#its either late for faith or early for tattoos take your pick!

[dragonologist-phd]

Prayer and Ink

A conversation about tattoos and vallaslin leads Zevran to reconsider what it means to have faith in something- and in someone.

Written for ZevWarden Week 2020, a combination of the prompts "faith" and "tattoos"

(AO3)

“Do they mean anything?”

The question catches Zevran by surprise. It’s been a long, tedious day of marching across the Imperial Highway, and the relative privacy and cool shade of the tent coupled with the rhythmic sensation of Allys’s fingers tracing against his skin has nearly lulled him to sleep. He slowly opens his eyes and turns his head, although Allys remains just out of view as she continues to lightly draw her fingertips over the designs that curl across his back.

“The tattoos?” he asks, and Allys nods.

“Is that what you call them?” Her fingers continue their journey, following the curves and lines of dark ink that wind between his shoulder blades, along his spine, down his hips.

Zevran gives her a half-shrug, gently so as not to disturb her inspection. “They are pretty. Must they have a meaning beyond that?” A grin creeps across his face. “And of course, they invite the attention of lovely wardens.”

Allys laughs and ends her study of Zevran’s tattoos to reposition herself so that she is once again lying next to him, her bright brown eyes level with his. Her hair has been released from its typical tight bun and now falls past her shoulders, framing her face in a halo of curls. Even after a day of trudging through the Fereldan dirt and mud, her smile is warm and genuine.

She laughs at his compliments, but Zevran isn’t joking in the slightest when he calls her lovely.

“You know, when I first saw you, I thought they were a different type of vallaslin,” Allys says, resting her chin in her hand as her eyes roam over one of the tattoos on Zevran’s cheek. “I thought they might be meant for some god I didn’t recognize.”

“I suppose they still could be-is there a god for devilishly handsome features?”

Allys rolls her eyes. “I’m serious! Getting my vallaslin hurt like mad- I'm not sure I would have gone through with it if not for the gods. At the very least, I think it would've been much more difficult.”

“What can I say? We Antivans are willing to suffer for beauty.” Zevran flashes another smile, but it fades slightly as studies the vallaslin- the blood writing, they call it- across Allys’s face. He knows the lore behind the vallaslin; his time with the Dalish provided him the chance to learn, and even to hear some of the legends of the gods. But his time with the clan was short and his education quick and basic, so there is much he still does not know. “What of yours, then? What do they mean to you?”

With a smile, Allys takes Zevran’s hand in hers and gently brings it to her face so that his fingertips brush against the dark marks of her vallaslin. She guides his fingers across her face, tracing the lines of ink up her chin, across her cheekbones, over her brow. “These are for Andruil.”

“Ah, I remember her stories. She is the Huntress, yes? How very fitting.”

“I thought so, too,” Allys answers, pleased. She closes her eyes, leans into Zevran’s touch, and after a moment begins reciting something in elvhen. “Vir assan. Vir bor’assan. Vir adahlen.”

Zevran has no inkling what the words mean- he hadn’t stayed with the Dalish nearly long enough to learn any of the ancient language- but Allys’s voice, low and melodic, gives them a certain weight. It’s as if the meaning is right on the tip of his tongue, but he can’t quite capture it.

Noticing his expression, Allys explains. “It’s the Way of the Hunt- Andruil’s code. I started learning that code from the time I was tall enough to fire a bow. I’ve spent so much of my life in the woods, learning the teachings of Andruil. When the time came to choose my vallaslin, it seemed appropriate to honor her.”

Zevran is silent for a moment, thinking back to his time with the Dalish. He’s learned the legends and the names of their gods, but the reverence with which the Dalish speak of their Pantheon…that isn’t something so easily taught. “Do you really believe in all those legends? They are good tales to tell, I give you that, but…”

Allys’s voice betrays no doubt when she answers. “I do.”

“Even in the midst of…” Zevran vaguely waves his hand, motioning to the entire world of calamity beyond the quiet sanctity of their tent. “…of all of this?”

“Even so.” Allys’s smile turns thoughtful, and her eyes go distant for a moment. “Maybe the gods themselves cannot step in and stop the Blight for us, but their presence is felt- by the Dalish, by me. It is because of Andruil and her lessons that I am alive today, that I have the skills to bring this destruction to an end.”

And there it is again- that sensation of being so close to something, but not managing to grasp it enough to even identify the feeling. In a way, it reminds Zevran of the Andrastians and their Maker. Something that just almost speaks to Zevran, but isn’t quite his.

Perhaps Zevran’s contemplation is showing on his face, for Allys gives him a searching look and asks, “What do you believe?”

Zevran quickly banishes his muddled thoughts and gives her a wry smile. “I am an assassin. The only things we believe in are steel and gold.”

Yes, steel and gold. Things that are solid and real, if somewhat less poetic than songs and prayer. It could be that in another life- one where the Crows weren’t constantly on his tail, one where he was able to settle somewhere for more than a few short weeks, perhaps even one where his mother never separated from her clan in the first place- he would have been able to take the time to study and prove himself and become part of the Dalish in truth, earning his own vallaslin. Perhaps in that life, he believes in a purpose for himself, believes that a god may look his way.

But that is not a life that belongs to him, nor one that he can truly imagine.

And yet Allys looks at him with a softness in her gaze. She leans closer and tenderly presses a kiss against his temple, at the start of his curving tattoo, then follows the mark down his cheekbone, planting more soft kisses along the way. Finally she moves to his lips, and whispers, “I don’t think that’s true. And I don’t think you do, either. You’re a better person that you give yourself credit for, and you don’t get that way through greed and violence. Maybe it’s not the gods, but you must believe in something greater than that.”

Zevran raises an eyebrow. “What makes you so certain?”

“Because I have faith in you.” Allys kisses his lips, softly, and then pulls back, the previous mischief returning to her expression. “And incidentally, that’s why I like your tattoos. Because whatever meaning they do or don’t have, they’re yours.”

Zevran does not know what to say. He wants to tell her she’s wrong, to try and make her see, but his throat is thick and the words won’t come. So he just kisses her again, deeper this time, and tries not to dwell too much on her words or the look in her eyes.

He thinks about it all later that night, of course. The thoughts simply won’t leave, and a part of him wishes he could go back to when things like this were easy. This should be easy. Just another mission, another conquest. But maybe…maybe Allys is not entirely wrong. Zevran is not a Crow any longer. In truth, he doesn’t know what he is. But when he thinks of the woman in his arms- the woman who not only spared his life, but showed him what his life could be worth- he realizes there is nowhere in this world he wouldn’t follow her.

It is terrifying, and exhilarating, and Zevran wonders if perhaps this is what having faith feels like.

[novelconcepts]

I love your filling in of the moonflower scene. Just the tenderness of it all 🥺

Do you think you might write a short piece about Dani finding the first grey in Jamie‘s hair in the future? Every time I see the gifsets of Jamie‘s (very sexy) grey strands I have to think about Dani‘s possible reaction

Jamie doesn’t tend to notice these things--little changes in her own appearance, little alterations made by the simple passage of time. Her attention, she scoffs when Dani laughs over her failing to pick up on a burr caught in her hair after a trip to the park, is better suited to other things. “World’s big,” she says, tilting her head to allow Dani to comb the remnants of whatever tree she’d walked beneath from her curls. “Why should I go wasting time starin’ at my own damn face?”

