#thank you phoebe waller-bridge

[j-femmescoli]

watching bbc sherlock post-fleabag like ooohhh the hot priest is insane

[shegottosayit]

[frazzlecrazzle]

Just finished watching It's Always Sunny for the first time and rewatching Crashing for possibly the 4th? 5th? time.

I fully believe that if you like one of these shows you'll like the other. If Crashing didn't have such a small fanbase (sobbing) I reckon there'd be a massive fan overlap. But alas, I have to spread the Crashing agenda by myself.

Anyway, Sam and Mac are just about the same person:

"Fuck off, I'm not a queen. I'm not a drama queen. [gay ass hand gesture] I am neither queen."

The daddy issues go crazy with those two

"But I need you!" "Are you okay?" "psshh, yeah. Shut up."

Ready to beat the shit out of someone at a moment's notice. Probably won't win, but still ready

go watch crashing if you havent already. and if you have, go rewatch it

[cottagecori]

🐮

send me a 🐮 and i will refresh my pinterest and give u my first four pics as a random moodboard

[fallinginaforrest]

A sketch of Fleabag because this show is the love of my life.

[wearevillaneve]

April is Killing Eve Month. The first episode premiered on BBCAmerica on April 8, 2018. The last episode aired on AMC on April 22, 2022. Killing Eve will receive a second life when it debuts on Netflix on April 15, 2024.

This means a new worldwide audience that missed out on what was the best show on television in 2018, gets another chance to experience the excellence that was Killing Eve at its best.

Thank you Luke Jennings, Phoebe Waller Bridge, Sandra Oh, and Jodie Comer for making the magic happen.

[pseudowho]

good afternoon from myself as a good evening to you, lovely haitch 🖤

i began watching the show Fleabag last night, and i don’t know if it’s because of the content of the show or because its ‘english’ (i throw this guess out, as an only mildly-multicultural american) but she reminded me a lot of you, especially down to the cadence and syntax of the way you write. i wanted to know if you knew about this show at all, and what you’re thoughts might be on it? (crossing my fingers you haven’t talked about it already)

i also wanted to ask about your works, and just vague questions about your own opinion on them - are there any you are particularly proud of and cheeky for? do you know the favorites of your friends/husband, or if they have one? do you reread some, or think about rewriting any in particular? what about content you might ache to write at some point?

you’re very introspective (to me, at least, mustn’t assume) and i take a lot of interest in hearing your opinions and thoughts on things. you’re a big inspiration and motivator for me to continue writing my book! feel free to skip over any questions you wish, im aware it was a lot. much love! <3

I do know of this show! I'm so sorry behind on TV, I'm ashamed to say I haven't seen Fleabag, even when I should have. I think it's Phoebe Waller-Bridge, off the top of my head, unless I'm very much mistaken. I promise you I'll have a watch, and see what I think.

R.e. my favourite cheeky fics...I adore Deliverance, Fire and Iron, Calamus et Gladius and The Stacks. My husband's favourite is Bedlocked, though he hasn't read many. None of my irl friends know that I do this, so that's a pass. Of my lovely Tumblr friends, perhaps @delirious-donna, @musubi-sama, @starsinmylatte and @self-aware-ape can answer which, if any, are their favourites if they wish.

I'm probably a bit too introspective. I try to take a multifaceted approach that strips away any ego I may have. It's hard, but it's cathartic.

Thank you so much for thinking I'm an inspiration. I just try to present myself as I am in person. I wish you the absolute best for your book; amazing job, keep writing, and I'm sure you're doing fucking brilliantly.

All my love,

-- Haitch xxx

[theharddeck]

as if it doesn't turn you on, just to say it

basically I saw @hangmanapologist 's post (💙) and immediately opened a Google doc. the s t u n n i n g Rhett/Lewis edit is from Robyn as well!!

pairing: Bob Floyd x fem!reader

summary: you convince Bob to dress up as your favorite show for a Halloween…and he looks way better than you could’ve prepared for

warnings: 18+ minors please DNI!! smut, swearing, explicit unprotected piv sex, explicit oral (m!receiving) sex, and mild sacrilege.

unofficial tag list (lmk if you want to be added or removed, i just tagged people who are equally feral for bob or who were nice to me once about my work): @wildbornsiren @peakyrogers @javihoney @fuckyeahhangman @thedroneranger @princessofglitterland @gigisimsonmars @thedroneranger @laracrofted @bioodforbiood @winterrebel04 @javihoney @withahappyrefrain @rhettabbotts @roosterforme @bradshawsbitch

Bob’s voice was muted as he spoke through the bathroom door. You stood in front of the full length mirror in your shared bedroom, rubbing absently at your red lipstick, a matte liquid product that stuck to your lips with apparently industrial strength. You hoped the same could be said of the boob tape you were placing entirely too much trust in, for something that was $16, and from Target. You tilted your head at your reflection, pleased with the overall effect.

