#yes this is about joe collie

[gaystropod]

Whenever a character puts themself on a path of redemention but dies before they can get there i die also.

[vivalavillain]

( 2, 3, and 17 for father paul uvu )

WEIRDLY SPECIFIC BUT HELPFUL CHARACTER BUILDING QUESTIONS

2. How loosely or strictly do they use the word 'friend?'

{In the Before Times, when Father Paul was still very much Monsignor Pruitt, he would have said he was a friend to all. As a child of God and as all things are God's creation, he would have readily answered that all creatures are simply friends disguised as strangers (within reason, of course; he wouldn't go swimming with piranhas on purpose). John Pruitt genuinely loved all of God's creations and went to great lengths to live the Word as Jesus would have intended. He sough to help the sick, feed and clothe the poor, welcome the stranger into his church. He would serve as a beacon of God's Light wherever he went if he could and thus shared the great Love of God with all.

{Once he met the Angel of the Lord, however, and was returned to his youth, he found himself... lacking things. Certainly the love and the heart of John Pruitt still lived on inside him, he still considered any of his flock to be his friend if they'd so let him say so. However, as we see with the death of Joe Collie and the miscarriage of Erin Greene, John began to notice something wasn't entirely there. His empathy, his guilt, was stunted. So while, yes, he would say he considered many to be his friend, he found the truth of the matter was that he only vaguely cared anymore.}

3. How often do they show their genuine emotions to others versus just the audience knowing?

{Father Paul tends to wear his heart on his sleeve-- when he can feel it. He goes to no great lengths to lie to his parishioners (other than by hiding who he really is) about what he's feeling or how much he cares about them but there is a part of him, as the days grow wearier and the sunlight harsher, that finds his emotions less and less intense, less and less there when he expects them. Before he fully turns, he's still very much in control of his faculties, but the longer he goes under the Angel's influence, the less he feels and acts human.}

17. What do they notice first in the mirror versus what most people first notice when looking at them?

{I would like to think John Pruitt only really started to notice things about himself after Sarah was born. The way she took her nose from him, the way she laughs the same way he did, the dark of her hair. For Father Paul, though, he notices the sharp line of his jaw, the height of his cheekbones. The differences between himself and Sarah now that he's more able-minded to notice those differences.

{As for what others notice about him first, I would have to say his eyes or the figure he strikes as a fairly tall, scrawny individual.}

[daily-joemaru]

what kind of dogs do u think they would be... ranmaru reminds me of a komondor but im not sure about joe

THIS ASK <3

YES KOMONDOR RANMARU 100%

Joe reminds me of a border collie

[ao3feed-midnightmass]

Bless Me Father For I am Going to Sin

by cobaltsmoke "Father, these thoughts, they've been plaguing my mind every day." "What sort of thoughts are they?" Ethan flushed a bright pink, and he was very grateful for the screen between him and the priest. "Is that really necessary?" "You must fully own up to your sins before God in order to be forgiven. So, yes. I would say it's necessary. Trust me, I know it seems awkward, but I'm here only as the middleman between you and God. I'm not here to judge you." "Okay. Well..." Ethan collected himself for a moment. Was he really about to confess the things he wanted this man to do to him to his face? "It's okay, Ethan." Father Paul's voice held such a fond softness when it curled around the syllables of Ethan's name. Yes, he was going to do this. And he was certainly going to hell for it. Words: 2490, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: Midnight Mass (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Categories: M/M Characters: Father Paul Hill | Monsignor John Pruitt, Original Male Character(s), Riley Flynn, Erin Greene (Midnight Mass), Sheriff Hassan (Midnight Mass), Beverly Keane, Sturge (Midnight Mass), Joe Collie, Mildred Gunning, Sarah Gunning Relationships: Father Paul Hill | Monsignor John Pruitt/Original Male Character(s), Riley Flynn/Erin Greene Additional Tags: Priest Kink, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Forbidden Love, Secret Relationship, Vampires, Human/Vampire Relationship, Blood Kink, Knifeplay, bless me father for I have sinned, This Is Just Self Indulgence At This Point April 23, 2023 at 12:24AM Read it on Ao3 » https://archiveofourown.org/works/46684696 ✞ Don’t forget to leave kudos and comments to let the author know you enjoyed their work ✞

[ebiemidnightlibrarian]

Cornucopia | II — Castimonium I | Father Paul x Fem!Reader | English

SUMMARY | AO3 | MY MASTERLIST

Chapter Summary: Miriam is faced with a pile of dusty problems and has her first interaction with Bev, things don't go as planned. She meets Sheriff Hassan and Joe Collie and discovers that there might be some very well hidden skeletons in the island's closet.

Chapter Title: Castimonium (/castīmōniae/; latin): abstinence; abstinence (sexual/from meat) for ritual; purity of morals; chastity.

Warnings: Slow Burn, Angst, Mentions of Past Religious Trauma, Description of an Anxiety Attack (Slight), Anxiety, Descriptions of a Cold, Descriptions of Depression Symptoms (Is just a suggestion of actually).

Word Count: 7.8K

Note: Skin, hair and body descriptions has been handled as vague as possible so that everything can be read as a reader fic.

Again, English isn’t my mother language, so I’m sorry for any orthography or writing mistakes you might find.

A/N: So… how do I say this… This chapter has completely got out of hand. My idea was to release it on Christmas Eve, to be a gift to everyone reading this (THANK YOU SO MUCH!). But what ended up happening was that the chapter got so big and so full of information that I had to split it in three. It's, like, 12K, and I didn't even get to the crock pot luck part *laughs w despair*

This is part one, where our priest meow meow only comes up a little bit and there's A LOT of OFC development, in this case, the reader. This first part is more connected to Angst and Character Study than anything else. HOWEVER, I swear our boy shows up quite a bit in part two (which I'm still finishing lol) including, ladies and gentlemen, tense moments (you know what kind ; D).

Also, my asks are always open to you all, make yourself comfortable to send me anything!

Enjoy the reading! See y'all in a couple of days, so, happy New Year! I wish all the best in the whole world, and that in 2022 all of your dreams come true.

ONE ASPIRIN. An aspirin and a comfortable bed were all Miriam wanted most. Her head throbbed with the white noise that Beverly Keane's squeaky voice had become in the last half hour she'd spoken non-stop. Both, along with the mayor, Sheriff Hassan, and Ed Flynn, were all in the small police station at the back of the grocery store.

Miriam smoothed her fingers over her forehead and pressed hard against the bridge of her nose in an effort to keep her tired eyes open and to calm herself with a long inhale. The small island's problems had escalated considerably quickly since her arrival in the early hours of that day. The entire morning she was supposed to settle down had been spent in lengthy discussions with Mayor Scarborough and the unofficial administrator, — arising from the end of Mass and who, at this moment —, was looking reproachfully at the young woman. Shafts related to her futility of presence shot toward her with a subtle vigor Miriam had never seen.

Hassan prostrated himself for some time in a corner away from the tiny, enraged woman, his toned arms crossed in a defensive posture, his dark eyes watching the discussion unfold. Miriam caught him analysing her at one point, when Wade miraculously managed to become the deaconess's target. The young woman caught an identifying look behind the sheriff's tired orbs. Found a brother in the pain of being unwanted, it seems, she concluded to herself, sighing as she turned her gaze to the two arguing in front of her.

“…and that's why I don't think it's wise to allow a stranger, someone unfamiliar with Crockett's ways, to run our community.” To Miriam and Hassan's relief, Bev seemed satisfied with the numerous listing of her reservations to the newcomer. Her poisonous green eyes looked up and down at the woman patiently awaiting her turn to speak.

“Yes Bev, I know that well, you've already made your discontent very clear, but you have to understand that the City Council has decided. We've taken a vote, there's nothing to argue about.” The mayor's voice was low, slightly husky, almost irritable, and despite being much bigger than the deaconess, the mayor seemed to cringe before the woman in a mixture of complacency and barely contained anger.

“Right.” There was a short pause, the woman looked at the oldest Flynn leaning against the door frame of the tiny office and seemed to remember the real reason for that meeting. “What do you suggest we do then? With the cats, I mean.”, asked the beatified, looking pointedly at the young woman in front of her.

