#broadchurch motherfuckers

[leupagus]

REAL. WEIRD. ABOUT. EACH. OTHER.

[leupagus]

#step 1. tell your friend he doesn’t eat well enough#step 2. nick his toast

As the aunt to a kid who is even fussier about eating than Hardy, I can safely say that a) one of Ellie's kids has/had a similar issue as a child and b) this is the best possible way to get them to eat more

Oi!

[leupagus]

I'm making kirazi take the blame for this

because she said "what if you wrote a slowburn casefic for Broadchurch" and the entire plot fell into my lap.

~

"I mean yeah," Miller says, waving her chopsticks about, "I definitely would have killed Joe if he hadn't left, but I would have marched right over to that shitty little shack you used to lurk in—"

"It wasn't a shack and I lived there, Miller--"

"And said, 'Oi, sir, just killed my husband, here you go, I brought my own handcuffs.' I was never afraid of going to prison for that. If I'd killed him, you'd've been the first to know."

Hardy stares at her, busily digging through her container of bamee khai. "You'd have called me 'sir' when you were confessing to murder?"

"Ooh, plus, this skeleton's got all his teeth. Joe's got at least two crowns and got his wisdom teeth removed. So, there you go."

"There you go," Hardy agrees. He picks at his food but it's like grass between his teeth, too much work. He tosses it onto his desk and swears at himself when the dressing splatters onto a file, but Miller's already balling up some napkins to throw at him. "I did think for a while that you had killed him," he says, dabbing carefully at the picture of half-rotted shovel.

There's a choking sound; he looks up and Miller's coughing, using some more napkins to press against her mouth. "You what?"

"When you said it'd been handled, right as I was leaving," he explains. "I thought, ach, well, she's a professional, and I thought I'd leave you to it before you decided I needed handling too." He meant it as a joke, but she stares at him, stricken. "I didn't mean—"

"That's not why you left," she says, still staring at him. Staring through him, her eyes unfocused the way they are when she's got hold of some thread on a case and is chasing it down in her mind. "You left because if Joe's body ever did turn up, you'd have to investigate. And you thought if I'd done it that you'd catch me." She blinks, then glares at him. "I'm not sure whether to be touched at your consideration, or outraged at your assumption that you'd catch me if I had done it. Or offended that you didn't think I'd confess right off."

He gapes for a minute, trying to follow her logic, such as it is. "Are you angry with me for—"

"I'd be a great murderer," she insists, stomping to her feet and snatching away his salad and the napkins still held loosely in his hand. "You shouldn't be eating near the crime scene photos," she sniffs, and stomps out.

"What the hell?" he calls after her, scrabbling for some more napkins or tissues or something to get rid of the last speckles of lemon dressing.

[leupagus]

[rainbowpopeworld]

X

I really need to see David Tennant as Dr. Frank-n-furter. Olivia Coleman has a great idea

Afdjdkfbsk 🥹😍🥵 This is as close as we’ve got:

Also, as a USian, I just learned that British people call garter belts suspenders

[leupagus]

I think my favorite thing about this is that it's a different bench every time

BROADCHURCH 1.08 | 2.02 | 3.08

[scrambledslut]

if you’re into murder mystery/crime shows i highly recommend watching Broadchurch, not only bc david tennant is hotter than a motherfucker in it and i would sell my soul just to have him yell at me BUT the acting and story is genuinely so good and interesting, the plot twists are fucking insane i was literally left speechless when i finished season 1, don’t think i’ve ever gasped that much watching a crime show

[thealogie]

So I started reading you for mash and housemd, and now apparently I'm going insane over David motherfucking Tennant? I managed to emerge out of the superwholock era unscathed by anything and low key thought those dr who guys looked amazingly unappealing in such different ways and why tf people tied themselves in knots over them and which one is better, and now this? I checked Good Omens because of you (!) and then I watched season 1 of Broadchurch and just started Jessica Jones, and all this in the span of 3 days. And I just watched Tennant at SAG-AFTRA and I' m so shook I'm probably going to rewatch it again immediately... The fuck is that? How can this guy be so f attractive in every possible way? And what sort of person was that past me who was passing him by on Tumblr with mild disgust and zero interest? How the fuck this new obsession happened, I don't need it!

I vaguely liked him from being a theatre kid but I too scrolled past him a lot like “tumblr stop showing me images of this bland looking British man” and now I’m flying to London to stand at the Donmar’s doors like “please sir can I stand in the back to watch this man play Macbeth”

He truly comes for us all in the end 😔

[xxlumos]

I’ve known TLOU for years now but lately “Joel Miller” sounded too familiar, like there was another person named like that…

It’s Joe Miller. From Broadchurch.

