joeyjoeylee

[joeyjoeylee]

[joeyjoeylee]

Darcy’s introduction in Pride and Prejudice is really ‘what if you had just had the worst month of your life because your ex-bestie tried to lover boy scam your baby sister out of her share of your dad’s life insurance and your friend dragged you to a shitty party in a dive bar in the neighbourhood where he’d just signed a short term lease, and you decided to let your bad mood show because you were never going to see any of the assholes in this stupid shitty bar EVER again. And your friend ended up making out with a girl he’d just met there while you were stuck talking to her sister who was less cute and then her mother appeared and started trying to matchmake and started saying how if she was twenty years younger she’d clime you like a redwood and ooooh is that a black Amex, guess the next round is on you hahhahahahaha, while her other sister (how many fucking sisters does she have?!) flashed an obviously fake ID at the bar and ordered six vodka-diet red bulls and no one in her family except the less-cute sister even tried to stop her. And you went home and consoled yourself that you would never see any of these people again but then you met them over and over again because they live next door and your friend and the cute sister keep meeting up to make out but not actually date and then. You fall in love with the less-cute sister because it turns out she’s really witty and charismatic but she already knows and remembers and resents the fact that on a day when you were in a shitty mood you called her mid out loud in a dive bar.’

[joeyjoeylee]

@lgbtqcreators creator challenge – text posts get to know me meme: [5/7] favorite movies

↳ fitzwilliam darcy + getting obliterated by sparknotes

+bonus

[joeyjoeylee]

Oh, okay. I see. You think this has nothing to do with you. You go to your closet and you select out, oh I don’t know, that gaslight gatekeep girlboss meme, for instance, because you’re trying to tell the world that you think modern feminism has been co-opted by corporations. But what you don’t know is that that meme is not from Instagram, it's not from Twitter, it's not from Tiktok, it’s actually from Tumblr. You’re also blithely unaware of the fact that in January 2021, Tumblr user missnumber1111 posted, "today's agenda: gaslight gatekeep and most importantly girlboss." And then I think it was a-m-e-t-h-y-s-t-r-o-s-e, wasn’t it, who reblogged it with an image of the phrase edited over a piece of "Live, Laugh, Love" wall art? And then gaslight gatekeep girlboss showed up in the feeds of eight different Twitter repost accounts. Then it filtered down through Instagram and then trickled on down into some tragic “alt side of Tiktok” where you, no doubt, fished it out of some clearance bin. However, that meme represents millions of notes and countless Tumblr users and so it’s sort of comical how you think that you’ve made a choice that exempts you from Tumblr when, in fact, you’re wearing the meme that was selected for you by the people in this room. From a pile of “stuff.”

[joeyjoeylee]

"You need to call the district I.T. man down here." "O'Shon." "Oh, you know his name, huh? Interesting." ABBOTT ELEMENTARY (2021- )

[joeyjoeylee]

LAVERNE & SHIRLEY 3.12

[joeyjoeylee]

Gang friend. Christopher. Mr. Neck Tats. Bounce House Guy. Daddy. Boss. Ron. Mr. CFO. Inner City Gangbanger. A friend. Serial Killer. Marcus’s Dad. Homie. Your boy. Bitch. Extortionist. Chief. Throat Tats. Sir. Business Partner. Genie. Mr. Kowalski. Criminal. Baby Daddy. Lover. Psychopath. King.

              Rio. His name’s Rio.

[joeyjoeylee]

I have voted in almost every election since turning 18 (I say “almost” bc I think there were a couple primaries where the Dem was running unopposed and I was in a bright blue district where they were going to win anyway in the general where YES I still voted and YES have always voted in those and YES I know I should have voted in those primaries but we are talking like 2 missed MAYBE so don’t come for ya girl please I was like 22 and hungover on a rando Tuesday in June) and the whole civic duty/pride/opposing fascism thing is always great but also I REALLY like getting that I VOTED sticker too.

[joeyjoeylee]

No, Daniel, I will not be attending “shopaholics anonymous” and you cannot make me. You forget I am infinitely more powerful than you. And four centennials wiser. Have you not yourself benefited from my purchases? You love the sparkling soda maker. The heated floor technology was a revelation, though I admit the ceiling installations may have been excessive. But this life affords so few luxuries to the Undead, it is our duty to indulge. Don’t bring my LEGO sets into this! They are priceless to me! You’re jealous of them!