“I believe the best way to find out what happened to those poor creatures is, of course, to investigate. And since this is not my field of expertise, I think it's more than clear that Sheriff Hassan should be in charge. He'll know better than any of us what to do on this occasion.” The sheriff and the woman exchanged a simple look of understanding.

“She's right, I can manage this.” The law man's slurred voice echoed through the cubicle for a moment. The sour look that gleamed in the deaconess's eyes directed them both with caution and discretion. The mayor was ready to speak, his large moustache moving as he opened his mouth before being rudely interrupted by the braided woman.

“Yes, this is more than clear, but I was referring to what must be done with the bodies. I don't believe it's wise to just leave them lying around.”, the tartness of the words did not go unnoticed by any of those present. The lamp attached to the ceiling produced an incessant hum that made the back of Miriam's head throb in pain even more.

"Of course. You’re right, miss.” Miriam allowed, by one beat, Bev to gloat over her 'superiority'. “The wisest thing would probably be to burn them, as suggested by Mr. Flynn. They could be contaminated with some form of illness, and it wouldn't be good for the children to have contact with infected waste, would it?” There was a passive aggressiveness in Miriam's words, mirroring the tone of the deaconess.

Silence.

The only sound other than her breathing was the persistent hum of electricity running through the lamp.

“I can't guarantee the parishioners will approve.” The woman's high-pitched timbre seemed to ring like bells inside Miriam's head. She was starting to get impatient once again in less than twelve hours.

“It's for the safety of your children, I'm sure they'll understand the steps to be taken, Ms. Keane.” The beatified’s name slipped acidly across her lips. A smug smile painted the curve of the young woman's lips. Turning her body to Ed Flynn, Miriam walked past the deaconess, rummaging in her coat pocket for her cell phone. “Mr. Flynn, would you mind telling me how many gallons of petrol do you think it will take to cremate the cats without any major problems?” Typing quickly into her mobile device, taking notes of spending possibilities, Miriam waited for a response from the man.

"Well," the fisherman glanced at the sheriff in the corner and then at the irritable figure of Beverly Keane, who was incessantly squeezing with the neat tips of her nails the hem of her greenish jumper sleeve. “About three gallons should be enough, is what? A hundred?” the man who smelled of fish and sea air asked Hassan, avoiding any form of eye contact with the small, sullen woman. The good sheriff nodded with a nod of his dark hair and eased himself into a more comfortable position against the wooden wall.

"Excellent. Sorry to bother you with this, but I'll need a detailed list of the island's supplies, whatever's in store, can you get me that Mr. Scarborough?” the woman turned, her exhausted eyes falling on Wade. Taking a few more notes on her cell phone, Miriam returned to her spot propped against the sheriff's desk, facing the prime deaconess. Nodding his head, Wade muttered a restrained 'Sure' as he shoved his hands into his pockets.

Still unreconciled but restrained, Beverly Keane clasped her hands in front of her with a sigh and nodded, like a cranky child who has had to settle for less candy than she wanted. A short beat of silence followed. The deaconess was staring at Miriam, her eyes scrutinizing her, as if searching tirelessly for a hideous flaw that lurked in the weary marks on the woman's features. Her greenish orbs glowed with an eerie light as she caught the rosary that stood out, glittering around the black collar of her jumper.

"Very well, then. May I ask you something Miss…”, the space to be filled in her soft, squeaky speech was deliberate.

"Harper." Miriam's voice came out as pure hoarseness. The sandy feeling at the bottom of the palate starting in grades. Clearing her throat, so her voice sounded less like the dragging of an iron slab over dry concrete, she continued. "You can ask me what you want, I want you to feel at ease with me.", the deaconess’ green eyes narrowed for a moment. Two would play this game.

"Ms. Harper, tell me, are you Catholic?” The passive-aggressive tone covered her words, and the lopsided half smile that painted her freckled features screamed at Miriam to be careful with that woman. Harper had always trusted the unease that gripped her chest with some people, this time it would be no different.

Casting an almost imperceptible glance at Hassan, — who was still watching the discussion like a curious feline —, Miriam stiffened her posture the least bit and looked as deeply as she could into the dry green of the slightly shorter woman's orbs. She chose her words carefully.

“I believe I can honestly say, Miss. Keane, I was once very devout. However, it is normal for us to have our disagreements with God. I don't disbelieve him, but I haven't practised the good dogmas of the Holy Church for years.”, a palpable tension had formed, the deaconess' thin smile faded slightly, she would find a way to muster the islanders' general contempt for the newly arrival, of that Harper was sure. Both women maintained their haughty postures, eyes glazed over.

“Ah!” the noise of understanding escaped the redhead’s lips with clear contempt. "I see," she said, glancing sideways at the sheriff and giving the mayor a sharp look. “I believe we're done here.” The tone of authority increased the tension in Miriam's shoulders. Beverly turned to leave, her rigid braid snaking behind her body.

Wade whispered some mild apologies on behalf of the woman and excused himself, the woods creaking with his weight, as he passed the fisherman still standing on the jamb, the mayor greeted him briefly and continued on his way. Ed Flynn turned tired eyes to the woman who had remained and cleared his throat.

“She…”, a restrained pause to choose words, followed. “She just cares a little… too much. Will get used, Ms. Harper.” The man watched the young woman's tense shoulders shake the slightest bit with a deep breath, and, refraining from saying anything more, waved goodbye to the sheriff and walked out the door.

A joint sigh escaped the remaining two.

“Let me guess, she doesn't get better after you meet her.” The woman's once melodic and now husky voice bounced against the walls and returned to her, her own speech ringing bells in the aching inside her head. A weak nasal chuckle escaped the detective.

“Honestly?” the man asked, a hint of light humour in his voice. Moving from where he was, Hassan closed the door to the tiny parlour and turned his worried face, — softer now —, to Miriam. “No.” The man watched the woman rub her eyes hard and inhale deeply a few times.

“Who could imagine, right? I believe she almost made it clear that she despised me when she said, and I quote, 'it is useless to hire someone to fill a position that is already competently occupied'. It's amazing, really. I was called, — very subtly I should point out —, useless, stupid and incompetent in the same sentence on my first goddamn day on the job.” A disgusted moan escaped her as she ran her fingers through the tousled strands of her hair.

“I must say she's not usually so openly hostile to someone. Maybe she's just not used to having someone stand up to her. I haven't been here that long, but I can safely say this is the first time I've seen her be so… aggressive with the mayor.” Settling down casually in his chair, the sheriff studied the exhausted figure propped up on his desk. He felt sorry for her, the deaconess could be a pain in the ass without even needing to be provoked, but now, from what he'd seen, Bev would certainly develop the extra vigor to crucify the newcomer.

Amazing! Apparently I hit the jackpot. Bad Wi-Fi, a thousand problems, and now the only person I shouldn't tease wants my head. Great first day! Exhaustion was making her more acidic than usual. Nodding at the man, Miriam noticed in her peripheral vision a passage she hadn't noticed there. Moving with curiosity, she saw that it was a set of two small, barred cells. Her eyes caught sight of a shape lying on one of the beds, the musky odour and the unmistakable smell of cheap beer invading her nostrils.

"This is Joe Collie." said the sheriff, appearing behind her in the passage. With a flick of his wrist, Hassan pushed open the cell door frame, the pulleys sliding with a loud snap that woke the man asleep inside the cell. "Good morning, Joe.", a pair of confused eyes, stared at the two standing at the door.

"Arg… Coffee?", waving a chubby hand, he ignored the sheriff's greeting. The man's grumpy timbre was choked with sleep. With an effort, Joe sat up on the messy bed in the cell and rubbed his eyes and his face, trying to ward off sleep. Releasing a hoarse grunt, he looked up at the nearest woman, his restless eyes locked on the burgundy colour of the coat she was wearing. "And… who are you?" his eyes to her face, half curious, half uninterested.

Hassan whispered 'be polite' to the man in the cell, like a father berating his son for not paying attention to visitors. The sheriff walked away from the two of them unhurriedly, under the pretence of getting himself and Joe a mug of coffee. He kindly offered it to Miriam, which she politely declined.

