made a noise that said, yes, more. Joe retracted, silently said, I'm sorry, I shouldn't, and held his breath in fear of you waking up from his touch.

It took everything inside him not to move forward just an inch and let his cupid's bow, that little sensitive ridge above his top lip, rub the soft skin at the base of your neck.

The last time he checked the time, it was close to 5:30. He didn't remember falling asleep - do people ever? - but he couldn't have been asleep for much more than an hour when you rudely awoke him by throwing your body sideways over his. Soft stomach to soft stomach.

Bread.

Joe had to pull strength up from his toes to pretend to be asleep still, as you stayed like that, draped across his torso, slowly eating the bread he'd left out on his bedside table for you.

It was one thing to hear you chew and swallow. It was a whole other thing to feel it in his own gut.

The glass of water followed, and thank the fucking lord, soon after you crawled back to what had now become your side of his bed.

Shit.

That side would now forever be your side of Joe's bed. It didn't matter who else was ever going to be sleeping in it, his bed was now divided in your side and his side.

The hangover was a real one, and after taking a dazed second to yourself, sat up in Joe's bed and looking around the room, you decided you couldn't be in bed any longer.

You needed to sit under a cold shower. Or lay with your cheek on a cool toilet seat. Spray your face with ice water and then go exist in front of an aircon unit for a minute.

Joe felt you move towards the foot of the bed before the mattress leveled out, signaling you'd gotten out completely. Soft footsteps left his bedroom. Joe heard a door open, then shut immediately. Then another. More footsteps, but now coming back, and Joe lifted his head, squinting through an eye to gather what was going on. You were stood in front of Joe's bedroom door, out on the landing, and seemed... lost. Clearly out of it, still. Purely surviving.

"Where's your-" it came out all hoarse, so you cleared your throat, got rid of the raspiness and looked at Joe. "Where's your bathroom?" voice still just as croaky.

Joe let his head fall back into the pillow and just pointed.

You spent far too long in the bathroom for Joe's liking. It gave him way too much time to think about how this morning was going to go. Too much time to go back and forth between what he thought he should do. For now, he was still very tired, wanted to remain in bed in desperate need of more sleep, but he was also very aware that the polite thing to do was to at least offer you breakfast. To go downstairs with you once you were done doing... whatever you were doing in there. The tap of his sink had been going for a while.

It was because you were busy with the very necessary task of letting cool water run over your face sideways, sometimes sucking in enough water to swallow a good moutful. You know, total normal people behaviour.

It had gotten to the point where Joe thought he should at least get out of bed and get into a pair of joggers and a T-shirt. To appear a little more presentable, even though he desperately wanted to get into a shower first. However, his thoughts were interrupted when your phone started ringing. Joe looked, and saw your opened bag still on the floor next to him. He could see how your phone lit up the inside of it.

You'd heard it too, and came rushing in.

"Morning," you smiled through squinty eyes, all self-deprecatingly, holding a towel that you used to dry your face and how the fuck were you still this wildly gorgeous?

"Nice bedhead," you pointed out from your crouched position next to the bed, finding your phone and turning on your heel and making your way back over to Joe's bathroom as you answered.

It made Joe raise an insecure hand into his loose curls, doing his best to push them back into place, where they'd usually sit.

You left the towel there, on the floor, and Joe saw how your make-up had left behind the same coloured stains as were on the sleeve of his shirt, still. Not as prominent, but definitely there. It felt like you were leaving your mark to advertise your presence, claiming your territory and Joe thought, yea that's right, you might as well, though no need, because it was already all yours anyway, wasn't it?

"Hey,"

You answered, and spoke so flatly, Joe guessed it was Mark calling.

"Yea, big one,"

You'd left the bathroom door open this time, and using context clues, Joe thought you'd just been asked if you had a hangover.

"Not much– I think I remember enough to know I'm an awful person,"

Joe eavesdropped.

"Except, I am an awful person,"

The tap turned on again, and Joe heard you take sips. Good, he thought. Rehydrate.

"Okay, thanks, but I kind of still am, though,"

"Let's agree to disagree, then. Is Poppy mad at me?"

"Oh, that's good."

"Yea, lunch is fine, can we go and get burgers or something?"

Joe couldn't help but grin to himself. This was exactly how apologies worked with him and Poppy as well. They were always strange sort of non-apologies, where you both vaguely acknowledged something and quickly moved on. Sometimes Poppy and Joe could be livid with each other, and not speak for a few days besides passive aggressive texts back and forth, and then, suddenly, skies would clear up and Joe'd ask if Poppy wanted to come with to some event, and she'd reply, asking what the dress code was and everything would be forgotten and forgiven.

"Noon's a little soon, gotta give me some time to pull myself together,"

"No,"

"Yea, that should be fine,"

"All right,"

You were rounding off your chat, and Joe realised you hadn't mentioned you were over at his place. Not once. Not even slightly hinted towards it a little.

Maybe you didn't want Mark to know.

Oh fuck, Joe'd done the wrong thing by bringing you over to his house, hadn't he?

Of course you didn't want Mark to know.

The sudden rush of panic made Joe finally get up and out of bed.

Quick. Get out of these clothes.

No, wait. Apologise first.

Fuck.

God, you'd woken up in a bed with Joe, probably not even properly remembering how you'd gotten there and obviously, Joe was an awful person. A terrible friend. What the fuck must you be thinking of him right now?! Joe should at least–

"Sorry,"

Joe was stood in front of his wardrobe, both hands on the doorknobs, internally screaming at himself, when suddenly you interrupted the silence from the doorway.

"No, it's–... no worries," Joe shook his head, frowning a little.

"For the mess," you gestured at your own forearm, making Joe look at his own. "I would offer to pay for the dry cleaning, but it'll come out fine in a regular wash, I promise,"

Joe gave a small, crooked smile. The careful kind.

"And, sorry for ruining the wedding shower too, I got way too–"

"I said, no worries,"

He tried. He tried so hard not to make this moment awkward for you. To have it be somewhat normal. Casual. Like he didn't currently actively hate himself for the choices he had made on your behalf.

"Well," you stepped inside, got closer and then picked up your bag from the floor, along with your shoes. "At least let me say sorry for hogging your bathroom for ages then,"

With both hands on the doorknobs of his wardrobe still, Joe's eyes followed you moving around his bedroom like a hawk.

You grinned at his silence.

Deep breaths, Joe.

"All right, I'll get out of your hair," you said, stopping in his doorway and turning back to look at him, jokingly adding, "Because it clearly needs a wash."

Oh. So, you weren't going to mention it, Joe thought.

"Do you want some– I could make you some breakf–" Joe started, but you winced at the mention of food, clearly nauseous still.

"That's all right, I'll find my way out,"

You really weren't going to mention it at all, were you? Waking up in Joe's house. In his bed. Laying on top of him for a second there... it just... it hung in the air between the two of you. It got no acknowledgement from you whatsoever. Well... Joe wasn't going to be the one to mention it either, so who was he to talk, really.

"I'll see you, um," you squeezed your eyes tightly shut for a second, "When's the stag do?"

"In two weeks,"

"I'll see you in two weeks,"

And with a little wave from the top steps of the stairs as you made your way down, you disappeared completely from Joe's view.

Joe forced himself not to wait and listen til you'd close his front door behind you, and instead took insisting steps into his bathroom where he hoped he could wash all this nervous energy down the drain. Scrub himself free of the embarrassment of you not telling Mark you'd slept in his bed. With him, no less.

Now there was a secret between the two of you.

Another secret Joe was going to have to keep from Poppy.

Awful. He was an awful friend.

But if you wanted this to stay between the two of you, Joe was going to respect that, and he would absolutely keep this a secret. Joe could hate himself for what he did and not talk about it to anyone, sure. No problem.

And that was that. Decided. Done.

About thirty minutes later, Joe stepped into his own kitchen, freshly showered, and hungry, and he found an empty yoghurt carton along with a dirty spoon on the side.

Grinning to himself, he traced your steps, found more evidence of you in the empty glass that had been placed in the sink, and, looking back into his hallway, the doormat that had slid out of place.

As Joe went to move it back into its correct spot, perfectly centered in front of the threshold, he was hit with a realisation that knocked the breath right out of him.

On your way out, you must have seen it. Can't have not noticed it. You had noticed it before, and had had it on your mind enough to mention it days after having seen it. There was no way that you hadn't seen that Joe's hallway no longer held the framed cropped photograph of himself and Poppy.

It hadn't even been replaced, he'd just... taken it down the night you had mentioned it and hadn't known what to put in its place.

Joe sighed, realising it was yet another thing he hadn't told Poppy about.

So, three secrets, then. Fine.

The weekend of the stag do came around quickly. The hen do happened simultaneously, and because Poppy had been sad over the fact that she hadn't been able to have you as one of her guests, you'd all decided to finish the night at the same bar. To meet up and 'round off together.

You'd have all of your separate fun, make Mark and Poppy dress up at least a little stupid - Mark was forced into a foam costume of a beer bottle, Poppy just got given a tiara that read Bride To Be - and would make them take belly shots off of strangers before eventually meeting up and having them do a belly shot off of each other.

Maybe not exclusively belly shots. You were sure you'd come up with more creative ways of drinking hard liquor. But shots, none the less. And whoever got most in, would win, and Poppy was hell-bent on winning.

"I'm going to get so drunk," she'd almost said it like it was a threat when Joe came to pick her up that afternoon.

"Oh yea?" Mark had been far too cool about it for Poppy's liking.

"There's not a chance you'll do more shots than me,"

"We'll see,"

And you did see.

It was just past 11 when your group of drunk men followed you into a basement bar after a long pub treasure hunt. You were met with shrieking girls, a very drunk Poppy, and a fairly sober looking Joe.

"Twenty-one!" Poppy shouted, her tiara all tangled up in her hair whilst she held up a bunch fingers that didn't mean anything.

"Shut up," you laughed, reached up to fix her hair a little, "You did not have twenty-one shots,"

"Twenty-seven if you count all the ones I dropped or spat out, too,"

You looked at Joe who smiled at you and shrugged as if to say, she did it. Mark had gotten maybe nine in, you'd lost count if you were honest, and his brain could barely remember his body had two feet down at the end of his legs.

Mark was drunk drunk. The beer bottle costume had been torn to shreds, and was now just a brown weird cropped vest over his clothes. Like an odd lifejacket created by a fashion student.

"Congratulations then," you squeezed Poppy's cheeks as she smiled, but got quickly pushed to the side by Mark who attached himself to Poppy's face, diving in tongue first.

"Yea, all right, that's fine," you scrunched your nose up at the sight and made your way over to the bar to get beers for the lads. Joe joined you.

"Half of those were water, but don't tell her," Joe said over the music. "She'll be devastated."

"Still more than Mark," you laughed. "She's a fair winner."

You both looked back at them as they ate each other's faces.

"What a couple," you jokingly said.

"Very romantic, this," Joe agreed, and you both laughed a little.

You'd just had enough alcohol to be sort of all right and normal around each other. Not drunk enough for Joe to not be hyper aware of the fact that when he'd last seen you, you'd slept over at his place. But, he could pretend not to think it was a big deal.

It was a secret, after all. Had to keep it that way.

You got an order in with a bartender for nine pints, and you took a moment to yourself to feel satisfied with the evening. To feel proud of yourself. Everything had gone exactly according to plan; all the guys that had been invited had shown up on time, Mark's brother was gracious and didn't make any spiteful jokes about him not being the best man, and everyone was having actual fun? And that on a stag do thrown by a woman? What a wild concept.

You started passing out lager, calling names over the music and handing over pints, when suddenly a random dude pretended to be part of your group and jokingly reached for a beer you were about to give to someone else. It made you laugh, give him a face as you avoided his hand, and before you knew it, you had him slurring unintelligible things into your ear.