Rationally, you knew it was just a black jumpsuit—a halter neckline, a wide pant leg, a strategic opening over the breastbone—but with the red lipstick and fake cigarette, it felt like a suit of armor. 

Rationally, you knew it was just a black jumpsuit—a halter neckline, a wide pant leg, a strategic opening over the breastbone—but with the red lipstick and fake cigarette, it felt like a suit of armor. 

It was as if Phoebe Waller Bridge herself was your fairy godmother, and had appeared in a thought bubble in your subconscious to tell you that you looked smashing, or something equally British and charming.

And, since your boyfriend had been convinced to don a matching costume, you were ready to see his look for the night. 

“What do you mean?” you called, fussing with the approximation of Fleabag’s haircut you’d achieved with an array of pins.

“It just looks like a priest’s robe,” Bob’s voice came through the door again, confusion and indecision in his tone. “I’m really not sure what the effect is supposed to be.”

You smiled to yourself. “Why don’t you let me tell you how effective it is?” you asked. 

You heard the bathroom door creak open, and Bob’s head stuck out of it. His costume was hidden by the door, but his eyes met yours in the mirror, before running down over the jumpsuit. 

“You look amazing,” he said softly, and you smiled as you turned to face him. His compliments always settled over you like sunshine, warming you from your skin inwards, his sweet conviction brokering no room for argument.

“Thank you,” you smoothed your hands over the front of your slacks. “Can I see yours?”

Bob’s nose wrinkled slightly, and he turned his head sideways, leaning against the door, using it like a shield. 

“I just look like a priest,” he complained meekly, “while you look so hot.”

“A million fanfics would suggest that those are not mutually exclusive,” you cajoled. “Come on, let me see it.”

Bob sighed, opening the door, and while you wished your reaction was for the sake of dramatics, it was entirely lacking in pretense. 

He looked so good. 

You’d known Hot Priest would be a great costume for your boyfriend, since the Andrew Scott trifecta of broad shoulders, big hands, and a soft smile was practically custom-made for Bob. But you hadn’t been prepared for just how well it would suit him. 

The high white collar was stretched across his throat, emphasizing the width of his neck, and leading down to his shoulders. The black robe was unassuming enough, but it wasn’t enough to hide the definition of Bob’s shoulders and chest. If anything, it highlighted them by contrast. You’d always been attracted to the dichotomies within Bob—his strength and his softness, his gentleness and his discipline—and the vestment was putting them on blast.

He looked like a good man who fucked, and you must've had quaker ancestors, because it was really, really working for you.

The only other exposed skin was his hands, which was a whole other blessing. 

He had great hands. 

His long fingers were fidgeting under your perusal, and you dragged your eyes back up his body as Bob waited for your verdict. His hair was a little longer than normal, and you noticed the ends of it curling up around that damn collar, and you were practically itching to run your fingers through it. 

“Alright,” Bob grumbled, somehow uncertain as to how to interpret your reaction, “let’s have it.”

“Babe,” you shook your head. “I literally cannot even tell you how good you look.”

Bob’s eyes narrowed behind his glasses, looking down at himself. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” you assured him. “Like… like the female gaze personified; it’s actually ridiculous.”

He pushed his glasses up on his nose, shifting between his feet and pulling at the collar. 

Just that simple motion, a long finger tucked under that white fabric, and you wanted to call Penny and tell her you were sorry, but you and Bob actually couldn’t come to the Hard Deck’s Halloween party tonight. 

Instead, you crossed the room, determined to be PG, and wound your hands around his neck, smiling up at him. “Thank you for agreeing to this,” you said. 

Bob’s hands came around your waist easily, his shoulders relaxing as he felt the press of your body against his. 

“Of course,” he said automatically, and you knew he meant it. He was simple like that—if it would make you happy, he’d do it. You squeezed your arms a little tighter around him, and Bob immediately adjusted his grip, always willing to match you.

You shook your head, looking up at him fondly. “You’re too good to me,” you told him, honestly. 

“You make it easy,” Bob said, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of your head.  Bob’s hand ran up and down your spine slowly, a soft touch allowed by the open back of the jumpsuit. You snuggled into him, grateful and enamored and a hundred other things much wholesome than your reaction to his costume. You stayed that way for a long moment, wrapped in each others’ arms and your own thoughts, quietly charging before you’d face the adventure of Halloween with the rest of the dagger squad.

+++++

“We are good friends,” you announced, as Bob locked the door to the apartment, some four hours later. 

“Absolutely top drawer,” Bob agreed. 