“Ah… I'm Miriam, Harper, I came… to work with the mayor. Nice to meet you, Mr. Collie.” She introduced herself for what felt like the ninetieth time that day. Taking her hands out of her coat pockets, she reached out to shake the sleepy man's hand. Joe stared at the hand held out in front of him for a moment.

"I heard Bev's bitch voice a little while ago, she doesn't seem to like you very much, maybe that's a good sign.", a nasal laugh escaped Miriam at the comment. He soon shook the woman's hand firmly, an approving half smile curving his lips hidden under his beard. If she had laughed at his comment, it must have indicated that she was as fond of Beverly as he was. She hadn't looked down on him when she saw him, or with pity, she had greeted him honestly, without judgment, like a real human being.

"Yeah, I suppose you can put it that way.", the woman laughed again weakly. “I guess it makes sense, I'm stealing her job anyway…” she lazily leaned against the door jamb, weary of arguments, happy to speak of her dislikes to the deaconess with someone who so similarly seemed to detest her.

The new information piqued Joe's interest. If Bev was being removed from her post, that was news to him. Happy news.

“Hm… Are you… taking care of things now?”, he asked. The answer he got was an exhausted nod from the woman.

A muttered 'excuse me' came from behind the woman, and Miriam gave space for Hassan to walk past her with two steaming mugs of coffee. She watched as Joe thanked him and took the crockery object in his big hands. The sheriff leaned against the wall, inhaling the reek of the dark liquor and watching the interaction between the two.

“I already heard about the Spill, didn't you?”, another brief nod. “But…” the man took a sip of his coffee and cast a quick glance in the detective's direction. “Do you know what happened next?” There was a conspiratorial tone in Joe's words, almost as if he shared a secret. Realizing this piqued Miriam's curiosity.

“Joe…” Hassan's husky, slurred voice sounded like a warning, something that indicated he shouldn't say whatever he was going to say next, the patronizing timbre again present in his words. Joe Collie glanced sideways and deliberately ignored the sheriff's warning.

"She needs to know.", the detective smoothed his face, knowing he couldn't stop the man from talking. Joe continued, turning to Miriam. “When the oil spill happened a few years ago, business went down the drain. We are a fishing community, fish are our livelihood, without them life was fucked up.”, a long sip of his coffee followed. His unquiet eyes moving restlessly, as if remembering a time millennia in the past. “Obviously, it was huge shit, but they thought they could get rid of us by offering a deal for the loss. You know, a lot of people took a back seat to accept it.” Hassan opened his mouth in a deep breath to interfere. Harper glanced at him briefly, a hint that there was no need for interference, but he continued.

"You don't know if that's true, Joe.", the detective intervened with a calm tone of someone who didn't want to argue. Hassan looked as exhausted as herself, Miriam noticed. All the surrounding signs pointed to a great avalanche in her path that only a trickle of snow was holding back. Trouble, and more trouble… Her head was still throbbing. Her back ached and every limb of her body seemed to want to let go.

“You have no idea what I know, Hassan.” There was a bitterness in his words. Joe sipped the last of the blackened liquid from the mug and placed it on the floor beside his feet. His drunken, sad features turned serious for a moment. “Bev Keane killed half this town with the shitty deal.” His tone was incisive, annoyed. “I've known that woman since elementary school. And nothing she ever did or does is…”, he trailed off, hands rubbing his palms nervously against his jeans, the man with the thick beard and the smell of alcohol shook his head as if to expel an unwanted thought. “Bev encouraged everyone to accept the oil companies' agreements. It was a lot of money, well, it seemed at least, until a few years of lost income counted. But nobody bothered to do the fucking maths at the time.”, the curse came out with emphasis from the man in the cell.

Miriam was unnerved. It was not uncommon to find someone who took advantage of the business, but it was always revolting. Standing now, against the door frame, the woman ran her hands over her face, understanding the scale of the problem. Taking a deep breath, she stared at Joe, waiting for him to continue.

“Then, in the midst of all that shit, Bev came up and said, 'Take the money, it's a gift from God. Enjoy and give some back to Him.’ And that's what everyone did. They took part of the money and gave it to the church. But old Pruitt was so sick that all the money ended up in that bitch's hands. I don't know what she thought, if it was some sick kind of guilt or just a front, so it's not obvious she outsmarted half the island, but she decided to build the damn Recreation Center. Nobody knows if building it really cost what they gave her. And a lot of people have already left this backwater, so maybe you'll never really find out how much money she laundered building that useless centre. Nobody uses that shit, only when there are storms and sometimes not even like that.”, he finished. The heavy breathing of someone who had talked a lot.

“My God…”, the young woman, was exasperated.

It wasn't enough: the endless, outdated paperwork in the city's files, the cats, the fiduciary damage, there was still a fucking money-laundering scheme right under everyone's noses. That realization made her want to beat herself up for the bad decision, but now it was too late, she was already here, and promise made is promise kept. Fucking promise, she thought, absorbing all the information.

“Thanks, Joe. For sharing this information with me. I promise to try to do everything in my power to try to reverse this situation as soon as possible.” With a nervously trembling hand, Miriam took a small notepad and pen from her inner pocket. Quickly, she jotted down her contact number in two places on the same sheet, highlighted it, then separated the ends where her number was noted. "Here. Please don't hesitate to call me with any information that might be of interest to the community. Sheriff Hassan, I'd like you to update me on the cat situation. Talk to me, just me, please.” she asked, handing them the small detached pieces of paper, the numbers written in her hurried print.

Joe nodded, getting up from his place in the cell and bidding a short goodbye to the two who remained, his unsteady steps heading towards the grocery store coolers.

"Okay," confirmed the good sheriff, his dark eyes moving from the paper in his hand to the young woman's face. “Look…”, he began with a worried father tone. “You seem like a good person, well-meaning… Just be careful with Bev. And don't get in trouble, okay?”, Hassan approached her with calm strides. A hand rested on the woman's shoulder in a comforting, friend-like grip you can trust.

“Yes sir.” Smiling with patience and weariness, she nodded in understanding and started to walk away.

The worn woods on the floor creaked in the same place they had first made it when Wade had passed by. Walking toward the exit, the young woman said a simple, friendly 'good morning' to Annie Flynn behind the counter. The woman with short blond hair smiled widely in response, turning her green eyes away from her husband, with whom she was talking about something. How Annie smiled reminded her of her mother. Miriam was already at the door when she spotted Joe picking up a crate of beer cans and approached the counter, she waved a vague gesture, the prim man didn't seem to notice.

Continuing her way outside, she felt the warm, welcoming breeze of the afternoon embrace her aching body. ‘Shit…’ she whispered so that she would be the only one to hear. Anxiety and anguish splintered, tearing each other for the space in the woman's chest. It was a constant, nervous grip. Her eyes lifted to the sky, the azure colour of the dawn having been replaced by a lingering misty gray. Stepping down the first step, Miriam felt a wave of pain run up her spine.

“Fuck…”, the murmur, escaped her lips. With some effort, the woman sat down on the low steps of the grocery store.

It was only when she was already sitting with her face buried in her hands that she felt something cold touch her cheek. Raising the confused orbs, Miriam was slightly startled as her field of vision was taken up by the obscure shadow of a huge dog. The animal seemed interested in her, curious in some way for the person who looked so distressed, disturbing his peace. A wary hand prostrated itself in front of the dog's icy muzzle. One sniff, two, and he happily licked the tips of her fingers.

"Hi.", her husky voice called the dog. Miriam felt her fingers spread over the animal's fur. It felt like velvet and it was so warm and cosy, she didn't mind when the dog laid its heavy head on her thighs.

The young woman looked at the thick collar that resembled a leather belt that wrapped around the animal's throat. There was no small metal tag with an identification, in fact, the dog's name had been sloppily scratched into the leather of the collar. Letter by letter, she read the name: P-I-K-E.

“Pike. Is that your name, boy?” The furry animal's ears in her lap perked up at the call to his name. Miriam smiled serenely, her well-cut nails scratching affectionately behind the dog's ears. She took a deep breath, the anxiety calming in her chest as she focused on running her fingers through Pike's fur.

Miriam looked around her vehemently, studying the small ghost town intently. It was peaceful, no cars speeding wildly along the roads, no buildings over twenty floors high scratching the sky. Just trees that calmly swayed their foliage and small houses where a few families lived.

