#1930's aesthetic

[masterhallmark]

Don Karnage

[aeztheticzforthemuzes]

Lost & Found, Sharon, PA

[sagradofemenin0]

A bat-shaped night light, circa 1930 Musée Le Secq des Tournelles in France

[forsapphics]

Lesbian Friends, Deux Femmes (1930)

Marie Laurencin (1883 - 1956)

[vintagelivingbydaisyb]

Daily Vintage: 1930’a Color Chart Based on Hair Color

[love-pinups]

Carole Lombard’s tragic death always makes me wonder if her being onboard the plane was a contributing factor in the crash. I know that the flight was supposed to have landed and taken off from a different airport and then the flight crew failed to change their flight plan after rerouting to Las Vegas. However, I can’t help but wonder if the pilots of that plane were perhaps a little distracted by having this beauty on board. What a tragic ending to this beautiful woman’s life.

[tcmreads]

edward hopper paintings

[cb-reblog]

[gutsposting]

The Coven in the Woods, pt. 3

Standing in the center of a clearing that was supposedly created by the raging fire last night, Gordon was more reminded of a meteorite impact rather than a campfire gone awry. Trees bent backwards, all in a circle. Ash was still falling from the sky, a large pile of it had been scattered all about. Gordon looked at Patrick, who had closed his eyes, his head cocked straight upward. “What do you think happened?”

“They didn’t finish.” He opened his eyes again, and turned his head to his left. “I think that they were trying to make a doorway there.” He pointed at a peculiar set of trees that were half-burnt. “And they were… doing their thing. Then someone interrupted, and paid for it.”  

Gordon took another look at the soil. “Bare Feet…” The prints were clear, and small. “How many of them do you think there were?”

“A hundred? More? Who can say… It’s too bad we can’t see the bodies.”

“Well they had to have taken them down to the city. Let’s finish up whatever you planned on doing here.” Pat looked back at him. “What?” Gordon asked.

“I don’t know if I want to get… Him involved.”

Gordon sighed, and rolled his eyes. “Well, if you don’t want to then you don’t have to. Let's just get on with it.”

Pat furrowed his brow, and scratched his head. “Let’s just talk to him…” Patrick reached for a pouch he kept in his jacket pocket. Small and made of dark leather, like a coin purse. Pat pulled a pinch of sand out of it, and sprinkled it in the air. He watched intently as it floated in the wind. 

Gordon stared at him with his arms folded. “Any luck?” He asked sarcastically.

Pat looked back at him, frowning. “This way.” He thudded along with his heavy, irregular steps, and Gordon followed far behind. 

“Is this how it normally is for you?”

“Pretty much… I’ve gotten used to it. No one takes the job seriously… I don’t think he’s far.” Pat seemed especially nervous as he talked. Gordon had apparently been the first person to believe his stories when he paid the museum a visit. Most people would come in, ask some inane question about getting abducted by aliens and make the same old jokes about ‘probing.’ Gordon was the only person to come by, in all the time that it had been open, who was attentive when he spoke about his possessions and receptive to his ideas. All the same, this excursion would prove to be a great stretch of his friends’ imagination.

“What are we gonna do if he’s not here?”

Pat peered back at him over his shoulder to answer. “Oh, he’s here…” Gordon saw that he was sweating profusely.

The rain began as Pat pulled out another pinch of the dust, keeping it in the palm of his hand. It was a light, stinging sprinkle. The sunlight from the bright morning which greeted them in the clearing had almost completely disappeared behind the clouds and the treeline. “One o’clock… Already dark as night…” Godon remarked. 

“Here.” Pat stopped underneath a massive dead oak tree. Its thick branches stretched out, like a sickening star, in every imaginable direction. The withered, gray branches twisted together like a million hands intertwined for eternity. Pat lifted up his shirt, and pulled a short-handle folded shovel out of his pants. “We’ll take turns.” He said, crouching down and beginning to wildly tear at the soil.

“Okay, come on!” Gordon threw his  hands up in the air. “You Have to be kidding!”