“Because it’s a good face,” Dani tells her. She doesn’t add that Jamie’s face, like everything about her, makes more sense than the rest of the world. That nothing about Jamie seems to come out of nowhere--every scrape and scar is accounted for with a story, every wrinkle turned out from the edge of her lips or around her eyes sparked by the familiarity of her frown, the inevitability of her smile. Everything about Jamie can be traced back to the honesty of time spent in the sun, or injuries incurred at work, or letting another year stroke its fingers across her skin. 

She notices the first gray hair maybe five years in. They’re on a camping trip, small tent pitched just upshore of a gently lapping brook; Jamie, crouched beside the water to inspect a turtle, looks up with a grin, and Dani notes a flash of silver at the crown of her head.

She doesn’t point it out. It’s too easy to anticipate Jamie’s amused drawl: “Got a gorgeous beast right here, and you’re worried about my hair?” She tucks the knowledge safely away, entertained by the idea that Jamie is carrying a secret upon her own head and has no idea.

She says nothing, but her fingers seek out the unexpected silver the next time Jamie comes close enough. She trails her hand through rumpled hair, watching the familiar warmth of brown cascade across her skin, pleased to find several more bursts of light wound in among the dark.

“What?” Jamie asks, smile crooking the way it always does when she senses Dani is about to poke fun. “Bein’ a weirdo again.”

“Am not,” Dani replies, and kisses her. 

It becomes a bit of a private game, an amusing turn of events: Jamie, the most naturally-observant human being in the world, has absolutely no idea she’s shot through with unexpected arcs of silver. No idea at all. At first, Dani thinks she’s intentionally ignoring the color leaching out of her hair; a flash of memory spirals back, Judy plucking what she called my little secret out by the strand and holding a finger to her lips as she reached for a box of red dye. Heavy maintenance is very much not Jamie’s speed, but maybe turning her cheek and feigning ignorance achieves the same goal.

A month goes by. A year. They’re turning up on their own time, these pops of colorless strands standing stark against dark waves, and Dani takes it upon herself to brush her fingers across each one she finds. She likes very much the depth they bring to Jamie’s hair, the way the sun catches a little differently when she turns her head. Likes the knowledge that each strand is a stamp of memory--proof of time spent. 

Likes, most of all, that Jamie legitimately seems to have no idea. Jamie, who tugs a black elastic band off her wrist with her teeth, raking the messy tumble out of her eyes, perpetually annoyed with the curls that always seem to evade her hands. Jamie, who spends hours with a book in one hand and Dani’s hair sifting through her fingers, and still has absolutely no clue what’s happening on her own head.

“You’ve never cared, have you?” Dani asks one afternoon, watching Jamie sort through their spectacular collection of cassette tapes, little plastic cases clicking comfortably to break up the quiet. Jamie, cross-legged on the living room rug with Survivor’s Vital Signs in one hand and REO Speedwagon’s Hi Infidelity in the other, raises her eyebrows.

“Seemed silly to go alphabetical while they were multiplying like fuckin’ bunnies, but now we’ve slowed down a little--”

“About looks,” Dani corrects. She’s hanging half off the couch, the tips of her fingers brushing Jamie’s knee. Life has been getting less predictable lately, messier around the edges; she looks into mirrors with breath held tight in her lungs, uncertain of what will look back. Touching Jamie has become less about habit and more a matter of lifeline. “You’ve never cared about how you look. Maybe the only woman I’ve ever known to say that.”

“I care,” Jamie says, with very little defensiveness. It is astonishing sometimes, looking back at the woman she’d met in that manor kitchen, how little defense Jamie seems to have for her these days. Questions are met in good faith, answered in kind, like Jamie knows there’s nothing Dani could ask that would intentionally bear teeth. “Care when I need to.”

“Like when?”

“At the shop,” Jamie says, tossing aside a Paul Simon cassette with a wrinkle of her nose. She finds Pat Benatar instead, sets it in the pile between The Beatles and Blondie. “Always look professional, don’t I?”

“But you don’t like--think about it? What you’ll look like in twenty years? Or fifty?”

“Fifty, Christ.” Jamie rolls back her head, grinning. “Be a hell of a thing, stacking fifty more years on. What d’you think you’ll look like in fifty years, mm?”

Dani doesn’t answer. It’s too early to tell what the smudged face in the mirror might mean--too early to panic--but the idea of fifty years more with Jamie seems terrifyingly unlikely. 

“Anyway.” Seeming to sense her unease, Jamie rocks up onto her knees, awkwardly shifting across the rug to lean against the couch. She braces a hand behind Dani’s head, her eyebrow arched. “You tryin’ to say I don’t pay enough attention to my looks? I don’t scrub up enough for you, is that it?”

Her fingers brush Dani’s ribs, digging in just hard enough to tickle. Dani squirms, laughter burbling out against Jamie’s neck. 

She doesn’t bring it up again, preferring the secret of Jamie’s slowly graying hair held within her own heart. The threads are becoming more insistent as the years drift by, joining tiny lines etched into Jamie’s skin. Her hands, put through so much work, are comfortably worn at knuckle and fingertip. Her smile pulls the skin around her eyes a little tighter as they celebrate eight years--nine--ten. 

She looks good with the extra age, Dani thinks. She wears it all so well, without pausing to prod at herself in the bathroom mirror; if she’s the least bit unnerved by the passage of time, she never lets it show. If Dani didn’t know better, she’d think Jamie never really looks at herself in the mirror at all. 

Too busy looking at me, she thinks, and tries not to ache at the idea that Jamie has forgotten herself beneath the need to keep her attention on what she considers more important things. Like watching for one of Dani’s moods to spike up in public. Like waiting for Dani’s shoulders to hunch against ghosts only she can see. 

Dani doesn’t look into mirrors herself much these days, either--though, every once in a while, a glimpse will sneak up. Just the barest flash of her own face in the passenger mirror of the car, or the idling bathwater. Sometimes--less and less often--the face waiting is even her own. 

It is so her own, those days, that Dani finds herself embracing a new concern. Something odd, something she’s only started to really see in recent memory. 

Jamie is starting to show her age, little by little. Not all at once, not in any way that is strange for a woman creeping into her forties--but the years are there, certainly, stamped gently into her skin. The years are threaded through her hair, these silver pops around which Dani’s hands seem to take on a mind of their own. There’s something wonderful, lively, even sexy about the way time is impacting Jamie--grounding her a little more every year, the natural wearing of all those hours hung like medals around her shoulders. 

Dani, catching sight of herself in the bathtub, can’t help but notice: no one could say the same for her. Not that time is beating away at her, not that time is turning her to stone before she’s ready--but that time appears to be doing nothing at all. Her eyes bear no extra marks, though she has spent just as much time as Jamie laughing, frowning, holding her breath as the world spins beneath her. Her hands look just the same as they had in 1987. 

Her hair is still stubbornly gold.

“Do you think it’s strange?” she whispers one night--not entirely sure if Jamie is even awake, not sure she can even bear the answer Jamie might give. 