"Mom, you would have loved this place.", she sighed. Calm and composed again, the weight of problems less incisive on her tired mind.

Pike lifted his head from her lap with a sudden interest in a tall, slender figure who walked leisurely a little way away from where they were standing. Miriam also followed the animal's attentive gaze curiously. It didn't take long for an easy smile to curve her lips. His full black hair pulled back and a messenger bag snug over his shoulder.

The good father felt the unmistakable awareness of eyes on him. Lifting the deep, dark puddles that were his brown orbs, Paul noticed a figure sitting huddled in front of the grocery store, a large dog lying nearby, its diligent head resting in its lap, for a moment he wondered who was looking at him. After his renewed eyes adjusted to the distance, a wide smile spread as he realized it was her.

He slowed his pace, nodding sparingly at Miriam. She held up a hand and sheepishly returned the greeting. The young woman felt a comforting warmth spread through her core, instantly relaxing her shoulders and her rigid posture. There was a strange comfort in the man's aura, a friendliness that mingled with a sense of mystery. Miriam attributed the strange feeling of mystery to the resemblance between the priest and the old Monsignor.

Paul debated whether to turn away from his walk towards Millie's house or continue. He hesitated, but the weight of the sacrament he carried with him kept him going. Taking a deep breath, he gripped the strap of his bag tightly and continued his long stride. Millie needed this as soon as possible, his sudden interest in the newcomer could wait a little longer.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

Trim!

The microwave's shrill whistle blew late in the afternoon. With a moan, Miriam looked up from the cold kitchen island counter and caught sight of Erin Greene's gleaming face. She had placed a plate of steaming food in front of her, the sound of crockery clicking against the counter echoing in her head. There was a glass cup filled with water, a small aspirin waiting beside the cup. Pulling out a chair, the pregnant woman sat down, and propping her chin on her palm, she was amused to watch the slow movements of the woman in front of her.

“I heard Bev was hard on you today.” With a weak gesture, she pushed the aspirin and glass closer to the huddled figure on the counter. “Here.” Erin watched the marks of a tired worker on her tenant's face. Harper made a disgusted expression, her mouth a downward frown.

“I wonder who told you. News travels fast, doesn't it?”, Miriam's slurred voice rang out dry. I'll definitely wake up sick… but at least I'll have an excuse not to run into Bev. Miriam stared at the plate of food in front of her. There was some oven-roasted rice, some cherry tomatoes, and a fried fish filet. It looked good, but she had no appetite.

“Not who you think. Apparently you made a… strong impression on the Flynn family.” A husky chuckle escaped the counter, along with a long, childish 'no'. "Annie described you as a…'girl with strong presence of mind.'", A wide grin of mischievous amusement painted Erin's full lips. Harper remembered when she'd seen them whispering at the grocery store earlier.

“I will stay spoken. Jesus, they hate me.”, whimpered Miriam, burying her hands in her face. The woman with long curly hair laughed once more. Harper smoothed her fingers through her hair, its strands a damp, oily mess.

“No, I don't think that's it, Miriam. Maybe it's just weird that someone finally faces the old cow.” They both laughed weakly again. A beat of silence ensued. "Well. Take this and eat something. You've been out all day, I doubt you've had time to eat.” A mother's serious tone covered Erin's words, and for a moment Miriam considered.

“Yes ma'am.”, still smiling, but firmly, Miriam took the small white pill in her fingers and swallowed it without difficulty. The sandy feeling in the back of her throat when she swallowed bothered her a lot.

With the eyes and a big smile, Erin stared at the woman, gesturing to the plate in front of her. Sighing, Harper picked up a fork and rummaged through the food without much interest. The tiredness and the sleepless night were finally getting to her.

"Good. I'm going to bed, soon the night sickness will start and these are particularly worse than the morning ones.” Her gentle expression and witty comments made Miriam feel at home, comfortable. Saying goodbye, Erin went upstairs to her own room, leaving Miriam to finish her dinner.

With little interest and some effort, the woman forced herself to eat a few mouthfuls of the food, the dampness of the oven rice not so bothersome when she swallowed. Miriam finished the rice and a portion of the fish. Moving her slightly trembling hands to the mobile device in her pocket, she reached for her cell phone.

7:15 pm.

Wow, how much in such a short time, she kept the thought to herself. In fact, a lot had happened since she'd set foot on the sodden wood of the dock. A storm worthy of a disaster film; an infestation of dead cats in the best 'The Ten Commandments' style; a ghost town crammed with fervent Catholics; a money-laundering scheme and, of course, a priest who certainly shouldn't be so attractive to her, after all he was a man of cassock, — and her experience with such men told her not to trust them.

Once again, Miriam found herself thinking of the good Christian with the deep brown eyes. He looked so pure, so genuinely kind for his own good, that he looked almost suspicious. She laughed at the thought. Despite his stature, the priest didn't look like someone capable of doing any harm, not with those lost puppy dog ​​eyes.

Thinking of the adorable way Paul's wide eyes crinkled when he smiled or how perfect his teeth were made a cold wave run through her body to lodge in the pit of her stomach. Paul, when did she start thinking of him by name and not title? By God, they barely knew each other, and he is a priest. Maybe all that time in Catholic boarding school had driven her insane, or maybe just a little prone to a Thorn Birds’ romance style.

Shaking her head, Miriam got up from the chair she'd been sitting in and picked up the half-eaten dinner plate from the glass still with a little water on it. Carefully placing the plate, — already clean of food scraps —, on the sink, and the now empty glass, Harper called her much-loved cousin, leaving the call on speakerphone as she grabbed a sponge and soap to wash the dishes dirty.

Only three calls were needed for Abel to take her call. His soft, modulated voice squeaked in the background, which she quickly identified as one of his David Bowie's Berlin trilogy albums that he adored so much.

“Hello?”, he asked after a second of silence.

“Good night, Abe, it's me, your cursed cousin.” Miriam announced, her voice so husky he was sure to hear the change in her tone.

“Holy shit, what happened to your voice? You sound like mom.”, Abel chuckled as he asked. The woman could imagine him pulling his smooth dark locks back across his worktable. The open laptop and the pair of rectangular glasses resting on the table as he compared her to his mother, — her aunt, who used to smoke two packs of cigarettes a day.

Laughing, Miriam got a sense of how terrible her voice sounded to anyone who heard it.

“Don't exaggerate, it can't be that bad.”, she knew it was a lie, but she didn't care. “I ended up in a storm when I arrived. I spent the night in a church, I was soaked, so now I'm like this, but don't worry, I'll probably be worse tomorrow.” Miriam laughed at her own bad luck, drying the cutlery with an embroidered cloth.

“Oh my God, you’re indeed the cursed member of the family, Miriam… But other than that, how are you doing?”, there was a good-natured concern in his modulated timbre. Abel had always been her best friend, her heart-brother, and her confidant.

For a moment, she pondered telling him what she had learned about money laundering through the recreation centre. Carefully calculating, she came to the conclusion that there would be no harm in mentioning it, even if she still needed the papers for confirmation.

“Abe, I'm going to tell you something, but I require you to do nothing, okay?”, a noise of confirmation came from the other side of the line. Looking around, Miriam had already put away the dishes when she cautiously started up the stairs towards the room where she would be staying. Once she was sure Erin was sleeping in her own room, Miriam locked the door and took a deep breath.

She told everything, Abel listened carefully to every piece of information and made little observations here and there about one thing or another. Both came to the consensus that, in fact, there was something at least suspicious about the whole thing. Her cousin offered to help her with anything she required regarding the process she had got herself into. Miriam thanked him.

“Thanks, Abe, this is really going to give me a horrible headache. Did you know the files here are still made of paper?”, A nasal laugh reverberated through the cell phone's speaker. Sluggishly, the woman sat at the head of the bed, her eyes intent on the cloudy moonlight outside.

“I figured that could happen, that place parked in the 60s, so I'm not surprised, but it's late, and apparently you've had quite a hell of a day, you should go to sleep. I want news from you tomorrow, okay?”, he mocked, the sweet tone of concern warmed the woman's chest, she was already missing him.

