#this photo makes me feel so goddamn nostalgic sigh

[neuroticnatured]

The warmest glow.

“They were very important musically but as a person, he was a very nice man.” — Bob Geldof.

“Joe was one of the truest guys you could ever meet. If he said “I am behind you”, then you knew he meant it 100 per cent.” — Topper Headon.

When I stumbled across this photo recently, I felt enveloped in a comforting warmth. It wasn't just the soft tangerine tones that drew me in; it was the gentle kindness reflected in his eyes. This trait will always be linked to his name — a deep love for all of humanity.

[The above quotes make my heart smile every time I read them]. ᡣ𐭩

[imaginespazzi]

nivi, we need another chaotic family drabble with kk reacting to azzi's post for ice when she never got one for her bday 😂

Unserious, unedited chaos back by popular demand 🤪:

It takes 5 minutes between Azzi hitting the post button and deciding to take a much-needed nap, before her door is being slammed open and KK comes roaring through it, face livid, Jana on the tip of her heels, and Paige following behind them both with an amused smirk.

"What. Is. This?" KK asks, shoving her phone in Azzi's face.

Azzi squints, "it's my birthday story for Ice?"

"AND WHY DOES ICE GET A BIRTHDAY STORY?" KK yells, stomping her foot to go along with it.

Before Azzi can reply, she's being tackled into a hug by a 6'3 koala, which sends her reeling about five steps.

"I KNEW I WAS YOUR FAVORITE CHILD," Ice bellows and Azzi flinches from how loud it is in her ear, suddenly nostalgic for the silence.

"I cannot BELIEVE," KK paces as Ice clings onto Azzi's back, "that you would differentiate between your children like this,"" she turns to Jana, "tell her Jana, tell her how much that hurt you."

"That really hurt my feelings," Jana recites and Azzi has to stifle a laugh, Paige doesn't even bother.

"KK-"

"IT'S KAMOREA TO YOU," KK holds up a hand and Azzi rolls her eyes.

"Okay then Kamorea-"

"I just-" KK lets out a dramatic, "I just wanna know why you know? What does SHE have that I don't mom? Is it the extra 2 inches-"

Ice scoffs, "you're barely 5-8"

"THAT'S NOT THE POINT," KK yells again and Paige snickers which gets her a pointed glare from KK, "what are YOU laughing at? She posted Lou too, when's the last time she posted you other than to get photo creds?"

Paige reels back at that, smirk disappearing as she turns to Azzi, "that's not the only reason you posted right? Right? I looked cute in those pics and you couldn't help yourself? RIGHT?"

"Right," Azzi nods, trying to prevent herself from rolling her eyes again, "that's exactly why."

"Girl boo, Don't believe her. She's a liar and a TRAITOR," KK stands defiantly in front of Paige, "besides we have to go find me a stepmother."

"Not this again," Azzi sighs, wondering why she doesn't lock her door more often. She still has all of Ice wrapped around her and it seems like the younger girl has not intention of getting off.

"Do you see, do you see how little she cares about you? ABOUT US?" KK puts a dramatic hand to her heart, "she doesn't even care."

"I don't want a new mother," Ice presses a wet kiss against Azzi's cheeks and Azzi can't help but smile despite the insanity, "I like this one."

"Then we'll do it parent-trap style, you get Azzi and I get Paige," KK says, nodding her head like she's making the most serious decision of her life.

Jana guffaws, "hello? Who do I get? Am I an orphan now?"

"You can come with us Jana," Ice volunteers excitedly, "you and Nés both."

"Absolute not. I am not losing my children and-" Paige cuts in, turning to Azzi with big blue eyes, "I don't want a divorce."

It's on the tip of Azzi's tongue to make a remark about how they're not married but she knows reason and logic are not her friends when it comes to this situation.

"KK-" she begins

"IT'S KAMOREA TO YOU," KK retorts haughtily. sitting herself down on Azzi's bed and crossing her leg.

Azzi lets out a deep breath, trying to muster as much sincerity as she can, "Kamorea I am sorry I hurt your feelings. Next year, I will post a story-"

"A grid post," KK demands.

"Right. I will make a grid post for you-"

"Because I am your favoritest child?" KK gives Azzi a look as behind her both Jana and Ice burst into protests.

"Because you are my child and I love you," Azzi concedes, "and I have an extra bag of of trufru that you can have."

A grins burst onto KK's face simultaneously with Paige's face dropping, "SHE GETS THAT BAG OF TRUFRU? SHE LITERALLY JUST GOT HOSPITALIZED FOR IT?"

"You said to fix it so will you just let me goddamn fix it?" Azzi says exasperatedly as Paige continues to sulk in the corner.

"I'm still mad at you," KK says slowly as she lifts off the bed, "but I might be less mad after I've had some time to think over trufru."

"My trufru," Paige mutters under her breath, following KK out of the door, no doubt on a mission to steal some for herself. Ice detaches herself from Azzi, practically skipping out the door with a happy grin and Jana shakes her head, sharing a commiserating smile with Azzi as she heads out as well.

This time, Azzi does lock her door, getting ready to finally take her now well-deserved nap, when her phone rings. Seeing Inés's called ID, she picks up the phone with a grin.

"Hi Nésy-"

"YOU POSTED A STORY FOR ICE???"

And that ladies and gentlemen, is why Azzi Fudd stays so far away from the grenade that is social media. Really, she'd much rather be asleep anyways.

[venomvalley]

once bitten, twice shy (3/3);

pairing: arthur morgan x vampire!reader

summary: A vampire possessing a grudge against humanity finds herself in a lonesome cowboy with a murder streak — what is a relationship if not built upon common interests?

words: 3.5k

warnings: nsfw (slight erotica hfjdkshk the most non-descriptive porn ever)

notes: yeehoo folks here we go the final part hope its ok!!! also arthur is so soft my hort :’) i’m rlly sad bc i love these characters so much and to say goodbye is upsetting i gotta say hehe

» PART 1 ; PART 2

Arthur's scent clings to each nook and cranny of your home long after he's left, absorbed into bed sheets and fabric of your clothing. You wish to burn it all to the ground, yourself included. Despite scrubbing your body to the point of injury in a creek for hours the night before, his scent refuses to leave the pores of your skin. 

In the end, you pack a bag filled with precious photos of passed-on loved ones, a change of clothes, and the drawing he made of your sleeping form. Oh, and money. Can't forget that.

After a week’s journey (so you took a detour or four to look at the scenery… and also because you got lost), you reach the next town over. A small, five-building excuse overwhelmed with working men and drunkards.

Maybe Arthur will come looking for you. Hopefully not, if he wants to stay alive.

The pianist plays an upbeat tune inside the saloon, and you nod your head to the beat as darkened eyes sweep the crowd of dancing folk. 

It isn't like you've never escaped from a town in lieu of getting caught, but for some reason, you can't shake the fact that something — or someone — is missing.

No, you just miss your shack called home. That's all.

But when a tall, broad-shouldered man passes the table at which you recline, unused breath catches in your throat before realizing that the man isn't your Arthur.

Your Arthur. Brave words for someone who wanted him dead and blood-drained only a few weeks ago.

Familiar thirst settles at the back of your throat, and you survey the room yet again before your shoulders droop and you pout. You can't kill any of these people. It would be wrong.

A forest waits a few miles from town. Maybe you could find a deer to feast on? Not that you've ever tried feeding from animals, but you recently incurred a change of heart. So it seems that an old dog can learn new tricks.

"Can I buy you a drink, little lady?" A woman, dark-skinned and red-lipped, with a smile bright as the sun. A pinch nags at the forefront of your mind. She feels... familiar. "Looks like someone didn't show up."

You heave a sigh, and nod to a nearby seat that she quickly takes, ringed fingers tapping atop the sticky wooden table. "It isn't that, I'm afraid. More like I'm waiting on a man who doesn't know to show up."

She hums in understanding, searches your gaze for a moment—

Fine hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, and you bolt upright, forcing down the urge to hiss like a cat defending its territory.

You should have been more alert. Damn it to hell, if only your thoughts hadn't been so clouded by Arthur's presence.

She curiously cocks her head as her eyes shift from a deep brown to ringed with red. "My sweet Rose, what are you doing in a place like this?"

You lean over the corner of the table, smile pinched. "Celia. Fancy meeting you here."

She rests a bejeweled hand over yours, twines your fingers to stop their shaking. "I didn't come to fight, but to check on an old friend." A swift shake of the head. "Ever since what happened with Emmaline, nobody's heard a word from you. You up and vanished."

You grit your teeth, lungs constricting at the sound of her name. "I needed time."

"To what? Hermit yourself away with her letters?" At the fall of your chin, she brushes soothing knuckles against a cheek. "You were once a famed member of our clan. And to throw that away for a human…"

Strong fingers wrap around her wrist, yet make no move to tug her away. "She wasn't just a human, Celia."

A long pause, the chatter of saloon-goers and clattering mugs deafening in the background. "I know, little flower. We all know how much she meant to you, but…" Celia fidgets in her seat, "well, I came to ask if you'll join us once again."