Drunk men were like this. Predictable like toddlers. The antics of a child.

You kind of let him talk, and tried to decipher whatever he was saying. Tried to find an excuse or joke hidden in his slurred words about him getting one of those drinks from you, as you held a glass out to Mark.

Mark shot you one look and didn't even really see the drink.

Instead, what Mark saw was you being bothered by a drunk stranger that needed to back the fuck off if he knew what was good for him.

He was beside you in an instant, and used an arm to snake in between the two of you, wedging himself in between, his back turned to you, fully staring this guy down. The alcohol in his veins made him feel dangerously immortal, and his face gave nothing away, but the lack of humour displayed said plenty.

"Sorry mate," the stranger held up both palms and stepped back.

"Here," you tried to distract Mark by holding his drink out in front of him, which he took from you, but he kept his eyes on the guy who made his way back to his own friends.

"Mark, it's fine, he was only joking," you smiled, finding it both a little endearing and a little annoying that even in this state, Mark would make sure you were okay. He completely misread the signs, but still. It was kind of him.

When Mark turned around and let his exterior soften a little, you both had your attention directed to a furious Poppy who looked like she was just about ready to smash her glass on the bar and slit someone's throat.

Whose throat, though? you wondered.

"Why do you always do that?!"

Ah. Mark's throat.

"Do what?" Mark seemed unfazed by Poppy's outburst.

"Stop cock-blocking her all the time! She doesn't need you to always be all up in her business!"

Oh no, Poppy was going to go to war for you. An undeclared one, too – you hadn't called for troops. Especially not drunk, emotionally unstable ones.

But Mark retaliated with his own ammunition.

"Um, clearly she does. I take my eyes off her for a second and she ends up in Joe's bed,"

You heard an audible gasp come from the other side, and saw Joe, mouth agape, brows in a deep frown. Shocked, offended, dismayed, and not being funny about it.

"Excuse me?!"

For a second, you saw Poppy question herself as her eyes shot to you, asking, "Didn't you?"

"She did." Mark answered, giving you accusatory eyes.

"Mark!" you scolded.

"You told them?!" Joe couldn't quite believe it.

What was happening right now?

"And so what if she did?" Poppy got back to her war, aiming the barrels of her guns right back on Mark. "She can decide for herself if she–"

"She was drunk!" Mark said it like he was sober himself, which, you know, he very much wasn't.

"Nothing happened!" You looked at Joe, needed him to confirm that nothing had happened, just to settle this whole ordeal. But Joe was trying to follow whatever Mark and Poppy were even talking about with confused eyes, puzzling things together.

"Wait, you didn't tell them?" Why wouldn't Joe tell his best friend about it? That made everything so much weirder.

"Of course I didn't!"

Oh. Wow. Cool way to let you know Joe didn't want people knowing you'd seen the inside of his bedroom. Very subtle. Not at all hurtful in any way. You ignored the misplaced sparkle you felt in your lower stomach when you made direct eye-contact with Joe's wild eyes.

Jesus.

That was probably just the drink. Had to be the drink.

"I'm only making sure that she's okay!" Mark defended himself to his fiancé.

It was a wild crossfire. A whole big cluster-fuck of raised voices and slurred words. Poppy and Mark opposite each other, you and Joe in between on either side.

Poppy was saying all sorts of things on your behalf that you didn't need her saying aloud. Things like, "She's fine! She's an adult woman with a sex life!" and "She doesn't need you to act like a jealous boyfriend!", getting things out that had been festering within her for what seemed ages.

Mark defended himself, and mocked facial expressions the whole time, shouting things like, "I'm sorry for being a great friend," all passive aggressive, which only angered Poppy more.

In the meantime, you and Joe had your own fight going.

And Joe had heard what Poppy had just said, had just implied, and get the fuck out, you were so fucking cute when you got all feisty.

You accused Joe of always being so weird, and fucking rude, whilst he accused you of making him lie to Poppy, causing him to be weird. Like it was your fault that he hadn't been honest, that he had pretended he'd dropped you off at your flat that night, and it offended you to no end.

You were not going to take any blame for this – you'd obviously immediately told Mark that afternoon, when you'd gone to have burgers with him for lunch. The whole conversation had been about the wedding shower. Staying over at Joe's was hardly something you could've left out. And why should you have? You'd both fallen asleep in your clothes. Nothing had happened! And Mark had reacted very calmly to it as well. You'd mentioned it, Mark had gone, "Huh," and that was that. You'd carried on talking about the gifts they'd gotten, and the insane amount Poppy's family had spent on them.

It hadn't been a big deal. At all. So, the fact that Mark brought it up now as if it was a big deal kind of stung.

You were about to direct some anger towards your best friend, but it was difficult to get in between whatever Mark and Poppy had going.

"You always do this!" Poppy pointed an angry finger at Mark, who immediately grabbed onto it with a fist, making Poppy flail her arm to break free from it.

"I've taken shots from mouths of random men tonight and you've not once–" Poppy started, but got interrupted.

"You've done what?!" This was news to Mark and so definitely the wrong thing for one drunk person to say to another drunk person.

"You could've at least let me know," Joe got your attention again, and made you scoff.

"The fact that you even thought it was something to keep secret is fucking weird, Joe!"

No, not cute. Scratch that.

It was hot.

You got hotter when you turned pissy and spat Joe's name into his face. He kind of wanted to keep this going just for the off-chance of you saying his name like that again.

But before Joe could say anything back to rile you up any further, Poppy and Mark both lurched forward and channeled all of their pent up anger into filthy kissing. They just started grossly tongue fucking each other and fuck, wasn't that the right idea?

When Joe took a step to the side to continue whatever conversation he was having with you, he saw that you'd turned around and were moving towards the exit.

Escaping.

Just, walking out. Leaving.

Like you always did.

"Fuck you, I love you so much," Joe heard Mark groan into Poppy's mouth, and Poppy moaned so loudly, Joe could hear it over the music and, yea, all right, maybe leaving was the right idea.

You were fast. Already outside, walking backwards along the edge of the pavement as you eyed the street for an available cab.

Joe stumbled out of the bar and called your name when he spotted you.

You sighed, grumbled some swearwords to yourself as Joe jogged up.

"Listen, it's clear that you fucking hate me," you started when Joe got into ear shot. "And I'm sorry that I told Mark about staying over, I wasn't aware that you didn't want anyone to know,"

What?

"I'm sure it's all very embarrassing for you, but don't accuse me of making you lie – I didn't make you do shit,"

Oh no.

You got it all wrong.

"No, I–"

"You lied on your own fucking accord, don't rope me into shit like that, that's not cool,"

You raised an arm when you saw a cab pull up a little down the road after people had just gotten out.

"But no worries, Joe," you got all sarcastic, and the deranged combination of your frown, tight jaw and the mention of his name again made Joe have to close is eyes for a second.

Deep breaths.

Always and forever, deep, deep, deep breaths.

"I'll make sure to never mention to anyone ever again that I sometimes spend time in the same room as you,"

The cab stopped next to you, and you were quick to duck down and speak to the cabby. Gave him your address before moving to get inside. You saw Joe step closer then, and you immediately raised a finger.

"Don't," you warned, and Joe froze.

You didn't need Joe accompanying you home. You'd be just fine by yourself. Had he not just listened to Poppy going off inside, saying you were fine?

"I don't hate you," Joe blurted out quickly before you'd get into the cab and would disappear into the night.

He couldn't quite let you leave yet.

Not when Joe felt like this.

You just pressed your lips into a polite smile, clearly not buying it and just looked at him a second, then, by ways of saying goodbye, said, "I won't be a burden to you any longer."

You were leaving.

Climbed into the cab and were actually leaving.

No.

Absolutely not.

Joe saw you get into a seatbelt, attention diverted, and decided, fuck it, before he swung the door open again and climbed right over you.

"Joe, what the fuck,"

Joe ignored you, loudly gave his own address to the cab driver too, then instructed to drop you off first as he buckled up.

You stared at him with wild eyes, not quite believing that Joe couldn't just let you go home by yourself.

"I don't hate you," Joe said again, calmer now. "I never said you were a burden to me - you're not a burden to me." Much, much softer.

You, not so much.

"I don't need you to take me home, I can take care of myself!"

"I know you can," Joe's voice was low. "And you have done. Still do."

All fight seemed to have left him completely, and it took you off guard a little. Your breath hitched on an inhale, and you were unsure of why you felt the muscles in your stomach work when you looked at Joe.

But you were stubborn.

"I don't need people looking out for me, I know Poppy's plastered, but she was right – it's so unnecessary," you were genuinely annoyed that Joe couldn't have just let you get a taxi to your flat by yourself. You were tough, God damn it.

"It's just..." Joe trailed, and let eye-contact linger.

"No, it's not just. I don't need you to take care of me!"

You weren't just going to give in. You were going to get Joe to agree with you and then apologise.

"I know you don't!" Joe raised his voice slightly to match yours a little, before he brought it back down again, and said, "But what people need is hardly ever what they want,"

Oh.

Oh shit.

That shut you right up. You felt that sparkle again and it made you clench your thighs.

"And what people want..."

Joe moved in closer a little bit, and fuck all the way off. You wanted to kiss Joe.

"...is hardly ever what they need."

Needed that mouth on yours, and when Joe inched closer, you didn't move back. Did the opposite, actually and looked at his lips.

It was all Joe needed from you.

"Did you know that when you blush," Joe said, voice just above a whisper now, and his nose nearly touching yours, "It goes all the way down your neck?"

---

The Taglisted: 

@ghostinthebackofyourhead @dirtyeddietini @jasminearondottir @josephquinned @cancankiki @sidthedollface2 @dylanmunson @munsonsgirl71 @thefemininemystiquee @alana4610 @emmamooney @thatonefan-girl @paola-carter @figmentofquinn @haylaansmi @thewondernanazombie @munsonmunster @kellysimagines @mybffjoe @chaoticgood-munson @sherrylyn628 @bdpst-massacre @05secondsofsexgods @lovelyblueness @adoreyouusugar @nadixq @prozacandnicotine @munsonswhore86 @alwayslindie @breddiemunson @eddie-joe-munson @ali-in-w0nderland @pepperstories @phyllosilicate-s  @thebellenouvelle @luvrsbian @joesquinns @choke-me-eddie @alizztor @jnnyrd @did-it-work @capricornrisingsstuff @quinnsmunson @frogers @kennedy-brooke @daleyeahson @eddielives1986 @harringtonfan4 @sadbitchfangirl

(taglist currently full, sorry)

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Matt Shuham at HuffPost:

Donald Trump sweet-talked Robert F. Kennedy, Jr. with anti-vaccine talking points Sunday after surviving an assassination attempt the day prior, according to a leaked video posted on social media Tuesday. He also revealed details of the “very nice” call he got from President Joe Biden after the shooting. The video shows Kennedy on the call with Trump, whose voice is heard over speakerphone. It appears to have been published without permission by Kennedy’s son, who said the conversation took place Sunday. In the clip, Trump takes a friendly tone with Kennedy — who as an independent candidate for the White House is currently Trump’s opponent — and discusses false anti-vaccine views that they have both expressed publicly.