“What is?”

She swallows hard, fingers carding gently through Jamie’s hair. The gray seems to gleam in the glow of the streetlamp through their window. 

“That I’m not...that I don’t look...”

Jamie pushes onto one elbow, peering at her in the dark. “You look like you,” she says, when Dani is unable to press on. “You look like Dani.”

She’s trying to answer the other question, Dani understands, the one being asked with greater frequency: am I here? am I me? what if I’m her, deep down, and have been all along? She shakes her head. 

“That’s not...I’m not...”

Jamie waits, brow knit the way it always has when she’s listening. Even when her expression smooths out into sleep, that small divot will remain, etched into her skin like a tattoo memorializing all these late-night conversations. Dani reaches up, presses her thumb gently to it now, her breath hitching when Jamie turns to kiss her palm. 

“It’s nothing,” she says. There’s no way to explain it without making Jamie worry more, worry again, lose yet more sleep watching for signs Dani is slipping away.

Jamie nods slowly, not quite believing, not quite daring to call out the lie. “All right,” she says, and the silver in her hair seems to burn, and Dani loves her enough to close her eyes and pretend everything is okay.

When morning comes, she wards off the thoughts. It’s easier, in daylight. Easier to turn her head, fix her eyes on Jamie, allow the familiarity of Jamie’s hands, smile, kiss sweep the fear back under the bed. The nights are long, the dark heavier than it has any right to be, but in sunlight, Jamie shines. The chain around her neck--the colors in her eyes--the silver shot through her hair. In sunshine, Jamie is the most alive any person can be.

And if she is, so must Dani be--because there is so much love in the way Jamie tips into her arms, so much affection in the sweep of her kiss, in the way she leads them around the kitchen in an impromptu waltz. Jamie, as always, burning away the shadows. 

Jamie, who dips her backward, drinking in her laughter with the biggest grin in the world. Who cuts her eyes to the right. Who tightens her mouth in surprise.

“Hang on,” she says, her hands still braced at Dani’s back and hip. “What the fuck is this?”

Dani’s heart gives a giant leap, her hands clutching at Jamie’s shirt for balance. This is it, she thinks. She can see her now. She can see her, not me, and it’s over, it’s all over, it’s--

“Dani.” Jamie is frowning, easing her back to her feet. She crouches down, gazing into the window of the oven. One hand rises to her head, her brow furrowed.

She sees her, Dani thinks, backing toward the sink. She sees her, and--

“Jesus, how long has my hair looked like that?” 

She blinks, shaking the panic away. “What?”

Jamie is looking at her, almost awestruck, her face clean and younger than usual with the last vestiges of sleep clinging to her eyes. “All that gray. Knew there were one or two, but--”

Dani is laughing. Leaning back against the counter, the mirth spilling out of her, she laughs. Jamie, straightening up with a low groan--her knees pop audibly, her head shaking--looks bewildered.

“Suppose you thought you’d just wait,” she says dryly, “and see if I ever noticed?”

Dani nods, cackling too hard to answer. It’s become so normal, counting the bright bursts amid Jaime’s natural hair color; she’s honestly forgotten Jamie ever didn’t have these silver sparks. Every inch of her, from the crow’s feet etched near her eyes to the tiny scars on her hands, is quite simply home. 

Jamie is plainly trying to look grumpy now, her hand tangling her hair. With Dani giggling like this, unable to catch her breath, she isn’t doing a very good job.

“Been this way a while?”

“Years,” Dani giggles. “Since I proposed. Before.”

Jamie rolls her eyes, slouching the two steps it takes to reach the counter and Dani’s shaking frame. “You,” she says in a mock-irritated tone, “are supposed to help with these things.”

“With what?” Dani brushes the hair back from her eyes. “You’re beautiful. And more than that, you’re...stately.”

“Stately,” Jamie repeats with a snort. “Haven’t heard that one. That’s a Hannah word, if ever there was one.”

They sober, just a little, the appropriate affection offered to memory. Jamie’s head bows against her own, her nose brushing Dani’s lightly. 

“I like it,” Dani says, her voice soft. “I like watching it happen. Like growing old...”

She trails off. She isn’t growing old, is the thing. Isn’t changing. Is as incontrovertible as a lake set into ancient grounds. She is not growing old at all.

Jamie’s fingers curl around her chin, tipping her head back. “Growing old together,” she says, firmly. Not denial, exactly--just certainty. Jamie, imposing her will on a world that tries so hard to have its own way with them both. 

“Growing old together,” Dani repeats, and even if it isn’t true in the strictest sense--even if it doesn’t look like it should--she knows Jamie believes it. Knows Jamie will fight tooth and nail to make the universe bend around her love. 

There are things, Jamie believes, that are natural. Organic. Exactly as they should be. There are things that can’t be changed by dreams, whims, magic spells. 

They will grow old together. That is, Jamie believes, the way the world works. The way it has always been and will always be. Jamie’s hair grows silver. Jamie’s skin etches with lines. Jamie’s hands are solid in her own, though she sometimes bends her fingers with a grimace, rubs her wrists when the weather angles toward snow. 

They will grow old together. For Jamie, there is simply no other consideration to be made.

“I like it,” Dani repeats, fingering the nearest strand of gray. “It’s distinguished.”

Jamie, shaking her head, is grinning as she leans in for a kiss.

[smolbeandrabbles]

The Other Side - Nolan Sorrento x Reader (Ready Player One)

Author’s Note: AH! Nolan requests! My boy!!! Actually he worked pretty well for me for these two so that’s awesome news! And here’s the first! Requested by @purebloodwitch​ 💜 Thank you for requesting!!! 😊 

The Other Side - Parachute

Disclaimer: RPO characters not mine / GIF not mine / lyrics not mine

Premise: Nolan arrives home late, but even though you’re not awake you sure do still give him a lot to think about...

Words: 2009

Warnings: N/A

_______ I feel the beat of your heart on my skin As I count all the breaths that I've watched you breathe in I can still taste the kiss that you left on my lips In the silence comes a sleep Like the tide comes to the beach So darling Go make your way through the dreams that you dream Darling you can take all of the time that you need You know you're not alone as you swim through the deep Like a ship calls through the fog You won't hear me till you're gone So darling I can't wait for you to wake up I want to be there when you open your eyes Darling don't look back No need to worry I'll be here waiting on the other side On the other side Yeah I'll be here waiting on the other side