[joeyjoeylee]

I think it's hard to wrap your head around this, today, in 2024, and how close we actually are to those days.

My parents met in 1971 when working together at a big U.S. federal agency. Both had bank accounts at the agency's credit union that they had opened separately when they were single.

My mom had the 4-year college degree (him just an associate's degree), was a year older, and had worked at their agency 6 months longer. But that didn't matter. Because after they got married, when she went down to the credit union to make a transaction, she found out that her account had been closed due to her marriage and the funds in HER account (much more robust as she was a little saving nerd and he was a flashy spender) had been transferred to HIS account. No notice, nothing. She was told that the only thing to do was to ask her husband if she could be "added" to his account.

This was in 1972. That's not that long ago. My mom is still alive and well and obsessively monitoring all her bank accounts to this day. And it scares the crap out of me seeing so many of those 1960s/70s landmark protections for women being eroded and to see so many younger women not protecting themselves today as we regress.

[joeyjoeylee]

[scrolling through a fandom tag] wrong. wrong. incomprehensibly wrong. wrong but harmless. nice style and color palette but I don't care about that ship. mildly entertaining liveblog update. they whitewashed my girl :( . good joke, reblog. wro--well that's my mutual so I will politely look away. fifteen posts in a row by an innocent rp blog that I don't have the heart to block. take I agree with but op was annoying about it. chapter twenty-eight of a longfic wip. !! GOOD POST !!, instafollowed. bot. technically correctly tagged but uses this acronym for something completely different. museum worthy art piece by a sixteen-year-old from the philippines. wrong. wrong but in a new and exciting way that provokes thought.

[joeyjoeylee]

It’s only fanfic if it’s from the Fanfique region of France. Otherwise it’s just sparkling pornography.

[joeyjoeylee]

Let's not get caught. Let's keep going. Thelma & Louise (1991) dir. Ridley Scott

[joeyjoeylee]

In the end I’m still here and I’ll stay on this ship until it sinks. Been here since S2, not going to stop believing in Caryl. Been down this road so many times before so I’ve gotten used to it. I love Caryl and I’ll remain on this ship 🙂‍↕️

They are in love with each other and I don’t care what anyone saids. Best friends to lovers make the best relationships.

Will we be let down when it’s all said and done? Probably but I’ve been here too long to quit now so if this ship sinks, I’ll be going down with it 🥳

[joeyjoeylee]

Hey! Just read that there is a sort of ch11 + Deleted Scenes for your fic Both Sides of the Law? Please post them! I love your fic so much and I keep coming back to it and each time there’s a new aspect of Brio Characterisation for me to explore. I would love to read more of your work!!

Anon, this is so nice. I can't tell you how happy it makes me that people are still reading my fic so much time later!

Yes, I (shamefully) remember posting on here that I had leftover "scraps" + vague plans for a sequel and/or outsider POV that I would pull together to post and then I just...never did. My problem is I'm so directionless with all of it, like, I go back and forward with what to concentrate on polishing, like, the when (set in the school years? time jump after it all ends?), the who (which POV?), and even the what (consider it all "scraps" for a reason and focus on totally new fic unrelated)?

Then I'm just like, "whelp, this dilemma is unsolvable, I guess my only play here is to nap instead."

However, in gratitude for your extremely nice message, here is a VERY rough snip from the Gretchen POV I constantly pick up and put down (her entire POV would cover both the timeline of the main story, then continue a year or so out, this part is from the year or so out):

XXX

Gretchen scanned over the bar crowd quickly, looking for him.  Or Mick. 

No luck.  But she saw that blinky kid Eddie with the too-blue eyes standing guard in front of the hallway leading to the back room, so she headed his way. 

When she was close, Eddie shuffled sideways from his post to allow her entry.  To fuck with him, Gretchen gave him a little nod and smile in return.  He blushed immediately and looked away.

Gretchen smiled to herself as she passed him.  Every time.    

The back room was empty, except for her cousin and Mick.

Rio was bent slightly over the pool table, cue stick in hand, his profile to Gretchen.  She stood in the doorway for several long seconds and watched as he tilted his head from side-to-side, contemplating the balls scattered out on the table in front of him. 