“When you feed a baby, Bobby, a vaccination that is like 38 different vaccines, and it looks like it’s fit for a horse, not a 10-pound or 20-pound baby, it looks like you should be giving a horse this thing,” Trump tells Kennedy during the call, as heard in the video. “You ever see the size of it, it’s this massive– and then you see the baby all of the sudden starting to change radically. I’ve seen it too many times,” he goes on, wildly exaggerating a typical childhood vaccine schedule. “And then you hear that it doesn’t have an impact. Right? And you and I talked about that a long time ago.” “Yep,” Kennedy responds. Trump, like Kennedy, has made his anti-vaccine views a part of his public image, vowing to cut federal funds to schools that have vaccine mandates if he’s elected — despite every state in the country having laws that, with rare exceptions, mandate vaccines for students. (Trump’s campaign has occasionally said he’s only talking about COVID-19 vaccine requirements, not all vaccines.) Kennedy and Trump’s anti-vaccine talking points have been disproven over and over again; decades of medical studies have supported the current recommended vaccine schedule for infants.

[...] Kennedy’s son, Bobby Kennedy III, appears to have posted and then deleted the video clip of Kennedy and Trump’s call, in a tweet captured by Mediaite and by NBC News’ Brandy Zadrozny. “I am a firm believer that these sorts of conversations should be had in public,” he wrote in the tweet. “Here’s Trump giving his real opinion to my dad about vaccinating kids — this was the day after the assassination attempt.” Neither Kennedy’s nor Trump’s campaign immediately responded to HuffPost’s questions about the call. But Kennedy appeared to confirm the authenticity of the clip on Tuesday morning.

RFK Jr. and Trump are two MAGA anti-vaxxer peas in a pod, as a leaked call between the two revealed.

They both pushed the insane myth that “vaccines cause autism.”

See Also:

NCRM: ‘Mortified’ RFK Jr. Apologizes for Leaked Video of Trump Spinning Vaccine Conspiracies

The Guardian: RFK Jr apologises after leaked phone call in which Trump seems to offer deal

[avelera]

I think the term, “flaws” as a necessity for writing well-rounded fictional characters is often misunderstood. It can lead to new writers thinking these flaws should be in a laundry list alongside their OCs hobbies, eye color, and favorite food.

All of the above traits shouldn’t exist in a vacuum. They all need to serve the story in some way, usually by illustrating plot, character, or themes in a way that enhances the story.

Saying a character’s flaw is that they’re “clumsy” isn’t really a flaw unless this trait stands between them and what they want in a meaningful way. Being clumsy is an obstacle for a dancer, or for a teenager who will be socially judged and derided in a meaningful way to the story. Even still, it’s a somewhat shallow and overused flaw.

What got me thinking about this is the fanfic characters I tend to enjoy writing are flawed people. The more flawed, the better.

I struggled to write Nicky and Joe in The Old Guard because they don’t really have any flaws. They’re never stupid, or selfish, or awkward, or mean. I couldn’t really write them until I wrote a story where the plot is that one of them gets returned by amnesia to his pre-character development Crusader self, back when he was prejudiced, quick to anger, and provincial in his world view. Then I had somewhere to go with them.

By contrast, Newt and Hermann from Pacific Rim are riddled with flaws, and it made them not only popular characters, but a blast to write. They’re rude, loud, snarky, selfish, self-involved, self-important, arrogant, and mean. They’re also both sincerely trying to save the world and willing to sacrifice themselves to do it if necessary. It makes them a wonderful mass of contradictions and it makes them feel like real people.

And recently I wrote about my desire to write Dream and Hob from Sandman as more like their comic selves, with all the rough edges and taciturn misanthropy and selfishness and rudeness that implies. I don’t want to write perfect people.

I saw a post that imagined Hob as passionate about returning artifacts stolen by the English to their country of origin. It was a very sweet post and fun, don’t get me wrong. But as a perverse creature, my first thought was, “Ok, but what if he wasn’t? What if he, as a former bandit and soldier for the Crown, wasn’t in favor of the artifacts being returned? What if he was the opposite?”

Now to be clear, I think it’s more in character for the brief glimpse of the Teacher Hob we see for him to be more worldly, more in favor of repatriation. I genuinely think that take is probably more accurate to the character.

That’s not the point.

The point is that I think one way to avoid creating these sort of perfect shiny soft characters with all the rough edges sawed off is to ask, “Ok but what if they didn’t do the right thing here?”

What if they don’t have perfect, up to date progressive political views on all possible topics? What if they weren’t always altruistic? What if they don’t always say just the right thing to their lover when that person is feeling down? What if they have moments where they’re stupid, selfish, insensitive, prejudiced, rude, awkward, or off-putting?

Personally, I think that’s how you get more interesting characters, who are more like real people and, more importantly, have room to grow or sometimes not grow in a way that better serves your story.

[queenwille]

I’d tell you that maybe you should try pressuring your government to agree to some of the VERY generous deals that Hamas has time and time again proposed that would get Israeli hostages back instead of ignoring them and killing anyone actually trying to reach out to return hostages, but considering you people rioted to let soldiers rape Palestinians, it’s pretty clear that human lives mean very little as long as the end goal of mass Palestinian extermination followed by wars with Iran, Iraq, and Lebanon in order to keep getting those sweet sweet US munitions is within reach.

lmao “i’d tell you maybe you should try pressuring your government…”

someone missed the news for the last idk… 10 months? or is it that you just read bias ones? thanks tho. also generous, lol. you really didn’t read, huh? i mean sure you didn’t, or else how would you have so much time to write dumb anon messages, if you did the proper research?

“you people rioted to let soldiers rape palestinians” let’s clear a few things, since you came unprepared to this conversation:

1. idk how many protested there, but if im generous i’d say roughly 300? but probably much less. do you know how many israelis are there? 9m, well… less since, you know, but about there. you people. lol you bigot ass, you do understand extremists are everywhere and usually take the front page, right?

2. not that it’s any excuse, but he’s detainee, not just any random palestinian. supposedly a Nukhbah, the elite squad of the al-qassam brigades. the same squad that orchestrated the oct7 horror. not that i feel any need to explain myself to you, but i would like it mentioned here, that i still don’t think it’s an excuse to what those foul idiots did to him.

3. despite all of that, as israel is a democratic country with rules and laws, it’s essential that they’re followed. furthermore, the IDF is a militant organization with even tighter rules to follow, so while wearing the IDF uniform, there’s literally no space for personal revenge and rules must be followed and that was strictly against the rules. that’s exactly why those soldiers, a week later, are still being held in custody, undergoing trial and in investigation, even though some, even government officials, are against their arrests and are being very vocal about it. yes, those protesters are still mad and protesting about it, it’s also part of the whole democratic country thing, you know.

4. bonus fact: prisoners aren’t even held by the IDF to avoid all kinds of conflicts, as it’s not their speciality and these are consider very high risk prisoners. israel has a separate organization the specializes in holding prisoners, both local and political, such as terrorists. after the IDF (or police, for locals) detains them, gets them processed and investigated, only the prisons’ agency can keep them, if needed.

and oh, yeah, sure, israel and israelis are so thrilled to get fucking bombed from fucking everywhere by all kinds of fucking bombs for uncle joe’s big bucks. said only by americans ever. y’all really overestimate your relevance like all the time, it’s amazing really lol and the way you love to project your money issues everywhere. exhausting.

see this as my daily reminder that:

✨not everything is about the USA✨

[palomahasenteredthechat]

I worked for Fan Expo at 3 of the cons he did. I was fortunate to work directly and indirectly with him and his team. He was never any of the things people are now trying to imply to make themselves feel better about the dating rumors. He was never dismissive, rude or over the fans.

He also was never overworked, mistreated or physically harmed. Never. There are politics with cons that are exhausting. But Joe was always polite and kind to everyone. He is very funny, reserved, dry and very very British.

What he was and is not is your personal therapist for your mental health issues. He made 42 minutes of screen time YEARS before and moved on with his life. Eddie was a job. The fact that Eddie became a hit was a delight. That he became a mental health touchstone for so many people is not Joe's responsibility.

But people made it his and that's not fair to him. I heard so many genuinely exhausting accounts of people's personal issues being thrown at this poor man's face, at his team, at us workers. He is not your savior. He is an actor. Fandoms have lost the line of what is acceptable to say to a total stranger because it makes you feel better. Pouring your broken energy into strangers because it helps heal you is not cool. Look at Chappell Roan.

His sudden behavior is surprising in that he genuinely seemed to want a sense of privacy and distance from the chaos of fame. It is disappointing that it is with someone problematic because he is genuinely a well spoken, gracious person. But his publicist is....a lot. And I think he has found himself taking care of a family/friend/business circle because he chooses to but that quickly becomes a machine to feed. I think with Vic there has been some Kool aid drinking happening.

Bottom line we didn't dream it. He was kind, polite, gentle, sweet and hard working. He matches energy immediately and some people were the problem not him lol. But what he never signed up for is being your personal messiah.

Wow, Nonny, there is a lot to unpack here.

First of all, thank you for your account of working with him. I know there are some folks that had disappointing experiences with him at cons from time to time, but most have not. As I've said before, I had a pretty good experience, and the folks who worked Fan Expo Portland were great.

I know the trauma dumping is cringe, and if it's cringe to watch on Youtube I can only imagine how cringe it must be to experience up close, over and over again.

Here's the thing though. Eddie struck a chord with people, for better or for worse. I know it's not Joe's responsibility to heal people, or save people, or emotionally caretake people. I get that, and I would hope by now everyone would get that too. But I would argue, that for 30 seconds, what people are paying for is for him to listen.

I know cumulatively it must be a lot. But the fans paid for the opportunity to say 'hey, you're great.' or 'hey, this character means something to me and here's why'. Clearly many felt that that character spoke to something they were going through. It really is a touchstone character for so many people.

There is a line between 'pouring your broken energy into strangers' and telling someone 'you made a difference to me'. I'm sure he had to endure some stuff that was uncomfortable, and the sheer volume must be draining.

But please, please don't throw all of the Eddie stans under the bus. They get to hold Eddie close in their hearts. There's no easy answer, and I really appreciate your perspective, I just hope that at the end of the day the good outweighs the bad here, because the Eddie true believers are the heart of this fandom to me.

Now then.

Your comment about Vic was very, very interesting. Is Vic an old family friend? Does he feel a sense of obligation beyond simply professional?

As an outside observer, things have at points seemed, for lack of a better word, discombobulated. I'm sure Vic is good at what she does, or Nicola Coughlin and Jodie Comer wouldn't be her clients.

AQP ran like a well-oiled machine. This hard launch however feels like a steamroller. And you are absolutely right when you point out what many of us have taken as gospel for him - that he truly craves privacy at the end of the day. So all of this feels shocking, honestly.

[hlficlibrary]

hey! do u know any fics w himbo harry? :)

Hi, anon! So here are a few himbo Harry fics for you!

Player by jacaranda_bloom / @jacaranda-bloom

Louis’ job should be simple. Harry Styles, one of the top ranking tennis players in the world, is every publicist's perfect client. He’s charismatic, enigmatic, and fit as fuck. The darling of the media, a national treasure, and a sponsor's wet dream. He’s also a goofball with the kindest heart, sweet, and polite, and singularly focused on achieving his goals.

There are just two minor problems. Firstly, Louis' debilitating crush on said client. And secondly, Harry has just accidentally Instagrammed a picture of his dick to his 18 million followers. So no, Louis’ job is anything but simple.

OR the one where Louis is Harry’s highly strung publicist and has a thing for his client, Harry is an international sports star and has a thing for his publicist, Liam and Zayn have a thing for each other, and Niall wishes everyone would just get their shit together.

see-through, need you by @holdingontochaos

Louis has a crush. He’s also a 19 year old virgin. Determined to get some experience before he goes out with his crush he enlists the help of his ex best friend—known in the university to get around, and star football player, Harry.

Harry agrees to help Louis practice and learn, and Louis always has been a good student.

OR the one where himbo Harry helps virgin Louis practice fucking.