---

It was late when Nolan left the office to drive home – it hadn’t been his intention to stay so late; especially as the weather was getting colder and the days shorter. But the work of a CEO was never done, and he’d rather do it all here rather than take any work home; he already knew he did that far too often. You worked at home a lot these days, and did a lot of volunteering work to try to help those in the Stacks the best that you could; the nature of the shifts meant you were usually out after, and back earlier, than he was. When he realised he’d certainly be back late, Nolan had called you at home to tell you not to wait for dinner, or wait up for him. About an hour later he’d received a delivery from his favourite takeout spot – along with a love note from you to make sure that he ate. He had to smile, because you were always doing things like this for him. And certainly made sure that he was looked after – he did his best to provide for you and even harder to be around; the weekend was time for you only and IOI got left to its own devices for two days. But you knew the remits and responsibilities of his job title – and you never once begrudged Nolan that. Getting into his car, pulling his favourite coat a little tighter against the wind chill, he automatically thought back to leaving you this morning. Judging by the time of night it was now, it would be your only interaction of the day. He was sorry for that, but the thought had him chuckling to himself as he started the engine. It was early – and you knew that Nolan was schedule to begin meetings far before 9am and, knowing him, finish late. He had some serious presentations coming up, and a conference in LA before the end of the month – luckily he was taking you with him to that one – you were looking forward to some West Coast sunshine to juxtapose the current climate here. Still you rolled yourself over, and finding yourself in bed alone was no less disappointing even when it was predictable – the sheets twisted around your body, ensnaring you, and no matter how you wiggled they didn’t want to let you go. You glanced to the clock, wondering if Nolan would even see sunlight today, and forced your body upright as he crossed the room to check his presentability in the mirror one last time. “Nolannnnn….” You were still a little disorientated, having just woken, and managed to swing your legs around to stand up, bringing the bedding with you. He pulled on his overcoat but waited for you to pad across the room and hug his shoulders, chest pressed against his back – you squeezed him tight, inhaling his cologne; he’d chosen a good one this morning, probably wildly expensive. “I love you…” You mumbled it softly,  and then shivered – even when the heating in the house was on, out of the warmth of your bed it was freezing. Sorrento turned around, wrapping you in his arms to kiss your forehead; “I promise, I’ve got one early meeting and then I’ll get coffee and breakfast. And then I’ll call you – and you should be awake by then, okay? Now, it’s freezing – you’re at home today and it’s looking likely to snow - so for goodnessake wrap up warm and stay in bed…!” You pouted slightly; “But I miss you.” He chuckled, kissing you again, “I know. Now hush - look, get in bed you can hardly keep your eyes open… You need your rest… bed – NOW!” You tsk’d him, snuggling into his coat; “Five more minutes…” Which was funny, because usually you’d be dragging him back to bed and saying such things. Today you wanted to be up just to see him off. Nolan sighed gently, running a hand through your hair; “One more minute. The bed is probably more comfortable than me.” You giggled, and stepped back “Okay, stay safe on the road, please. And keep me updated on your day!” “You know I will.” He pulled you back to him, catching you in a sweet kiss “Now be good!” “I will…!” You beamed “Don’t forget your Umbrella!” well he had said snow. He laughed, “Wouldn’t dream of it – Sweet dreams!” “Have a good meeting honey, give them what for!” “Y/N, I will – just for you!” ** Every light in the house was off as he pulled into the driveway, and he just hoped that his car engine wasn’t about to wake you up either. Nolan shut it off quickly and collected his things, shutting the car door as quietly as he opened the front. You’d left the landing light on for him to walk safely up the stairs, and the hall light on for him to deposit his things. She’s far too good to me… He shook his head slowly; throwing his coat on the night stand he wandered through into the kitchen loosening his tie. Usually Nolan was a wine enthusiast and he liked to end his day and unwind with a glass of alcohol, but it was a whisky evening – and his pour was a little liberal. He took the glass with him as he performed his routine nightly checks before switching off the downstairs light and setting the alarms. Nolan was as quiet as possible as he entered your bedroom, and as expected you were already asleep, and as your final act of kindness, you’d left his bedside lamp on. “Far too good to me.” He repeated, this time with a murmur as he sipped his drink, placing the glass on the dresser as he unfurled the knot on his tie carefully, watching you. You were once again buried in sheets and the duvet, opting for a blanket on top of all that, your hair was about the only thing visible under the covers; and your hands, with the position you always left them in beside your head on your pillow. Nolan chuckled, pulling his shirt from his pants and undoing the buttons just as slow – strolling around the bedroom to get a better look at you, wondering if there was ever a time you would be unpredictable. He didn’t have a problem with that, after all, it always gave him a sense of familiarity and safety to return home to. Always with a smile on your face and an affectionate hug, not letting him go until he’d received at least one kiss on the cheek. He paused, and couldn’t help – nor was about to stop - the smile spreading across his face. There was something certainly angelic about the calmness on your face as you slept; and you were a deep sleeper – continuously lost in dreams that you loved telling him about; be they funny, or sweet, or sexy, or downright weird. You must have been asleep for a while, as your hair was already mussed and had fallen across your eyes. Nolan discarded his shirt into the washing basket and removed his belt, picking his glass up again he took another sip, his head tipped as he accidently knocked into his table; focusing too much on you. He cringed; sound amplified by how quiet it was, but you barely stirred. The covers slipped from your shoulders, and even with the night shirt you were wearing, the material was thin enough for him to make out the intricate tattoo across your shoulder underneath. It was something that he loved tracing his fingertips across when you lay together and it was in just the right spot to kiss, and often. His eyes traced the curve of your spine and watched your rhythmic breathing – and Nolan’s smile hadn’t faded, if anything he was positively beaming now. There was something about this that was so much more intimate than anything else he could do; how vulnerable you were right now. How much faith and trust you had in him to sleep here alone and wait for him to get back. Faith Nolan would actually come back. Sorrento slipped into his pyjamas and headed to the en-suite, downing the last of his glass and filling it with water instead. He was midway through brushing his teeth when he heard you call his name – pausing to check it wasn’t just a figment of his imagination, you called him softly once more and then a third time a little more urgently. “Babe, are you okay? It’s okay, I’m he-” He swung around the bathroom door, only to realise you were calling him in your sleep.  Nolan chuckled once more, crossing back to you – this time he did touch you, gently moving your hair out of your eyes to frame your face. “Nolan…” You sighed it this time, gentle and dreamily to match the plain you were on. He chuckled. “Oh, Y/N, are you dreaming about me?” He wondered how you would dream about him, and whether you’d confess to such sweet things in the morning – or if he should even enquire. He bent to brush his lips to your forehead, and your calm features were suddenly replaced by an absent-minded smile. He liked that too – whether you were conscious, or, sub-conscious of the fact he was there, your body still reacted to him and always positively. “God, you’re so damn beautiful…” He breathed gently, tracing his fingertips over your hand, “I love you so much… you know…” Nolan’s face pulled into an expression much more of melancholy; “I don’t deserve you, Y/N. Shit – I know I don’t…” he shook his head; “But you’re still here… and damn I’m going to try to be at least half as good as you deserve. Because I also know this; all you really deserve is the best…” He kissed your cheek this time, before pulling away to finish up in the bathroom. As soon as his body joined yours in the sheets you smiled again – and as before, your body snuggled into his – earning his arms wrapping around you. You whispered his name once more, curling your arms around his. And Nolan kissed your shoulder through your shirt before kissing your hair, and let your sleeping form adjust to his; pulling him closer for his warmth. He curled his body protectively around yours, but he didn’t close his eyes for a moment; listening to your breathing and the feel of your pulse in time with his. He always liked to take moments like this with you, whether you knew about them or not. Space to tell you everything he wanted to, about his insecurities and how much he appreciated you. Nolan already knew you meant more to him than anything; even more than Halliday’s contest. He was just extremely bad at telling you that when you were looking at him, when you were just so in love that Nolan knew it was a feeling he simply couldn’t replicate – his love language just didn’t work that way. But here, in the quiet of the night, with your body as close to his as it could possibly be, in a moment so vulnerable and intimate, Nolan Sorrento could tell you anything – and regularly did. Even if it was a secret between him and the sheets. Even if before he was finished pouring his heart out his eyes got heavy and he drifted off, all the thoughts were there. But Nolan always managed to end with ‘thank you’ – because for everything you did for him, whether you were aware you were doing it or not. That was all he could say – and when you heard it from him, no matter how he decided to say it, you knew every single complex word or thought poured behind those simple ones too. You heard everything he couldn’t say. And whether he vocalised it or not, with those two words Nolan’s heart spoke to yours in ways that ‘I love you’ never could.