You look up through heavy lashes, the world's burdens equally as heavy upon time-frail shoulders. You thought you had left that life of kinship and murder. "Like old times?"

She offers a smile. The same smile she shone before turning you into the undead creature you appear as today. "Like old times. I have children now. Actual children. And Leon and Wesley and Isaac are still with us. They miss you most."

"I…" You allow her hand to fall before peering into the eyes of the woman who breathed life into you a second life. They lack resentment or coldness, and instead shine with a thousand galaxies that whisper of safety and home.

But they aren't blue.

"Can I think on it tonight?"

Celia pulls you into a tight hug for a too-short moment, then breaks away. "Of course. I'll be back here tomorrow night."

Leaving with Celia seems to be the only option. Or the best, given your circumstances. 

But could you really leave Arthur behind? After all, you lo—you…. Damn it, you l o v e him.

The thought of never seeing him again gets swept off the proverbial table.

Though you ask the owner to allay distractions tonight while you upend every preconceived notion you taught yourself, a heavy knock rattles the door to your room. 

And, after panic sets in at the all-too-familiar lingering presence, yet before you can undo the latch to your window, his voice echoes through the wood and bathes the room in nostalgic warmth. 

“Listen, I know you’re in there. The bartender told me.” A heavy thump of what you presume to be his forehead against the door. “Can’t we just talk? I got some stuff I wanna say.”

On swift, noiseless feet, you sneak over to where he stands, only a thin slab of wood separating your touch. And yes, it stings. Being unable to hug him and kiss him and devote your heart to loving him for the rest of your days. 

But you know. He’s better off without you.

“There’s nothing we have to say. I’m done.” You know that he’ll sense the lie from the shake in your voice alone. But maybe he won’t. 

“You know that ain’t true. We…. goddamn it, we had something. Didn’t we? I—just, please. Let me talk to ya.”

Make a choice. And fast. 

Within three seconds, you open the door. 

He smiles, feigning nonchalance when a turbulence of worry marrs the expression. “Fancy meeting you here.”

You welcome the envelope of his arms, and bury your face into the thick scent of his shirt. “How did you find me?”

A large hand soothes down the tense muscles of your shoulders before breaking away and pressing against the nape of your neck. “I wouldn’t be much of an outlaw if I gave all my secrets away, now would I?”

His joke cuts out all tension, and you stand in the doorway for what seems like hours. Simply hugging. 

“Arthur, I—“ You finally pull away, press a hand to his cheek to gather his attention, a grin threatening to break at his quick shiver. “An old friend of mine came to see me and asked me back into my clan…”

A frown deepens the furrow of his brow as he maps out the features of your face, searching for something indiscernible. You have nothing left to give him. “You’re gonna tell her no, right?”

You shake your head, eyes downcast. Then painfully step away from the safety his arms always seem to provide. Cold threatens to drown you beneath stagnant loss and failure. "Arthur, I… I have to let you go. You deserve to love someone normal." 

“You act like I’m normal myself.” After a long pause, being unable to meet his eyes, he steps back, and the rejection that envelops you instead makes you want to sob. “Just say what you wanna say. I’m a big boy. I can take it.”

You despise crying, yet as you sense a wall building between you, as you sense his heart fumbling out of reach, scarlet tears fall from your eyes. "You make me feel alive again, Arthur. I… I love you. But I don’t want to hurt you. And I’m afraid that—no, I will.”

A fool. That’s all you have ever been and will ever be. The personified definition of insanity. 

Eyes shut tight against the fear of either rejection or acceptance, his sigh brushes warm against the high of a cheekbone. Then sturdiness in the shape of thick arms wind tight around your shoulders. 

“That ain’t ever stopped me before.” He humphs. “‘Sides, how do you know I won’t be the one doing the hurting?”

“You don’t have superhuman strength.”

“Other folks beg to differ.”

A too-long pause settles over the room.

Unsure of how to salvage the conversation, you slink over to the worn-down bed, mattress creaking under your weight. Your head falls into your hands, elbows braced atop knobby knees from skipping too many meals.

What, if anything, had you accomplished tonight? Fucking up yet another chance (no matter how small) at love. That’s what. 

“Please leave. I’ll be gone this time tomorrow. There’s nothing else—“

“Well, unfortunately,” the overwhelming heat of his body causes your eyes to fall shut, your jaw to lock when his thigh presses flush against yours on the bed after he sits, “I still got a lot to say.”

A hand, unbearably warm, presses to the inside of your knee, and your resolve breaks. Shatters. Just from a simple touch. 

But you can’t let him know the effect his presence has on you. 

“It would be easier if you would just—“

“I ain’t going back and I sure as hell can't forget about ya.” His voice then dips an octave, something nostalgic and pained swirling in his tone. “Not even if I wanted to.”

You know the feeling all too well. 

The urge to comfort him proves too powerful to overcome, and suddenly you’re settled in his lap, face hidden in the slope of his neck. 

You won’t tell him about Emmaline tonight, but you do silently thank her for allowing yourself to find solace in love again. 

With his cheek pressed to the top of your head, he whispers, “Come back with me. I’ll buy you a nice house or a new horse or… just. Don’t go with them. It’d break my heart.” He chuckles dryly, sadly. “You’re the only Rose I got in my garden now.”

You pull back to look at him, eyes filled with galaxies, a dopey smile tugging at your lips. “And you say that you aren’t a writer.”

A hand slips around your waist while the other rests against the knots at the back of your neck, thumb tracing over the malnourished flesh. 

Thick brows furrow in concern. “You punishing yourself again?”

At his discovery, you lower your eyes and exhale a tired sigh. “I haven’t gotten the chance to feed.”

“It’s been weeks!” Of course he sees right through your lies, and also the following silence. “You can’t keep doing this to yourself.”

He pulls away from you to shed his jacket, and begins the process of unbuttoning his shirt to reveal the pale skin of his neck. 

“Arthur—“

“I don’t wanna hear it. You gotta eat.”

The softness of his eyes, juxtapose a firm tone, sends your brain into a tizzy. He cares. Truly cares for you. That much is clear now. 

And you know you care for him, too. 

“I love you.” Out in a rush of breath, you think he didn’t hear you by the unchanging expression on his face. A moment passes. Two. Three. And just as you begin to curse yourself for blurting out your true feelings, he kisses you. Hard. All passion and rush and desperation, and you only pull away to allow him a breath before your teeth sink into his bottom lip, and he groans, slants his head and opens his mouth wider as you reach a staggering rhythm of teeth and lips and tongues. 

Rough hands, hardened from years of labor, yank at the skirt of your dress until it sits about your hips. Calloused fingertips trail over the skin of your thighs, and your flesh sings at his touch. Craving more like a ravenous beast just waiting for its next meal. 

His body sings, too, in thin lines of bright red that cross over and under each other like line-connected constellations. Yet the blood pools salaciously between his legs. 

Arthur comes up for air, presses his forehead to the curve of your shoulder, breath hot and alive upon your skin. 

“If I feed from you, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop myself,” you whisper, press a kiss to his temple. Allow him to tug your dress up and over your head. 

“I can think of a fine distraction.”

You shiver at the rasp in his voice, laced with thinly-veiled desire. 

He shifts and tosses you back onto the bed, and as he works his way up your body, so does the thin cotton of your shift underhand. 

“You want this, right?”

“More than anything.”

And as he savors the sight of naked flesh, using eyes then hands then lips, he ghosts four words across the skin of a thigh that causes a hitch in your breath: “I love you, too.”

When he licks open, up, into you, the world suddenly becomes brighter. Clearer. A canvas of muted colors and half-dead flowers begins to bloom into shades of pink and green and yellow and orange and!

… right before your very eyes. 

You are loved. Either despite or because of the monstrosity of your existence, the denial of one human’s effect on you cannot be disputed. 

Maybe now you can begin to live again. 

And for a moment, for a hair’s breadth, you swear your heart skips a beat. 

You open your eyes, unsure of when you closed them, to find Arthur hovering over you, brow furrowed, concern etched into the lines of his face. 

“Why’re you crying?”

Crying?

“I…” A thumb brushes away the streak of red that stains your temples, and your own hands press to his cheeks. “I’m happy.”

He beams at you then, with a smile so wide it almost splits his face in half. “You got me wrapped around your finger, ya know that?” 

You reach down to rid him of his pants, fingers fumbling as your body buzzes at the prospect of a meal. “I think it’s the other way around at this point.”

Arthur, now fully naked, offers you a shy, barely-there smile. But your eyes are too busy memorizing every curve and scar and imperfection of his body to notice. He’s beautiful. As if you wouldn’t adore the man beneath the clothes any less, no matter how he looked. But this? You trail cold fingertips down the middle of his chest, stopping to trace every scar, brush every freckle, astonished at the thick chords of muscle just beneath the skin of his torso. 

“Beautiful.”

His hand encircles your wrist then places your palm against his chest, right over his beating heart. 

“You still alright?”