“I promise to call. Good night, Abe, give Lenz and Karly a kiss for me.” Miriam smiled, Lenz and Abel were a lovely couple and their little girl was the sweetest. Harper was never very good with children, but little Karly was special, her shrewd questions amused the woman.

"I’ll, now rest. I'm serious. Bye.”, the line was silent and without much interest she threw the device onto the old spring mattress.

She scanned the room carefully. The walls were covered with yellowish floral wallpaper, the geraniums were faded with age. The dark wooden wardrobe was crooked, one of its feet was broken in half, making it dangle on just three feet. Worn and slightly dusty stuffed animals resided on a shelf with their expressionless eyes glazed over at the seated female figure. A particularly tattered rag doll sent a shiver down Miriam's back. The dim light from the lamp engulfed the room in gloom, its yellowish light glinting off the framed embroidery glass that prostrated itself beside the white door. It was verses Miriam knew well that were woven into the cloth, it was verses from the Book of Lamentations.

“‘The kindness of the Lord never ends, His mercies have no end; they are renewed each morning’” she read aloud.

The irony of the words sank claws in her mind. Jeremiah had written those words, looking at Jerusalem destroyed. Jerusalem was the hope of a dream, it was freedom, it was the function, the effort, the dedication to a promise made by God himself. And yet, seeing it destroyed, Jeremiah had hope. ‘Faith’, she could hear her grandmother's voice correcting her.

Only a fool can hope and be faithful in the face of impending disaster, Miriam remembered how those pessimist words had saved her multiple times. After all, if you expect the worst of all, it's harder to be disappointed. The memory of the searing rock salt cutting into her knees sent an uncomfortable tingle down her spine.

Suddenly, a flock of night birds that had perched silently on the tree beside the house took to the air. Miriam was startled by the loud noise of the flapping of wings that had so rudely broken the morbid silence of the room. Her eyes were drawn to the darkened outline of birds against the sky. The birds scurried away, as if fleeing from something. It wasn't long before her tired gaze landed on the slender, blackened shadow that soared into the sky like a harpy. The figure rose, so close to the window that it made her move away.

The snap of the tiles that covered the slab complaining of a sudden heaviness made every hair on the back of her neck prickle.

The almost anaesthetic sensation of uncertainty making it difficult to breathe, she felt the same feeling of dread as when she had seen what appeared to be the Monsignor on the balcony of his rectory, however old Pruitt was not on the island…

Miriam couldn't finish her train of thought, the cracks were now right above her room, but they didn't feel like just cracks any more, they were footsteps.

Taking a deep breath, Miriam rationalized as best she could: It's just an oddly large bird, that's all. This is a lie, and you know it. An insistent voice whispered in the back of her tired mind.

Another sound similar to the flapping of great wings resounded. She was silent, straining her hearing in an attempt to hear something else. Approaching the window, she peered out.

Nothing.

The dark leaves of the tree danced in the direction of the wind. She took a deep breath. It was just a bird that your overworked mind is turning into something else, Harper forced herself to believe that, at least for now.

Closing the frayed curtains, she walked away towards her suitcase to organize her things. With some speed, Miriam removed her already folded clothes and arranged them in the empty wardrobe that smelled of mould and mothballs. She carefully laid out her toiletries, a towel and a pyjama top on the patchwork quilt. Closing her suitcase, she pulled out the last thing she had: a framed photo of her, her mother, and Abel, all together at her cousin's graduation.

She had kept that photo with a certain fondness, it was one of the few photos where she and her mother were smiling. Her mother, who had suffered so much, had a proud, shining smile. With her fingertips, she caressed the glass that held the photograph affectionately. A tiny smile painted her lips.

Placing the frame on the night stand, she gathered her things from the bed and wandered barefoot against the carpet toward the bathroom. The click of the switch reverberated through the room. It was a cubicle covered in white tile with an over-the-tub shower, a sink, and a toilet. She put one foot down, a cold shiver running up her leg. Miriam closed the door, which creaked with the movement, the lock clicking with a low metallic clang. Her silent steps led her to the sink.

Releasing a heavy sigh of exhaustion, Miriam stared at her reflection in the mirror. The dark smudges under her eyes from bad sleep stood out now, in the white light. Unhurriedly, she began to undress, the coat slipping off her tense shoulders and soon followed by the thick wool jumper and a pair of trousers. The cool air coming from the open window ruffled her skin. Leaning forward, with a trembling hand, she closed the window, interrupting the night breeze that enveloped her.

The running water was warm, the temperature easing the knots of tension in her back, relaxing her muscles. Now, undressed, Miriam could feel the beads of the rosary weighing down against her chest. Taking a deep breath, the woman replayed the events of that day once more in her mind, like a scratched disc.

The way the islanders behaved was not necessarily abnormal, but it gave her a mixed feeling of strangeness and anxiety. Their unshakable beliefs gave her memories of her years at St. Agnes boarding school. Memories she had never intended to recall, not even the sporadic visits of her mother, grandmother, and cousin, who always took place on Catholic holidays, all of them ending with her begging to leave that place.

Dragging her mind to those moments reminded her of the Christmas that her grandmother had passed away years ago. She remembered her mother's exhausted and bereaved expression, and how she'd shown up alone that holiday. As much as she didn't have as much contact with the old woman, and that, especially during her childhood, she held a grudge against her grandmother's attitude of throwing her in that place, Miriam remembered how she'd felt her chest sink with the news. She also remembered feeling a certain relief in knowing that Mathilde had left in her sleep, that she had died a painless death.

Death. There was a lot of death around her, as a child, as a teenager and even in her adult life. The people around her seemed to leave constantly, without warning, without giving her a chance to try to stop them. This had drastically reduced her family circle, and now her only remaining family was her cousin. Abel. Miriam never told him, but somehow she envied him. He had a beautiful daughter, a great husband, and was drowned in their loves. She wanted that, but maybe she wasn't born to have her own family, after all, everyone who approached her always seemed to die.

The first was her father, Atticus, who had died in the army before she was even born. According to her mother, he had no intention of taking it on, for him Miriam had been an accident that he was unwilling to deal with, 'it was a one-night stand', he said. The second had been the death of Abel's mother, she wasn't particularly close to her aunt on her father's side, but still she felt the full brunt of the woman's death through her cousin. The third had been a young priest who taught her at boarding school, he was something close to a friend, he was the only one who showed the least bit compassionate to her, despite his dark personality, she respected him. Miriam remembers that one day, out of the blue, Father Romero collapsed lifeless in the middle of the classroom. No one seemed to understand what had happened, but the look of pure fear he had given her a thousandth before had been imprinted on her mind.

In her teens had been her grandmother, she was fifteen when she lost her, a woman of frighteningly unshakable faith and a strong pulse that she had come to love. Miriam felt torrid tears mingle with the running water that bathed her. Her mother's death was so short a time ago, she couldn't help but struggle. The first week, she couldn't even get past her mother's room. It had taken nearly a month for her to stop putting two places at the table daily.

A sudden sob made her gasp, her mind once again drowning in thought. Breathing heavily, she forced herself to choke back her tears and focus her mind on now. There was a real mess to be worked on, and she couldn't let her anxieties tie her to the past.

She ran her fingers through her hair, massaging her oily scalp and letting the shower wash away the remnants of her sadness. She was so tense and allowed herself to empty her head. Closing her eyes to clear her thoughts, the first thing that crossed her mind was the way Paul had caressed her hands, how big and warm they were, how strong. Miriam felt a rush of heat run down her abdomen at the thought. A malicious idea crept into her thoughts, and she wondered for a moment what it would be like to feel those hands gripping her thighs.

No, she broke off at the sensation. Opening her eyes and feeling a familiar pulse in the tops of her thighs, she sighed. Not that. Come on, he's a priest! The idea of ​​fantasizing about someone who would be so close to her in her daily life was definitely not a great thought. Also, she was probably close to her period, which would certainly explain the ease with which she had been shaken by the image, and also the excessive anxiety and anguish she felt.

"No, I'm just tired, I need to sleep and forget about all this for now.", Miriam whispered to herself, finishing her shower and turning off the faucet, the cold metal against her hot palm sending a shiver over her skin.