---

Thank You For Reading! 😘

@menndelsohn​ @3134045126​​ @happyskywhale​ @wltz-bby​ #MendoTagSquad

@primadonna-girl23​ - For your interest in Nolan too! Your request will be out soon! 💙💜🙏

[orionwhispers]

Devil Like Me (Part VI)

(A/N- What can I say other than I am so sorry this took forever, this is the juiciest chapter yet and I loved writing it! I can't wait for you all to see where their relationship progresses and thank you so much for the love! Enjoy this late Christmas present! Thank you for being so patient xoxo) 

Then

The sky was dark as you traced your fingertips over the rim of your mug. You lifted the cup to your lips and took a small sip, grimacing as the cool milky texture hit your tongue. You gently rubbed the delicate area by your eyes, now red and swollen from lack of sleep. This had become a yearly tradition, curling up in a blanket by the bay windows and taking solace in your own silence.

The alarm clock changed numbers alerting you to how early it was, the red digits intruding in the comfort of your small bedroom. You gently fingered the fragrant needles of the small Christmas tree to your left and smiled inwardly. Aunt Jean always tried to make the house as festive as possible. Determined not to allow either of you to be dragged into the gloom that surrounded you both this time of year. You traced the gold ornament placed on the branches, in the centre a dog-eared photo of your parents. Your mother clutching your toddler frame, bare-faced and smiling widely, your father's tattooed arm swung around her neck, lips pressed against her cheek.

You rose to your feet, pulling thick sweatpants and a jumper over your mismatched pyjamas. Slipping your feet into a pair of worn converse, you gave Maple a kiss and reached for the doorknob. Lying directly behind your door was a little red stocking stuffed with presents and your heart tugged. When you were younger you were green with envy at the other children who spent Christmas with their families, picture perfect with bundles of expensive gifts and gadgets. But as soon as you came home and saw Aunt Jean with her frail hands attempting to roast a turkey - then giving up and you both munching on frozen pizza-, you realised you had so much to be grateful for.

You tried your best to be quiet, purposefully darting across the floorboards you knew were the least creaky as you passed your great Aunts bedroom. You paused momentarily and listened for her steady breathing. Earlier, when you had passed her bedroom, you had heard tearful sniffles and you were glad that they were now replaced with snores.

The bitter air slammed against your face as soon as you opened the front door, you shivered further into yourself as you began trudging through the thin layer of sleet lining the pavements. It was still dark, barely past 5 am and the only light was the dim yellow glow of the street lamps. Rain was pattering around you and a gust of winter wind sent a slew of raindrops down your face and neck. You paced the familiar route you could have done in your slumber, passing sleepy houses strewn with Christmas lights and decorations, filled with children giddily excited about what Santa will have brought them in the night.

The wind started to pick up as you clambered the final slope towards the beach. You could already hear the roar of the ocean and hurried towards the wooden deck above the coast, pulling your jacket over your shoulders as you walked towards the edge of the water. The waves were violent, rising and rumbling before crashing into the grey sand at your feet. You let out a gasp you didn't know you had been holding and allowed a few tears to slip out of the corner of your eyes.

It had been 14 years.

You mother was called Judith, petite, beautiful and immensely kind. Aunt Jean said she warmed the hearts of everyone she met. She grew up in the south of Florida and was an only child to a devout Catholic family. Only in the past few years had you been able to coax the truth out of Aunt Jean, with the help of a bottle of aged whiskey and a box of chocolate liquors. In a drunken haze she spilt her guts when you pressed her for answers, she told you of how her older sister- your grandmother, Eden, had been fair when she was a child but as she grew older she became bitter. She married young to someone Aunt Jean described as "A mean, violent man who used his faith as a cover for his hateful acts."

They were approaching 50 when Eden fell pregnant and when Judith was born she was never really allowed a childhood, she was beaten if she disobeyed orders and rarely allowed to leave the house. Aunt Jean tearfully told you how she tried to look after your mother and would try her best to sneak her gifts of chocolate and toys. But when Eden found out she cut all contact with her, furious at the thought that Jean didn't think of her as a good mother. By the time she was 15 Judith rebelled, and often snuck out of her house, which was where she met your father, Kurt.

Kurt was 17, with long hair and an abundance of piercings, he worked at his uncle's tattoo parlour having dropped out of school the previous year. The two met and fell helplessly in love, and soon your mother fell pregnant. Aunt Jean told you that Judith called her from a payphone when she found out, crying with happiness at the chance of a new life, but terrified of what her parents would think.

As expected, they were furious, angry and violent, and immediately disowned her. Telling her that she was never allowed back in their house as long as she lived. Kurt was good, he was overjoyed at becoming a father, and saved up for a small apartment where you spent your early childhood. You can hardly recall much of that part of your life, but you know it was full of love and happiness and you cherished it entirely.

When you were three, everything changed.

Your parents were driving late on Christmas Eve, their old rusty car filled with presents and food for the next day, whilst you were left at home with a babysitter. Whilst driving down a small street, a drunk driver slammed into their vehicle and killed them both. Just like that, your entire world was tipped over by someone else's careless decision.

When the police turned up at their door, your grandparents were indifferent, as if they were being told a stranger had been killed, rather than the girl they had raised. When told they had left a daughter behind, they closed the door and refused to even know what you had been called. Telling the police you should go into foster care, that they would have nothing to do with you.

That's where Aunt Jean came in, she took you under her wing immediately, filed the paperwork to make her your legal guardian and treated you like you were her own. She attended every school play, taught you how to ride a bike and tie your shoelaces, and gave you everything she possibly could. She was the only family you had, but you loved each other fiercely.

The sky was brightening slightly, and you knew soon the sun would start to trickle through the clouds. You steadied your feet on the sand, watching the water lap at the rubber soles of your shoes. You felt a movement behind you, but you didn't need to turn around, you knew who it was. He approached cautiously from behind, trudging on the gritty earth, he stood at your side, his shoulder almost brushing yours. He turned to face you but you kept staring out into the distance, watching a flock of seagulls in the sky. You could feel his glance on your face, focusing on the tear stains reflecting on your cheeks, his eyes flitting to yours, brows slightly furrowed. You stayed put, too tired and emotional to react, and he must have sensed that, drawing a cold breath and turning towards the ocean. You both stayed like that, comfortable in silence, watching the sunrise over the shores, basking you both in its warmth.  