You gift him a toothy grin in response, and wrap frail legs around his hips. “Better than alright.” Your face suddenly falls, grows serious enough for him to pause mid-pump. “I should tell you that coupling with a vampire can be extremely overwhelming. Some people faint from overstimulation.”

He blinks, slightly purses his lips in thought as his eyes never leave yours. “But you still want to…?”

“Of course! I just wanted you to understand what you were getting into.” 

Arthur lowers himself onto his forearms then brushes his knuckles against the side of your face. “I trust you.”

And then he’s filling you, slowly, face scrunched up in such pleasure it almost resembles pain. You release a breath when his hips finally seat against the back of your thighs, and welcome the muzzle of his face against your shoulder with a hand that combs through his hair. 

He cusses under his breath, words unbearably hot against your skin, before he pulls out and surges back into delicious heat. The only part of your body that feels even mildly warm. 

Blunt fingers dig into the curve of his spine as he develops a smooth rhythm that sends both of you into staccato song, and suddenly the closeness isn’t enough. You tug him down to lay flat against you, until his belly and chest and hips press against your own. And still, it isn’t enough. 

As he fucks you in earnest, as your belly tightens and coils and lurches, you realize just how badly you need it. Just a turn of your head, an opening of your mouth and—

He sucks in a harsh breath as your teeth pierce the soft column of his throat. Curls a hand around your hips and lifts up for a deeper angle. 

You mewl, enraptured with his strength and stamina and the constant surprises he throws your way. This little human, so ready to offer you his life in exchange for your own, intent on your happiness, easily overlooking your monstrous nature. 

When his grip begins to weaken, you pull away with a harsh breath and grin at his mewl. He spends himself inside you, huffs at the uselessness of his limbs, at his inability to roll over, then collapses atop you. 

“Are you alright?” you whisper, curl a hand around his shoulder, listen as his breaths return to normal.

“Jesus, you—“

“I did warn you, didn’t I?”

He huffs, drags a lazy hand over your hair. “You weren’t lying.”

You both chuckle, the atmosphere dispersing back into a loving silence, and for the better part of an hour Arthur fights sleep just to lay by your side and talk with you. 

“What’re you gonna do about tomorrow? You gonna go back?”

“I was going to when I thought you had forgotten about me. But now, well... I’m not going to leave you behind. Besides,” you roll onto your side and place a hand upon his chest, “you look quite handsome when you beg.” 

He rubs at his face to hide the prominent blush staining his cheeks, and you chuckle at the sight before swinging your leg over to straddle his hips. 

“I’m gonna get you for that,” he says, tone threatening, yet the goofy smile that plays upon his lips tells a more playful story. 

—

You ride Arthur’s horse back home the next morning, fading in and out of sleep as you lean back against his chest. A comfortable silence, the brush of a kiss to your temple, steady hoofbeats that lull you even deeper into the arms of relaxation. 

You hum. “I haven’t been this happy in decades.”

“Me neither,” he says, voice soft, almost muffled against the tide of wind. “You ever thought about… changing someone? If you can even do that.” Before you speak, he cuts you off with a monologue filled with stammers. “It’s just that, well. I ain’t sure if I wanna go down that road just yet, or if, ya know, you wanna do that but, if you ever wanted to we could, I dunno, talk about. I guess. If you wanted to. Or if I wanted to. But it would be nice if we wanted to. Not that I don’t want to, but... I do… Yeah.”

You blink, try to decipher his rambling as best you can as he fidgets beneath you. “Wait. Do you really want to get turned? Into this?”

Could you, in good conscience, subject him to such a lackluster unlife? After all, you droned on and on for years about just how much you despised your monstrous nature and… are you really weighing the possibility of turning the man you love into such a horrid creature?

“If you was up for it, yeah.”

You place a hand on his, forcing him to stop the horse in its tracks so you can turn to look at him, confusion radiating from you in palpable waves. “But... why?”

He shrugs. “Don’t want you to be lonely no more, I guess.”

Ba-bump. 

Your heart beats for half a second as you stare up at him in awe, watching as he scratches at his beard and avoids your eyes. “You would do that for me? Truly?”

He shrugs again. “‘Course.”

“But what if something happened?” What if we separated? you want to say, but can’t force the words from your throat. 

He winds an arm around your waist and meets your gaze with soft puppy eyes. You melt at his assuring smile. “I ain’t saying we gotta do this right now. Just… thinking about the future.”

The future? With you? “Wow.”

He swallows thickly, bringing your attention to the two small bite marks at the side of his neck, and your face alights with memory-sparked flames. 

The silent promise of forever doesn’t evade you. He’s a smart enough man to realize that there’s no reversing the process—you’re proof enough. So for him to still consider turning, just to spare you both the pain of loss, swirls warmth inside the cage of your ribs.

It may not be today or tomorrow or five years from now, but when he’s ready, you’ll be waiting. 

[aintnouseofpretending]

Together Since...

Summary: You and Joe just graduated together from college. But Joe wishes to celebrate it with just the two of you. Basically just general fun and fluff~

Pairing: Joe Mazzello x Reader

Warning: FLUFF. College AU.

Word Count: 2770.

Inspired by and perma-tag: CONGRATULATIONS @ohmygoditsanthonyedwardstark FOR GRADUATING!! I’M SO PROUD OF YOU <4444 THIS IS THE BEGINNING OF SOMETHING GREAT, SO DO YOUR BEST <444

+—-—+—-—+—-—+—-—+—-—+

You almost jumped when Joe suddenly grabbed your hand and pulled you closer to him—practically hugging you and showing off your obvious relationship with him. He leaned his head in and already posing for the camera. You try your best to hold back and keep the joke later whilst also giving out your best smile to the photographer. It doesn’t take long for everyone to joins in and pose, from silly and complex stance to a literal boring statue.

“Okay! Now be as funny as possible!” Shouted the photographer that happens to be your most favourite professor.

You have promised yourself to keep the joke and your ridiculous antics for later, but mind bubbling from the overwhelming happiness suggested only one thing; to kiss Joe right there right now. Funny enough, Joe got the same idea and carry you, receiving some; “ew!” and “get a room!” comments from your friends. Neither of you cares, and you will let nothing ruin the beautiful day of your college graduation.

After receiving the last OK from your professor, all of you throws your hat in the air. Cheerful laughs soon follow, you and Joe hugged and spins, giggling whilst he showers your face with kisses. In return, being the rowdy one, you rub and scratch his head frantically, making it as messy as it can get. You almost fell down when he finally put you on the ground, but him refusing to let you go saved you.

“Almost nothing’s changed. Still dating. Graduating together. Still very fucking childish too.” Ben remarked, tipping his head at you. “I salute you, y/n, only true masters can endure this clown for so long.”

Shortly after Joe is chasing Ben, trying to drop kick the blonde, Rami and Lucy join you. They too are another couple in your friend circle that’s graduating together today, and you can’t be any happier to be friends with them still. Just like your usual hobby, the three of you starts making fun from the sideline of Joe-Ben duo dynamic that’s getting goofier the older they get. Ben purposely circling Gwilym and his girlfriend which resulted in Gwil also hunting him down. You could never be any prouder of seeing your boyfriend and the other two boys running around the field, becoming the centre of attention for being so god damn childish you can almost hear their parents start yelling at them. You even have forgotten about your earlier jokes for him.

“No, seriously. How can you handle him?” Ask Lucy, still chuckling. “It’s like having a child!”

“We’ve been together for so long, if I still can't handle the boy then I have a serious problem!” You answered whilst you wave him to come. You ready your old polaroid as fast as you can, but Joe is quicker and by the time you see him through your camera lens, he’s already posing. “Damn it, babe! Be more natural!”

“I’m not letting you take an ugly picture of me!”

Too late for permission when you have made that your goal for today. Besides, you’ve got a couple already, so it doesn’t really matter. But your mind quickly shifted as you click the capture button, only to see Lucy’s face dominating the entirety of your view. If only she’s not too busy laughing at your shocked face, perhaps you won’t get the chance to tackle her on the grass.

“Geez, you guys.” Rami shakes his head. “Those two kids? Not my friends.”

When you hold Lucy down trying to tickle her, Joe ran towards you and hide on your back. Before you could even ask what on earth he’s doing, you see Ben is stomping close to you as he tries to clean his suit underneath his graduation robe.

“Joe, you’re a fuck!”

“Honey, he’s being mean to me!” Cry Joe, hiding his face on your shoulder. “I didn’t do it on purpose! I swear!”

“Don’t think that was the truth.” Gwilym laughs whilst he looks at Ben’s pants. The dried mud Ben tries to get rid of with tissues and a piece of cloth still looks like it was glued permanently.

“I fucking rent this! Now I have to goddamn—.”

You kneeled and take a closer look at the damage. Try to pick it with your nails but you can’t even scrape the outmost layer. You stare at Joe. When he can only shrug, you sighed and stand up.

“When will you return it?”

“Tomorrow!” Ben answered, staring dagger at your boyfriend. “Anyway, I shouldn’t have started.”

“You shouldn’t, but I will transfer the cost anyway. How much was it?” You take out your phone whilst Ben whispered the numbers. It’s difficult to not shake your head at the price and damage fee, but Ben really don’t mess around when it comes to dressing himself up.