Patrick didn’t speak, only staring at Gordon as he threw clump after clump of dirt over his shoulder. 

Gordon covered his face with his hand, and sat down on a stump. It felt like hours passed before the old man digging the hole collapsed, lying on his back and gasping for air. He had dug wisely, and had made it about three feet in depth. Gordon watched Pat get up, still completely out of breath, shakily trying to meekly raise another pile of dirt out of the hole.

“Fine.” Gordon said. “I’ll take a turn.” The weather had become much worse, puddles of muddy water were beginning to form at the bottom of the hole. Gordon could hardly breathe, but he imagined his arms as a set of pistons, his torso as a mighty engine, and he forced his body to shred the ground out of his way.

Then the smell hit him. Sweet like old beef left in the refrigerator too long, if it was hot and all around you. It hit his stomach like a freight train, and the perfect storm brought on by the mud and the incessant raindrops pelting his hat brought it all back to him, all at once.

“Jesus, Pat…” 

“I know… Let me take over.” Pat put his hand on Gordons’ shoulder. During the war, Pat was distant and aloof, the way that an officer should be. It was only on the way back home, standing on the deck of that old steamer, that he expressed how much he cared about his boys. He kept up with all one-hundred and three men who survived by regularly writing letters to each one of them.

Gordon sat back down on the stump. His mother taught him a trick when he was going to throw up, he would hum anything that came to mind. “John Brown’s body lies a-moulderin’ in the grave…” He sang. 

Patrick chuckled. “I’ve got him!” He hollered. Gordon got up, and looked down the hole. He checked his watch.

“Five hours.” Gordon said. “Do you know this guy? He’s been here too long to be-”

Pat raised the shovel over his head, and swung it down like an axe. He feverishly brought the weapon crashing down again and again, and before long he had cracked open a football-sized hole into the coffin. “Wake up!” He shouted, laughing hysterically. “I need to talk to you!”

Gordon felt the urge to drop down into the hole to stop him. It was certainly wrong to stand by and let someone defile a corpse, but Gordon couldn't move. Pat curled his fingers against the edge of the hole he had made in the rotten old wood, and yanked upwards with all of his might. He sent splinters flying all around him as he ripped nearly an entire quarter of the top panel right off the ill-made coffin. 

The body had decomposed significantly, but Gordon refused to look at it. He remembered a corpse of a Frenchman that he had seen back in the day. He had been completely buried underneath the mud somehow. All you could see was an arm, his wrist twisting up and backward. He watched a rat nibble at his fingers one night, and almost got himself killed when he tried to protect the mans’ hand from the pest.

Patrick began slapping the dead man in the cheek. “Come on… I wanna talk to you! I know you’re in there!” The rain stopped like a faucet being shut off. Gordon felt chills run up his spine.

“What did you do?” Gordon shouted. Patrick pulled himself out of the hole, ignoring Gordons’ question. 

A pale figure peeked its head out from behind a distant tree. “Come on! I want to get this over with.” Patrick cupped his hands and shouted at it. Gordon grabbed his arm.

“What the fuck is that?” He demanded.

“It’s okay…” Patrick said, quietly. The figure slowly walked towards them. It was something similar to the form of a bald, pale man. Featureless, like a skeleton with a thin layer of skin draped over it. It slunk towards them shyly, but refused to come close before speaking. 

“Too long, it’s been too long.” A low, quiet voice scratched out. 

“What happened last night?” Patrick spoke up.

The creature hid behind a tree. “Cheated.” The voice changed, it was now like an old womans’. “They owe me four for last night, four for last night and hundreds more, hundreds.” 

“Just tell me about last night.” Patrick insisted. The creature stood up from the bushes, and had changed into something more resembling a man, a prisoner perhaps. Bald, covered in tattoos, it was like the creature was growing into… Gordon didn’t want to think about what was happening, but he couldn’t close his eyes. He stared at the creature, at the twisted-up face. He wanted to vomit. 