Now

You paced along the mahogany floor, bare feet squeaking on the panels as you traced your fingers along the row of dusty books. When you had awoken, to your surprise, the door was hanging wide open. You almost tripped over your own feet as you raced down the hallway and onto the second floor, it was only when you reached the staircase to the ground level that you smacked into an invisible barrier sending you flying backwards. But, hey, at least you were no longer stuck in the single room.

You had spent the majority of the morning exploring the rooms you had access to, so far you had examined two extravagant additional quarters adjacent to yours and now, the library. And you were only on the top floor.

You would be lying if you said you weren't absentmindedly searching for signs of him, maybe a book he had once read lying on its side, the ring from an old mug of tea on the expensive furniture. But there was nothing, it was entirely bland. You knew that the families rooms were on the floor below, but you were too nervous and admittedly, to full of pride, to go and scour them.

Deep in your thoughts, a commotion from downstairs sprung you out of your own head. Slowly, you paced below, tuning into your heightened hearing to listen to the voices. You followed them down a hallway, to another grand staircase you didn't even know existed and took residence on the top step, gaping in awe at the beautiful ballroom it towered over. Underneath, a group of who you gathered to be event organisers were coating the impressive room with decorations and tables of food. Stretching out your toes, cringing as they slightly pushed against the slab of air, you knew that this was a party you wouldn't have the privilege of attending.

Your eyes immediately caught his frame entering the room, messy hair and a glass of whisky in his hand. You rolled your eyes, it was barely 10 am.

"What's the occasion?" You asked, quirking your brows and alerting him to your position.

He turned to you, his lips upturning into a small smirk as his eyes flicked to yours, before he shifted back, seemingly unbothered by your presence. Neither of you acting like last nights incident had occurred.

“Business meeting.”

“Awfully extravagant for a business meeting, don’t you think?” You quipped.

He faced you again, leaning on one arm and taking a confident swig of his drink, “Well, you know me,” he traced the marble above the fireplace behind him, eyes locking to yours. “I’ve always had a  touch for the finer things.”

You bit back a smile and crossed your arms, watching the people down below as they uncomfortably continued work, pretending they weren't engrossed in your strange conversation.

“I'm guessing I’m not on the invite list?”

He let out a snort and waved you off, “I think your stunt proved that I can hardly trust you, doesn’t it?”

“Well, it seems to have worked considering I’m no longer locked away.” You gestured to the grand hall before you and the distance between you both.

“Don’t mistake my kindness for weakness.” He muttered and you snorted, Klaus was hardly running for person of the year.

“What’s wrong? Don’t want me to meet your friends? Afraid I’ll embarrass you? ” You joked, but it seemed to hit a sore spot in him, whatever tiny crack you had manage to chip away at was being built straight back up again.

“I doubt they’d be impressed if I went to introduce you only to find you had run away again.” His tone was cold and it hit right through you, he wasn't being fair but he didn't care. Without another word he gestured something to the workers and left, not bothering to look back at you.

An hour or so later you were back in bed sulking, flipping through the pages of a women’s magazine you weren't interested in. You hadn't seen Sebastian since the previous day, your food delivered by a gruff man who made it clear he didn't care for you. You really wished you could apologise to him, he was nice and didn't deserve to be used as a scapegoat.

“Not feeling sorry for yourself are you?”

Immediately recognising the voice, you leapt up and ran into the arms of the blonde beauty who kissed you on both cheeks and squeezed you tight.

“Bekah!”

“Y/N!”

You giggled as you took her in, she was as stunning as ever, tall and confident and she smiled at you, eyes shining.

“I missed you so much, you have no idea what it’s like being surrounded by men.”

“I can imagine.”

She pulled away slowly, eyes taking in your body and then glancing around the room.

“I had no idea he was up to this.” She sighed, rubbing her forehead as if the thought alone was giving her a migraine. “But, you know Klaus. In fact, you know him better than anyone. Even Elijah.”

You looked at the floor, suddenly feeling hot and embarrassed. She paced over again, deep red heels clicking on the wood floor, “Klaus can be intolerable, and even though I loathe him sometimes, you know I’m very protective.”

“Rebekah-“ You began, desperate to explain yourself.

She gave you a small smile, “Don’t. You know I love you like a sister, and I missed you terribly so. I don’t blame you for wanting to leave, it must have been so hard, I know how much you love him.”

She clapped her hands as if to shoo away the tension and linked your arm with hers, “We must catch up! I have so much to tell you!” She dragged you away, the both of you giggling like kids.

Rebekah’s room was decorated similar to her old one, the furniture was tawny and cream and the bed was thick and inviting. Bundles of expensive gowns and slips were thrown on the floor like a tornado had hit and she was stood in the centre, her blonde hair in pink rollers.

“I’m thinking this one.” She reached for an emerald green number and held it against her body, studying your reaction.

“Bekah, how many times? You’ll look amazing no matter what you wear.” You said leaning back into the pillows, head in your hands. This was the 20th dress she had shown you.

Kol chuckled next to you and nudged you with his arm “But I’ll be the most attractive one there right?”

“You wish.” You whacked him lightly and he pretended to wince,

“Ouch!” He muttered rubbing his arm exaggeratedly “Now I know why my brother has to keep you locked up.”

You gave him the finger and settled deeper into the bed, tuning out the sound of the siblings bickering about who was more attractive. You had seriously missed these two.

“So,” You started, twirling your hair around your finger, “What’s the deal with this whole ball anyway?”

Rebekah shrugged as she motioned Kol over to clasp her necklace around her throat, “Since when did we need an occasion to throw a ball?”

“Please. It’s not a Mikaelson party without an ulterior motive. Usually involving torture.”

“We just want to get to know the locals.” Kol stated, checking himself out in the full-length mirror, “Really sink our teeth into them.”

Rebekah swatted him and turned to you, watching as you rolled your eyes, you didn't believe their ploy but you couldn't be bothered to pry anymore.

“You’re not wearing that are you?” Rebekah asked lip curled up in disgust as she gestured to your slightly moth bitten pyjamas.

“I think you’re forgetting I'm not invited. On the account of the whole running away and then starving myself thing.”

“Doesn’t mean you can’t look your best? Besides, I have so many gowns, it would be a shame for them to waste away in my wardrobe.”

You snorted at her attempt and frowned, “Thanks, B, but-”

She immediately cut you off, “I’m not taking no for an answer, even if you sit and sulk in your room all night at least do it in Versace! You used to be so fun, remember those nights in Paris?”

“Oh god, I can hardly remember that entire trip,” Kol muttered from the corner and Rebekah gave raised her brows at you, before smirking and dragging you into her boudoir.

You stared at yourself in front of the mirror. Running your hands over the soft burgundy lace of your dress, you swayed from side to side, observing from every angle. You could hear the distant roar of the party from downstairs, people laughing and glasses clinking. Rebekah had done well, choosing a dress she knew you couldn't refuse, a gorgeous maroon ballgown with a sweetheart neckline. But you couldn't help feeling like a child playing dress up. It had been so long since you had attended a party like this and you felt entirely overwhelmed.