You & Me Got a Whole Lot of History by @littleroverlouis

Harry is a 'born-lucky' immortal, happily coasting through life as he finds himself back in Burlington, Vermont. His life has been full of fun and excitement, but he lost his one great love three hundred years ago in New Orleans.

He never anticipated a reunion with his lost love in a Trader Joes, until he comes face to face with a very angry and apparently, very immortal Louis.

[slashbitch2]

Sinful Thoughts- Midnight Mass

Characters: Bev Keane, Father Paul/Monsignor Pruitt

Mike Flanagan's characters are just so interesting that I couldn’t resist writing a little something (expect more as I rewatch all other shows lol.) So here are two short n sweet pieces on Bev Keane and Father Paul.

TW: blasphemy but also like im not religious so idk, swearing, panic attack? Internalised homophobia, mans like a vampire idk how to label that, blood n injury !!

Proverbs 1:7 “The fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge.”

Beverly Keane had always hated your guts. It made total sense. You weren’t very religious, only attending church on special occasions, and even then, each sermon was a struggle to keep yourself awake. You drank and had fun, flitting between the island and the mainland living your oh-so-sinful life free of repentance.

The only thing that kept you tied to Crockett Island was your parents, who owned the only culinary establishment on the island. It was a simple restaurant that extended from the back of your house, rustic wood interior and a gathering of tables which mostly remained unoccupied. Each dish was cooked in your kitchen, and the door between the two remained usually unlocked, and so the restaurant was as much a home to you as your actual house.

The busiest time was always Friday evenings, in which the majority of the island’s community would flood into the already cramped room in search of drinks rather than food. Without these Friday nights, your family would’ve gone bankrupt years ago. And the island knew this, and thus the island descended. It was routine, one you were grateful for. At 7 pm each day, that door would swing open, a queue of familiar faces following the leader inside.

Whenever you returned home, your parents would insist that you help out, not that you minded, there wasn’t much else to do on Crockett.

The buzz you felt within the room was a rare occurrence on the island. You wove in and out of groups who would stop you to request another drink, or to catch up with how you were doing. Your feet ached from constantly carting drinks from the kitchen to the main room, and your voice was sore from maintaining repetitive conversations above the general volume level, yet you wouldn’t change it for the world.

“Yes, Mrs Scarborough I have missed this. How’s Leeza doing?”

It was so perfectly predictable.

“No, I’m afraid I’m only staying for the week, Mrs Flynn.”

“Such a shame! I knew you couldn’t stay Warren’s babysitter forever, but it feels like we barely see you anymore, Y/N.”

The same conversation over and over.

“Yes, Joe I’ll be with you in a moment.”

Predictable and easy.

“Of course, upon returning to the island, you neglect to join us for Mass.”

Her voice caused you to halt in your tracks, a tray of drinks balancing tentatively on the palm of your hand, the other free to gently nudge people out your way. And yet, Beverly Keane had planted herself directly in front of you.

You swallowed back your mild irritation at her intrusion. “I only got here this afternoon, and unless you’re planning on opening the church doors at midnight, I’m afraid it’ll have to wait.”

Beverley opened her mouth to say something else, but you beat her to it.

“Now, is there anything I can get for you, or are you simply enjoying my company.”

She faltered for a moment, the crease between her brows deepening. “No.” Clutching the coat folded over her arm closer to her chest, she stepped aside.

Normally, you revelled in your ability to rile her up, aggravating her self-righteous attitude to no end. Daresay you looked forward to your inevitable run-ins with Beverly Keane. Yet there was something subdued about her posture today, lacking in how quick she was to surrender.

You smiled at her. Not your usual gloating nor forced politeness, but a genuine smile, and who were you to criticise the concern that might’ve laced your expression.

This didn’t seem to help as her face darkened before she retreated further into the comfort of the crowd, leaving you with the distinct impression that you had done something wrong. The people of this island were outwardly simple beings, relishing their monotonous routine and bragging about the confined safety of their existence, but internally, to survive in such a place like this, each person was a complex puzzle piece fitting together to form Crockett.

And Bev didn’t just survive here, she thrived.

So, God forbid you found her intriguing. It couldn’t be helped.

Upon returning to the kitchen to collect the next round of drinks, you paused to knock back a shot of whiskey, savouring the way it warmed your chest. It had been part of your terms that while working for your parents, you were allowed to drink. They didn’t mind as long as you could stay on your feet, and nobody was here to leave any kind of TripAdvisor review, so there were rarely any consequences to your increasing inebriation.

While you bustled about the room, tending to customers and cleaning empty glasses, you found your gaze seeking her out every time: Beverly, in the corner, chastising Sarah Gunning, likely for her lack of faith, or talking to Wade Scarborough in hushed tones, conspiring about something. On your fourth trip into the heart of the restaurant, you sensed the weight of someone’s eyes burning into your back. Placing down the last two glasses of this round, you swivelled around as you stood up, and there she was, unsurprisingly staring at you with undisguised judgment.

In amongst the crowd, shadows engulfed her, the low lighting of the restaurant only able to reach the shining silver cross hanging from her neck. It shone so brightly, as if it were glowing, and yet this wasn’t what captured your attention. Instead, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from hers, unwavering with a simmering hatred, the passion of which stole your breath away. Your cheeks burned, the whiskey you had been slowly sipping at suddenly rising from the pit of your stomach to your chest.

You felt sick. You needed air. To escape from this cramped environment. To escape her.

Abandoning your post, you pushed past everyone and back into the kitchen, muttering a soft apology to your mother as you excused yourself momentarily. You picked up your leather jacket en route, memory guiding your movement to the backdoor. You threw it open and stepped out into fresh air, taking a gulping breath, and bracing a hand against the external wall of your house.

One thing you missed about Crockett was the constant presence of the sea. It was always near enough to hear each tide crash against the sand, carrying with it the promise that as each wave washed inland, it too would return to sea. Now, with each push and pull of the surf, you breathed in and out, feeling your chest loosen and cheeks begin to cool.

Rather than panicked, you now merely felt foolish at your reaction. Embarrassed. You had let Beverly get to you, something you swore to never let happen. She was a rude bitch. Not just to you, but everyone. A thorn in the side of Crockett. An expected antagonist to your every decision. But she was also part of the routine you had grown to love, a routine that signified you were home. As commonplace as the smell of salty air that invaded your nose, as irritating as the seagulls that cried overhead. She was part of the life you were accustomed to on Crockett- and yet wholly unpredictable.

Unlike the sense of calmness that pervaded home, Beverly brought conflict, like the storms that occasionally frequented the island, washing oddities upon the shore. She was wreaking havoc in your mind even now, despite the sea breeze lulling you into a sense of security. It seemed that you couldn’t escape her, though you tried.

You shivered, wrapping your arms around your form. It was getting colder each evening, emphasising that winter was fast approaching. Soon, you would leave the island, not returning until Christmas, when the cold would tighten its grip upon your home. Festivities would overtake all else during this month, the church confirming its place in the centre of the community with Beverly at the helm and- ah, shit. Your thoughts had drifted back to her so easily.

The sudden desire for the bitter taste of tobacco crossed your mind. It wasn’t something you often indulged in; a bad habit ditched upon arriving at the mainland, but being here was different- and often difficult, so a packet of cigarettes was always your first purchase after stepping off the ferry. Your hands fumbled about your jacket pocket, finding the crumpled packet and lighter. You lit one of the cigarettes, bringing it to your lips and taking a long drag, watching the dry, grey smoke seep out of your nose and into the dark nighttime air.

“That’s a terrible habit.”

The sound of a voice from behind you startled you out of your subconscious state.

It was Beverly, of fucking course it was. Who else would it be? She was standing in the doorway, warm light from your house radiating out all around her, like a halo.

“Your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit within you. You are not your own. So, glorify God in your body.” She announced to the empty sea air as if she were talking to the whole congregation. “That’s from Corinthians 6:19-20, not that you would understand.” Beverly sniped when you didn’t immediately respond.

You sighed and brought the cigarette back to your lips, not finding the effort to deal with her sense of self-righteousness. “I didn’t come out here for a lecture, Bev.”

“Then why are you out here?” She asked casually, as though you were friends, as though you routinely shared anything personal with the woman.

Instead of answering, you fired back, “Why did you?” instantly regretting the harshness of your tone.

Bev shuffled on the spot, standing up straighter, if that were possible. “I wanted to order a drink.”

The absurdity of her response made you scoff, incredulous at the poor excuse. You took another drag from the cigarette to make her sit in the silence, broken only by the crashing waves and the muffled sounds of human activity from inside. “You can wait.” You muttered, loathing the churning sensation in your stomach, which worsened as you saw Bev shift closer out the corner of your eye.

“That’s not very professional.” She pulled a face of mock disappointment, though you saw right through the act. “Am I mistaken or are restaurants meant to have servers?”

“My parents manage without me most the year, I’m sure they can manage an extra ten minutes.” You replied through gritted teeth.

Bev tutted, turning out to stare at the sea. “No, it’s fine I don’t want to be a bother. They seem busy enough.”

You rolled your eyes. She was just trying to get under your skin as always, to make you feel bad for taking a break. What you couldn’t understand, though, was her reluctance to head back inside. She was standing next to you now, staring straight ahead, lost in thought but saying nothing. You even noticed she was shivering, having forgotten to bring her coat out with her.

With the whiskey warming your gut, and the cigarette bringing heat to your chest (though you suspected it wasn’t the sole cause) you no longer felt the chill on the breeze. You exhaled, steeled yourself, and spoke. “You’ll catch your death out here. Do you want my coat? If you’re staying that is.”

Beverly frowned, but the expression didn’t hold her usual frustration or judgment, rather she appeared confused.

It didn’t take much knowledge of Crockett to guess that Beverly wasn’t one to receive such acts of kindness or chivalry often. She had never been well-liked, starting way back at school. She was a few years older than you, and amongst the few young residents attending classes each day, you heard the reputation she held. Beverly Keane has not a friend in the world except those who have no choice but to be nice to her in church, according to anyone you would ask.

“Sure.” Beverly didn’t utter a thanks or spare a smile as you slipped the jacket off your shoulders and passed it over to her. You watched her put it on, your heart admittedly fluttering at the sight. It was so mismatched in comparison to her modest, traditional woollen cardigan.

She stayed staring at you, eyes dark and piercing like she was trying to guess what you’d say next. You didn’t know either, feeling rather adrift in the moment.

“I was sorry to hear about Monsignor Pruitt taking ill on his travels.” There were many riskier things you could’ve said, but you decided to choose the safest option. “I’m sure it’s not the same without him?” You prompted, desperate for her to say something, anything to end the tense silence that had descended.

“It isn’t. They’ve sent a replacement until he recovers.”

You quirked an eyebrow, curious. It wasn’t often the island saw new arrivals. “How’s he doing?”

“Settling in fine,” Bev answered concisely, unwilling to divulge the tendency to gossip that seemed to afflict the community- yourself included.

You made a mental note to ask your parents about the new minister later.

“Are you…” Bev began, then trailed off, as though she were fighting an internal battle whether to pursue a civil conversation with you or not. She cleared her throat. “Is it nice being back on Crockett?”

You had to stifle a laugh at the awkwardness lacing her voice. “I guess so.” For lack of better words, you decided to test how far you could push this newfound civility. “I just ended a long-term relationship, so it’s nice to have that distance from her.”

A muscle in Bev’s jaw twitched, though she didn’t dare to look in your direction. There was a longer pause before she said anything, and you could practically see the gears turning in her head. “It’s not my place to judge who you choose to spend your time with- only God can judge,” she added quickly. “But perhaps some relationships are better left behind, on the mainland.”