The two of you had braved a costume contest (Jake and Javy won), obligatory thematic drinks (neither you nor Bob loved the taste of gin, but you couldn’t do Fleabag and not sip G&Ts), and Rooster playing his entire repertoire of spooky Halloween songs on The Hard Deck’s piano (twice). 

It had been fun, it had. 

It had also been exhausting. 

You kicked off your heels without finesse, and Bob sighed tiredly as he leaned over to undo the laces of his dress shoes. You smiled at the image of him, his large body bent over in the small hallway to arrange the shoe rack; he lifted a hand in your direction without looking up, and you slid your heels over to him with your toe. 

He looked up at you, smiling briefly, and his thumb brushed over your ankle in acknowledgment as he arranged your shoes next to his. 

You held out a hand to pull him up and he took it, straightening and stretching his back as he rose. His arm draped loosely over your shoulder as you walked down the hall, his fingers still playing with the hand you’d offered him. 

“The costumes were a hit,” he mused. “I couldn’t believe how many people had seen that show.”

You nodded, knowing he could feel the motion from your head on his shoulder. “It won like forty Emmys, with good reason.”

“Alright, you have great taste,” Bob teased softly. “No need to rub it in.”

You laughed as the two of you tried to fit through the bedroom door at once, not quite small enough to make it through without some maneuvering. Once through, you rose up on your toes to press a kiss to Bob’s cheek. 

“Thanks again,” you whispered. “For doing the costume thing.”

When you settled back on your heels, Bob followed you, his head ducking to capture your lips again. 

It was one of your favorite things about Bob, that he kissed you just to kiss you, to say any number of things he meant, with simple affection. He broke the kiss softly, his forehead still against yours, and one of his hands tucked some of your hair behind your ear. 

“You don’t have to thank me for doing something that makes you happy,” he said quietly, and your heart just melted. He was so special, so sweet without even trying. 

“Love you,” you said simply, and Bob hummed, before kissing you again. 

“Love you, too,” he said. 

You stood there for a moment, smiling sappily at each other, before Bob laughed to himself. “Although, maybe next year, we go for a costume that I can wear more than once?”

“I mean,” you shrugged, looking at his costume appreciatively, “let the record show that I am all for you bringing this look out, unprompted, whenever you want.”

Bob chuckled. “I’ll bear that in mind. Come on, let’s get changed.” 

He leaned in to kiss you again quickly, but your fingers tightened on the front of his robe when he pulled back, an idea streaking across your mind. 

“Or…” you trailed off, not sure if you wanted to open the door, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth as you considered. Bob’s hand eased its way up the side of your neck, his thumb tracing across your lip until you released it. 

“Or?” he prompted, quietly. 

“Or you could keep it on,” you said in a rush.

Bob’s hand on your jaw stilled, and he pulled back slightly to look at your face. Whatever he saw had his eyes widening, his breath catching, and then his mouth curved into a small smile. 

“Thought you were tired, honey,” he teased, his thumb brushing your cheek.

“I am,” you admitted, pausing. “But I know a good way to get me to sleep.”

Bob laughed against your skin, a fond sound, before bending down. His lips trailed warm kisses across your collarbone as his hands slipped behind you to undo the jumpsuit. You knew what he was doing, giving you time to decide if you wanted to get ready for bed or for sleep, since either would need you out of the jumpsuit, but your body responded to his touch without rationale. He hummed when you leaned into his touch and he pulled back to look at you.

“Incorrigible,” he said, and you smiled, unbothered. 

“Is that a no?” you asked.

Bob’s fingers were still fiddling with the fastenings of the jumpsuit and you knew you could help him, but you liked how close he was, how his hands felt, how everything had felt since he opened the bathroom door hours ago, looking like this. 

“It’s not a no,” he whispered. He got the final clasp and the garment fluttered down your body, pooling around your ankles. 

Bob’s hands immediately smoothed over you, his touch warming your bared skin, and you shivered at the contrast. His long fingers ran up your sides, his broad palms settling over your breasts; you leaned into his touch as he lifted them, your eyes falling shut as you breathed his name.

“Tell me what you want, sweetheart,” Bob asked softly. “I know we watched the show together, but how much are you wanting this to draw from it—is this roleplay, just the idea, what–”

“Anything,” you whispered, your voice breathier than you expected. Bob’s hands tightened on you, at your eagerness, and when you looked up at him, you saw the desire in his expression. 

“Okay,” Bob said, his voice soft, as he pressed another kiss to your lips, reassuring. “You just tell me if it’s too much, okay?”

You nodded, appreciating him checking in, but knowing you didn’t need it. You’d always been able to be honest with Bob, about what you needed or wanted, and you knew this wouldn’t be any different.