“He’s mine… and they took him to the mine, but he’s mine, and they took him… mine”

“They run the whole town, don’t they?” The creature shrugged. 

“You will know where to go, you will feel it and will know. You will find what's' mine in the mine, he’s mine and I want them all back.” It made some kind of motion with its arms, like it was draping a blanket over its body, and a black robe appeared. It completely covered the creature, with no apparent way to see out of the hood. 

The voice had changed again, to that of a sad young woman. “Patrick…” it called out. “When will I see you again?” 

Pat looked like a deer in headlights. “We can talk later… After I finish this case?”

A mans’ voice, deep and authoritative. “You promise?”

“Yes, I do.”  

[vintagevamp876]

1930's Vintage Maybelline Eye Makeup Advertisment 👁️👁️👁️

[aeztheticzforthemuzes]

[atl-angel]

home

[visceral-viscera]

hey guys if you want to hear more of whatever the fuck that last ep was but with more cursing and sound effects, check out malevolent, the podcast written, produced and voiced by Harlan Guthrie, episode 23's writer!!!

come on down, we've got

body sharing protags with a complicated ambiguous toxic possesive situationship friendship worst enemies relationship who hold hands

a protag thats more scars than skin at this point

body horror that will make your stomach hurt

alternative universes

alternative dimensions

a guy who sings while he kills people

cannibalism

eldritch entities of unknown intents

fun 1930s aesthetics

non-obtrusive ttrpg mechanics

musical motifs

eye motifs

a silly little guy whose hands are always covered in gore whos always just kinda watching whats going on

and more!!! you can even vote on what our protag will do if you join the patreon!!! its so fun!!

i know u tma/tmagp people would like it just give us a chance pls pls pls

[campbell-rose]

Alastor Redesign

Omg there’s like over 70 people following me – guys I'm o///O flattered and flabbergasted. 

Anyway, onto today’s main event, Alastor. I hate Alastor’s og design, I hate his twig waist and his shoulder pads and the way you can’t see his antlers next to his ears, and his bow tie ugh viv please and his HAIR what even is that??? Not even mentioning that nothing about his design is really like a focal point. There’s no one thing that’s particularly interesting. At least before this he had that cathedral window looking cross on his undershirt that I found interesting. Nothing about his says he’s from the 1930’s other than dialogue. 

I wanted him to be in greyscale because that’s the coolest aesthetic, and colored photos weren’t a thing until way after the 30s. Recently I saw jjk, and Jogo’s teeth threw me because at some points I thought he was just straight up toothless. But then when I started this design, that colored tooth look spoke to me. Initially his teeth were yellow to look gross like he never brushes them, but then I was like ‘ayo wait, he’s literally a cannibal’, thus his vibrant red teeth to really pop against his greyscale. Initially his undershirt was white, but I feel like that was too much contrast and white is typically innocence, so by instead having a deep red it shows he’s just straight up bloodthirsty underneath his formal appearance. I also considered it being black, but then he looked like a pastor, and I wasn’t too much of a fan of it. The idea of the red on his design is that it leads your eye down his design to take it all in, with his face being the focus. I gave him glasses because I like the way it obscures his eyes a bit and I imagine they do the anime thing where they glow and hide his eyes. I liked Viv’s idea of sinners having marks where they died, and I slicked his hair back to show it off very prominently. His antlers are larger, I gave him cute lil deer ears. Also, under his suit he is lowkey buff. I feel like a serial killer should at least look physically capable of taking someone down not whatever the fuck viv’s nasty twig men can do. Like, in that comic with the cute sheep girl, when Alastor goes demon mode his body looks so snappable I just wanna like grab his waist in my hands and break it like a twig. I also tried to keep his design simple as if this were for animation, I know pinstripes are complicated and so are antlers but other than that I tried to keep his design basic. 