You chewed your lip as you pattered along the floor, running your fingers over your collarbones absentmindedly. Half of your body was begging you to rip off the dress and climb into bed but a part of you wanted to delve back into the past. You stumbled across a small hollow in the decking of the second floor, with a perfect view of the hall. You were almost out of sight from down below, and you could comfortably rest and observe without the witch's curse stopping you.

You recognised nobody of course, but the party was filled with jubilant people. The room was bright against the black outside, lit with golden chandeliers and flickering candles. Your eyes travelled to the Mikaelson siblings, easily the most charming and eye-catching people in the room, everyone they spoke to completely enamoured by them, yourself included. You felt eyes watching you, and tried to follow them, landing on a pair of men you hadn't seen before. One was dark haired, and the other blonde, both watching you with curious eyes, whispering to one another. You felt sheepish and turned your head, embarrassed to be spotted. The sound of a spoon tapping against a glass made you look back up trying to trace the noise. Klaus was smiling, one that you knew was forced, and facing the crowd. Your heart leapt at him in his formal suit, eyes bright and hair tousled.

“Thank you all for coming tonight.” He started with a laugh “Mystic Falls is a truly wonderful town and I want to thank you all for making myself and my siblings feel so welcome.”

There was something strange about his tone and his eyes darkened slightly, focusing on something on the other side of the room. Nobody seemed to notice, but you followed his gaze back to the two men from earlier, now stood with a pretty brunette girl, all of them with a sour look on their features.

“Well I don’t want to keep you much longer, I hope you all have a wonderful night and will join us for a dance.”

The crowd all clapped and smiled, returning to mingling among themselves, some older women gushing over Klaus congratulating him on his beautiful home and party. Something inside you sparked, watching him glide across the room, laughing and joking made you miss him with your entire being. You didn’t regret leaving but my god did you miss having him on your side. You had thought about him every day since you had gone, you knew it may never get back to normal but you wanted to talk to him, to explain. You got to your feet, hitching up your dress and walking over to the staircase slowly, you couldn't go down, but maybe you could catch his attention and get him alone.

And then the lights dimmed.

Everyone in the room parted as a familiar Ed Sheeran song rang through the speakers. You watched confused as men and women linked hands and pulled one another onto the floor. The lights were hot against your bare skin as you stood at the top of the stairs staring down, the music was loud and you felt dizzy. You saw Kol and Elijah both courting women, both gliding across the floor and you lifted your hands trying to focus. You saw Rebekah with a guy and the dark haired man and woman from earlier both swaying to the beat.

Then you saw him, hands intertwined with a beautiful blonde girl. He was pulling her across the floor, telling her something, mouth by her ear, smiling and whispering. You felt like you were going to be sick. His arms were against her back and she was pressed into him, she said something and he laughed, head thrown back. You couldn’t watch anymore, not able to stop the tears flowing down your cheeks you turned and fled.

Your entire body was shaking as you choked back tears. You felt so fucking stupid. You stared up at the moon, your entire body was freezing out here on the balcony, but the cold made you feel numb. You wiped your sore eyes, grimacing at the black stains on the pads of your hands, you probably looked a mess.

“Ah, here you are. I couldn’t find you in your room, was worried you ran off again.”

“Don’t Klaus.” You snapped, still facing the sky, refusing to see him.

You heard him approaching you cautiously, fingers tracing the bare skin of your arm trying to pull you to face him but you shrugged him off.

“What on earth is the matter?” He asked before placing something on the table behind you “I thought you might like some cake.”

You spun around and watched his face contort as he took in the sight of your puffy eyes and the redness of your chest.

“How long do you plan on doing this Klaus?” You asked loudly not in control of how hysterical you sounded “This was your plan hm? To punish me? Well, congratulations you got it!”

He looked genuinely confused, “Y/N, what-” he began, reaching to wipe the tears off of your face but you slapped his hand away.

“Don’t. You don’t get to do that anymore Klaus.” You stated, sniffing and rubbing your eyes, “Ever since you got me here you never planned on us making up, you wanted me to be in pain. You don’t think leaving was the hardest thing I have ever done?”

His face changed, eyes darkening and teeth clenching. “You left, in the night. Like a coward. You should have fought for us.”

“I spent far too long fighting Klaus.”

He gave you an exasperated look and rubbed his head, “I loved you! I would have done anything for you. Was I not enough?”

“That’s hardly fair.” You snapped, “ I left everything I have ever known for you, you were my first love,” your voice cracked  “My only love.”

You both were out of breath, exhausted and emotional. Tears were flowing freely now, hot and blinding, you could see he was uncomfortable and unsure of what to do. There was a time where you would both embrace and it felt like the world couldn't come between you, but now neither of you knew where you stood.

“Leave me alone Klaus. I mean it. I'm so fucking tired.” You groaned, holding your head in your hands and stumbling into a seat, sniffling into your palms. He stared at you, so badly wanting to comfort you, to talk to you, to fight for you. But his pride was too strong, and he wiped his eyes with the back of his sleeve and spun out of the room, choosing to find comfort in a bottle of whisky. Leaving you in tears and alone.

[brianjaeger]

2019 Academy Award Best Picture Nominees Guide For Those Who Haven’t Actually Watched Them

It’s the 91st time Hollywood comes together to pat themselves on the back and this year marks the 5th time I’m bringing you the rundown of every Best Picture nominee so that you aren’t the “goddamn idiot” someone at your Oscars party is referring to when they ask, “Who invited this goddamn idiot?” Only, as in 2018, 2017, 2016, 2015 and 2014  (check out the hyperlinks for previous years’ rundowns - and likely some jokes that don’t age very well) - this is all based on the name of the film, the poster for the movie, or things I’ve heard while flipping past Extra or E! So take it all in and enjoy my tips on things to say to other guests so that your party has an ending that is more like Ally’s and less like Jackson’s!

Black Panther

After Creed loses in embarrassing fashion to Ivan Drago’s son, he tats up, grows that hair out, and heads to outer space. After landing on a planet right between the planet from Avatar and Naboo, pissy Creed picks a fight with a space prince who was bit by a radioactive space panther in the movie that had audiences saying, “I bet Forest Whitaker is in this movie. How is Forest Whitaker not in this movie? I’m honestly shocked that Forest Whitaker is not...oh, yup, there he is.”

3 Things To Casually Inject Into Conversation To Prove You Saw The Movie And Sound Like An Expert:

A little insider Easter egg here - Wakanda backwards spells Adnakaw, which happens to be the name of Thor and Loki’s OTHER brother who is going to save everyone in Avengers: Endgame. He’ll be played by...Forest Whitaker.

In a deleted scene, Black Panther’s brother, The Pink Panther, visits to check out the Wakandan castle’s attic and then installs fiberglass insulation.

Spike Lee really turned the super hero movie genre on its head with this didn’t he? (Pause.) Oh. That was...um...oh, well um... (Slowly walk backward out of the room and do not return.)

BlacKkKlansman

The Chapelle’s Show’s first skit-to-feature length film gives the big screen treatment to the story of Clayton Bigsby. Based on the success of this film, 2019 also saw the big screen adaptation of The Chapelle’s Show’s “What Men Want” skit to a movie starring Taraji P. Henson. In 2020, anticipate a feature length Rick James biopic, a Playa Hater’s Ball film, and “Game, Blouses: The Movie”.