Joe pouted as he saunters next to you, putting his arm over your shoulder.

“Sorry, dude.” He finally says, eyeballing your phone’s screen and Ben’s trouser back and forth. “Just to impress Chelsea? What a good boyfriend.”

“Yeah, unlike you, letting your girlfriend paid for your damn mistake.” Ben retaliation receives your instant kick on his knee. “Jesus Christ! I'm joking! Don’t ruin this suit anymore!”

Once you’re done, Joe leaned in and whispered; “I’ll pay you back later. For now, let’s get the hell out of here.”

“So soon? Baby are you alright?” You say it like a concerned mother, checking every centimetre of his face and body. He only rubbed his stomach. “Hungry? We’re about to have lunch with the others.”

Joe give you last confirmation shrug before he grabs your hand and drags you to the car park. You can’t even say goodbye, so whilst you’re being treated like a suitcase, trying to catch up with Joe’s speed, you make sure you tell the others through group chat that you and your boyfriend are bailing early. If Joe doesn’t worry you a little right now, maybe you’ll pay more attention and make a better excuse than ‘we got something to do! See y’all soon!.’

“So... You’re gonna tell me what happened?” You break the silence after you finish eating your last slice of pizza. Joe is still chewing and staring at you, which, if you’re quite honest, a bit unnerving, despite knowing well how weird he can be sometimes.

He downed his soda and wipe his lips in a slow and elegant manner. He finally smiles when he has successfully made you chuckle. Although both his smile and your laugh doesn’t last long when you slap his hand from stealing your fries.

“Not much, hun. Just want to be with you all day.” You raised one of your eyebrows. “What? Why is it odd that I only want to be with my girl today?”

“Sorry. Cause it’s usually you that loves to hang with your friends, you know?” You pushed your plate of fries to him. “Already got a plan or we’ll just wing it?”

You gave out a ‘come on!’ and almost protests his yet another nonchalant shrug, but he points at your Polaroid camera on the table. Even though it’s almost four years ago, you quick to pick up what he meant. This is just like when you two both graduated high school. As you reach for your camera bag, pretending to be a magician, Joe laid three photos you’ve taken at the prom night.

“People got a poor taste. We should’ve been the king and queen that night.” He started. “At least we’re still going strong, what, Robert and Jessica broke up immediately a week after prom, right?”

“Popular kids. They’re both an arsehole. They tried to break us up when we first started dating.” You inspect the yellowing photo and thought you should’ve added a transparent film on them since these particular three also your most favourite. “But let’s not talk about them and instead...”

“You want me to grow my hair again?” He snickered, still snacking on your fries with no mercy. “Sure, if you want to wear that dorky glasses again every once in a while when we’re on a date.”

“Worry not, my love,” you take out your eyeglasses case. As you wear them Joe can’t stop laughing. “Hey! You wanted this, you nerd!”

“I guess we’re thinking the same thing for today.” He grasps your hand that was resting on the table. “When you’re so innocently and naively say that we’ll graduate college together too, I’m not so sure about that you know?”

“Yeah, I know. I don’t think you can catch up with me and graduating late all by yourself.” He softly pinches your hand. “Ow! Joking!”

“Hey slowpoke, finish your fries and let’s get going!”

“What fries? You just massacred ‘em!” You swing your leg to him, but he expected that and dodged it easily. “You promised you’ll pay me back, just pay for our foods and get more fries for the go!”

“Glutton!”

“Look at that, the pot calling the kettle black!”

The banter didn’t end there. On your way to the car, the two of you hasn’t stopped what started as friendly insults to full-on sharp jabs. Gwilym once overhears the two of you being that lovey-dovey, he thought you two are actually fighting and trying to be the middleman. Even Ben call you two a weirdo for having such bad habit stays. But neither you nor Joe care, the two of you feel comfortable and secure with each other, and that’s all that matters. Soon after the fake fight, you both will be like any other normal couple, giving each other hugs and kisses and praises.

“Huh, I really didn’t think you’ll take us to the beach. Totally isn’t like when we’re graduating high school.” His laugh was cut short when you tickle him on the rib. “Watch the road! Don’t want us to die this early!”

“Say the man that records vlogs whilst driving, yesterday.” He gives you silly faces which you happily return. “Hey, they still got the ice cream stand from four years ago! I wonder if they still got UniHazel flavour.”

“UniHazel? Oh, that rainbow coloured hazelnut flavour?” Joe opened the window absent-mindedly, in an instant, the nostalgic sweet-salty smell of the sea fills the car. The sound of the waves feels just like a warm blanket that envelopes the two of you on a cold night. You can already feel the rough sand on your feet or the gentle caress of the water. Joe put his hand on your thigh but still have his eyes gazed out the window, enjoying the afternoon scenery. The cloudless sky radiates the beautiful purple, orange, and blue that mixes like a watercolour painting.

“You park the car, I’ll get us some of them UniHazels.” He leans to kiss your cheek before he reaches his jacket on the back seat to get the wallet out. “Careful, honey. Meet me by the stand.”

“You too, babe.” You kissed the back of his hand only for him to give you an eye roll. “What, a woman can’t be romantic?”

“Just go!” He sticks out his tongue before closing the door. When he walked away, you can’t get your eyes away off him through the rearview mirror. Whenever he’s not around, you always feel so empty. How long has it been? After you say you find Joe cute to your friend, suddenly everyone knows about it. Some jerks tease him for it and you feel so guilty when that happens. You promised you will kick the arse of those dare to hurt him in any way, and that makes him starts liking you back. But seriously, you forgot when the two of you officially boyfriend and girlfriend, after several hangouts and dates, you only remember saying; “We look like a couple right now.” To which he replied; “Are we not already?”

You almost panic break when you hear your phone chimed, it’s Joe’s scream that you cut and isolate to use as a text notification specifically from him. He told you that the line is long, so you don’t have to hurry and plough through the crowd. You text back; “Shouldn’t worry about me. But you don’t get into a fight with kids, I know you’re impatient.” He spams you ten thumbs down emoji in respond.

Now, where were you? Oh right, that sweet, sweet, high school memories. You think when Joe says that, he’s half-joking, but you take it seriously and practically dared him to promise and mustn’t back down or he’s a loser. He retorted saying it’s a lose-lose situation then, because dating you, a loser, means he will be a loser as well. Your genuine pout causes him to said in panic and nervous laugh; “But since when are we not a loser? Right?”

You think that happens around two years before graduation, and the two of you become a kickass couple that’s still going strong even until today. So it’s six years then. You make sure to mentally note it, since it’s always been him that memorise the exact date of your anniversary, and he makes sure to throws tantrum after knowing you don’t remember, not even the month. Joe screamed again when you’re just turning off the car. “Where are you? I miss you already :(” You smiled and replied; “Okay, whose kid beats you? I’ll talk to their parents for picking a fight with my kid.” It’s another thumb down for you, but he added; “His name is Kevin, that bastard! He throws sands at me! It’s coarse and irritating my eyes so he got me on the spot!”

You don’t mind people staring at you for giggling by yourself, and you haven’t stopped texting with him until you’re near the ice cream stand. After he sees you, you purposely take out your Polaroid, and when he’s already posing, you aim the camera towards the beach.

“Arsehole!” His yell causes even more people to stare at you. “I ain’t giving you no ice cream! Nu ‘uh! Bully doesn’t get no sweets!”

“That’s a double negative. You’re going to give me it." You can tell he’s considering running away with the two ice cream on his hands, but he knows it won’t worth the risk of getting you mad if the ice cream fell on the sand. “Thank you, baby, I love you.”

“Yea, yea.” He returns your kiss as you grab his hand. “Pretty sure you say that because I got ice cream.”

“Whaaat, I am not Ben.” You say that as you start eating the ice cream. “No, no at all.”

“And I’m not jealous to damn ice cream right now—ew! Don’t kiss me! Your mouth is sticky—y/n! How dare you—! Come back here! Don’t you want me to pay you back? Why are you running huh?!”

You screamed and laugh as you quickly finish the ice cream that’ll allow you to run better. The chase didn’t last long though, because this time it’s Joe’s ice cream that makes you jealous. And whilst he’s busy making out trying to return the favour, you grab your camera and take as many pictures of him as you can. He only turned around when he notices you, so you ignored him and take pictures of the beach instead. Later he joins you by your side.

“Finished with the ice cream? You got them all over your mouth there.” You didn’t bring tissue, so you use your hands to wipe them then you wash it on the sea water. “Look at the sky, babe, it’s so pretty right?”

What originally was you trying to look as pretty as possible for his eyes to feast upon, only for you to be stunned by his as he enjoys the salty wind and vivid colour of the sky. You feel your eyes getting teary and your smile starts to hurt your cheeks, this moment is far too much. Your heart swells with love and compassion towards him. And you don’t mind if this moment can’t last, so long if you can stay with him forever. Showering him with love and kisses. To swear you’ll protect his smile at all cost. You’ll take care of him. You’ll give him everything you have got. In return for his love.