If I were to rewrite him based solely on the pilot, I honestly wouldn’t change a thing. Alastor is a decent character, his voice actor gives him life, the radio filter is cool, and nothing he did made me want to break my screen (ANGELDUST). The only thing I'd change would be his position in hell. Like, viv’s hell is so wack and I hate it, she’s got the princes, then the goetia and the overlords and then sinners and blah blah, it’s a lot to keep track of, not even mentioning the rings and circles thing. I think Alastor should have had dealings with hell as a human, maybe he routinely did sacrifices or something, and he made a deal with the archdemon Alastor and when he died like... uuhhhhhhh. Maybe through connections he’s gained more power? Idk, I just know I hate the idea of his dying and then having like the bestest most powerful demon powers despite not being hellborn. It’s got this mary sue stench. I’ll figure it out, maybe, who knows. 

I’m not gonna start rewriting since there’s nothing to go off of and alter yet, so that’s gonna have to wait until the show actually drops before anything concrete happens lol. 

Also the sheep girl is a sinner that reoccurs in the show now so sorry I don’t make the rules, you can’t give me a cute sheep girl and try to take her away, I’m gonna redesign her and shove her into the plot as someone looking for redemption at the hotel

[cannibalizedlove]

My bestiest bestie recommended you and I have a BIG idea. I've always thought about a fic where y/n (any gender) moved into this creepy-ish home. After awhile of being there, there had been strange movements and noises and etc. Often the ghost of the house (timothee chalamet) visits only when they're asleep to either caress their hair or cheek because timothee is afraid to show himself to them; especially from fear of scaring them. He is a very beautiful ghost too. When the reader falls in love with timothee, they can only feel him. The reader is the only person that can physically touch him because of how strong their love is. (I might be a bit cheesy).

and the best part of this story is that when the reader dies in the future — the two lovers can and will always be happily together.

A very fluffy and sweet story! With some slight angst.

This is such a cute idea!! I love a little angst-y, cheesy story so I hope you enjoyed this as much as I did. Love your and your besties blog as well!!

Hauntingly Yours.

Information and warnings — Gender neutral reader, gender never specified, Ghost Timothée, old hollywood Timothée, slow burn, very, very long fic.., reader death, Timothée doesn’t know what technology is, hurt/comfort, lover boy Timmy, fluffy angst.

You had recently moved into your new house, an old, southern gothic home from the early ‘20s.

When your friends helped you move, they joked that it was haunted. The rickety house was a bit beat down, chipped paint, leaky faucets and creaky floors galore, but it had good bone structure and charm that you couldn’t pass up.

You enjoyed the aesthetic of the house, and knew the more deserted area it was in would have a positive effect on your writing.

You had been in a slump, your book was 30 pages behind the deadline and your editor was livid. You believed if you were to move away from the loud city, the bustling streets and lit up buildings you could connect with the words and let them flow onto the pages.

It was about a week into settling in, and you were starting to believe your friends. In the dead of the night the floors would creek, and sinks would turn on randomly. When you would write, you felt a cold air touch your neck, and an almost humming sound would whisper in your ears.

You had finally had enough a few nights ago. You were about to lay down for a late sleep, when a loud crash came from the kitchen. You ran quickly to the room, finding a mug your mother had gifted you from your last apartment completely shattered on the floor.

After sweeping up the remaining pieces, you grabbed your laptop, getting to the bottom of this.

You began researching the area and house, and your jaw hung open as you found out the history of your home.

In the late 1930’s, a beautiful star was on the rise. Timothée Chalamet was an actor like no other, he was gorgeous, talented, and had incredible range.

He lived in a gorgeous home, it was in the southern part of the state, off the grid and away from the busy city he desperately needed to get out from.

It seemed as everyone loved him, except the man who took his life.

One night, as Timothée was alone in bedroom, he was shot dead. The shooter was later identified as his costar in his upcoming film.

As you read on, you became increasingly aware that you lived in an old hollywoods stars death bed.

What you weren’t aware of was he knew you lived here too.

Timothée had been alone for all these years, he had felt so alone. He would roam the hallways pacing back and forth for hours before returning back to the bed in which he had died in.

Until you came along.

You were beautiful, and so talented. He loved just standing in the doorway and watching your fingers tap on your weird bright box late at night, he didn’t quite know what it was but he enjoyed reading the words that popped up on it.