He lifted his chin, his eyes running down to your mouth as he licked his lips, before saying in a low voice, “Kneel.”

You whimpered.

Actually whimpered, a sound that ripped out of you at the perfect contrast of your doting boyfriend with the steely command from the show, one that brokered no discussion. Bob’s eyes darkened at the sound, but he raised an eyebrow, and you complied, sinking to the floor of your bedroom. You saw his jaw clench at the immediacy of your response, but that was the only indicator that he was affected, every other component of his expression radiating control. 

“Good girl,” he said, and your lashes fluttered at his low tone. Bob’s nails brushed across your forehead as his fingers ghosted over the top of your head, settling at the back of your scalp. 

“Or maybe not,” he said, in that same, low tone, a hint of unfamiliar condescension creeping in, “you got on your knees awful quick there, honey.”  

Your head tilted back at his touch, one of your hands coming up to balance yourself by resting on the front of his thigh. Through the black cloth you could feel his strong thighs, tensing under the brush of your fingers, and when you looked back up at him, he was watching you through half-closed eyes. 

“So pretty,” he said softly, almost to himself. “Take it out.”

You reached for him eagerly, finding the buttons in the robe and undoing them to find the loose slacks underneath. Your hands were nearly trembling with excitement as you felt the hot length of him through his trousers, and Bob drew in a sharp breath when your fingers brushed over his erection. Bulge was such an unglamorous word, but it was only accurate as you ran your hand over the length of him. You couldn’t help but lean forward to press a kiss against the straining material of the trousers. 

Bob groaned quietly, a faint sound that streaked ribbons of heat through you, and you returned to your initial prerogative. When you finally pulled him free of the vestment, you sat back on your thighs, admiring his thick length in your hand. Long and broad, veins tracing up the side of it, a drop of moisture pearled at the tip, and you were practically salivating as you leaned towards him again.

Your hand angled at the base of his cock and you licked your lips as you leaned towards him, but Bob’s hand on your hair tightened, pulling you back. He held you in place and you looked up at him to see him shaking his head. 

“Ask me nice,” he said, his hand tightening in your hair. His jaw was slack but his eyes were sharp as he watched you, wanting it as bad as you did, knowing how begging would make you feel. 

“Want to taste you,” you whined, a breath away from him. You wanted the weight of him on your tongue, your lips stretching around him, your name on his moan when you made him feel good. “Please, Bobby.”

He shook his head, readjusting his grip on your hair. 

“Who?” he asked, his voice low.

“Fuck,” you clenched your thighs together, as his words rolled over you. “Father,” you tried, and Bob groaned, a long low sound. 

“That’s right, baby,” he gritted, and his hips snapped forward.

Your mouth had been open, tongue eager, but he pushed past your lips so quickly that you barely registered the salty taste of him on your tongue before his thick cock was pressing at the back of your throat. Tears pricked at your eyelids, but you hollowed your cheeks as Bob pressed into your throat, your hands steadying yourself on his thighs again. 

You moaned around him, feeling your panties growing damp at the weight of him. He was so big, and he was trying to stay still, but his cock twitched in your mouth, little pulses that had your thighs quivering. 

Bob pulled back, all the way out of your mouth, and you gasped in a breath of air when his cock pulled free. With his hand in your hair holding you steady, he traced your lips with his cock. The swollen head rubbed against your lips, your saliva ran between your mouth and his cock, messy.

“Baby, this mouth,” Bob moaned. “You gonna let me fuck it?”

“Please,” you whispered, another pulse of arousal going through you when your polite boyfriend swore, opening your mouth wider as Bob dragged his cock against it again. 

“That’s what I thought you’d say,” Bob said, and he pushed back into you again. 

You held your breath as he eased into you, stretching your jaw and pushing back into your throat. When he was seated, you heard him sigh, something breathy and beautiful, and you swallowed obediently. His hips jerked forward as you tightened around him, and his other hand came down to hold the side of your face. 

“Doing so good for me, beautiful girl,” he praised softly, as he pulled back. He held you in place with his hands, his thighs pumping his cock into your open mouth, and your eyes filled with tears as he choked you on his cock.

He was so big, something you often forgot due to the gentleness with which he handled you, but when he got like this, it was unavoidable. His hands nearly spanned the back of your head, his thumbs coming forward to wipe your tears as they spilled out of your eyes, his large cock blocking air through your throat. You moaned as his thrusts got faster, knowing he loved this enough to be rough, to be wild for once, that your body was the vessel he was using for his pleasure. 

When you looked up at him, he was looking down at you, his eyes dark and cheeks bright with color. 