Calculating all his angles, she knew.

It looked like Rio was playing alone.  Mick sat on a stool on the wall behind him, but no stick in hand, just his phone.  He looked up from the phone and turned his head towards the doorway when he heard her heels click into the room though.  He met Gretchen’s eyes, then tipped his chin to her slightly in greeting. 

Which made him more damn polite than her cousin.  

Rio acted like he hadn’t heard her walk in, like he didn’t know she was standing in the doorway.  He kept his focus on the table, even as Gretchen started walking again farther into the room, putting weight in her steps deliberately to make her heels click louder.  Even as she headed to a stool directly across the table from his position. 

Gretchen eased up on the stool and crossed her legs, facing him in full. 

But Rio still didn’t say anything, so she didn’t either.

Rio walked a little around the table instead, still considering his shot.  She studied him as he did.  It was a familiar sight. 

Rio was good at pool.  Gretchen was too.  They had played together all the time when they were in high school, after their uncle Victor had bought that first bar down on St. Antoine.  Their uncle had conducted business in the back while the two of them had spent countless hours practicing out front, challenging each other for difficult shots and teaming up to try to hustle their uncle’s men. They had kept at it through college and beyond. Still played together even now when they had the chance.

But Rio didn’t ask her to join him now, like he had so many times before.  He didn’t rerack the balls or tilt his head towards one of the sticks to invite her to play together. 

He just kept circling the table slowly, still silent. 

So Gretchen waited some more.

Finally, he decided on his shot.  The 7 ball, she saw, aiming for the pocket closest to her.  An easy shot for a player like him, Gretchen knew. 

She watched as Rio leaned over the table and lined up.  His form was perfect. Just like their uncle had taught them both. 

Slowly he pulled back the stick with one hand, pistoning it gently between the fingers of the other as he took aim.  Then, lightning quick, the stick was snapping forward and striking the 7 ball, sending it hurtling towards the pocket.

He missed.

Gretchen flicked her eyes up in time to catch his eyebrows pull together. 

For a long moment, Rio didn’t move, just stayed bent over the table.  But at least he deigned to acknowledge her presence at last, his eyes raising slow to meet hers squarely across the table between them.

Gretchen blinked at what she saw then.  He was angry.  She could see it clearly on him now. ��He was angry at her.   

Rio straightened up and planted one end of the stick on the ground.  Now his eyes didn't leave Gretchen's face. 

“Got nothing to say?” he said at last.   

Everything about him was mocking.  His voice, his posture, his expression.  Like he was calling her on her bullshit. Like she had been the one to demand this meeting, then ignore him to parade around the table in silence. 

It put Gretchen’s back up, instantly, which she knew was his intention.  Drama, theatre – he used it so well.    

So she forced herself not to snap back.  She flicked her eyes instead to Mick, but there were no answers there.

She looked back at Rio.  He was still staring at her, rotating the stick in his hands, waiting for her answer.

He wasn’t asking for her opinion on his missed shot, Gretchen knew, but she played dumb anyway to buy herself some time to feel him out. 

And because despite whatever else, he was still her baby cousin.  And an asshole who’d made her miss the first date she’d even halfway looked forward to in years to boot.

“Your stick wasn’t level,” Gretchen told him.  She made her voice calm and evaluating, scrunching up her face in thoughtful criticism.  “That made the ball curve just enough to miss the pocket.”

Behind her cousin, she saw Mick dip his head to hide a smile. 

Rio smiled at her too.  But without any teeth, and it didn’t come close to reaching his eyes.

He didn’t respond though.  He just walked another quarter turn around the table, his eyes back down on the balls again. 

As soon as he looked down, Gretchen risked shooting a longer glance at Mick, tilting her chin up to him. 

What’s all this about? 

Mick shrugged a shoulder to her in response. 

Don’t know.

She looked quickly back to Rio.  

He was lined up again.  3 ball to the side pocket.  An even easier shot than his last one. 

Rio hovered over the table even longer this time.  His eyes flicked from the tip of the stick to the ball and back again.  Gretchen watched as he adjusted his grip on the stick minutely, precise and perfect.

He took the shot. 

And missed again. 