With some caution, the young woman climbed out of the tub and wrapped herself in her towel, the softness of the fabric against her breasts not helping her forget the soft throbbing below her venter. Firmly, she gripped the edges of the sink for support as she wiped her damp body. Setting the towel aside, she stared at her reflection in the mirror once more.

Her once-bleached cheeks had taken on a slight blush from the hot water and the other sensations the dark-haired priest was arousing. Her hair looked better, washed now. Miriam saw someone different from what she used to be, realizing it drew an exhausted sigh from her. A beat of absolute silence followed, only her breathing to accompany it.

A strong chill shivered on the back of her neck, that funny, disconcerting feeling you get when someone is watching, observing her movements. She felt watched, her brows knitting in slight confusion at the feeling as she glanced at the reflection in the window beside her. Miriam froze as her orbs caught a pair of glowing eyeballs glinting in the darkness. The reflection was beyond the window, among some bushes that spread out at the foot of the tall tree.

The eerily tall, shadowy figure moved like an animal interested in its next meal. That sank ice into the woman's guts. Without delay, she turned in a rush, closing the window and the curtains. There was definitely something very wrong, either with her or with this place.

Miriam felt her heartbeat in her ears. Her hands shook in disarray at her sides. Her lips parted on a shaky, trembling breath. She didn't take long to brush her teeth and get dressed after that. The woman felt her muscles tremble with each step she took towards the bedroom. As soon as she entered the room, she closed the door and took a deep breath, letting her heartbeat settle as well as her breathing. You really need sleep. Really, a voice in her mind whispered to her.

Turning off the lamplight, — after making sure the window was securely closed —, she lay down on her bed, her feet covered in white socks and her body warmed by her old pyjamas. The patchwork quilt she had covered herself with had an almost imperceptible scent of lavender and years of disuse.

For a time she clung to that scent, and how the moonlight made perpendicular patterns on the ceiling through the gaps in the curtain, achromatic and dancing patterns. It was not long before her tired mind delivered her into the arms of Morpheus to fall asleep soundly in the sleep of the righteous.

Taglist:

@stardustandgunpowder, @liesandghosts, @pruitts-tight-fucking-jeans, @un-kiss-de-breakfast, @girlwiththenegantattoo, @dreams-madeof-strawberrylemonade, @sterwild, @thegardenarcher, @snapessecretdiary, @judarspeach, @novywhere, @hungrhay, @midnight-mess

If your name is striped, it’s because Tumblr don’t let me tag you for some reason. =(

Here's a Google form, where you can tell me where you want to be tagged.

[introvertedsocialworker]

Born For Such A Time As This

WC: 1247

I didn’t mean to run into him that night. Well, I suppose the whole act of “running into someone” suggests a lack of intention. Nobody was out that night and I was deeply happy about it. The days leading up to the impending storm made me restless. It kept sleep away and I couldn’t fight the urge to move. Having to fake charisma at this point seemed like a soul sucking chore that I did not want to engage in. 

 I’d always heard rain was supposed to wash things away - memories, tears, pain - but it only made mine seem torrential and disorienting. So I ran. I think I’ve run every square inch of Crockett Island since stepping off the Belle in late February. I guess once I started running, it never occurred to me to stop. 

There isn’t much to keep an eye out for while running in The Crock Pot. Sometimes I would see Joe Collie stumbling somewhere to cause Sheriff Hassan trouble or a crew of cats making their way towards the Uppards. Otherwise these runs were mine. When I ran I could push away any memory of my old life, the nightmares, and the lingering anxiety that he would find me. 

It was still cold out after the sun went down despite the impending Spring. My breath puffed out in front of me while I made my second lap around the island. St. Patrick’s loomed ahead, its single spire reaching into the night. Much to Bev Keane’s dismay I had yet to see the inside of the parish. I had a hard time reconciling with God these days. Seemed to me that our priorities didn’t match up much anymore. 

The windows inside the rectory were on, casting a gentle golden glow on the bedraggled grass below. The Monsinger must have returned from his trip in one piece. On the day of the send off party, Sarah and I had stood back with our arms crossed. How could this parish let this clearly senile old man cross an ocean and expect it to end well? Hell, neither of us attended mass but we knew the stories of his wandering homilies. His constant need for redirection. I even found him wandering out on main street one night and walked him back to the rectory. 

A holy tradition is what Bev had called it. Tradition. Seems to me tradition does a lot more harm than good. 

I was just passing the rectory porch when something flew overhead causing me to stop, my eyes trained on the sky. Whatever it was, it had been huge. There was no way it had disappeared that quickly. I was backing up, not watching where I was going when I suddenly felt my body collide with something warm and solid. Gasping, I ripped my single headphone out of my ear and twisted to face whoever had caught me unaware. 

I had assumed it was the Monsinger given I was practically on his porch but when I turned, the air caught in my throat. 

He stood nearly a foot taller than me and you would think that would make him feel imposing. His soft smile and warm brown eyes cancelled any of that out though. A lock of dark hair fell over his forehead and his large hands held me steady. I found myself dazzled momentarily.

“Jesu--,” I stop myself, catching my breath. My eyes ripped from his face to the white collar around the column of his throat. Damn. “I’m sorry, Father. I thought I saw…,”

He let out a light chuckle, “You thought you saw?”

His hands were still on my arms. They felt nice. Supportive and strong. They’d feel nice around my waist. I shook my head. He’s a priest, Esther. Jesus Christ. It had been a very long time since a man touched me.

“It must have been an owl or something.” I step back and his hands come to clasp in front of him. “You must be new. I promise it’s not normal to be rammed to the ground upon arrival.”

His laugh was hearty this time and it felt like it was reverberating through my bones. Sinking in and not letting go. 

“Yes, I’m Father Paul Hill. I came to help while Monsinger Pruitt is on the mainland recovering.”

My eyebrows raise, “Recovering?”

“Uh, yes. Yes, unfortunately he took ill during his trip and ended up having a bit of an extended stay in the hospital.” Father Paul offered a tentative smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Recovering well though. He’ll be back in no time.”

Well, that’s bullshit. I knew that look. That is the face one dedicates to the hopeless, the lost, those long gone. But I didn’t need to be a dick to a distressingly attractive priest, so I kept that thought to myself.

“I’m sure the congregation will welcome you in the meantime.” 

He tilted his head, his chocolate eyes playful. “You talk about the members of St. Patrick’s like a separate entity from yourself, Miss…,” It was odd, almost like he was humoring me as I supplied my name.

“Esther. My name is Esther Malka” I brushed a strand of hair out of my eyes before hugging my arms around myself against the chill that was now catching up to me since I stopped running. “I-uh, I’m not a member. Of the church, I mean.” 

“Huh,” I braced for the lecture, the offer for me to come to a service, something. It didn’t come.“Interesting.”

“I promise you I am very uninteresting.” I chuckle.

“Oh no, I’ll have to disagree there. With a name like that, I don’t think it’s possible for you to be uninteresting. Names carry power in them.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, shaking my head. 

“Your last name, it’s Hebrew. Translated it means queen.” Father Paul offers an almost sheepish smile. Like he’s embarrassed he knows this information and is sharing. “Esther is from the Old Testament. She finds favor with the Persian King, becomes Queen and risks her life to save her people from destruction.” 

I paused, soaking in the information before quirking up a corner of my mouth.

“My mother was one for theatrics, I think. I don’t quite live up to the name.” 

“Why do you say that?”

Before I can stop myself, I respond. “I don’t have any people to risk my life for. I’m alone.”

The truth of the statement rings like the church bells perched above our heads. So loud and encompassing, I can feel it reverberate in my chest. I lower my eyes, kicking at a pebble on the walk. I freeze when I feel his calloused finger curl around my chin, lifting my gaze to meet his. 

“I’d like to change that..” 

My eyes flick momentarily down to his mouth. It’s full and inviting. Comforting in a way I can’t put words to. It’s terrifying in a delicious way. Before I can say anything though, he releases my chin and begins to climb the stairs to the rectory.

“It was lovely to meet you, Esther. I’ll see you around town. I do suggest getting home soon. I hear there’s a storm to prepare for.” 

“Goodnight, Father.” I started to turn, placing my headphone back into my ear and jogged toward my cottage, a delicious ache in between my legs I hadn’t felt in years.