“Am I that handsome?” He jokes, but you can only nod. “You can’t imagine how beautiful you are to me too.”

“Oh, I know.” You raise your camera, “last one? Please?”

“I love you, y/n.”

“I love you too, Joe.” You smiled before you finally clicked the capture button.

Click. (End)

[wearemystic]

The Photos

Prompt:  host finds eddies saucy myspace pics Prompt giver: @ollies-outies

“So… Eddie. Edster. Light of my life. Ol’ buddy, ol’ pal. I was going through MySpace the other day…” You lean over the back of the couch of your living room, holding your phone up between your thumb and forefinger. Eddie doesn’t even look up from his laptop; he’s in the writing zone. “Eddie. Eddie Brock, pay attention to me. I’ve found very important photographic evidence of your sordid past.”

“Mmhm…” He clickety-clacks away on the keyboard. You huff in genuine annoyance.

Rude.

we could scare him.

… How do you propose we do that?

… haven’t thought that far ahead.

Damn. Might’ve been a good way to get his attention, honestly.

we could also tempt him with… things.

Oooh, like that leftover cake from the bridal shower!

was thinking more along the lines of sex.

What-? You’re insatiable. We just fucked this morning.

no such thing as too much sex.

Technically, there actually is. Psychologically.

… fine. use the cake.

I’ll make it up to you, doll, promise!

You skip to the kitchen, tripping on the hem of your loose flannel pajama bottoms. Mystic catches you before you faceplant into the countertop.

careful, lamb.

“Thanks, baby,” you whisper, kissing your hand where she’s wrapped over your skin. She vibrates in response, a pleased little thrill that travels up your spine. The pressure on your hand increases briefly, like she’s pressing a kiss of her own against your knuckles.

you are welcome.

Giddy, you hum happily under your breath, half-mouthing, half-mumbling nonsense words to a nonsense tune as you dig through the boxes upon boxes of leftover takeout in your refrigerator. The cake is on a little Dixie plate and covered with saran wrap. A box of Chinese food — that you probably should have thrown out a while ago — squished half of it flat, but that doesn’t really matter in the long run. Chocolate is chocolate, right?

You’re a bit worried that it might taste a bit like old ginger noodles, and scoop a bit onto your finger to taste. Nope. Still very chocolate-y. Mystic whines in your head.

i want some, too.

Nope, this is now a bribe cake. We don’t eat bribe cakes. I’ll bake you your own cake on the weekend, okay? I’ll even make that buttercream frosting that you were drooling over last time.

fine.

You sashay back into the living room, sniffing exaggeratedly at the dessert. “Oh, man, this cake smells delicious. So, so good,” you hum, flopping down next to Eddie. Venom rumbles beneath his shirt, a decidedly Not-Eddie sound.

Eddie’s nose twitches. You cheer internally. Come on, come on, look away from the laptop for one goddamn minute.

Venom sprouts from Eddie’s shoulder like a weed. “Chocolate?”

“Yes, Vee, chocolate. I was going to give it to you and Eddie if he’d just pay attention to me for two minutes.” You level a steely look at Eddie. Venom’s waspish eyes widen slightly, then narrow in amusement.

“I can help with that.” He licks a long, wet line up the side of Eddie’s face. The reporter grimaces, pausing in his writing to scrub at the drool with his sleeve.

“Eugh. Gross, man. Don’t - don’t do that.”

“The young ones have something for us, if you pay attention to them.” The expression on your face when Eddie turns to face you is distinctly unimpressed. His attention is immediately drawn to the cake in your hand.

“‘S that for me — us?”

“It is… if you can give me some juicy details about these.”

Eddie blinks as you wave your phone in his face. “That’s… your phone.”

If your eyes roll any harder than they already are, they can and will fall out of your skull. “Yeah, I know that, silly. Look at the — oh, damn, one sec.” You set the plate down on the coffee table so that you can unlock your phone. The screen turns on again, illuminating your face. “Augh, that’s bright. Okay, here.”

You hand Eddie your cell phone, bouncing on the balls of your feet. A mosaic of selfies takes up most of the webpage, with the MySpace header at the very top. Eddie lets out a whistle.

“How long did it take you to find this, Sunshine?” He looks impressed.

“Not long, actually.” The impressed expression drops. Now he just looks like he ate a whole lemon. “Come on, don’t give me that face! It’s not that hard to find people online nowadays, old man.”

“tell us about the pictures, eddie.”

He raises an eyebrow at Mystic. “What, no magic word?”

“no.” Eddie sighs. Venom chuckles, a rumbly sound that you can physically feel through the couch.

“Alright, alright. Gather ‘round, children, et cetera.” You wriggle closer to Eddie, sliding beneath his arm as you sit criss-cross-applesauce (it feels like you’re back in grade school again; you’re not sure how to feel about that, honestly). “So this one,” he tilts the phone screen so that you and Mystic can see better, “was from my eighteenth birthday. I, uh. Got a hold of some of my old man’s whiskey, and, well… you can see how that turned out.”

Humming in response, you nod. You can indeed see how it turned out. In the blurry photo, Eddie has a sort of dazed expression on his face, dopey grin and all. His shirt is on backwards. He doesn’t have either of his sleeve tattoos in this one. You frown at the image. There’s… a bruise on his right cheekbone in the photo. Eddie doesn’t notice your change in expression (or just doesn’t acknowledge it). You resolve not to bring it up, the thought of where that conversation might lead making your guts twist unpleasantly.

“This one,” he says, flicking to the next photo, “is from my old boss’s son’s twenty… second?… birthday.”

You whistle long and low. The picture is… well. Eddie cleans up real nice — or, he used to. You’re not sure if he even owns one nice article of clothing any longer. The sleeves of the black jacket he had on are rolled up, baring his forearms.

“You look… really, really good in this. Not that you don’t usually, but, um…” you trail off, unsure of where you were planning to go with the sentence.

“smooth,” Mystic mutters next to your ear.

“Shut up.”

Eddie laughs, shoulders bouncing. “Yeah, I did, didn’t I? This next one… ah. Well. I was young. And dumb.”

“And naked,” Venom helpfully supplies.

“... yes. And naked.”

A small smirk curves your lips as you look at the image on your phone screen. Venom isn’t lying — Eddie is very naked in the picture. He looks extremely content. You trace his form with your eyes, starting at his outstretched fingers before moving down his arms to his unmarked shoulders and down his spine. Following the line of his back, your gaze then moves further down to… you snort. “Heh. Bubble butt.”

Eddie elbows you as you cackle. “Shut up. You like my bubble butt.”

“we do,” Mystic agrees.

“Wait, who took this picture? There’s no way someone else isn’t holding the camera to get this angle.” Eddie flushes prettily under your questioning look, avoiding your eyes.

“It, uh. It was taken by a one night stand I had in college. He taught me how flexible I can really be.”

“A ‘he’, hm? Was he any good?”

“For my first time taking dick? Yeah, he was. Real gentle about it, too. Made my toes curl.” A nostalgic smile curves his mouth.

“I’m glad your first experience was so good for you,” you say sincerely, nudging Eddie with your elbow. He squeezes your shoulders in a one-armed hug.

The next (and final) photo is one that has you coughing into your hand, unsuccessfully trying to hide your amusement. In it, Eddie is holding the camera in one hand above his head while the other is down his pants. He’s making the duck face, of all things.

“Oh my god,” you wheeze, slapping at your chest. “Oh my god. Eddie, why the duck face, Eddie?”

He rolls his eyes. “Because I thought it looked good at the time? I don’t know. I was, what, twenty five? Maybe?” Sighing, he shakes his head. “Like I said earlier, in a lot of these I was young and dumb.”

“It’s just…” you raise your eyebrows as you give Eddie some serious side eye. “It just looks so extra, you know?”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.”

“What’s ‘extra’ mean, Eddie?” Venom lazily curls around Eddie’s bicep, blinking inquisitively.

“Oh, um… it’s like, if something or someone is extra, they’re being over the top, I guess? Dramatic.”

“so, like venom’s reaction to pepsi?” You choke on your own spit. Eddie stifles a grin.

“Yeah, exactly like that.”

[silverleafnightshade-blog]

The Eyes of Laura Mars

Released in 1978, The Eyes of Laura Mars is set in the glimmering yet gritty world of NYC haute couture fashion. Mad Magazine parodied the film as “The Eyes of Lurid Mess” and rightly so, for it definitely has plot issues and some grade-A-Virginia-ham overacting. However, director Irvin Kershner managed to capture a whiff of the cultural crossover as the NYC scene shifted from disco to punk. Often touted as the first American giallo film, The Eyes of Laura Mars tidily ticks off the boxes of the Italian genre: a mix of gorgeous and grimy settings, the gruesome murder of beautiful people, and many misdirections before the killer is finally revealed. Added to the mix is Ms. Virginia Ham herself (Faye Dunaway), a hairy Brad Dourif, and a preternaturally prehistoric Tommy Lee Jones. Dourif is only four years younger than TLJ in real life, but he looks like a bearded baby next to TLJ’s tire-treaded brow. Hell, TLJ is six years younger than Dunaway, but there’s not even a scratch of the cougar in their relationship.