3 Things To Casually Inject Into Conversation To Prove You Saw The Movie And Sound Like An Expert:

This film marks Ricky Jerret’s first acting role after he was cut from the Miami Dolphins by Charles Greane - who he thought was his friend - for his use of PEDs.

This film holds the distinction of having the highest number of different spellings on social media - just barely edging out Bohemian Rhapsody and The Favourite (well, in America).

Reggie Miller purchased a seat in the front row of the Oscars and is planning to wear a The Favourite jersey and baseball cap, then spend the entire show heckling Spike Lee and screaming, “See?! How does it feel the other way around?!”

Bohemian Rhapsody

Bohemian Rhapsody is a French film with a title that can be loosely translated into English as “The Sassy Singing Lad With The Donkey Snout”. 

3 Things To Casually Inject Into Conversation To Prove You Saw The Movie And Sound Like An Expert:

A bit of trivia for you. Did you know that Freddie Mercury wasn’t his first choice for a stage name? It was actually Fred Mercury.

A bit of trivia for you. Did you know that Brian May wasn’t his first choice for a stage name? It was actually Brian February.

A bit of trivia for you. Did you know that Queen’s first band name was actually Princess and they didn’t become Queen until they married Prince...and enjoyed a Purple Reign? Yup - I will show myself out now.

The Favourite

Rain droups on rouses! This perioud piece stars Oulivia Coulman, Emma Stoune, Joue Alwyn and Nichoulas Holt! It’s abot a grop of people in the contry of England that’s two hors long and y will find fabulos! 

3 Things To Casually Inject Into Conversation To Prove You Saw The Movie And Sound Like An Expert:

This is the movie about a Queen that doesn’t end with an AIDS diagnosis...I think.

Wigs and bodices accounted for 48% of the film’s budget.

The film’s title has nothing to do with the plot or characters and is instead a sly attempt to influence the outcome of the Academy of Motion Pictures and Sciences members’ voting.

Green Book

In this sexual thriller, we see the raw, animal side of Kermit the Frog as he provides details from his Little Green Book of every single Muppet he’s fucked. With an original working title of Fifty Shades of Green, we’ll see how Miss Piggy was at first a mousy and demure fill-in interviewer whose sexual spirit was awakened by Kermit’s dominant yet mesmerizing magnetism. Kermit also does some butt stuff with Bunsen Honeydew and gets down group style with all of The Electric Mayhem.

3 Things To Casually Inject Into Conversation To Prove You Saw The Movie And Sound Like An Expert:

There’s an odd cameo halfway through the movie where Mahershala Ali enters a gas station on the road and encounters a man in his late 20′s/early 30′s who says in a southern drawl, “I’m Stephen Dorff and I’m your partner,” then another Stephen Dorff, this one in his 40′s limps up and says, “And I’m Stephen Dorff. I’m also your partner,” then finally an old drunk one in his 70′s hobbles up and says, “I’m Stephen Dorff and I too am your partner!”

Mahershala Ali generally tried to avoid Viggo Mortensen, who continually would run up saying, “Dude, Mahersh! We have to get matching tattoos of the number two - for the two of us to commemorate this journey that we’re on together. It’s what you do with your cast mates!” When Mahershala would decline but say it was nice what Viggo and the cast of the Lord of the Rings trilogy did together, Viggo would walk off grumbling, “Hidalgo got a tattoo with me...”

*Before the next comment - be sure to do a thorough research on Google and on social media to determine the prevailing public opinion of if Green Book is a remarkable cinematic achievement faithful to the story of Don Shirley and Tony Vallelonga’s relationship and an examination of the complicated issue of race and its impact on friendship and business OR if it’s just another white savior movie before you speak, so that you can make sure that you’re aligned with whatever is currently the popular thing to say at that moment in time about this movie. Then say...

Ahem. This is the same director who wrote and directed a scene in Movie 43 where Hugh Jackman is on a blind date with Kate Winslet and has prosthetic testicles hanging under his neck which go into her mouth - and that’s, like, it.

Roma

Set in a world with no color, this movie is about a bunch of people (mostly children) hugging on a beach who may or may not be related to each other, may or may not be involved in some kind of national tragedy in either Italy or Mexico, and may or may not be sick, dying, sad or overcome with joy. I honestly have no clue on this one. But it IS on Netflix.

3 Things To Casually Inject Into Conversation To Prove You Saw The Movie And Sound Like An Expert: 

They say that Alfonso Cuarón painted a realistic picture of his childhood in Roma which is the exact same tactic he employed in making Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban.

Netflix forced Cuarón to cross promote other Netflix titles throughout the film, so there is an odd scene in which Cleo’s son meets his Big Mouth Hormone Monster to talk about masturbation and then later on the family enters The Upside Down (or Al Rev��s de Abajo). Also, every single cast member gets a stand-up comedy special.

Yalitza Martínez plays a housekeeper here and after this star-making turn, she’s got it MAID!

A Star Is Born

Jackson Maine wants to create a star. But after consulting a high school astronomy textbook, he learns that the only way that a star is truly born is to squeeze atoms of light elements under enough pressure for their nuclei to undergo fusion. He closes the book and says, “To hell with that science shit,” then gets drunk and just hires Lady Gaga to write a song that sounds like she’s a child screaming at her mom to watch her do a dive at the community pool.

3 Things To Casually Inject Into Conversation To Prove You Saw The Movie And Sound Like An Expert:

As a first-time singer, Bradley Cooper devoted countless hours over several months in order to unlock the instrument of his voice to become a mostly-inoffensive singer. As a first-time director, Bradley Cooper bought one of those chairs with “Director” on it.

Bradley Cooper refused to urinate for the duration of filming until the big Grammy’s scene so it played better on film. He did poop a lot during filming though.

The young actress from Eighth Grade is already planning her Oscar bait remake of A Star Is Born to come out in 2043 where SHE plays the aging star and enters a romance with a young male singer played by Boy from Bird Box.

Vice

As the DC Comics universe continues to expand, we finally get the origin story of Batman arch nemesis and super villain, The Penguin.

3 Things To Casually Inject Into Conversation To Prove You Saw The Movie And Sound Like An Expert:

Unable to shake his Saturday Night Live roots, Adam McKay decided to insert a scene late in the movie where - unannounced - the real Dick Cheney walks in to surprised applause from the audience and Christian Bale acts flustered before stammering out that it is an honor to meet him. Cheney pauses for the awkward “oh my god, can you believe this” murmur to die down in the audience and then stiffly delivers, “You know, Christian, you could have just worn a fat suit for this role.” The audience erases all memory of the terrible atrocities that the man has committed during his lifetime and erupts into wild clapping and bark-laughing like seals while Christian and the rest of the cast just have to hand it to the guy for being such a good sport about it all.

Dick Cheney is just happy that A Star Is Born is in the field this year so that in defiance of Vice he also doesn’t have to root for any movies about gay guys, black people, immigrants, or foreigners.

While watching the film, Laura Bush continually had to remind a startled and frightened George W. that no, he was not trapped up in the big movie screen.