You snorted, admiring her ability to avoid what was truly bothering her, but decided to push the topic further. “No need to be jealous. No one ever makes it to Crockett unless it’s serious.”

“I’m not!” The simple statement had been sufficient to rile her up, face flushed and mouth agape as she struggled to hold back whatever it was that she really wanted to say. “What on Earth would make you think I’d be jealous of your sinful existence!? It sickens me that you would even suggest that I-”

“Woah.” You held up your hands playfully. “Calm down, I’m only joking.”

She glared at you, and where you would usually find it intimidating, now it was only amusing to have sparked such a reaction from her.

Your amusement died as she started hurriedly removing the jacket, chucking it at you like it had burned her.

You dropped your cigarette to catch it. “Hold on!”

“I’m going back inside.”

“There’s no need to-“

“And I don’t want to hear any more of your perverted allegations-”

“Wait just a minute. I wasn’t suggesting anything.” You tried quickly to amend, instinctively stepping in front to block her path, and accidentally bringing yourself much closer to her in the process. Close enough to count every freckle dotted across her skin, to see how her hair glowed orange in the warm light emanating from your living room window.

“Move.” She growled.

“I’m sorry.” You replied instead. “That was stupid of me to say. It’s none of my business how you think of my love life.”

You said the wrong thing, again as she moved towards the door, and thus closer to you. “I don’t think anything of it.” She spat, disgusted by the very notion.

Now staring at Beverly with barely a foot between you, you noticed not only details that distance would not permit, but the way her chest was rising and falling heavily, that prevailing dark look in her eyes, which flickered down to your lips and then back up to meet your gaze and softened ever so slightly. Her mouth was downturned as usual, but her lips looked cold and colourless, and oh how you longed to warm her up.

Rather abruptly you realised that it had been too long since either of you had spoken, and while you longed to fill this silence, you found yourself with nothing to say. All you could do was simply stare at her, and more shockingly, she was letting you. No snide comments or snarky remarks, just her eyes, fixed on your face. Waiting. Holding her breath. You couldn’t be the one to end this tension, you both knew that. It had to be her. She had to show you she was certain. She had to-

Beverly closed the distance, lips pressed anxiously against your own. She caught you off guard, and it took a second before your eyes fluttered shut. And then there it was, that feeling again, the burn in your cheeks, the churning in your stomach like the push and pull of the tide. But this time accompanied by the gentle sway of her face in front of yours as she didn’t dare reach out to pull you closer. Her lips were chapped and cold, but soft and chastely seeking out yours. It occurred to you then and there that she probably hadn’t kissed anyone before, and a newfound determination took hold of you.

As she went to pull away, you encircled your arms around her waist, and she let out something that sounded like a gasp. Enticing her closer, you parted your mouth to close over hers, gently sucking her bottom lip, and feeling as she practically melted against you. Cold hands cupped your cheeks, her thumb stroking along your hairline. It was tender, daresay, loving, and over way too quickly.

Beverly was quick to come to her senses and jerked away from you, though her hands stayed holding your face for another beat or two. Her eyes were shining with an open vulnerability, one you longed to soothe, but knew better than to try. 

“Bev, I-“

Suddenly the air around you was cold, not in the pleasantly refreshing way you had earlier sought, but cold and empty. Similarly, that dark tenderness in Beverly’s eyes has morphed now, into something akin to hatred, prickling across your skin like jolts of electricity. Your hands dropped from her waist, and she immediately replaced that prior distance between you.

“Y/N Y/L/N, don’t you ever, dare come near me again.” She spat. “Do you understand me?”

You found your mouth inexplicably dry, the words unable to make it past your throat. You nodded instead.

In response, Beverly bolted, leaving only the resounding slam of the door as she fled back to the restaurant. Yet, despite her urgency to escape your presence, you knew this wasn’t over.  

Ecclesiastes 12:13 “Fear God and keep his commandments.”

On Crockett Island, there were just two places where someone such as yourself could be truly and totally honest: screaming your deepest secrets into the unmoving, grey sea, or at confessional.

The only problem was that your deepest darkest secret involved said priest hearing said confession, so that wasn’t really an option. And, you see, it wasn’t your only problem either.

Problem number two: the guilt eating you alive from said unmentionable confession.

Even if you were to sit inside the confessional, you could hardly think about him, let alone speak aloud what was bothering you. You didn’t know how to say it, afraid that the moment you voiced your guilt, God might strike you down, banish you from church- or worse, that Father Paul might. And herein lay the route of all your problems: you were a little too fond of Father Paul. He was the deepest darkest secret, your unmentionable confession. You were enamoured with the priest.

How could you not be?

He was the young, new arrival on the island.

The very second he stepped through those doors, you were hypnotised, revitalised, a changed person, one might say, and this was before he opened his mouth and delivered the most moving sermon you had ever heard. And so, you tried to absolve your guilt in other ways, mainly by praying as often as you could and avoiding Father Paul.

Unfortunately, on an island as small as Crockett, this wasn’t always possible.

Earlier in the day, you had bumped into him at the general store… then bumped into a shelf stacked high with products which came crashing down all around you… and finally finished off the most embarrassing interaction of your life by stumbling over your words of assurance that ‘yes, you were fine, and no, he wasn’t at fault at all.’ You were simply insanely smitten by him, though you abstained from saying that last part.

After spending the remainder of your day regretting such a moment, you decided to venture to the church and confess your sins directly to God himself. Remove the confessional part, the middleman, if you will, and confess to the sky above.

The sky was darkening by the time you had summoned up the courage to venture out to the church, the building perfectly deserted for your private confession. As you kneeled down in one of the many empty pews, hands clasped together and lips silently forming blasphemous words, only the sound of the wind whistling outside the church answered your prayers. “Forgive me, God, for I have sinned.”

The whole church was dark and vacant. And silent, most importantly.

“I know this isn’t how these things are supposed to go, but… well…”

Your knees ached against the solid wood floor, a stark reminder that you were not here for the comfort of your God, rather to face your guilt.

“I don’t seek absolution, in fact, I believe that would be impossible.” You chuckled to yourself, awkwardly, as if to avoid voicing what you dared not to dwell on. “But instead, guidance, and the strength to do the right thing.”

Glancing downwards at your hands, you imagined the small gap between them to hold your secret, and thus tightened your grip, reluctant to let it escape.

“Strength to ignore any sinful thoughts I have about…”

The floor creaked anxiously while you shifted about. As uncomfortable as you felt, this was necessary. You would force out the words if that’s what it took.

“About…”

You were interrupted as the doors to the church swung open on their hinges, smashing against the wall and startling you with a loud bang. The torrent of noise didn’t cease as the wind, now howling, swept its way into the building. The weather was worsening outside, yet that wasn’t what concerned you. Unclasping your hands, you swivelled around on your knees to see who had disturbed your solitude and were met with the object of your simultaneously, sinful desires, and most dreaded imaginations.

Father Paul stood in the doorway, his dark coat billowing around him as the wind tugged at its edges. He hurriedly grasped the handle of the door, and battling against the gusts forcing their way inside, pushed backwards until it slammed shut once more. He leant back, out of breath, a dark figure in contrast to the light wooden walls. His eyes, unnaturally sharp and piercing, scanned the empty church before they landed on you, still kneeling in front of the pew. For a beat, neither of you moved, as though the beginnings of the storm raging outside had stilled time within the sacred space.

Father Paul didn’t look surprised to see you in the slightest, though you couldn’t say the same at his intrusion. While the church was a sanctuary from the weather outside, it couldn’t provide shelter from the emotional turmoil within you.

“Oh.” He seemed suddenly to remember that you shouldn’t be here, face morphing into confusion as he stepped forward, boots echoing against the hollow air. “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to interrupt anything.”

You were mesmerised as he approached, tracing the light rain that coated his jet-black hair, and soaked his clothes. To have Father Paul summoned so suddenly, as you were repenting for your feelings towards him was almost unsettling. You weren’t sure whether this could be classed as an act of God, or merely incredibly unfortunate timing on your part.

Father Paul continued to walk forward, stopping next to you. A flickered expression crossed his face, a blink and you would’ve missed it kind of quick, but uncanny- so uncanny that a chill crept its way up your spine.

“No!” You exclaimed, remembering that you ought to respond eventually. “I’m the one that should be apologising, Father.”

“Whatever for?” He asked, expression unreadable and tone casual as he regarded your posture.

Feeling insecure, you slowly stood up, joints creaking from the cramped position. “It’s a rather odd time to be here.” You swallowed hard and smiled, rooted to the spot under Father Paul’s curious glare.

He studied your face, frowning, giving you the distinct impression that he knew more than he let on. That, perhaps, he knew exactly what you were apologising for.

“In God’s house, there is no odd time.” He answered. “You are always welcome here, Y/N.” There was a concern to his voice, genuine and gentle, which only made the guilt gnawing within you more intense. How could you confess to anyone but yourself that the mere sight of him made you question everything you thought you knew, everything important to you, even your faith?

“Thank you, Father.” You nodded, your head remaining bowed as you enjoyed a respite from the intensity of his proximity. To spend time with him felt wrong, and yet, you couldn’t escape the need for more. “I had better get home before this weather gets any worse.”

As the words left your mouth, you risked glancing up at him and were met with the striking impression of anger.

Pure, unadulterated anger. Or no, rather, hunger. An expression of longing you previously would have hoped to have seen reciprocated, yet now felt so violently unsettled by. His brow furrowed, and he stepped closer, a comforting- possessive hand reaching out but stopping short of touching you. “No, stay.” Father Paul implored. “The storm is meant to clear within the hour, and I could use some company.”

You found your mouth inexplicably dry, and simply nodded, accepting his suggestion despite the unnerving energy that seemed to radiate from him. Perhaps, you were just being foolish, and what you felt was a result of your ungodly thoughts rather than any kind of sinister nature to Father Paul. That must be it.

“Let us pray together. “He gestured to the empty pew beside you. “I cannot be the reason for your prayers being left unfinished.”

You chuckled and moved further in, allowing Father Paul to shuffle into the confined space, effectively trapping you. And yet, his body was warm and steady, pressed up against you closer than it needed to be. Still, you couldn’t bring yourself to move away, nor deny the jolt of something- guilt, desire, fear, whatever it was, as it deepened the tempest raging inside of you. This was morally wrong. You couldn’t truly repent when you were so enjoying his company.

Turning your focus forward, you reclasped your shaking hands, trying to ignore the way his presence clouded your mind. Though you couldn’t stop your eyes from darting across, just for a brief beat, but long enough to see his hands mirroring your own in prayer- his fingertips stained a deep red, dried blood underneath his nails.

You gasped. “Father, your hands! Are you alright?” Your arms fell to your side, futile, your gaze locked on the crimson staining his skin, checking to see any visible injuries.

“Oh, no, no…” Father Paul raised his hands before him to calm your panic, bringing that horrifying red into better light. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from it, yet what it signified, you couldn’t understand.

“I’m not hurt.” He smiled, reassuring, your gaze finally relinquishing its hold as you calmed down and looked up at him. He appeared genuine in his reassurance, and perhaps, if you squinted, flattered by your concern for his wellbeing.

“What…that’s blood… What happened?” You stuttered out.

“Just an accident. It really is none of your concern.” He brushed off your worry as if it were nothing, like the weight of it wasn’t pressing down on your chest, making it hard it breathe in the accompanying tension you felt around Father Paul. You were held captive by it all.

“I should…” You flickered between his impassive expression and the stained blood, fighting an internal battle of your own. “I’ll get you something to wash up.”

Before you could stand, the lights blinked and then stuttered out, plunging the church into an abrupt darkness. The storm outside had grown stronger, the wind crying and rain pelting against the walls with relentless force. In this darkness, you felt Father Paul’s presence even more acutely, his breath warm against your face as he leaned in close.