Faye Dunaway of course plays the main character, a superstar high fashion photographer who begins to have disturbing visions of murder. Fun fact: the actual images of famous fashion photogs Rebecca Blake and the so-called “King of Kink” Helmut Newton were used in the film.

Speaking of kink, Barbra Streisand was offered the main role (it helped that she was dating producer Jon Peters at the time) but turned it down because she thought the film’s violent, sexual content was too out-there for her image.

The film opens with a murderous sequence, which turns out to be one of Laura’s nightmares. She awakens in her rather spare and severe bedroom,

and then wanders out to her living room, aka The Neutral Zone. Beige and brown rule the day, as does that giant rooster sculpture. From kitchen kitsch to highbrow decor? Huh. And oof, so. Much. Carpeting!

Laura flips through some negatives and tries to put the nightmare behind her. Soon, driver Tommy (Brad Dourif) is ferrying Laura off to the gala reception for a new publication of her photos. It looks like maybe the exterior was shot at one of the Metropolitan Museum of Art’s side doors. The interior looks somewhat Studio 54-inspired, though.

Hiiiiiiyyyyyeeee! I’m just a photograph, don’tcha worry.

Laura meets cute-ish with Detective John Neville (TLJ), as cute as can be when one’s publisher has been horribly murdered with an ice pick. Neville came for the questioning, but he stayed for the hors d’oeuvres, or rather, he looks a bit hungry for a Mars Bar. Laura goes home and rings up her bestie, who happens to be dating Laura’s ex-husband Michael (a very slimy yet somehow sexy Raul Julia). Everyone calms each other down, and soon enough, Laura heads off for a shoot at Columbus Circle. The concept is a bit S&M, models in lingerie and furs fighting in front of the husks of burning cars...

The concept was inspired by photog Chris von Wangenheim, and so fitting in front of what my father once called “The Devil’s Arsehole” (don’t feel special, C.C., he said that about every Washington D.C. roundabout too). The intersection didn’t get the moniker until 1892, the 400th anniversary of Columbus’s “discovery” of the New World, when a giant statue of the old man was erected. From the invention of the car on, Columbus Circle was considered a hazardous spot for pedestrians. Given the circle’s bad rap for most of the 20th century, it seems quaint to remember that Olmsted intentionally designed the traffic circle as the grand entrance to Central Park in 1857. By 1978, Columbus Circle was “roundly” (oh ho ho) derided as a dangerous thoroughfare. In 1979, architecture critic Paul Goldberger said that the intersection was "a chaotic jumble of streets that can be crossed in about 50 different ways—all of them wrong." A redesign of the circle’s aesthetics and traffic flow began in 1991, and by the Naughty-Aughties, Columbus Circle had even won a few awards for landscape architecture and urban design.

Neville shows up again at Laura’s set at Chelsea Piers. This is my favorite set in the movie, with the fabulous Sterling St. Jacques dancing around and a lot of blown-out color and drama going on.

It’s also one of our last scenes with poor Lulu and Michelle, alas. I actually quite like both of their characters, so silly and yet so sassy. They have the best outgoing answering machine message, and it made me feel so nostalgic for both answering machines, answering machine messages, and that kind of close relationship you’d have with a roommate. That is the kind of relationship that can only be built after hearing all your messages, and knowing all your secrets, unvarnished and unedited by a brunch re-telling. Sigh.

Laura’s studio is amazing - it’s enormous with tons of old windows, stunning harbor views, and some convenient soft spots that are perfect for sexy times with Neville.

Donald (René motherfucking Murat Auberjonois) is such a great character. He’s Laura’s long-suffering agent, and although at times walking the stereotypical line, he is quite comfortably un-closeted. Whenever someone tries to throw homophobic shade his way, he shines a light right up their asses. I do not love the character’s decor choices, though - a bit too Italianate for me, although who can resist a red damask wallpaper and this goddamn face? Not me, friends.

Speaking of Italian classics, Frank Adonis makes an appearance as Sal, Neville’s slightly unhinged partner. I like this shot of him surveying Laura’s apartment with a “mmm, not bad,” expression.

Frank just shuffled off this mortal coil in late 2018, R.I.P. Weird fact: although he’s the Italian guy you recognize from everything, his Wiki page is in French.

SPOILERS, sort of: Neville goes to see Tommy at his spectacularly depressing apartment, and the visit quickly takes a turn for the worse. Tommy stabs a patrolman while escaping arrest, but the Sal the psycho just opens fire on what appears to be the entire East Village, and Tommy est la morte. Neville rings up Laura to tell her the killer has been caught, and pack your bag, baybeee, they are going away! Laura begins to select some careful neutrals to coordinate with the lady Derringer gifted by Neville, when she is suddenly struck by another vision.

Poor Michael gets ‘picked in the elevator of Laura’s building, and the killer is en route to her apartment! Laura manages to lock the front door just in time. Neville soon comes crashing through the balcony window, and this is where the ending gets super giallo: as he begins babbling about Tommy’s terrible upbringing, Neville accidentally reveals that it is he, Neville, who is the killer. But it’s not really Neville! No, it’s his other personality that did the killing. That personality is also apparently responsible for how nicely Neville fills out a black turtleneck, as well as for finishing Neville’s dissertation and keeping the bills paid. The real Neville struggles back to the surface; to protect his true love, he basically shoots himself using Laura’s gun (and trigger finger, as she is holding said gun at the time). The final shot is of Laura calling the cops, and her final line? “I’m Laura Mars.” If there is any shred of happy ending to this story, it might be that she has to rip out that fucking bloodstained carpet. Maybe there’s a nice parquet floor under there? I know that hating on carpeting is low-pile fruit, but there is just no way for mere mortals to keep wall-to-wall carpeting from getting disgusting.

Interesting fact: John Carpenter wrote the spec script for this film, but Kershner’s finished product took some hot turns in the rewrite. Carpenter was still credited despite his protests, but luckily the mixed reviews didn’t affect the success of his next project, Halloween. It’s been nice to revisit some giallo, although I think I’m going to go back to the real-deal Italian giallo next month. I might also be leaving this platform, as sad as that makes me. Tumblr has been doing some bullshit flagging of posts that are very LGBTQ-unfriendly, and well, they are also buggy as hell. I had this post written a week ago but the site kept crashing as I was trying to update. At any rate, stay tuned for any updates, or as I likely know all three of you reading this, I’ll let you know if there’s a new site.

[richesandriddles]

Father Dear

Edward gets called into a meeting with his father, and he isn’t told why. 

Warnings for: homophobia, homophobic slurs, and child abuse

With a ding that managed to sound pretentious, the gilded elevator opened on the 50th floor of Nashton Hotels Gotham. Edward Nashton took one last look at his reflection, adjusting the bottom of his shirt and smoothing out any wrinkles, before he turned on his heel and stepped into the hallway.

The walk was short to the reception area. At the round desk, a small, young woman sat typing at the computer. “Afternoon, Caroline,” he spoke clearly, getting her attention as he moved with hurried steps.

She glanced him over, a smile on her manicured lips before she sighed, “You’re late. Fifteen minutes late.”

“Not by accident,” Eddie replied. “Let me guess, he only just got here,” Looking at his watch, he rolled his eyes, “about five minutes ago. Planned to make me sit here and stew, didn’t he?”

Caroline pursed her lips.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“He wasn’t happy when he got here.”

Eddie clenched his jaw. Of course he wasn’t happy, when was he ever happy, but it was pleasing to know he had accurately anticipated what his father would do. Their game was a familiar one, and though rarely Edward pulled ahead, there was something to be celebrated in the small victories. “I figured as much. Let him know I’m here, will you?”

Nodding, she moved one of her hands to pick up the phone. She pressed a button and spoke softly in the calm voice he knew his father liked. “Mr. Nashton, your son is here to see you.” She paused, listening to whatever it was he said, before putting the phone down. “You’re good to go inside.”

With a gesture of his hand and a nod of his head, he smiled at her before straightening out and continuing down the hall. He passed a conference room on his right, and a bathroom on his left, counting his steps in his head as he approached the intimidating door..

Edward hated being called here like this. Ever since he moved out, he rarely saw his father - a small blessing he supposed, as their time was limited now to social gatherings that Eddie simply couldn’t ignore. Rarely did he call him to his office, and it was even less frequently that he wasn’t given a reason before he arrived.The fact that Caroline’s email had neglected to mention the subject of his summons was worrisome, and he felt his pace slowing despite himself as he neared the end of the hall.

He paused, standing not a foot away as he glanced his eyes in the reflective surface of his father’s name plate. Shining with gold, the name Charles Nashton glared at him with all the threat it entailed, and slowly, he closed his eyes and took a breath.

Ignorance may be bliss to some, but not knowing why he was here was killing Eddie.

Squeezing his hands into fists, one, two, three times, he brought one up, and tapped his knuckles on the door.

“Come in,” a muffled voice call from behind the door.

Breathe. He opened the door.