“Fuck, baby,” he panted, and you whined at the obsenity, “you’re taking me so well, honey, making me feel so good, that pretty lipstick stretched around my dick—”

Your head was swimming from the lack of air and his praise, and your hands tightened on his thighs, as his head fell back. He hit the back of your throat one more time, and another, and then he pulled out of you sharply, your body weaving when he let go of your hair. You looked up at him through streaming eyes, and Bob groaned looking down at you. 

He moved fast, his hands hooking under your arms and practically dragging you over to the bed. You still felt hazy when you landed on your back, the comforter soft under your body, and a moment later Bob lowered his body over yours. 

“Bet you’re all ready for me,” he said, his voice hoarse as his hand slotted between your legs. He jerked your underwear aside and you both groaned when one of his long fingers pulled through your folds. Bob’s head fell to your shoulder, and you felt him press a soft kiss there, even as shudder worked over his upper body. 

“What got you this wet, huh, baby?” he asked, his voice muffled by your skin, his other hand reaching up to pull off his glasses and set them on the nightstand. “You like being on your knees for me this much? Feeling my cock in that pretty mouth, knowing how well it’ll fill this cunt?”

His fingers pulled through the moisture between your thighs, rubbing through you and teasing your entrance. You gasped when he dragged your arousal up to your clit, pressing tight circles around it as your back arched off the bed. 

“Bobby, please, yes—”

He was gone a moment later, ripping your panties down your legs before he pulled you down to the edge of the bed, your legs hanging off of it as he stood between them. Your hair splayed around you, and you watched as he dragged his cock between your folds, still wet from your mouth. When he notched the head at your entrance, your head fell back, and he began to push it in. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you onto him, and you heard him breathing sharply through his nose, keeping himself under control. 

“Baby,” he gritted, his hands gripping your hips as he pulled you onto him. “Feels as good as sin, this hungry pussy. So wet and tight, pulling me in like you need it...”

You moaned at his words, your hands flailing over the sheets, needing something to hold onto as Bob pushed himself home inside of you. You wanted to sob from the fullness of him inside you, how you could feel him through your whole body, practically feel his heartbeat. 

“I do need it, I do,” you babbled, the stretch of him overwhelming and perfect. “Please, Bobby, move, I need you—”

“You’re doing so good, baby,” he whispered, and you reached for him blindly. You clutched at his chest, his shoulders, your hands curling into the robes and moaning when you remembered what he was wearing. 

Bob laughed darkly, pulling his hips back slowly. His thick cock dragged against your warm walls and you could feel yourself clenching down on him, craving him. 

“The robes are really doing it for you, huh, baby? Thinking of driving all the piety out of a man’s head because he needs this tight pussy more than he needs his god?”

His words were accompanied by a harsh thrust and you cried out as Bob picked up a brutal pace. His hips slapped into yours, his cock stretching you, and his hands tightened on your hips. 

He leaned down to kiss you, his lips clashing against yours as he bent your legs back to reach deeper inside you.

“You like the thought of that, don’t you, baby,” he growled, his teeth dragging across your collarbone, “the thought of being so under a man's skin that he can’t wait a minute more without being buried inside of you? Needing to hear those sweet sounds you make while he’s fucking you, begging him to save you from the ache between your thighs?”

 His cock was dragging into a deep part of you, brushing against a spot that had you seeing stars. Your legs were trembling from the tight angle but you thought you might die if he didn’t keep going, didn’t save you, just like he said. 

You whimpered when his lips closed around your pulse point, biting enough to mark you, and Bob pulled back to look at you. His face was flushed, red and sweating, the most beautiful sight in the world. 

“Love you like this,” you moaned, your legs shaking. “Fuck, Bobby, you feel so good, I need you—”

Bob groaned, his head falling beside yours as he rutted into your harder. His tight collar scaped against your neck and you wound your arms around his neck. As his thrusts pushed your body up the bed, his lips found yours again, dragging against you sloppily.

“No amount of holy wine could wipe the taste of you off my tongue, baby,” he gritted against your lips. “Need the sounds of my baby coming undone around my cock; ‘s better than anything else in the world.”

Your eyes rolled back as you clung to him. You felt like sobbing, you felt like your skin was on fire, like the only thing tethering you to this pane was the unrepentant press of his cock deep inside of you, his strong arms around you, his lips against you. 

“Cum for me, honey,” he moaned, his voice sounding broken. “Make me sinner and saint, baby, let me feel it.”

You screamed, your back arching off the bed as your orgasm shattered over you. Your head lulled back, you felt the fabric of the robes rending between your fingers as you pulled desperately at Bob. Pleasure rolled over you, white hot and almost painful, all-encompassing and as close to holy as anything you knew. 

Bob groaned as you tightened around him, your cunt pulsing as your orgasm wrecked you, pulling him with you.   