“No, stay,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “Please.”

You were certain. You had no other choice, and thus remained still, unmoving.

Father Paul was staring at you now. In the shadows of the unlit church, you could just about make out his face, his features darkening with the lack of light, and something more, something unspoken. In spite of the gloominess that the power cut had plunged you both into, his eyes seemed to shimmer, a picture of innocence- but it should be impossible, with no light source to reflect off of. In fact, they practically glowed, holding a temptation that, perhaps, wasn’t yours alone to carry. A shared burden of lust.

You edged closer, if only to look deeper at this unnatural phenomenon, hypnotised by the way his iris shone. He echoed this movement, closer to you, and then again, and again, until he was too close for you to focus on anything except his lips. But this was wrong. You squeezed your eyes shut; to take a breath, to regain your composure, to try and escape the hold Father Paul ruled over your senses. But what you hadn’t anticipated in all your sinful hopes and secret daydreaming, was how soft his lips would be as they hesitantly sought yours out.

Father Paul kissed you, so softly, his breath fanning across your face as he sighed. You leaned further, giving in to temptation, savouring the touch. His hand rose to your face, warm but firm, as you fell into his hold. Any thoughts of repentance slipped away from your mind, replaced by a feeling that you hoped would never go away. It was blissful. Nothing existed except you and him.

The solid wooden floor beneath your legs melted away, your cramped positioning becoming somehow not cramped enough. You wanted to be impossibly close, to lose yourself in the embrace.

A sharp pain against your bottom lip dragged you out of this state, followed by a metallic taste filling your mouth as you gasped, tried to pull away from Father Paul. The pain on your lip was hot and white, soothed unsuccessfully as his tongue lapped at the cut. You were uncomfortable, you tried again to pull away, but at some point, his arm had snaked its way around your waist, holding you against him: trapping you. Despite the blood pooling in your mouth, Father Paul was kissing you more fervently, his grip tightening like he couldn’t let you go.

You whined, unable to speak up as he pushed you backwards, his hands firmer and firmer against your cheeks. Gone was the softness, the hesitance, replaced only by discomfort.

Finally, you pressed against his chest with more force than should be necessary, and he parted, falling back into the dark mass of his coat, splayed all around him like a pool of blood. It matched the dark liquid that now coated his lips and oozed down his chin. Your blood.

He had bitten you.

Jumping to your senses, you scrambled to your feet, observing the pure hunger that had taken over Father Paul, afraid that should you look away, he might pounce. Your chest was rising and falling at such a rapid pace that you could hardly control the way your body shook. Tremors reverberated through your mind, as all else screamed at you to run.

Suddenly, a static click and light flooded the church. Your eyes slammed shut, your vision adjusting from near-pitch black to a blinding warmth which penetrated your eyelids in an amber hue. Blinking a few times, you forced yourself to look back at Father Paul, who had raised an arm to cover over his eyes, clearly struggling with the change in lighting as the power returned. But to your utter dismay, this newfound light confirmed your worst fear: your own blood smeared all around his face.

When you needed it most, light had been returned to the church, and thus your senses had returned too. So, before temptation could make itself known to you once more, you turned and ran and didn’t look back.

.

reminder to self to proofread this at some point lol

[zzombiecleo]

what love could get this vicious?

i'm only like 2 hours late technically? whoopsie daisy! here's day 4 of yuri week! obligatory @mcyt-yuri-week, please enjoy this (or not, its not everyones thing)! check it out on ao3 as well!

fandom: life series smp characters: ldshadowlady, zombiecleo, mentioned bigb+ others ship: ldshadowlady/zombiecleo additional tags: major character death, graphic depictions of violence, alternate universe - superheroes/superpowers, superhero ldshadowlady, villain zombiecleo, emotional manipulation, manipulation, manipulative relationship, unhealthy relationships, unrequited love, murder, revenge, grief/mourning, mental instability, brutal murder, theyre both fucked up in this one!, drabble, mcyt yuri week, toxic ass fuckign yuri (affectionate), soemthing something revenge something something two graves summary: a grief-stricken hero hunts an unrepentant villian — mcyt valentines yuri week day 4: grief/revenge

LDShadowlady, superhero extraordinaire, is, according to everything Cleo knows, usually quite a nice and polite hero. Sweet, bubbly, but capable of dealing with threats easily when needed.

Unfortunately, her friend BigB never seemed to have quite perfected that skill.

Probably why it was so easy to kill him, actually.

Look, Cleo is well aware that she’s a horrible person! It’s her whole thing! She’s a villain for a reason, people! Killing someone who betrayed her the way BigB did is really not that big of a deal. She has done domestic terrorism before, murdering one random hero is not her worst crime. Yet, it seems that it’s the one that LDShadowlady has fixated on. Or, rather, the one Lizzie has fixated on.

Maybe she’s just upset about Cleo’s whole ‘tricking you into finding me sympathetic, making you fall in love with me so hard that you start spying on other heroes for me and then murdering your best friend in front of you after I got what I needed’ thing. Actually, not gonna lie, that does sound like the most likely reason Lizzie is currently on a one woman hunt for Cleo’s head. Attached or otherwise. In Cleo’s defence, what kind of hero actually falls in love with a villain. Also, the little shit deserved it. Maybe if he didn’t leave her for dead, they wouldn’t have killed him.

Joe always tells her she’s very vindictive. He also often tells them it’s one of their best traits. So, realistically, this is fine. This is fine.

Okay, so maybe the whole ‘pretending to date her’ thing was a teeny bit mean, even for them. Especially when she did it to one of the top heroes in the country. Cleo is, to be honest, screwed. Completely and utterly screwed. Apparently grieving and vengeful superheroes don’t tend to be very delicate when it comes to dealing with threats like, let’s say, a villain ranked #5 most wanted in the country. A villain like Zombie.

Cleo is standing on the roof of an apartment building, a cool night time breeze blowing her hair back, the only sounds the distant cars far below. It rained earlier so everything’s wet and they’re left to stand. She’s pondering all her life decisions, trying to figure if it was worth it. Just as she’s deciding that yes, revenge was in fact worth them being hunted by a pissed off hero, she hears a faint splash of something stepping in a puddle behind her.

Spinning around, she’s greeted by pink hair and a tear stained face. Lizzie. Fantastic. Just wonderful! Everything is fine!

“You!” Lizzie snarls, “You bloody monster!”

“I mean, I think that’s very subjective.” Cleo says, desperately wishing they actually told her friends where they were going today.

“Oh my gosh, I-” She stops and smiles, something dangerous and just a little unhinged hiding in her expression, “You know what? I really want to see you die!”

She launches herself at Cleo, not even bothering to use her little flower power to attack, going in with her bare hands. They smile and dodge. Despite the lies, fighting with Lizzie always felt like a dance. This will be fun! As long as they don’t die, obviously.

Lizzie swings wildly at them, nailing a solid punch on her jaw. Her eyes are wide with prominent bags and she doesn’t seem to be wearing her comms or the legally required camera that all heroes should have. That’s not good. But it’s fine. It’s all fine.

“I can’t believe I trusted you! You lied to me and I trusted you! I-” Cleo backs up and Lizzie slips in pursuit, grabbing their leg on her way down and dragging them along, “I bloody loved you, do you get that?! How could you?”

Lizzie climbs on top of her, keeping them on the ground and murmurs “The worst part is that I still bloody do! Because I’m stupid. And you’re beautiful. And you knew exactly what to say every time. I can’t believe I fell for you, for all your stupid lies!”

Cleo finally struggles free and throws Lizzie off of her and takes several steps back, wishing they kept comms on them.

“When you- When I saw you k-kill him, it didn’t quite hit and my first thought was about blummin’ heck, it was about helping you cover it up! You charmed that bloody badly, trained me like a blummin’ dog!” She stands, her costume dirty and wet, hands shaking, and they take some more steps back, “Can you even imagine how much I loved you? How much I still do because you know, I told you, that I hate letting go of people? You bloody monster. Did you ever even care?”

“LDShado-”

“Don’t! You know my name. I know you do, Cleo. Don’t be shy now.”

“Fine. Lizzie, then. What I figure is, I figure you’re real mad right now and- Well. You have the right to be, okay? I messed up, is what I’m saying. But I promise th-” They just wanted to buy some time, spout some of that bullshit Lizzie loves and get out. Clearly they didn’t say the right thing, not this time. No charming their way out now.

“No! No, no, no!” She lurches forward and grabs Cleo by the shoulders. “Oh no, you don’t! If you won’t say anything important. Then- Oh my gosh, then I suppose I can just cut to the chase!”

Lizzie pushes, far harder than they’ve ever felt prior and they land on the ground. Hard. Lizzie flips in her in a smooth move and grabs the back of her hair. They struggle but she won’t let go and the realisation strikes that no, everything is not fine, and that they never said bye to Joe when she left earlier and she left Scott on read and Stress was meant to drop by tomorrow and-

They realise the last thing they’ll ever see is the dirty concrete. The last voice they’ll hear is someone’s who loved them far more than they even thought of her. Will her friends even know what happened? There was so fucking much Cleo wanted to do! They wanted to tear down all this corrupt bullshit and have fun doing it! But now-

“I’m gonna avenge BigB. And myself. And my bloody heart! All in one!”

Nothing will come of any of it now, will it?

Then Lizzie pulls their head back and slams it into the concrete. And then does it again. Again. Again. Again, again, again againagainagainagain-

When the authorities arrive all that is left is a woman wailing and the unrecognisable remains of someone she thought was her forever.

[atopvisenyashill]

i love baela and jace and want good things for them but i feel like harry and bethany have like zero chemistry. at first i thought it was the writing but in the scenes where emma and olivia turn up, the acting is still phenomenal even if the scene is bad so… what gives? i feel like the showrunners are hesitant to give the younger actors a shot which is crazy bc that was a huge part of the success of game of thrones

i don’t agree about them not having chemistry tbh, i think they have a very sweet dynamic. when she was teasing him about pouting & his grumbly answer, i loved how they have this sort of jokey thing bc like, they’re not just engaged they’re stepsiblings! they know each other well, they’ve been raised together for a time, and i’m positive rhaenyra was floating the engagement before ep. 8 so jace has seen this coming for awhile, and baela isn’t stupid, she knows her father wants his blood on the throne, etc.

i think they don’t seem super sexy just yet because like….they’re just not allowed to be. i mean think about the other young actors - emily carey is introduced to us flirting with milly, and milly’s next scene is the sexy/deranged one w daemon in the throne room. we’ve seen tom & ewan shirtless and naked more than once. even in the og, you had like, maisie in that scene with joe where gendry is working out and arya is Watching With Interest to let you know arya is growing up, she’s got a crush, she’s noticing boys. we just haven’t gotten that with baela & jace in the forefront. we get it a Bit in s1 - you can see jace looking at baela with some interest when rhaenys announces the engagements, and baela gives him her own look during the s1 finale. but there’s no follow up! no talking about weddings or heirs, no deranged/sexy flirting.

also, my opinion on “why won’t they let them be sexy” is like….ugh idk i don’t want to start accusing people of anything but i do think there’s a weird Politics Of Sex thing happening here. my point of comparison is usually spartacus or farscape, for Genre Shows known for being sexy. And the great thing about those shows, especially spartacus, was that they clearly understood that Certain Types Of Sexiness is expected but others are usually shunned & they made sure to show the Others. So in Spartacus, it’s not just the white & lighter skinned heterosexual characters like Crixus & Naevia, Spartacus & Mira, Gannicus & his parade of baddies, that get to fuck - Oenomaus, played by Peter Mensah, gets his own sexy scenes and this is important because he’s the darkest skinned person on the show (and one of the oldest) and he gets a scene that is titillating and sensual just like every other actor. John Hannah fucks CONSTANTLY lol, and there’s a clear emphasis that his wife thinks he is SEXY despite his physique being much different than the gladiators. There was so much anxiety over whether Nasir & Agron would get a sex scene as two men bc the show is marketed towards dudebros, and then we got a long ass sensual fuckfest between them as soon as s3 started. Farscape meanwhile let EVERYONE get kinky - doesn’t matter if they were human, wearing alien makeup, wearing alien prosthetics, or straight up puppets, you saw those people tied up and fucking with tendrils! And that’s not even getting into my whole essay about the way John, Aeryn, Scorpius, Sikozu, and Braca all really fuck around with Expected Gender Roles During Sex throughout their narratives.