The office was familiar, unchanged from the countless times he had been here in his life. Save for the clutter on the desk and the shelves, the furniture always remained the same. When he was small and his father was feeling sentimental and nostalgic, he would lift Edward up onto his lap and explain the desk. It was lucky, he promised. It carried the Nashtons to success. It was an antique at this point, but his father wouldn’t part with it, and he cared more for the damned slab of wood than he did his family.

Charles Nashton himself stood, back turned to the door, facing the huge ceiling to floor windows that took up the entire back wall of his office. Dressed in a typical black business suit, his broad shoulders took up much of the view from the middle pane, blocking much of the light that filtered in through the sun as it hung lazily in the afternoon sky.

Eddie pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, worrying the soft flesh and he gently closed the door behind him. He closed his eyes tightly and exhaled a tense breath before straightening his posture, and adjusting his shirt one last time. Plastering a fake, smooth smile on his face, he took another step inside. “Dad,” was all he said in way of greeting.

“Sit down,” came the stern reply. Edward could hear the tension in his father’s voice as plainly as it was written in his posture. Still as a statue, if Eddie didn’t know any wiser, he would say the man wasn’t even breathing.

The simple words had his false bravado deflating, and he felt himself curl in, head lowering slightly as he stepped carefully to the single chair left out in front of his father’s desk. “I’m sorry I’m late.” He couldn’t help but apologize. “Traffic was worse than I anticipated.” He couldn’t help but lie. Lowering himself down into the seat, he tried to look comfortable and at ease, hoping to remove some of the tension from the room. His father didn’t move from his spot.

“Weather’s been nice.” He continued to prattle, moving his hand to drum his fingers against the surface of the desk in quick taps. The sound did nothing to ease the suffocating silence between them. Feigning, he rolled his eyes, “So what’s so important that you’ve called me up here, hmm? I’m a very busy you know and -”

“Oh I know you are,” his father interrupted and Eddie shut his lips, pausing to see if the other man would continue.

Silence stretched between them for another long moment before he hesitantly opened his mouth again, “Is this about the money I sunk in the tech stock? Look, I know it went down but it’ll come back up, trust me, I’ve been watching the trend for a while and paying attention in the buying markets. Not to mention I spoke to a couple of the economics advisors at school - a great resource, by the way. They’re eager to tell me anything they know because they think if they make me money I’ll recommend them to you or someone else for hire. As if I’d give up the free labor… But, what I mean to say is that they also all agree with my hypothesis, it’ll all -”

“Oh shut up, Edward!” His father barked, efficiently shutting down the endless prattle before Eddie could talk himself purple. “You wish this was about the damn stock market! But no, no, not this time!” Turning in a quick movement, Charles Nashton faced his son, rage clear on his face. “Every time I give you an inch, you do nothing but disappoint me. Just when I think you’ve done the stupidest thing you can possibly do, you go and prove me wrong!”

Eddie blinked, shocked by the sudden barrage of harsh words. He leaned back in his chair, subconsciously trying to distance himself from the brick of a man in front of him and he scowled. “If all you were planning to do was insult me, you could have just had Caroline relay the message!” He snapped, “I didn’t come all the way up here to listen to you shout without reason, what is this about, Father?”

“You tell me.” In three smooth steps, he approached the desk with frightening speed, and in a sharp movement, he dropped a stack of papers on the surface in front of him.

Not papers, Eddie realized, but photographs.

Edward always thought that skydiving looked dangerous, and event for thrill seekers to get their fix of adrenaline, but If he decided to stand up, smash the window, and then hurl himself out of it, he thought it would be a similar sensation as to what he was feeling now.

Strewn across the table were pictures of him, unmistakably and explicitly.

Chugging straight from a bottle of grey goose, parked on the lap of a much larger man.

Kissing the stranger, nimble hips lifted and pressed  against him.

Closing his eyes when a man who looked as old as his father had a hand on his crotch.

For all his shame, Edward couldn't even remember this particular man, his name or where these photos were taken.

Heat pooled behind his eyes, at the base of his throat, making him dizzy with a sickness that filled his entire body.

“A million,” Mr. Nashton spoke plainly, and Eddie snapped his head up from the evidence to look his father in the eyes, nails digging into the arms of the chair. “That's how much I had to pay to keep these offline. These,” he threw more photos down on top of those, the slap sounding more like a brick hitting the table than a few small pieces of paper. “These cost me five hundred grand a piece.”

More horrors glared up at him. He was at the man's house, in these.

Touching him.

Sucking him.

Riding him.

Stupid, idiotic, foolish--

“Should I tell you about the video, or do you get the point?”

Edward couldn't bring himself to look up this time. Stiffly, he shook his head. “...no,” he said weakly.

“No? That’s good. Because the last time I checked, you were a Nashton, not Paris fucking Hilton!” He slammed his fist on the desk, rattling the half filled mug and the desk calendar. Edward visibly flinched, hands clenching into tight fists.

“Except, no, this is worse than the Hiltons, isn’t it? You couldn’t get caught in just any sex scandle, you attention seeking brat, it had to be with a fucking man two times your goddamn age!”

Edward opened his mouth to speak.

“Don’t interrupt me!” His father barked, effectively shutting his mouth before a single word could leave his lips. “So what?” He continued. “Are you gay now? Is that it?”

He looked everywhere but up at his father. Gay now? No. Gay always? Maybe. It was hard to say. Edward remembered being young, pressing his face against the window of the the office they sat in now and watching a crowd of protesters. He thought they had looked like ants. They had flown pretty rainbow flags. His father has barked at him to get away from the window, told him to stop looking at the fags.

A deep voice interrupted the memory. “You talk all the damn time until it’s finally your turn. Now, answer me when I speak to you!”

“Maybe - “

“Maybe!? You better have a better answer than-”

“Yes! Yes, alright? I’m glay! I love cock! Is that what you want me to say, Father? Do you want to hear me shout about it? Will that make you happy, because I will. You’ve got a gay, a fucking faggot sitting right here in your office! And you made him! Will you look at that? What are you going to do about it, Dad? Your son loves cock! I’ll shout it - “

Edward didn’t see the hand coming until it connected with his face, boney knuckles and metal ring cutting into his flesh, splitting his lip. He brought a hand up in reflex, grasping his his cheek as he felt it instantly begin to heat and swell.

“Shut the fuck up!” Charles Nashton practically growled the words, and Eddie pulled back into his chair, wide eyes searching the much larger figure for any other signs of physical aggression. His father abhorred violence. He always got angrier when Eddie made him lash out.

His father breathed heavily for a moment, eyes wide and filled with rage before he straightened up, glancing at the hand he had just used to hit Edward with a slight frown. His eyes hardened as he turned his attention back to his son.

“I’m cutting your funds from the joint account.”

“Father-”

“I told you to shut up! I’m cutting your funds, do you understand? For as long as I see fit, you’re under restriction. I won’t have you using my money to go out and fuck with men twice your age! Do you understand me?”

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, sir, I understand.” Eddie grit through his teeth. His tongue pressed into his cheek, into a gash that had formed on the inside from the impact. His mouth tasted like copper.

“You better fucking understand. I won’t have a repeat of his incident, do you hear me? Not again.” In a quick movement, he brought up one hand to run it through his hair, and Eddie couldn’t help but flinch away.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. This better not happen again. Because if it does, I’ll do hell of a lot more than just restrict your money, got it?”

With wide eyes, Edward nodded. He bit down harshly on the frayed skin inside his mouth, holding his tongue. Fear and anger gripped his heart at the threat. What could his father do that was worse? He would never cut him off, not his only heir but then again… children were replaceable. “...Yes, sir.”

“Good. I’m glad we’re on the same page. Now get the fuck out of my office.”

His knees felt weak as he stood, slowly, bowing his head in submission to his father as he turned and excused himself from the room. He felt numb as he passed the conference rooms, passed the reception area, and entered the elevator all without a word. As the gilded doors closed once again, and he was met with his wavering, metallic reflection he looked himself over, hovering on the forming discoloration in his cheek for only a moment before he locked his gaze with that of his reflection.

His father was right. This couldn’t happen again.

[captainignatiuspigheart]

Oosh, where has the time gone? It’s hard to figure out whether it’s the weeks or the weekends that go by faster. Either way, they’re going nuts and I’m waaaay behind on my weekly updates. I’ve noted this for the last couple of weeks, sighed, and discovered that it’s now Thursday or something equally ridiculous. And of course, the longer this goes on, the more I have to write and the more impossible it becomes. I guess I’ll have to draw a line under it… This week you’ll only be seeing the things I gave a damn about from the last couple of weeks because otherwise I’ll never finish!

A Rare Moment of Self-Reflection

What I should do is to think a little about why I’m now struggling to do this. In part it’s because this exercise was great at the beginning of lockdown, and gave me a focus. Now, of course, I have a fucktonne of work to do and things are sort of ramping up in other areas of life, like occasionally seeing people in the flesh and stuff. A number of things have helped me keep it together for the last 129 days (I think) of working at home: work, obviously, is my primary routine and aiming to go for a cycle ride beforehand really frames my day. Every Thursday for ages (forever? Who knows) I’ve been hosting a virtual pub for our MissImp weekly regulars (and folks from further afield too, which has been amazing) which has filled my regular evening out slot nicely. Then there’s been the fortnightly We Are What We Overcome webcasts, and the quick chats we have on the off weeks. That handful of regular activity has been great.