This Motherfucker..

[leupagus]

YES FOUND IT

Broadchurch - 03x04

[alyosiuscreightonward]

Dear Diary. Talk about people who actually suck.

Recently my late husband’s dog passed away at 14 years old.

So…His kidneys shut down and he was sneezing and urinating blood all over the house. Plus he was 14 years old. It happened in a matter of days. I first thought he had lost another tooth and I went on about our lives. Then he just started to decline. He wandered around the house, just staring out and pee blood. Which leads him to start sneezing blood. I waited a day and told Childzillah we had to make that informed decision…

That’s what happened. I texted my dad on Father’s Day and wished him a happy Father’s Day but I was in a bad situation but I didn’t get into it with him.

Of course my sister had gotten those aforementioned texts just to shut the fuck up about it and leave me to grieve his passing. BUT NO!!!

My baby, my life, my heart, Harrowgate Broadchurch Cunningham Rogers has lost his pack. First was, The Emperor of Quail Village, Augustus Caesar Cunningham Rogers; he passed away due to neurological damage, he was 6 years old. Then there was, His Holiness, The Brother Levi Reddy Gudipally, he was 21. Now, CoCo Monaco Veronica Louise Ciccone Penn Ritchie Corleone The Third. However in between all this bullshit, my husband had passed away.

It was a trigger for me and I was dealing with it as best as I could. It reminded me of the days of yore when I had 8 friends die before I was 30 because of complications from AIDS/HIV. Okay. Not a fucking great time in my life. Granted my idiot sister wouldn’t fucking understand that pain since she’s 7 minutes younger than me and she’s constantly saying fucking shit like, “I’m the baby, gotta love me!!” Bitch. Please. Go ahead and have your Walmart Temper Tantrum elsewhere. No Sale here. I’m not feeding into it. “He’s picking on me!!” Fucking twat. Change your own fucking diaper.

As of this writing, I had every intention of calling my dad and telling him what happened BUT NO!!!

My sister fucking ratted me out. She put me on Front Street. She put that landfill on my dad’s property. Thanks a lot for that you stupid fucking idiot. “I’m SO going to TELL!!!”

I’ve been working on myself for years and now I’m dealing with shit better than before and the Lexipro is helping me not to feed into other people’s bull-fucking-shit. I’m of the mindset that if you tell me something, I believe in the sanctity of the confession and what you tell me, I’ll deny everything. “My name is Oliver North and I have no record collection of that memory.” I loathe telling folks that I’m dealing with my own bipolar depression, manic episodes of hypomania and suicidal ideations. I’m making progress. It’s a moment by moment thing.

Regardless of my rant, my sister will never understand how much she hurt me, again.

She’ll then claim I’m being so secretive about my life. Motherfucker, if I am able to tell you, then I would tell you and not put it in The National Enquirer or on TMZ. Nacho Bizness. Nunya Bizness. Not your story to tell. I have therapists who I confide in and not my family. They have a tendency to throw it up back in my face because they can and they will.

The love for my family is real and not just conditional. However I know that they don’t like me as a person because I’ve done shit and I’m not going to judge them but I’m going to say very clearly, that my dachshund and I WILL talk shit about them, but I’m not going to tell the world what I think because I’m irrelevant.

CoCo is going to rest in power but I will talk shit about him and not you.

Now you see why I stay over here and mind my business and I make every effort to keep myself out of your life and business. If you want me to tell you all about yourself, there’s going to be tears and they won’t be my tears. Trust and believe. I’m sure that you are not ready for my verbal and emotional abuse. I’m very good at it. My tongue is so sharp that it can and will clip the hedges. I’m going to annihilate you into a puddle of tears. Though this requires some effort on my part and I didn’t schedule that today but now, I’m going to tell her, that she can speculate about it since I’m not going to say shit to her.

Yeah I know that my dad worries about me but if it’s my shit then let me deal with my shit and don’t interject yourself in my business.

[surprisegents]

you ever just. need a rebound comfort show to deal with post-series depression

[whomuses]

@13thx for human Koschei (broadchurch verse)

She was broken hearted, truly she was. Faye was barely just holding on, but her sister was in an awful place. She'd been so determined not to go to he hospital, and she was so, so ill - Beth wasn't sure how she had even made it through the birth. And it was just the two of them. After all he had done to her, Koschei wasn't even fucking here! She was filled with a rage that bubbled deep in her chest.

The sound of footsteps approaching the van caused her to sit up, opening the door. Faye was wrapped in blankets, as comfortably as she could in the back of a van, the soft sound of gurgling. Contented baby noises, perhaps, but she was still so worried about Faye and her refusal to get any medical attention. The smell of sweat and blood was filling her nose, so she threw the door open.