“So good for me, baby,” he groaned, his hips pistoning faster, and you whined weakly, your body sensitive but needing this closeness, and his climax. 

“Want to feel you, Bobby,” you whispered. “Please, baby, want your cum…”

His thighs were trembling and his chest was heaving against yours as he got closer. He ground his hips into yours, his fingers tight enough on your hips to bruise, his breath puffing into your shoulder. 

“Asking me so sweetly, honey,” he gritted into your neck, “of course, anything for you, anything, baby, fuck—”

He came with a choked groan, his body tensing as he held himself over you, his hips bucking as he finished. You whimpered at the full feeling, his cock weakly fucking his cum into you, your combined climax leaking out of your core. The room was hot and Bob’s harsh breathing seemed to echo around it; you thought dazedly that that was your favorite sound in the world, the reminder that we was here, breathless, after being with you. He made to roll off of you, but you clung to him, wrapping your shaking legs around him and pulling him tightly to you. 

The robes scratched against your chest, but we came willingly, turning slightly to wrap his own arms around you, holding you close. 

“Beautiful girl,” he mumbled into your hair. His voice was so deep, so tender, and you drew in a breath, running your hands through his long hair. He nuzzled into you and your arms softened, loving the warmth that came from being with him. 

After a moment, you felt his chest shake. You pulled back to look at him, confused to find him silently laughing, and Bob smiled at you gently, pushing some of your sweat-matted hair away from your face.

“That’ll be fourteen Hail Marys,” he teased, “and at least a dozen Our Fathers, don’t you think?”

You rolled your eyes and swatted at his shoulder but your boyfriend chuckled, rolling onto his back and pulling you with him. 

“Worth it,” he whispered, his eyes bright and honest as he leaned up to kiss you again, soft and playful, "so damn worth it."

[seeminglyranch87]

Taylor & Travis Timeline

June 2024 - Part 1

June 2 - The Eras Tour, Groupama Stadium, Lyon France N1 - rain show.

The Prophecy x Long Story Short (guitar) & Fifteen x You're On You're Own Kid (piano)

June 3 - The Eras Tour, Groupama Stadium, Lyon France N2

Glitch x Everything Has Changed (guitar) & Chloe or Sam or Sophia or Marcus (piano)

June 6 - Travis to appear on Good Morning America

June 7 - Chiefs OTA's, Kansas City - Travis (x)

The Eras Tour, Scottish Gas Murrayfield Stadium, Edinburgh, UK N1

Would've Could've Should've x I Know Places (guitar) & ‘Tis The Damn Season x Daylight (piano)

June 8 - The Eras Tour, Scottish Gas Murrayfield Stadium, Edinburgh, UK N2

The Bolter x Getaway Car (guitar) & All Of The Girls You’ve Loved Before x Crazier (piano)

More promotional deals for Travis; Accelerator with Livvy Dunne.

June 9 - The Eras Tour, Scottish Gas Murrayfield Stadium, Edinburgh, UK N3

It's Nice To Have A Friend x Dorothea (guitar) & Haunted x Exile (piano)

Travis participates in David Njoku’s celebrity softball game. Travis is winner of the home run derby

June 10 - Travis in KC for media day (x) Let's go #87

Travis comments on GoJo & Golic's podcast where he raves about Travis' athleticism, simulating a conversation between Tay & Trav (x)

"The only thing I can come back to with all this ... is how difficult it is to register on the Richter scale in the house that he's now apart of with Taylor Swift where its like 'Oh babe, what did you do this weekend?' 'Well, I stimulated the global economy, I went to a new a new city and enriched the lives of hundreds of thousands of people, babe, what did you do?' 'I cracked 11 dingers (11 home runs) in a celebrity softball game, feeling pretty great about this one babe, thanks for asking' "

June 11 - Chiefs training camp

Travis is asked at Chiefs press conference what he and his significant other cook together based on the Youtube Short Taylor posted (x 6:30)

"I'm gonna keep that one it myself, because I thoroughly enjoy cooking with her, so its something I'd rather keep personal" and later adds " Taylor makes a great pop tart and cinnamon roll" with a big grin on his face as he leaves.

Taylor out at Casa Cruz in Notting Hill, London, UK dining with Cara Delevingne, Stella McCartney, Phoebe Waller Bridges, Kate Moss, Este Haim, Danielle Haim, Lena Dunham, Andrew Scott, Martin McDonagh & others. Taylor wears the choker she also wore to the Grammy's when announcing TTPD and receiving her 4th Album Of The Year. I'm suspicious...

Look at that smirk...

New Heights Ep. 94 airs (x) Jason and Travis talk about Travis’ Kids Choice Awards nomination, Jason is convinced Travis will win. Jason is not recognised by young women and girls...