I was fucked.

[oskarwing]

I really wanna talk about the parent child relationships in Midnight Mass

I’m not sure if I’m good at writing this sorta Meta but here goes nothing. Very many spoilers follow.

Let’s start with the adults: 

First we have Erin who suffered so much at the hands of her mother and later because of her mother’s abuse. We don’t get much detailed info on Peggy Greene but from what we can gather she was a lot like Beverly Keane, who seemed to idolize her (though that probably got easier for her after Peggy was gone), in her self-righteous over-pious manner. She just happened to be Beverly with an alcohol problem and a daughter who she could take all her anger at life for not working out her way for God loving her just the same as everybody else out. The dove scene is really such a good scene. But Erin was stronger than her mother, stronger than the abuse that was about to repeat itself and when she found out that she would have a child of her own she left and tried her best to give her kid a better life than the one she had. And she found the strength I think with the help of the same God her mother most likely used as legitimation for her abuse (don’t get me wrong I believe it was Erin’s own strength but she also clearly found something in religion that helped her gather it) and it helped her to carve out a path for herself and her unborn child.  

Sarah’s relationship to her parents is such an interesting one because we get to see the end of it. The man who she believed to be her father has been dead for a long while and her mother is suffering through the late stages of dementia. And Sarah showed up for it. As a doctor she most likely knew what would be happening as soon as Mildred started to show the first symptombs but she wasn’t going to leave her mother. That kind of care for an elderly parent shows something that is proven in Mildred’s character time and time again: She is a very devoted parent and the love between mother and daughter flows both ways in every scene they are in together, after the birth of her daughter her world turned around Sarah and she loved her with all she had. There are a few scenes that show that Mildred’s understanding of the duty she felt towards her family came from the old values of her time. She wouldn’t have taken off with John and their child not for a lack of love but because in those times, in catholism still at least where I’m from, you can’t just marry a priest. You can’t just have a child with a priest eventhough you’re married and then fuck off with him. As a woman, as a wife and mother you have to stand with your husband, stand with your child and you have to stop running after fantasies I’m sure Mildred had. I’m saying this all from her perspective btw, I don’t necessarily think running away with John, in the way he wished to, would have been good for Sarah but honesty might have been and her old fashioned values were also what kept her from being truly honest with her daughter.  To John on the other hand Sarah is a fantasy, a dream he couldn’t reach. His daughter, his baby, so close and yet so far away getting to watch her grow into an adult but never being able to really be her father as in her Dad instead of her priest. And it’s painful to him, he clearly loved Mildred, loved Sarah but he was also kinda selfish in his love that in the end took Sarah away. At first he isolated his child by starring at her giving her the creeps and the feeling that she had done something wrong that he knew she was gay and dissaproved and then he took it upon himself to ‘cure’ Mildred in the same way he was. Sarah wanted to take care of her mother wanted to be there for her in those final months and John decided it was up to him to give Mildred a youth potion to make it so she’d never die. And with that he took away from Sarah what is without doubt a hard but for many people a very important last part of the relationship between child and parent. John was a complicated man and would maybe have been a great Dad he certainly showed a lot of fatherly love for his altar boys but he couldn’t have the family in the way he fantasized about and in the end it was that fantasy that made him act the way he did.   

Riley Flynn causes his parents a lot of pain. Him killing that girl in the beginning, his alcoholism, him simply not liking the place, the home they build for themselves through hard work causes the Annie and Ed so much pain and financial loss and you can see how tired they are, how much guilt they feel for failing their son. Ed calls out his own guilt and says that he doesn’t belive it could be Annie’s fault because ‘your mother’s a saint’ but what I truly love about Annie and Ed Flynn is that they both aren’t saints. As a mother Annie is very much overprotective and suffocating, wanting to keep her children on crocket island and hating the notion that they might leave her, even though she is kind and sweet and loving. And while Ed seems rather checked out as a father but he is the more honest parent, never talking down to Riley and telling him as it is, telling him about the pain he caused him while also admitting to the guilt he feels. The Flynns are flawed people even in their religious practice (I think the way Annie speaks about Ali showing up at church when Hassan seemed to be nothing but nice to her spoke very loudly to the fact that Annie is rather misguided sometimes) but they are good people at the core of it and their parenting might have been part of Riley’s way into alcoholism but it wasn’t only them. There were things they couldn’t change and things they had no influence over like his heart being broken by Erin running away, the sort of people he went out on parties with and so many other things...  Yes, they may have shaped their son in a way that made him vulnerable to addiction and the party scene of the stock and tech market and brought him to the point where he killed a child but it doesn’t happen through parenting alone and they also shaped him in the good ways. Him not losing himself when Pruitt changes him, him being brave enough to warn Erin, him standing up for what he believes in those things were also shaped by Ed and Annie. They are one of the best example of flawed but good hearted Christians I have seen in recent media and their portrayal was one of the most heartbreaking ones. 

Now the kids: 

Let’s start with Leeza. Little Leeza Scarborough who before it comes to her wonder gets treated with pity and overprotectiveness from her parents and the island community at large. Leeza was injured by Joe Collie transforming him into the island’s villain and her into the ever present victim.  What happened to her is without a doubt horrible and I understand why Wade and Dolly started to become these overprotective parents, why they were so easily sucked in to John’s and Bev’s scheme. Their little girl was almost taken from them eventhough Wade is the mayor, one of the most powerful people on the island he had no influence over what happened to Leeza even was the one who took her out that day and what followed the accident was as we can gather from their conversation with Sarah a lot of pain and financial burden though they say they would have done it all over for Leeza. In fact a lot of places in crockett island are wheelchair accesible and I am sure that Wade as mayor made it so (I can’t really imagine that a small place like the island was very inclusive though I may be wrong).  After Leeza is healed they don’t want to question in don’t want to think about what might have been the cause for it. In fact they stop questioning anything after that point, after Leeza walks again they are completely vulnerable to Bev’s manipulation and them letting that happen, them just going along with everything, Wade protecting John after he kills Joe long after Leeza forgave him and with her forgiveness send Joe on a better path is what in the end makes them lose her. Because Leeza isn’t that little victim who needs pity and help, she is a strong minded, strong willed young woman with a lot of wit who similar to Erin finds strength in her faith but in a way that isn’t devotion without question and when the Easter vigil is held she doesn’t follow her parents eventhough she loves them deeply. She forgives them I think, because that’s what Leeza’s character is about in it’s core but her parents were two of the instigators behind what happened on the island, without Wade’s protection John and Bev couldn’t have come as far as they did and they put their trust in them because they loved their daughter so much they didn’t stop to question if maybe what made Leeza walk again was also a bad thing. 

Ali and Hassan don’t have it easy and I as a white person really can’t speak much on the racism and religious discrimination they face.  I can say this I think: The first line spoken about Ali before we even really get to look at him is “You didn’t invite Aladin” and already sets us up for what both of them know: They are the outsiders. Not only because they just moved to the island but also because in their faith they are different from their peers and religion can often be a community building event for people before it is anything else. Ali starts balming his father a little for that, for not trying to fit in more with the community, for moving after his mother’s death and then not trying to be closer to the people around them and for the pain all the pain the two of them went through before Crockett island. It isn’t oly peer pressure though of course that brings Ali to St Patrick’s. Sure, Ali wanted to be part of the community but also desperately wanted to believe that there was a devine power who could if he just did it (it meaning faith) the right way he might find a way to avoid the pain of his parents. Hassan knew that and he warned him that that wasn’t how it worked. Hassan was a protective Dad and maybe he overdid it from time to time but his worries were never without reason, his need to keep his son safe from a world that hated him for a crime that happened when he wasn’t even born yet never unfounded and him wanting to make sure his kid kept the memory of his mother alive never anything but the wish of a griefing man and loving father. In the end when they pray together there is peace in them. They face their ends with the dignity Ali’s mother would have wished for and they face it as father and son. While Beverly the true religious terrorist of the story burns away without it. 