She half expected police or worried people at the sound of screaming but - no. No. It was him. That - that motherfucker. With a cry of rage, driven by exhaustion and fear and sadness, Beth flung herself at Koschei, slender arm already drawing back to punch him across his smug face.

[bewareofchris]

Public Relations 8/??

R atm | Alec Hardy/Dr. Bill Masters | Broadchurch, Masters of Sex | Strong language, eventual sexual situations

“The fact that Alec Hardy was not currently, had not ever, and did not want to date the American sex research did not seem very important at all to the town of Broadchurch.  They did what they had always done with a little bit of juicy gossip: they made a spectacle of it.”

<<prev

The knocking was more like tapping.  It was a sound that was asking politely not to be heard.  Bill would have been just as happy to pretend he hadn’t heard it, but he had.  While he’d been called everything from bastard to motherfucker to asshole he had never actually been called impolite.  No, Bill Masters was (at his core) the a technically polite person.  It was that sense of obligation that dragged him from his bed, that found yesterday’s shirt to pull on and shuffled him from bedside to door.  His sluggish feet and his blurry eyes had taken a half-breath too long because the knocking had ceased and the space in front of his door was empty.

Alec was striding away from him, moving with more energy and purpose than a man with a heart like his could really afford.

“Did you need something?” Bill called.  He kept one hand on his own door and one foot in his own doorway.  He was wearing nothing but his white boxers and yesterday’s button down; it simply wouldn’t help matters if he was caught chasing after the man.

Alec turned before he got to the steps, turned and looked at him with pinched disappointment, and then acute embarrassment.  He jerked forward, like he was being pulled by the belt, and was back at Bill’s door in a minute.  “Get back in there,” was a rush of words almost unidentifiable as English.

“Oh yes, this is much better,” Bill said when he’d been successfully crowded back into his room.  He was standing inside the doorway and Alec was leaning in like he could actually use his stick-thin body to hide him.

“I lived through the night,” Alec stated.

“Congratulations,” Bill said.  “How are you feeling now?”

“I’ve got to go,” Alec said instead.  He didn’t bother to mention why he had to go, and he didn’t stay to explain why he’d gone out of his way to let Bill know about his continued survival.  Instead he turned and walked away.  “Close the door,” he called back over his shoulder.  He was still muttering as he went down the stairs and out of sight.

Bill meant to do as he was told (but not because he was told) but just before he could get the door fully shut, he saw a brown haired woman staring at him with her mouth gaping open in shock and her eyes lighting up in absolute delight.  Bill had enough experience to know, long before the woman moved to raise her camera phone, that he was standing half-dressed opposite a reporter.  Instinct moved him before his conscious mind could catch up with him.  He slammed the door shut and flicked the lock into place and stood inside breathing harder than any man who hadn’t moved an inch should.  

“Fuck,” he said to the empty room.  (And then he thought of Betty, lovely-lovely Betty who had sent him away to get his life together.  Who had told him to move on.  Who would be as delighted as that reporter to think that Bill Masters was having a gay fling and even more delighted to know the fully stupid situation he found himself in.  Betty would take one look at Alec Hardy and grimace to herself, she’d assess his skinny limbs and shake her head in remorse.  She’d tell him that there was no accounting for taste.)

--

It was as inconceivable to him that the Danny Latimer case could be solved with the unlikely reappearance of a skateboard as it was that it was being prevented from being solved by a God-damn dog.  

A fucking dog.

No, not just a dog, it was a woman with a cruel face and a dog.  No, not just a woman with a cruel face and a dog but a woman with a cruel face, a dog, and the unbelievable criminal that had taken the dog.  What sort of man took someone’s dog?

Maybe it was the same sort of man as the reporters that were flocked around the Broadchurch Echo hoping to catch any indication of what was happening.  Maybe it was the same sort of person as Olly Stevens who had stared at him with particular interest throughout the arrest of Susan Wright.  The stupid, young boy hoping to be a proper reporter had followed after him like an over-eager puppy.  

Hardy didn’t like any reporter but he especially didn’t like any reporter that didn’t have a head for what was and wasn’t a good idea.  The sort that interrupted a man at lunch to ask him questions that had no worth to them.  But Olly was a dumb bloodhound, following any scent that he didn’t recognize.  

“DI Hardy,” he said when there were far more important things to worry about.

“No questions,” Hardy said.

“No, it’s not about the case,” Olly said.  “I was just wondering if you would comment on the rumors--”

“No,” Hardy said.