“oh my god you’re the brother of the Travis dating Taylor Swift!!”

June 12 - Chiefs training camp. "Tight end Travis Kelce made a great catch over the middle despite good coverage during a 7-on-7 period."

Go to previous update -> May part 3

Go to next update -> June part 2

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[prpfz]

hey!🌙✨ just a 21+ girl looking for other 21+ folks to write some smutty original plots. i write over email or discord, am happy to double, & i opt for a lazylit style, with short but well-crafted replies of 2-3 paragraphs. hoping to practice my nsfw-writing skills a bit, so my preference would be starting with the smut (or getting to it fairly quickly!) and then exploring the consequences after. the more dead dove-ish the better, age gaps and/or incest very welcome! below are the pairings/dynamics i’m currently looking for, all historical at the moment:

cult leader x follower—maybe it’s britain in the late 1890s or early 1900s, and it’s some occult mysticism a la aleister crowley? lots of folk horror imagery, foggy moors, remote islands, ancient carvings, etc. or maybe it’s a hippie commune in america in the 1960s, with lots of psychedelic strangeness? either way i’d like to explore the power dynamics between the two! maybe the leader’s trying to seduce a resistant target, or maybe the follower is angling for more power within the cult? lots of options!

addict x dealer—or addict x addict, or addict x sober, you get the picture! opium dens in victorian london? heroin addiction on the streets of 1980s berlin? the affairs of barflies & drunks in a 1920s new york speakeasy, a 1800s frontier saloon, or a 1990s glasgow pub? lots of options here, but i'm mostly interested in exploring the dynamics around addiction, the way that people compromise themselves & get into self-destructive and codependent relationships.

father x daughter—definitely my most dead dove-ish craving at the moment, but i'd like to explore a scenario where a father & daughter are isolated from society (either literally isolated or just socially outcast) and end up straying into dangerous territory. maybe it's france in the middle ages and they're peasants in some little cottage in the woods? maybe it's the 19th century in ireland and it's a lighthouse keeper and his daughter living by the sea? or 1900s england and they live in a decaying mansion in the countryside? or is it the '90s, actually, and they live in a council flat in manchester and just keep to themselves and get gossiped about? in any case, i'd like to dive into the psychology of this and really explore the consequences!

+ optional add-on: also, i adore using faceclaims, am happy to take requests if there's a fc you're itching to write against, and (on my end) i especially appreciate ones who are slightly more unconventional/unusual in their looks? idk some of my current favs are anya taylor-joy, phoebe waller-bridge, vinette robinson, olivia colman, saoirse-monica jackson, ewen bremner, adam nagaitis, joel fry, sam spruell so use any of those as a fc and you will have earned my undying gratitude & affection.

cheers, thanks for reading! give this a like if interested and i'll reach out!

give a like and anon will get back to you

[ahauntingwewillgo]

I've just finished fleabag and I have so many many thoughts she's terrible she's a sneak thief she takes things that isn't hers she's empty she doesn't love herself her best friend loved her so much and she betrayed her she's the best and worst sister in the world Claire's husband is such a fucking dick I hate him he got exactly what he deserved I kept away from this for years bc I knew I'd fall in love with both Phoebe waller bridge but also Andrew scott and God damn it I wanted him to pick her so so so so so bad but I respect him for not but God is so mean to make love feel the way it does and then asks of us so much and you know how to love best and that's why you find it so painful and fuck you Phoebe you're so fucking beautiful and so fucking funny and Claire is so beautiful and so fucking funny and fuck you Andrew scott you didn't have to kiss her like That all tender and shit God this was the best show I'd ever seen thank you PWB for my life

[happy-lemon]

Ask Game: List 5 things that make you happy, then put this in the askbox for the last 10 people who liked or reblogged something from you! get to know your mutuals and followers :)

Ooh, thank you for this ask! I like it! 💕

Five things that make me happy are:

I have a border collie mix named Talaria and a cream tabby called Tingum. The cat lives with my husband in the Bahamas most of the time (long story, but we're happily married) so I miss him a lot when they're on-island.

Writing! I've been in a non-sims slump for a long time which hasn't been amazing for my career, but my motivation is back and that makes me incredibly happy.

Rainy days. I live in Florida so they're fairly few and far between most of the year, but we're coming up on rainy season and I can't wait.

All things Phoebe Waller-Bridge. I like her as an actor, but I especially love her writing. I strive to write more like she does but I don't think I'm there yet.

Birbs! All of them. Even the mean ones.