Once more, his eyes flicked straight up to hers.  Then he was straightening up and drawing closer, moving as fluid as water, until the table was no longer between them and he was standing right in front of her. 

He was taller than her even on a good day in her 4-inch heels. Now, standing, with her still on the stool, he towered over her.

He lifted his eyebrows.

“Well?” Rio asked, quieter this time.

Gretchen looked him straight in the eye.

“You muscled the stick forward – didn’t control your shot,” she told him, steady.

This time, Rio didn’t smile.  Just planted the base of the stick to the floor in front of Gretchen and folded his hands over the tip to regard her.

His eyes, the set of his jaw, the coiled stillness of him – he reminded her suddenly so strongly of their uncle. 

Growing up, without fail, Gretchen and her father had spent every Sunday dinner at her Tia Teresa’s.  One Sunday, not long after her mother had died, she had gone to find her father after dinner, out to the backyard where he and her Uncle Victor always smoked their cigars while the women cleaned up inside. 

They hadn’t seen her approach in the twilight, hadn’t even noticed her when she had stopped only a few feet away. 

So Gretchen had heard every word that her uncle had been saying. 

But standing there, what had had her frozen in place and trying to seem small hadn’t been so much what Victor was saying.  It had been how Victor was saying it. 

And most of all, it had been how his face, usually so indulgent and warm towards her and her cousins, had looked over the burn of his cigar as he had said it. 

When they had finally noticed her, Victor’s face had transformed immediately. Back to the face of the uncle she loved, back to how it always was. But Gretchen had known what she had seen. 

Later that night, when her father had come to tuck her in, he had known something was wrong.  He had called her Liebchen, like her mother always had, and stroked her hair, until finally Gretchen had felt brave enough to try to say it.

“Tio Victor looked scary tonight,” she had settled on at last. 

Her father hadn’t tried to brush it away, to tell Gretchen she was wrong, that she hadn’t seen what she had thought she had.

“He is scary,” her father had just said simply instead.  “But never to family.  Never to us.”

Now, looking up at her cousin, Gretchen thought of that night again. Rio had always looked just like their uncle, and his face now was her uncle's face as it had been that night.  

For a paralyzed second, Gretchen felt like she had back then when she was a kid.  Frozen, and small.

Then she gave herself a mental shake and told herself to get a fucking grip. 

Victor was long dead, and her father was in an advanced dementia facility that she forced herself to visit every Sunday, to sit with him all afternoon as he asked her plaintively again and again who she was. 

She wasn’t a fucking kid anymore. 

She heard her father’s voice again from that night. It reminded her.

Scary, yes.  But never to family.  Never to her.

Gretchen lifted her chin and slid off the stool, not breaking the eye contact for a second.  Then she took a step closer to him and pulled herself to her full height.

“So, are we done playing games now?” she asked. She used her courtroom voice, the one she knew he hated when she used it with him. “You wanna tell me what the hell is going on?”

Rio wanted to stay silent.  To make her wait some more.  Gretchen could read that on him clear as day.  She had known him her whole life, after all. 

But she knew that he was impatient too, so she made herself stay silent too, just tilting her head back-and-forth in challenge, until finally, he relented. 

“You wanna tell me what you been telling Elizabeth, Gretch?  Filling up her head with?”   

Beth.  

Gretchen felt some of the tightness in her shoulders relax. Of course.  She should have guessed, should have known. What could be making him like this.

Of course all this would have something to do with Beth Boland. 

[joeyjoeylee]

Link to original

[joeyjoeylee]

Wake up, beloved, I have assembled a celebration for us. Why did you not tell me of the Hoagiefest, Daniel? Wawa’s annual summer festival of hoagies? Before you sits all 27 available hoagie variations, you are going to try all of them and explain to me in detail each flavor profile. They call this $5 size a “shorti.” How clever! Because they are shorter! Of course you don’t have to eat the whole thing, Daniel, be sensible. At least two bites of each though. I’ve also readied a playlist of the six Hoagiefest 2008 jingles created by artist Parry Gripp on an infinite loop. You will be rating those in order of best to worst, accounting for both rhythm and lyricism. Look, I purchased us both themed t-shirts and beverage tumblers! The humans will think I am drinking coffee! And a consumer of hoagies! What fun! Now drink your Mango Matcha Immunity Smoothie.