“It’s just that I heard from an eye witness that you--”

Hardy had been walking away because he was trying to solve a murder, but the puppy at his back hadn’t stopped following him the whole time.  Maggie was back in the doorway of the Broadchurch Echo frowning from a distance but not moving an inch to intervene.  Hardy could see her out of the corner of his eye when he turned around to face Olly, he took a step forward toward the idiot and Maggie finally moved.  Hardy said, “tell them all to leave it.  There’s real news and there’s gossip and it’s about time you learned the difference between the two.”

Maggie was there in a second, sliding herself into the confrontation without prompting.  “Alright, alright,” she said, “come on petal,” was directed at Olly, “we’ve had a long night.  Let the police do their work.”

Hardy was frowning in disgust, and thrumming with outrage.  He turned around to find Miller standing there looking repentant and concerned.  She was smart enough to know that nothing could be said that would make anything better.  Maybe she’d only been amused when she found him with Bill, maybe she’d only told one other person and only because Hardy was a unfriendly and friendless shitface.  But they were here now, and there was no going back.

But that was hours back, before a headache, and a lost fucking dog.  

Miller came to find him in his office, looking sorry and carrying whatever passed for lunch today.  She didn’t ask him if he wanted it (because that too was a lost cause) but step forward to set the package on the desk.  She lingered at the door a moment before she finally said: “Sir.  I didn’t mean--”

“Doesn’t matter,” Hardy said.  He leaned back into the chair.  “Find the dog yet?”

“We’ve got everyone looking,” she assured him.

“Good.  We need the dog.”  And that was, as far as he was concerned, all that needed to be said about that.  

But Miller stayed another moment and then said, “I am sorry.”  

Hardy said nothing, and Miller nodded to herself and went back to her desk.  As soon as she was gone, he picked up the lunch and dropped it in the wastebasket.  (And it was childish, and stupid, and unkind but he could be those things if he wanted.)

next >>

@it-is-ineffable, @marvelmisha, @e3105eb, @may-darling, @bigleosis, @jiffry6969, 

[leupagus]

I think we all* need this today

*the fifteen people I've pied-pipered into watching/rewatching this fucking show

[backstreets]

Only Motherfucker in Broadchurch That Can Handle Me

A playlist for repressed legends ellie and alec. (songs and descriptions under the cut)

New York / St. Vincent. You're the only motherfucker in the city who can handle me

I Will / Mitski. And all the quiet nights you bear / Seal them up with care / No one needs to know they're there / For I will hold them for you

Strangers / The Kinks. So I will follow you wherever you go / If your offered hand is still open to me / Strangers on this road we are on / We are not two, we are one

Don’t Let Me Down / The Beatles. Don't let me down, don't let me down / Nobody ever loved me like she does / Oh, she does, yeah, she does

Behind That Locked Door / George Harrison.  And the tales you have taught me / From the things that you saw / Makes me want out your heart, please, please / From behind that locked door

Two Slow Dancers / Mitski.  But as it is / And it is / We're just two slow dancers, last ones out

Obvious Bicycle / Vampire Weekend. Oh, you ought to spare your face the razor / Because no one’s gonna spare their time for you / Why don’t you spare their world a traitor? / Take your wager back and leave before you lose

Holland Road / Mumford & Sons.  And when I've hit the ground, neither lost nor found / If you believe in me I'll still believe

Dead Sea / The Lumineers.  I headed west, I was a man on the move / New york had lied to me, I needed the truth / Oh, I need somebody, needed someone I could trust / I don't gamble, but if I did I would bet on us

Ship To Wreck / Florence + The Machine.  And oh my love remind me, what was it that I said? / I can't help but pull the earth around me, to make my bed

Bridge Over Troubled Water / Simon & Garfunkel.  I'm on your side / Oh when times get rough / And friends just can't be found

The Story / Brandi Carlile.  But these stories don't mean anything / When you've got no one to tell them to / It's true, I was made for you

I Am Not a Robot /  MARINA.  You're vulnerable, you're vulnerable / You are not a robot / You're lovable, so lovable / But you're just trouble

You Don’t Have To Say You Love Me / Dusty Springfield.  You don't have to say you love me just be close at hand / You don't have to stay forever I will understand

Everything He Needs / Carly Rae Jepsen.  He needs me, he needs me / I got everything he needs

Not With Haste / Mumford & Sons.  Your eyes, they tie me down so hard / I'll never learn to put up a guard / So keep my love, my candle bright / Learn me hard oh, learn me right.

Me and My Husband /  Mitski.  So I bet all I have on that / Furrowed brow / And at least in this lifetime / We're sticking together / Me and my husband / We're sticking together