[nancydrewwouldnever]

I mostly follow you and Lucky lol and I loved loved loved seeing Phoebe waller bridge and Paul mescal being besties (if Chris was, let's say, dating Phoebe or someone like her, I don't think we would be getting called 'crazies' day in day out). I also loved seeing the Victoria Pedretti gifs and her at the picket line and I couldn't help but cackle when I remembered Chris's unfortunate unfollows (Halsey, Pedretti and the most suspicious one to me, which is never talked about, Monica Barbaro). But we all know he can only scrape the bottom of the barrel so I guess the nobody is all he could get lol. Thank you so much for posting about the Maui fires too, it's been devastating

Actually, the one follow that really made me raise my eyebrows was Alex Chando. Because it only lasted for around 24 hours and it felt like she may have reached out and said, thanks but no thanks. Just my own conspiracy theory.

[precious-little-scoundrel]

Marinaaa! What sort of movie/shows would you like to see Callum star in? Is there any directors or actors/actress you’d like to see him opposite of?

Oooh this is fun, I’m so very pop culture deficient I can’t say which upcoming projects I want him in (he’s given me Boys in the Boat AND MotA all in one year…i mean, he’s a generous lad…

But, I’ve got some thoughts. And per usual they’re Historical AF. Thanks to the wicked mind of @ab4eva I’ve suddenly started picturing him playing a young Ernest Hemingway and I just wanna say I don’t know if my pelvic floor could handle that much sex appeal in one cinematic experience.

I need him playing a rugby star in some thing that Phoebe Waller-Bridge creates, I won’t explain further.

I need him in those obscene tight tan trousers of the late British Imperial army, probably being a chivalrous and repressed cunty officer.

I need an adaptation of a few novels and autobiographies, including I Married Adventure by Osa Johnson and I need blonde Cal as Martin, who robbed the cradle and took her on a thirty year safari.

I need this man on my screen. That’s the whole of it. I’d love to see him directed by like, I dunno?? Ron Howard’s done some awesome old style epic biopics. Thinking something like his old work with Cinderella Man?? This is so random.

Anyways. Thanks for the ask that set my mind loose.

[thyqueerblueberry]

roman roy and fleabag parallels

hi. so, the worms in my brain got a little (very) out of hand and this post is a result of it👍

let's talk about the line "i dont know what to do with all the love i have for her i dont know where to put it." fleabag as a character is deeply, incredibly flawed. she's broken, depressed, self-destructive; i could go on and on. to me, the show was essentially about love and grief and being able to find support in the people around you, and coming to terms with the fact that there are in fact, people that love you and that you deserve to be loved. fleabag thinks she's "greedy, perverted, selfish, apathetic, cynical and depraved" and yeah, she is, but she's also trying her damned best to get through life goddamit. roman, my precious failbaby, my son, he literally thinks of himself as unlovable, thinks he deserves being hit because he's "annoying." the core of roman's self-hate stems from the abuse he suffered as a child (and continues to), all those years that he spent trying to please a father who thought there was something wrong with him. he's a cruel, evil guy (first time we see that on screen was the baseball game where he promised that kid 1 mil and then proceeded to tear the cheque in front of his eyes) and yeah, he too, is "greedy, perverted, selfish, apathetic, cynical and depraved."

"i think you know how to love better than any of us that's why you find it all so painful." phoebe waller-bridge why would you do this to me. do i even have to elaborate on this line? fleabag holds so much love in her she doesn't know what to do with it she wants to be loved but doesn't want to go through the terrible ordeal of being known, of being seen, her boyfriend literally told her "don't make me hate you, loving you is hard enough as it is", the priest's speech on love, his decision to choose to stay or leave her and he chose the former !!!! her relationship with her sister, how claire loves her but doesn't see her, not the way the priest did. just. yeah. rome. he has so, so much love to give. i think out of all the characters on succ, he's the one vulnerable enough to say something like "i don't know dad, love?" like??? and that scene where he asks greg to get him one of logan's sweater, something that smells like him?? how he's the one who initiates hugs?? "hey can we do the hug-y thing"??????????? ARHJHJEFKHDFS im not going to elaborate on the love he has for logan or his siblings bc there are sooo many posts that do it better than i could, but essentially, just like fleabag, roman wants to be loved but he doesn't think of himself as deserving of it.

their relationship with sex. it's so different but also not?? my friend phrased it for me so im just going to paste that over here (my fave part about this is the fact that they literally haven't watched succession but figured all this out from whatever i've told them HAH)

feel free to interact w this post and elaborate on this more!!

how they blame themselves for the death of the person they loved (logan and boo), although in rome's case it's kinda funny in a tragic way if him calling logan a cunt is what killed logan.

how they use humor as a coping mechanism, how they deal with guilt.

something something their relationship with their sibling/s too.

and that is all for today, thank you for coming to my TED talk.

[slicedblackolives]

thank you phoebe waller-bridge for giving me a socially acceptable reason to lust after andrew scott in 2023