Timothée was terrified of letting you see him, so he’d only come into the room late at night, while you were sleeping. He’d softly caress your cheek or pet your hair, watching as your chest moved up and down in your slumber.

You couldn’t sleep, you were too horrified by the idea of sleeping in a deadman’s house, but mostly you were pissed that your real estate agent hadn’t told you about the haunted backstory.

As the late hour rolled around, Timothée had walked into your room, shocked to see you awake. He tipped toed around you too see what was on your light box, as he saw his passing plastered all over it.

His phantom heart sank. Timothée never wanted you to find out about him, he knew you’d be scared and leave him alone once again.

You felt the energy shift, a shiver ran down your spine and you decided enough was enough. You grabbed your phone and began to dial the number of your real estate agent, trying to find out how badly your pockets would be broke if you canceled your contract early.

That was until your phone was flung out of your hands, cracking the screen a bit.

“Hello?! Who’s there!?” You called out with wide eyes, trying to pretend you weren’t terrified in your own home.

A soft whisper rang through your ears, and you felt your heart skip a beat. You knew you weren’t alone.

You ripped a piece of paper off and drew a “yes, no” sign with two pens on top of eachother like the game you learned back in elementary school. This was the only way you knew how to talk to the other side. You sat on the dreaded bed, putting the paper in the middle of the mattress.

A weight shifted on the end of the bed, you knew this was Timothée, he was sitting with you.

“Is there someone here with me?” You asked out, hugging yourself for a sense of security.

Timothée picked up the pen and put it on the “Yes” part of the sign, watching you with tears in his eyes as he watched the utter sense of horror fill you. He was scaring you, something he wanted less than anything in the world.

“Are you the actor who died here back in the ‘30s?” You muttered out, watching as the pen once again went to the “Yes.”

“Are you able to speak to me?” Another question, Timothée swallowed thickly as he began to speak, believing you wouldn’t hear him.

“I’m sorry to scare you mon amour..” A voice softly whispered out.

You jumped, falling off the bed and panting profusely. Timothée was equally shocked, his voice had never been heard before, and was utterly confused by your abilities.

“I can hear you.. I’m going fucking insane. I’m actually insane, oh my God.” You tugged on your skin, pulled on your hair and looked around like a madman, truly believing you were either asleep or finally losing your mind.

“You’re not insane, Dollface. I’m right here.” The voice called out, it had that old hollywood transatlantic accent mixed with a french one, and it had you.. swooning. Impossible, you’re not weak in the knees for a ghost.. right?

Timothée made your way towards you, and sat by you on the ground, “No one has ever heard me before, Mon Cherie. I’m so alone, all I do is roam the hallways and watch you work, I’m overwhelmed with desire when I see you.” His voice filled the room, and you calmed down slowly but surely.

As you guys continued talking, you found yourself relating more and more to him. He was a kind soul, who didn’t deserve anything he had went through. When he talked about his death, you felt water drop on your knee, and you knew he was crying. You comforted him, telling him that he was okay now and how nothing could hurt him anymore.

Throughout the conversations, you found yourself falling harder and harder into a love for him. He was incredibly talented, smart, and insanely witty. You knew if anyone walked in, they’d think you were absolutely mad, but funnily enough, you had never felt so grounded and happy.

“If you were alive when I was, I bet we would’ve been the best of lovers, Sweet Pie. We could’ve rocked Hollywoods world!” Timothée laughed, you chuckled with your head hanging low, you desperately wished it was true. You wished you could’ve loved him back then, maybe he never would’ve met his terrible fate and you could’ve grown old together. You both could’ve lived in this house, and he could’ve reached the level of stardom that he had deserved.

Soon when you lifted your head back up, complete shock struck you as you were now face to face with the man you had been speaking to all night.

He looked straight out of a black and white movie, he had a sharp nose, heavy lashes, perfectly set curls, and soft freckles that kissed his entire face.

You screamed, throwing your hands on your mouth.