HOTD, for all it wants to be this sexy feminist show, clearly just like. Doesn’t realize that it’s deeply weird to only show Steve & Eve after they’ve fucked when every other couple has gotten at least like 4 thrusts in. They don’t realize how odd it is to desexualize Helaena so much in this role, when young Alicent is seen struggling with sex several times. They don’t realize how fucking weird it is to not allow Baela or Rhaena the room to be sensual, to be sexy, to even experience sex as a negative the way Alicent initially does! I can’t say for sure why that is, but I will tell you as a certified pervert it annoys the FUCK out of me aksksj.

[1waveshortofashipwreck]

Hi!! I just wanted to say first off that this is such a cute idea! I don’t usually do a lot of requests/asks but i could not pass this up!

-My name is Lara Lowry, I use she/her pronouns!

-I’m short (like 5’1”) and I have dark brown curly hair. i’m half irish and half nigerian so i look kinda mixed. i have really dark brown eyes that kinda just look black unless you’re really close or in the sunlight lol. i have olive skin, im kind of pale rn cause it’s winter!

- I am an ENFP-A and my enneagram is 2 if i remember correctly. i love very hard and get attached very quickly! my love languages are quality time and physical touch i think. I am somewhat outgoing but i love to be at home a lot too. I’m a cancer so im very emotionally charged and i wear my heart on my sleeve.

-i play the flute and piano, im in the wind symphony and orchestra at my university and i love it, but i also love to draw so im an art major! i enjoy theatre and singing. i love to write as well, i just wish i could be more motivated to do so. one of my dreams is to be a mother honestly and make a beautiful/loving home for my family!

-i really love a partner that is sort of grounding for me, like someone who can be my rock. (i am very codependent which is bad ik but definitely one of my flaws.) i love someone who is classy and gentleman like! i think chivalry is very attractive! i can be a little crazy sometimes cause i have ADHD so i also like someone who can be my calm counterpart but also be fun and crazy with me sometimes! ok this is very telling but i LUV gingers, they’ve always been my type. i also love me some scrawny white men lol.

-my b.o.b faves are definitely winters, liebgott, guarnere, webster… in that order :) so i would love to be shipped with any of them but honestly i love them all so i don’t mind!

i’m so excited for this and thanks! :D



Aaaaaa thank you so much for the request love!! 😁🥰

I ship you with…

Joe Liebgott!

A song from my liked songs that reminds me of y’all - I Was Born to Love You by Queen

How y’all met

Ok so you were in Paris studying art and one day you were just vibing in an outdoor cafe doing some sketching

Liebgott was out with Luz and Webster just vibing on their weekend passes

Turns out they were at the same cafe!!

So you noticed the three of them hanging out and being Adorable so of course it’s sketchy sketchy time

You do this gorgeous picture of the three of them that just really captures the playful energy and happy vibes they were giving off

But Joe noticed you looking over and immediately is like wow she’s heckin cute

So he tries to catch your eyes every time you look up and he does a couple of times and just gives you THAT SMIRK YOU KNOW WHICH ONE and he can see you blush from his table and just thinks you’re SO CUTE

Joe decides to excuse himself for a second and saunters over to you, like, he needs to talk to you or else he’s gonna explode

“Couldn’t help but notice your pretty eyes kept looking over” he smooth talks as he takes the empty seat at your table

Before you can respond he sees your drawing and is just like

Jaw drop

Joe just drops all of his flirty smooth talking and in a sweet, honest voice, “you drew that? …that's how you saw me?”

Sweet boy just goes kinda quiet while staring at your drawing but he quickly snaps back to his senses, albeit a little frazzled

“Um, I’m Joe,” he says politely, stretching out a hand to you

Long story short he got a weekend pass to Paris any time he could and wrote to you every day

Lowkey you’d always put a little doodle on your letters back to him and he’d never admit it but all week he’d be looking forward to your letter and see what you drew this time

How he knew he loves you

So it’s one of the times when he got a weekend pass and y’all are having a picnic in the park just vibing and having a lovely time

All of a sudden a baseball comes rolling over to y’all and you notice a couple of itty bitty kids have started running over

You pick up the baseball and hand it to them and they start to apologize but you’re so sweet and they’re so stinking cute they just laugh and say thank you before running back to their game

Joe was sitting back watching the interaction and all he could see was you with a bunch of little Liebgotts

It just kind of hit him, he doesn’t want anybody else, you’re his person

As you’re coming back to sit down he takes your hand and just pulls you into his lap

Before you can protest he plants a soft, sweet kiss on your lips

“I’m in love with you, doll”

You can barely hear it but it still brings tears to your eyes

And you knew you found your person

A conflict and how y’all resolved it

So it’s after the war and you were back at home doing some sketches

It’s around the time Joe is supposed to be home but he’s still not home??

Finally you’re about to go to bed and Joe walks in the door

“Hey love! Long day at work?” you say, trying to mask your worry/relief as you give him a welcome home hug

“Yeah, something like that,” he replies half-heartedly as y’all go back and get ready for bed

This happens three more times in the week

You never get to see Joe, and when you do see him he’s too tired to talk

Not to mention the Intrusive Thoughts start happening

He can’t be seeing someone else…right?

So it’s finally the weekend and Joe has the day off

Or so you thought

You’re up and making coffee when Joe makes his way out

“Hey babydoll I’m gonna go try and get a few fares in,” he says casually, about to give you a goodbye peck on the cheek

Except all the worry and loneliness just kinda boils out of you

“Joey I haven’t seen you all week and now you’re picking up cab shifts on Saturday!?”

“Well I was just trying to make us some extra cash…”

“We’ve already paid our bills this month! Besides you could at least take today to be at home!”

The air is heavy while the two of you just stand there quietly

Joe has an anxious look in his eyes, looking everywhere but you as his hand comes up to the back of his neck

You notice and tears start welling up

“Tell me there isn’t someone else,” you’re barely able to make out without a sob accompanying your words

Suddenly Joe’s expression completely changes

His eyes immediately meet yours with shock and concern

“Baby is that why you think I’ve been out every night?”

You stay quiet and look down at the floor, unsure if you feel silly, embarrassed, frustrated, or some combination of the three

“Oh sweetheart…” Joe immediately comes over and wraps you up in a warm, tight hug

You let a few sobs escape as you melt into his embrace, wrapping your arms around him

“You know I’d never do that to you love, shit there’s no one out there that even begins to compare to you,” Joe tells you in a quiet, sincere voice

“Then why have you been going out so much?”

Joe pulls away from the hug and looks down at the floor, almost appearing embarrassed

“I wanted to surprise you… I’m saving up for your birthday present.”

And you just ???? “What could you be getting that could need you to work so much?”

“I just always saw how you looked at pictures of Ireland and how you always say you’d like to go somewhere on a vacation…”

“Joey, are you saving up to take me there?”

“... I was saving up so we could fly first class and get a nice fancy hotel, you deserve the best…”

Now you start sobbing again but for a whole new reason

Joe looks at you again with concern when he hears you start crying again but you just take his face in your hands and give him the biggest kiss ever

“You’re the sweetest man I’ve ever met, you know that?”

He winds up staying home that day ❤️

Your Happily Ever After

So y’all get married after the war and you move to San Francisco with your mans

You have twin girls who you both love to the moon and back

Your family is just as you pictured it and so much more - like it's so clear to everyone how much all four of you love each other

Every weekend you, Joe, and your girls are in the park trying something new

One weekend Joe is teaching them to ride bikes and helping them up when they fall

The next weekend they’re showing you the flowers that they drew cuz they wanna be artists like you

At the end of each day after you put the girls to bed you just sit on your couch with Joe and lean your head on his shoulder and life couldn’t be more perfect

A silly headcanon about your relationship

Y’all always do family costumes for Halloween and it’s the best thing ever

One year you were superheroes

You and Joe were Superman and Wonder Woman and the twins were Batman and Robin

Another year you were Cruella and the three of them dressed as dalmatians

Nothing compares though to when the Easy Company Reunion fell on Halloween Weekend

So, unbeknownst to Joe, the three of you dressed as his friends for Halloween

Of course you dressed up as Webster

And the girls just begged to go as Uncle George and Uncle Joe

The only ones smiling bigger than Joe were Luz and Toye when they saw their mini me's

Joe keeps the picture from that Halloween in his wallet and another copy in his cab visor

aaaaaaaa this was so much fun to write!!! Thank you again for the ask Lara and for your patience 🫠 !!!!

[9w1ft]

I haven't seen anyone say this and I don't know if I am the first to say this, but I feel like the great war is actually about the heartbreaks and difficulties Tay and KK had to go through within the 4 years presidential term of Trump, and its written in chronological order. Also the most important part of this song is Kaylor survived the great war, they are still together after these 4 years.

First of all, the length of the great war aka ww1 is 4 years, which matched with the length of time when Trump is the president. And also it would not be the first time Tay wrote about 2016 election. In Call it what you want, we got All the jokers dressin' up as kings, which could been seen as a dig towards Trump. InMiss Americana and Heartbreak Prince, we got Running through rose thorns, I saw the scoreboard And ran for my life / My team is losing, battered and bruising I see the high fives between the bad guys. Scoreboard could been seen as the result of election, and bad guys definitely including Trump.

Then there are some lyrics matched perfectly with some events in those 4 years.

My knuckles were bruised like violets

Sucker punching walls, cursed you as I sleep-talked

here is Taylor cursing as Trump won the election

Spineless in my tomb of silence

Tore your banners down, took the battle underground

but she couldn't speak up about politics back then, which according to Miss Americana this totally made her sad. And she had to took the relationship with KK underground(love black out theory), because KK is linked with the Kushner which is linked with Trump. If their relationship got found out by general public, there would be some huge impact on the Kushner and the American politics.

All that bloodshed, crimson clover

Uh-huh, sweet dream was over

the 2014-2016 very high profile and sweet kaylor bff era was over, they had to go through the war

You drew up some good faith treaties

I drew curtains closed, drank my poison all alone

KK made a deal with joshua and had a lavender marriage, while Tay could only use Joe as a beard & disguise and suffered from the pain of watching the one you love married to another person (cue cruel summer)

And maybe it's the past that's talkin'

Screamin' from the crypt

Tellin' me to punish you for things you never did

So I justified it

this is so similar to the situation described in afterglow that they could be talking about the same thing:

i put you in jail for something you didn't do

and I know you have a very interesting theory that afterglow could be about Tay apologize to Karlie for her reaction to the suprise october wedding stunt in new york, which just fit in the timeline here perfectly.