I try to keep these posts going because of something we talked about in one of our podcasts: if I’m depressed, I can’t remember any good things I’ve ever done, and if I’m all perky and up then I don’t care about remembering what I’ve been doing. Right now I’m mostly pretty chipper, largely a consequence of being busy and having acquired lots of LEGO recently, so this doesn’t feel important in the same way it did a few months ago. That’s a tricky place for me to be in, because despite occasional dips into glum days, I think I’ve been upbeat for a while now. The longer I’m upbeat, the less likely it feels that I’ll go down, or that I’ll worry about crashing. And that’s actually a decent indicator that I’m going to have a bit of a crash. Keeping track is the whole damn point! Must make more time. 

Anyway… what have I been up to? Well, we’ve seen real live humans on both the last Saturdays, partly in attempt to normalise the new normal, or whatever the pre-second wave era is called, and partly because it turns out that folk want to see us, which is very nice and reassuring. Messing about with my sister and nieces at Highfields Park was a rather fun afternoon, as was eating and drinking at Dovecote Lane park last weekend. That bandstand is perfect, other than it’s brutish tarmac flooring. As I have alluded to earlier, I’m also quite busy at work as we race for the print deadlines for October titles, commission more and more artwork and do general bookstuff. It’s ace really, but is certainly filling my days tightly. We’re not likely to see the office for another month, and that’s OK with me.

I’ve been a rather busy LEGO person too, albeit more “busy” in the sense of “buying” than making much. I did join a LUG though, the Brick Central LEGO User Group. I’ve thought about it a lot over the last couple of years, and though I’m not sure how much time I could feasibly put into big displays and conventions, I’m interested in finding out. Also I got neat printed bricks and bits and pieces when I signed up, so I’m happy with that. I took advantage of the LEGO double VIP points last week to pick up a “few” things, from cute little LEGO Dots and baby dinosaurs to the massive Pirates of Barracuda Bay set. It is all very exciting! I’ve got some random builds I need to take some decent photos of and share them too.  

Big Stuff

Little Stuff

Big Stuff

Watching: The Order, season 2

I can’t deny that this is a low-rent Teen Wolf crossed with the Chilling Adventures of Sabrina the Teenage Witch, themselves low-rent versions of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and so many more.  I remembered nothing of the previous season, even when we saw the “last time on this thing”, and would have sworn I’d never seen it at all. Nonetheless, this proved to be effective brain chewing entertainment while eating, in the sense of it noticeably degrading one’s braincells. Daft witch academy with neighboring anti-magic werewolves (who turn out to have previously been the witches’ bodyguard or something), but the wolves have all been tricked into being witches, or something. It doesn’t really matter – the entire show is redeemed by the delightful relationship between the four werewolves, which feels very much like how I felt about my university housemates: loving, occasionally fighty and laced with sarcasm and alcohol. Shame the lady werewolf ended up in hell this season. I’m sure I won’t remember this next time either, but if I can be persuaded to watch season 3 I’m sure I’ll enjoy it. 

Reading: The Kingdom Beyond the Waves by Stephen Hunt

Continuing the really quite wacky steampunk series set in a far-future with multiple species of human (Craynarbians are splendid shelled folk, for example), steammen, and wild action adventure. I have insufficient time to summarise this one, but it covers an Atlantis-alike ancient city in the sky, infernal plots of genius industrialists to take over government, a frightening Borg-like jungle species, savage feral robots, submarine journeys, and so much more. The whole series is an absolute blast and I’m enjoying re-reading them enormously. Get on it.  

Building: LEGO Overwatch Watchpoint: Gibraltar #75975

While I still have almost no idea what Overwatch is (yeah, yeah, I know it’s a game, and my friend Sam has a nice summary on Overwatch here), but I adore the LEGO sets. I’ve had my eye on this one solely because it features a gorilla in a spacesuit. Now that it’s reaching the end of its shelf-life “Watchpoint: Gibraltar” has become more affordable, and on a midnight whim (always the best time to buy LEGO) I ordered…

The minifigs are an utter delight! Check out Pharah (in blue) with that gorgeous gold visor, and Mercy (admittedly with the usual pink-printed-on-black face which never really works that well) with a lovely hair/hat element and lovely printed torso and legs, plus the rather ominous Reaper. I’m guessing he’s the bad guy. The gorilla is apparently named “Winston”. I hadn’t noticed that he’s wearing glasses, but he’s rather charming either way.

The build is pretty straightforward: you make a spaceship, which has a couple of separating sections, and the cool but not very exciting gantry/rocket leaning post thing. The spaceship itself is a satisfyingly sleek affair, with cleverly connected sections and very neat work on making the hatch fit flush. Building it felt like a wonderful flashback to my childhood, making largely flat spaceships that feel a little like this, but much less good.

The whole thing looks very pretty, but is inconveniently tall for anywhere I want to put it…

Watching: Derry Girls, season 2

Just marvelous. I can’t recommend this show enough, and I’m thrilled that there’s a third season on the way. Set in, um, Derry, in the 90s, this teenage sitcom is pretty much perfect. In keeping with non-American TV shows about teenagers, this lot actually look like real teenagers – the scowl game is extraordinary. The relationships and dialogue are brilliant, and you can’t help but love them all a little bit. The parents are savage and equally funny (finding Bill Clinton is a particular joy). The costumes are bang-on 90s-hideous and the soundtrack makes me unusually nostalgic.  My only complaint is that there aren’t enough episodes. Not even close. Apparently Netflix screwed up and released this early, so it’s not available any more. Sorry folks!

Building: LEGO Jurassic World Dr Wu’s Lab: Baby Dinosaur Breakout #75939

Jesus Christ, baby dinosaurs! How was I ever supposed to resist? Reader, I did not. Clearly. 

Like many of the licensed sets, especially the Jurassic World theme, there isn’t a lot to this. That said, the build is drawn out by the usual agony of applying stickers to transparent elements, and my desire to get them mostly straight had me turning on extra lights and teasing them into place with a scalpel. The egg turning machine is pleasing, and although I was complaining about applying the stickers, this is a set where they really do shine. The details in them are lovely, from the laptop screen to all the heads up displays, they’re adorable, and I’ll have to find more uses for them.

The figures are reliably cool, and I really like the LEGO Friends elements such as the baby feeding bottle sneaking into the mainstream LEGO sets.  Dr Wu has the most cunning expression, just like in the movies! But none of this matters – all shall be recycled for parts except for the ADORABLE baby triceratops and even babier ankylosaur. Just so goddamn cute. I couldn’t be happier. 

Watching: What We Do in the Shadows, season 2

A show that completely revels in its own stupidity with enormous commitment, we caned this in a single sitting too. Colin, the energy vampire, continues to be my personal favourite, but they’re all pretty great idiots. I’m delighted that the main storyline has turned out to be Guillermo’s, as he learns of his vampire-hunting past and wonders about his future, killing vampires while still being a dedicated familiar. Wonderful nonsense.

Doing: We Are What We Overcome – Fortnightly Mental Health Check-In

We reflected a little on how life has changed with a whole fortnight of being allowed to go to the pub… And here’s the link for next week’s chat.

Watching: Warrior Nun

This is dreadful. OK, that’s not entirely fair, but it’s definitely mostly fair. This is the story of a bunch of nuns who are warriors (duh), fighting demons and stuff. One of the nuns always has an angel’s halo embedded in their back, which makes them a sin-fighting superhero. When a mission goes badly tits up, the warrior nuns rip the halo out of their dead leader and stick it in a recently dead girl… She comes back to life, no longer paraplegic, but certainly perplexed about why she’s alive, why she has superpowers (kinda), and why she should give a shit about the Catholic church. Sounds fun, right. The trailer looks pretty fun too, and there are about 25 minutes of great stuff spread across the entire show, with some fun fights, laughable CGI demons, the one good character (Shotgun Mary) who appears to be in another, much better, show. But the rest of it is bogged down by impossibly tedious exposition where characters literally open books and read endless passages from them, or an agonisingly dull romance, in which the most exciting bits are them sitting on a ferry. The show almost redeems itself with a final heist episode but by that point it’s so laden with cack that I couldn’t bring myself to care. You may enjoy it though.

Doing: MissImp’s Virtual Drop-In – Roberto Lewis

More great and splendid video content right here, on one of my favourite topics — coming in with nothing! (I mean, favourite because I cannot plan…)

Last Week: The Order, The Kingdom Above the Waves, Warrior Nun, Derry Girls, LEGO Overwatch and Jurassic World, We Are What We Overcome and more… I’m quite behind. #books #tv #LEGO #stuff https://wp.me/pbprdx-8GV Oosh, where has the time gone? It’s hard to figure out whether it’s the weeks or the weekends that go by faster.