“What?! What’s wrong?!” Timothée exclaimed, his eyes were wide and he grabbed your arm.

“I can.. You! I can see you?! I can FEEL you?!” You had explained in complete shock, locking eyes with him, and staring at his large hand on your arm.

Timothée was overjoyed that you could finally be with him, but he quickly feared that you would be scared of him, more than you were before.

“You’re.. beautiful, Timothée.” You said with a sigh, moving closer to him and gently running a thumb across his cheek. “Much more beautiful than the pictures, I didn’t think you could get prettier.” You giggled, bringing him into a tight embrace.

Timothée hadn’t felt a hug in decades, he began to sob, shaking like a leaf as he held you close. “I’ve never wanted anything more than to be seen.” He said through intense tears, and you shushed him quietly, kissing the top of his head and wiping his tears.

“I see you, Angel.” You began to cry with him, and the two of you fell asleep holding each other.

The days went on and you were falling for him more and more, since you could see and feel him now, you did everything together. You taught him what a laptop was, and you showed him new movies and explained how CGI was a part of every film now. He thought it was tacky, and said that hollywood had declined since his time and you laughed with agreement.

It had been about a month since you first met Timothée, and you were head over heels for him. Today was different than the others, because you decided you were going to tell him how you loved him. You cooked the two of you breakfast, and held his hand over the table as you ate with him.

“May I tell you something, dear?” You muttered, rubbing your thumb against his boney knuckles, holding eye contact with him as he had a bit of syrup on the corner of his mouth. He was a complete goof, and you loved him for it, he deserved to know that.

“Of course, darling, what is it?” He asked sweetly, smiling widely.

“I, well, I love you.” You exclaimed, you looked down as you said it, feeling like a fool.

“Oh, Mon Cherie.” Timothée began to cry, he was a very emotional man, and you loved that about him.

He left his seat and picked you up, swinging you around, “I love you more than you know!” His voice cried out.

For the rest of the day, you were clung to his side, you spent the entire afternoon kissing and holding him tightly. You loved him, he loved you and that’s all you needed. When the day had come to a close, you needed a shower. You broke apart from Timothée and left him with a peck on the lips.

You had gotten a towel, and began to undress, jumping into the shower. Everything was normal, you shampooed your hair, hummed songs and went to grab your soap. It fell out of your hands, and with closed eyes you went to grab it, in a terrible accident you slipped on the bar of soap. You screamed and slammed your head on the faucet insanely hard. For a moment you heard Timothée rushing into the room, and the next moment you heard and felt nothing.

You woke up to Timothée crying as he held you close, you were confused as you heard ambulances outside your home and men rushing in your direction. It felt like you were seeing with your eyes closed, and Timothée was whispering comforting nothings into your ears.

It had finally clicked for you, you had passed away due to the hit to your head. You were terrified. You began to scream and cry but your body wasn’t moving, you wanted to yell that you were alive and for them to stop wrapping your body, but Timothée held you down and told you that there was nothing you could do.

Months later your friends and family had a funeral for you, you stayed back, in that southern home.

Every morning you woke up to Timothée in your shared bed, and every night you’d eat dinner, and go to bed with him. You felt at peace, you knew that you and him would be in love forever, and you knew that nothing could tear you apart.

Your souls were intertwined in that home, till the end of time.

[silviakundera]

with the conclusion of Snowfall...

why do i enjoy Republican Era chinese dramas so much?

aesthetics! there is this blend of 1920-30s western fashion influences and traditional chinese garb & architecture that just pleases my eyes.

everyone looks very depressed & dangerous & sexy

chaotic period of transition - no matter if you're in the 1910's, 20's, 30's some absolutely wild historical shit was going down

cars and guns and gloves and swords. rotary phones!