It turned into something bigger

Somewhere in the haze, got a sense I'd been betrayed

this part is about master heist and the rumor that KK was feeding Scooter with Tay's secrects

Your finger on my hair pin triggers

Soldier down on that icy ground

Tay almost came out in the Lover era and KK was kinda a part of it, also after master heist KK still fought for Tay

Looked up at me with honor and truth

Broken and blue, so I called off the troops

Tay realized that KK never actually betrayed her and was hurt by her accusation, so she stopped asking her friend to like posts about KK's alleged betrayal

That was the night I nearly lost you

I really thought I lost you

Kaylor probablly broke up because of these things, but NEARLY and THOUGHT indicates that they got back together

And we will never go back

To that bloodshed, crimson clover

Uh-huh, the worst was over

I vowed I would always be yours

'Cause we survived the Great War

As Trump ended his presidency term at 2021.1.20, the Kaylor great war officially ended, and they have passed their worst time, they survived.

Also the other filler lyrics just totally matched with the theme, and now I think it is yet another evidence that Kaylor are still together to this day.

two quick sidenotes to clarify my perspective: i don’t think taylor ever really lost karlie (hence the words “nearly” and “thought” i lost you), and about my old afterglow post, i could have worded it better because often people have read it and don’t understand that i firmly believe that taylor and karlie both agreed to the wedding thing and knew about it in advance. i just saw it as a moment where the haze might have been thicker than usual.

okay so with that, i wanted to say that i very much agree with what you are laying out here! this is close to how i see things. i wanted to add links to some stuff i’ve written that i feel is related… here’s a post where i tried to bring together a bunch of similar lyrics that includes the effects of the 2016 election and here is a more lighthearted post i made in regards to me thinking maroon is about election night with a fun little ylm tie in at the end

i also think it’s worth pointing out that evermore (the song) was described by taylor herself as being written around her feelings regarding the election. i know that many see it as being about the failed lover era coming out and i totally get that and that was my first impression as well, but i do think it’s interesting that in the context of kaylor, the election interpretation as backed by taylor makes a ton of sense. also when you think about when evermore was written and released, right as / right around the time that biden won the 2020 election in november, we can see the “feeling so peculiar that this pain wouldn’t be for evermore” as reflective of them worrying that perhaps they might be in for 4 more years of trump, and the relief that came with the election result. **which is so specifically important to their story** and evermore will never not make me cry. i get so emotional 😭

anyway in conclusion, the great war is definitely, for me and for you, covering the trump administration years. i also think it’s worth pointing out what we have seen since. they may have still kept to themselves since biden took office but, might we all agree there has been a form of happiness, when you think about the ways their relationship has grown since? this is how i see things.

[death-by-mercury]

@hammill-goes-fogwalking thank you my beautiful friend 💖💕🌷🌸✨this game was so fun! I’ve been submerged in movies more than music lately so this is perfect.

My Seven Comfort Movies are:

1. The Clock (1945)

100/10 - Joe and Alice are so cute. Simple but beautiful and sweet romance story. No misery or negatives to it. You feel on the edge of your seat because of the time crunch they’re in.

2. Seventh Heaven (1937)

100/10 - same vibe as The Clock: simple and absolutely the sweetest. Chico and Diane are so tender and cute. Beautiful and innocent love story set in Paris 1914, unfortunately there is a sad turn, but I will not spoil it (although I will say, everyone survives - don’t worry) still very sweet.

3. It Happened One Night (1939)

90/10 - very cute. Another sweet romance. It’s not lovey dovey but you can still tell that they like each other for the majority of the movie. Nice ending. Funny too. I love it very much 😊😌.

4. The Good The Bad and The Ugly (1966)

100/10 - my goodness. This classic western is the king of westerns for me. I also really love Once Upon a Time in the West. Clint is breathtaking and badass. Tuco is fun and crazy and Angel Eyes is cool, they all fit perfectly in the film. The aura is absolutely spot on, the stunning score by Ennio Morricone just make the movie perfect, along with the scenery and the classic style of the movie. It’s beautiful. Always my fav.

5. Dirty Dancing (1987)

9.8/10 - cute. Me and my sister’s summer movie. Patrick Swayze is the beautiful centerpiece in this. The dancing is captivating. The songs are nostalgic and catchy. Only things I’m not fond of is the guy that owns a hotel that calls baby “kid” and Penny because I find them both so annoying and they are unfortunately in the movie for considerable time. Baby herself and her sister are kinda annoying too. Oh well…

6. The Mission (1986)

110/10 - heart breaking. Beautiful. The piece where Gabriel plays his oboe for the native people is so profound and beautiful. I love this movie. The historical portrayal is beautiful and the religious focus meaningful. Sad ending but I won’t spoil it. For me, Gabriel makes it the most sad 😭.

7. Mr Smith Goes to Washington (1939)

100/10 - captivating and beautiful. So inspiring and wholesome. Jimmy is so beautiful in here (as always). Mr smith is just a beautiful person entangled in the corrupt and rotten government politics. He shows what a good politician/senator should be like: he has strong morals and will fight until he drops for what’s right. It may be 2 hours but doesn’t feel at all that long. Great acting in this film, especially from the wonderful James Stewart.

I would like to honourably mention The Shop Around the Corner (1940)

because I love it so much as well ♥️

Also 100/10 - ah yes, another sweet romance movie with Jimmy. What’s there not to love but the bitterness that Ms Novak shows the lovely and Classy Mr Kralik until the end. Very cute and sweet with a lovely ending.

Tagging

@lonesomedreamer @shamanbluesss @thatmothertucker @boozilla-valentina @beanifred @m-00-ndingochan @jonesyjonesyjonesy @incurablyromanticsblog @greensleeves2107 @greyhound-locker

Give me your top 7 comfort movies

[bomberqueen17]

momentum

last year i kept missing updates and people were so sweet like “you don’t have to post X often! you don’t have to hit a deadline! do what suits your schedule!” and that was lovely and I did appreciate it, but the point of the deadlines was momentum. Now I have fallen down so thoroughly on posting ever at all, zero routine left, no concept of it even, that I have no momentum and my brain is like clearly no one cares about this so give up, and that sucks, and i’m exhausted and cranky and useless and shitty but by god i am not abandoning my like fifty WIPs that i care deeply about i swear and so anyway i am trying to force the engine to turn over, as hard as I can, i swear other people were excited about this and i can use that to get myself excited about it again, i can do this

so please help me get excited about literally anything, i am in despair.

SNIPPETS of THINGS i am TRYING TO MAKE HAPPEN:

direct prequel to Fit For Pearls:

“Did he ask you to tell me about the meeting?” Ciri asked, eyeing him.

“He did not directly ask,” Voorhis said stiffly, “but he knows I intended to ensure you had the opportunity to attend such meetings. Had he not wanted me to tell you, he would have needed to order me not to.”

“Is that how it works?” Ciri asked.

“It’s how that works,” Voorhis said, very stiff and formal and not much like his normal self. She wondered what he was trying to convey. Was it displeasure, that this was his task? Was it nervousness, that it was in fact not his actual task and he was perhaps taking advantage of some confusion to play politics?

She hated politics.

She’d chosen politics.

“I thank you,” she said wearily.

next bit of the Peace-Tied series, a tender little Iorveth & Yennefer moment with hair-braiding, very self-indulgent:

By the time they finished writing and elaborately illuminating the placard, Yennefer’s hair was caught back in a series of delicate little braids that then twined around one another, and caught her hair up off her neck. She was also inexplicably near tears at the tenderness of all of it. 

Iorveth knelt up to finish fastening the ends of her hair behind her ear, after having twined the braids up over her head. His body was a long, warm press along her back, his hands warm and big cradling her head. 

She tipped her head back and he held her like that, gentle and reassuring. “How’s that?” he murmured. 

She took a shaky breath, and he smoothed a hand down the side of her face, settling down on his knees to put his arms around her from behind, cradling her back against his shoulder. “There,” he said. “Now your hair looks like someone cares for you.”

“Is that what it means,” she murmured.

“It does,” he said, and pressed a kiss against the side of her head, above the hairline. “Thank you for fixing my face. I wasn’t ready to die, not like that.”

“I am glad that I could,” she said.

and finally this weird modern a/u (tw for self-directed ableist language in dialogue) i’ve been working on slowly forever that is so close to cohering and yet doesn’t quite, in which I think you can guess what Joe’s thusfar unknown real name is:

A hand caught him by the arm, two hands, steadying him, and helped him sit up. Joe was even more frightening up close; Roche had noticed the eyepatch from a distance but his face was heavily-scarred on that side, like somebody had gone at the eye with a knife and missed. Or, like something had hit him very hard in the face, taken the eye, then bounced off his cheekbone and twisted down his face. 

But his hands were strong and he steadied Roche for a long moment, and despite the frightfully leering aspect his damaged face gave him, his expression was actually neutral. “Is anything broken?”

“I got shot,” Roche gritted out, “twice, a year ago, this is as good as it fucking gets. I just landed badly, just now, and it takes me a minute.”

He saw Joe notice the cane. “Ah,” the man said. “I hadn’t realized.” He looked around. “Dogs knocked you over?”

“The saluki is a fucking menace,” Roche said. He couldn’t sit like this, it was agony on his hip. “They’re all fucking menaces.” He couldn’t get up, he couldn’t stay down, he was shivering with the pain.

“Let’s get you to a chair,” Joe said, calm and businesslike. “Where’s the damage? Hip and shoulder?” Roche managed to gesture, and Joe proceeded to mostly lift him unaided, which hurt like a motherfucker, but once he’d dumped Roche, surprisingly gently-- he was very strong-- into the armchair in the corner it was easier to get his various joints at angles that didn’t hurt. “Do you need anything else,” he said, far too neutral and calm. 

“Yeah,” Roche said, savage with agonized frustration, “I need to not be a fucking cripple.”

Joe didn’t answer for a long moment. “While I can relate to that,” he said, “I meant, do you have any medication or anything that would help?”

Gritting his teeth, Roche pointed to the paper bag he’d left on the sideboard, that still had the pill bottle in it. There were still a couple of pills in the old bottle but he wasn’t going to have Joe wander through his house looking for them. 

Joe took the bottle out of the bag. “One or two,” he said. 

“I can-- one,” Roche said, giving up; Joe was already opening the bottle. 

“Can you dry-swallow or do you need water,” Joe said, but he was already moving over to the dish drainer to retrieve a glass. 

“Water,” Roche said, resenting it. Joe put the bottle down and filled the glass, bringing over a pill between his thumb and forefinger, and the filled glass in his other hand. 

Roche took the pill and the glass, inwardly fuming. He could get the lid off a fucking pill bottle, and he hadn’t asked for this. 

“Would an ice pack help or is it past that?” Joe asked, and while his tone was neutral, it grated over Roche’s last nerve. 

“You know,” he said, “I didn’t ask for your fucking pity.”

Joe said nothing, just stood regarding him. After a moment, he bent down, looming uncomfortably close. “I know we don’t know one another, Vernon,” he said quietly, “but I want you to look me in the eye for a moment, and then tell me that you think I don’t know what it’s like to have to adjust to a new way of living after a bad injury.” *

Roche’s anger flattened out abruptly, staring into his neighbor’s mangled face. The remaining eye was green, astonishingly green against the medium-brown of the man’s complexion. “Uh,” was all he managed; he didn’t have an answer for that.

“I understand that you’re in pain,” Joe went on quietly, straightening up and smoothing his hand down the front of his battered jacket, “and I can extend you a little grace based on that, but I want you to realize what you’re doing.” He glared down at Roche. “One last time, is there anything else you need, or are you all right on your own from here?”

Face burning, Roche managed to grit out, “I’m all right on my own from here.”

Joe stared at him for a long moment, and then turned and left, closing the door carefully and quietly behind himself. 

The canine energy surged through the kitchen again in the wake of his departure, but then Strega came over and put her head in Roche’s lap, and he fondled the silky curls of her ears and said, “Awesome work, guys, we’re doing great!”

*yes this is the Look Deep Into My Eyes Ernie meme, i could not resist