dancing & drinking in night clubs, in glamorous pockets amid the violence & instability outside; a lil touch of mask of the red death vibes

end of empire themes, as a country tries to find its way after the end of the last imperial dynasty

there's those gangster, mob boss vibes from american and british dramas set in the 1920s, except everything is cranked up x100 because of general lawlessness; central government and law & order was a paper thin veneer over warlords

the start of WW2 from an entirely different perspective than the common narratives that I was exposed to growing up in the US (which is 99% stories about the european stage)

sino-japanese war / war of resistance material like Hidden Blade is fucking badass ok 🤷

in a time of resistance to occupation, colonizers encroaching, warlords fighting over cities, brewing civil war.... there are many different options of protagonists and unlikely "heroes" who are picking their battles and discovering what they are willing to fight for

Beautiful 👏 women 👏 in heels 👏and 👏 slinky 👏dresses 👏

Lots of revenge narratives. I love an over-the-top, bloodthirsty & destructive revenge narrative

Depending on the genre, there might be little or heavy politcal /patriotic discourse. But tbh none of the rah rah patriotism stuff distracts me much, because all the american and british produced stuff set around WW2 has rah rah patriotism & propaganda in it, so I just consider that part of the essential genre vibes. It's just another country's version. (Of course, others will have less patience when it becomes heavy-handed. YMMV.)

Dark & Gritty

Hidden Blade (film) - a masterpiece, if you enjoy dark WW2 spy films that play with narrative style and challenge the viewer to follow the story as it's woven. Had to review detailed historical context for the years in question, to be ready to consume. But worth it. I've watched it 3 times. 💀

Heroes (2024) - the very beginning era of this genre/the transition into repulican period. rocks fall, everyone dies. Primarily a tragic wuxia & pre-republican fusion. Excellent enough that I didn't mind the bleak storyline. 💀

Detective-ing

Miss S - adaption of 1920s Australian mystery procedural Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries, staring Vengo! ML actor of Snowfall

Checkmate - Agatha Christie stories adapted to the setting & time period, plus bromance. I watched half the episodes w my brother, as we are both huge agatha christie fans. It was fun if you can be chill about adaption changes.

My Roommate is A Detective - for mystery & bromance lovers. Same actor duo as Checkmate.

Detective L - don't know much about this one tbh

Romance arc, with a somewhat happy ending for the 2 leads

Provoke - Gorgeous, glamorous, vibes vibes vibes all day long. Revenge and romance. ❤

Fall in Love - sons & daughters of warlords and their supporters get sexy and dangerous and decide even joining the civil war is better than the prior generation's bullshit. This is an objectively bad drama that I really enjoyed anyway (it helps that I skipped every scene for the 2nd and 3rd couples). This one turns v propaganda heavy at the end, if that bothers you. ❤

Arsenal Military Academy - military training hijinks w a side of cross dressing romance. Xu Kai and Bai Lu! It's soliders and japanese invasion et al, so be prepared for the standard patriotism. Comedy & drama. HE for the FL/ML but expect character death in this subject matter. ❤

Rookie Agent Rogue - Late 1930s spy drama with small romance side-plot. Expect the standard wartime patriotism, like with Arsenal Military Academy. The draw is the lead actress, the FL from Princess Agents, Minglan, Legend of Shen Li. HE for the FL/ML but expect character death in this subject matter. ❤

City of Streamer - Older woman seduces younger man who is the son of her revenge target. Melodrama with people serving looks. ❤

War of Faith* - Young man just wants to join the banking industry and have a subtextually gay relationship with his mentor in peace, but there's a civil war going on. Protagonist would like to be excluded from this political narrative, but ultimately is forced to pick a side. ❤🌈 *(Is it censored gay romance? No, not based on a gay novel. So not officially! But some viewers felt there was a subtextual romance storyline #shenlai ; YMMV. The happy ending is Untamed-esque; implied only)

many, many pulpy mini-dramas about revenge! warlords! ladies with pistols! (Miss Mystery, First Marriage, Maid's Revenge, etc)

Also... (happy ending not guaranteed)

Siege in Fog

Love in Flames of War

Couple of Mirrors - censored F/F 🌈

Stand by Me - censored m/m 🌈

Killer and Healer - censored m/m 🌈

Winter Begonia - censored m/m 🌈