Warren is the youngest Flynn and it is never directly stated yet omnipresent that his coming of age happens in the shadow of his older brother’s mistake.  Annie warns him away from drinking when he goes out he in fact doesn’t drink. He never drinks because of what his brother did.  Warren would have been 12 when Riley killed that girl and so he would have seen and felt what his brother’s actions did to his parents fully without being yet old enough to maybe see the nuance.  Annie and Ed probably try to right the wrong they believe to have done in parenting Riley with Warren and that’s a lot for a kid. I do think it’s pretty usual that parents of multiple children especially when there’s a larger age gap try to do better with the younger children, but that isn’t fair is it?  Warren is his own person not a second chance to do it over.  And yet seemingly he does what is asked of him. He’s alter boy, he’s charming and helpful and sweet, he doesn’t drink (even when he does smoke pot) and he helps his father where he can with his work.  But in the end he feels guilty because he thinks he wasn’t enough and says at that last dinner he would have been different if he had known he wouldn’t see his family again. But Leeza is right they know and they love him and Warren deserved to not be perfect all the time. 

Littlefoot saved Erin and Erin payed her back with all the love she had. She was never born but she gave her mother the strength and willpower to leave.  In her speech to Joe Leeza said he reached through time and took things from her she didn’t even know she had yet.When Erin left her husband she reached through time and saved Littlefoot from a childhood like hers and when John gave Erin the angel’s vampire’s blood he reached through time and took away her child, a child who would have been loved and cared for. A child with an amazing mother and probably a great step-dad.  Littlefoot’s story is tragic because she never got one. 

[salamispots]

finished midnight mass awhile back but I had thoUGHTS

-Riley (anxiously?) pulling his sleeves over his hands and him when he gets ‘blessed’ decides without much hesitation shown from him to die by sunlight (but also did they have to traumatize her like that like sure I understand maybe for plot/def. wouldn’t have believed it was real otherwise but still)

-the priest dude inviting Riley to do AA on the island and then flat out admitting he didn’t realize it’d be awkward just the two of them LMAO

-the priest’s voice and how he talks and how he genuinely thought he was doing something right

-Joe Collie and him crying over his dog/his softness and the scene with him and Leeza

-lmao I thought the doctor’s mom looked/sounded like someone young trying to play an older person HAHA

-didn’t mind the monologuing about death but some it went kinda long and my eyes started to glaze over a little fhjghf

-Sheriff Hassan saying he misses praying with his son and at the end the last thing they do together is pray (initiated by his son)

-that one conversation on the boat between Riley and his dad and something about money (idk since there’s usually the whole forgive others unconditionally and then you have his two devout parents and his dad admitting he does love his son or he tries but is resentful of having to pay so much for the bail/laywers etc.)

-Riley’s thoughts on what happens after death liKE YES (got raised in a christian household and I remember throughout highschool just being like...but the whole life in heaven for eternity sounds so tiring can’t I just be left alone/fade into oblivion fhfjjfjfhg) and never really brought that up to anybody but hearing that was weirdly cathartic? validating? aNYWAYS)

-thanks this show made me realize one of the surefire ways to freak me out HAHA (the whole nothing’s out of place in the bg but then something melts away? AWFUL. the fact that something’s been there the whole time watching you? extremely eerie/unsetttling also I hate jumpscares where they add loud sounds but that abrupt discordant violin sound is gOOD and adds to creepiness haha.

-the way the ‘angel’ feeds on victims like he’s holding a lover is interesting and also super unsettling haha

-oh oH I loved that one scene of the big black empty doorway and the man hearing his own voice thrown back at him

-one of Bev’s lackeys (the big dude with the gun) looking after the teen and the man who didn’t know wtf was going on

-sPEAKING OF BEV what a spiteful awful manipulative unkind person I had to pause and take breathers when I was watching hgfhjfj and maybe just a little sad? (pitiable?) thought it was super interesting at the end when she’s on the beach and sees the sheriff and his son praying she almost looked like she was going to copy them but nope she’s just digging into the sand as a last ditch effort. 

-the way Bev talks is interesting too (the rhythm?)

-that reveal when the priest is sitting and confessing gOOD and also how frighteningly easy it was to kinda shift/twist the sermons towards something a bit darker near the end of the show

idk that’s all the thoughts I had? liked it a lot :0

[thatpennybenjamin]

@vegaprose ‘Tis that time of the season! Colleen’s missing Jackie at the moment. She often wonders if he didn’t send her Jasper and Cian as a way to make up for leaving her so suddenly.  I’d like to think that Jackie’s passing was the catalyst for Colleen’s songwriting career. He knew she had the talent all along, she just needed to be guided to it. 

“So...how’s it going on dating front, Ma?”

Colleen had looked forward to these phone calls home since she had moved into the city. She loved everything about the city except that sometimes late at night all she wanted to hear was the waves off the harbor. Jackie jokingly called her his misplaced mermaid.

“Oh, not too bad. Got a date lined up with a friend of Harvey’s. Prison guard, I think.”

The tell tale sound of Ma’s pack of Misty’s running short signaled to Col that it was time to wrap it up. 

“Alright, well, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. Love you.”

“Love you Colly. You and Jackie still on for Labor Day right?”

“Hell yes! He loves you too, Ma.”

There was a second where the air hung heavy. The Before, as Col thought of it afterwards. Death had visited their doorstep. The clock, a gift from her mother, had stopped, it knew. But her heart didn’t. It simply stuttered in her chest as she slipped into survival mode. Night had descended upon her soul and her only light wasn’t here to guide her towards the shoreline. 

“Colly?”

Her mother. Helene. Harvey. Joe. They were all looking at her oddly. The smell of hothouse lilies and carnations almost made her sick. The dark wood of the church pews acted as blinders for her. Clawing and gasping for air as she drowned on dry land. Seeing him. There. So still in that huge wooden box with the tree of life etched into the lid. She never knew him to wear a suit let alone have his hair that short. She had slipped him a fifth of the good stuff the night before when she had snuck in and spent one last night alone with him, Praying like he had to every saint she knew of and praying to Stevie to please keep him safe up there. Helene and and Ma had found her at about 7AM when Father Ratajczyk had called them. She held his hand still and only let go when the priest promised her that Jackie had been granted absolution and was now with his best friend and his grandfather. His words had comforted her soul enough for her to let sleep and the whisky claim her. 

This time it had been different. They had called her name the same way he had. She had broken into a sprint away from the funeral procession. Dodged two taxis and just kept running. She hadn’t run since high school and she had never had this much speed to back her then. Her mind blanked for a second, allowing her simply feel her body. A blip and the second was over, her mind was on fire and her heart ached enough to worry her that it might shatter right there. She had finally stopped and everything took on a washed out tone. The world was too bright.  ‘Let it out, babe.’ hearing his voice in her head was all it took for her to let go. An absurdly bright blue streak of early spring sky was smeared with the flight of blackbird wings. A shattered heart calling into the void that transcended time and space. 

“Col!”

Gentle hands and the smell of summer flowers and sugar. Helene. 

“Colly baby can you hear me?”

Estée Lauder and Misty menthols. Ma. 

“Nghhh..”

“That’s a damn good sign. Don’t think I’ve seen someone faint like that.”

She didn’t utter a word for the better part of two months. Partially because she had been instructed to after the severe strain she had put her vocal chords under. Her career with the Met Opera now a long gone dream. Now she was focused on other things. Staying at her mother’s place upstate she waited for exactly the right moment. The eldest Flannery brother had come to visit her. She had fought back. The back garden hasn’t grown this well in decades. She’s prayed for forgiveness and she’s unsure if she’ll ever get it but knowing that Jackie’s free has helped her. Sometimes she can still feel him around her. Maybe he’s still guiding her? 

“Just sing the stupid song, Colleen.”

She muttered to herself as she adjusted the headset. Hel’s face was the only one she could see. She gave her a watery smile. 

And with my eyes closed I'm leaving it all behind I will run away if you call my name And I, I'll keep running if you come my way

She closed her eyes for a second and she felt him. She felt that moment of being back in the apartment and everything failing and engulfing her. 

‘Sing it out and listen.’

Jumped back in a daze I saw the faces slowly slowly slip away Let me hide your eyes, it's too bright And now I'm slipping through the white Bringing me into cold dark night And with my eyes closed I see the door open wide

She had heard a specific pattern, almost like an echoing heartbeat. Two, then one. Opening her eyes she gave a quick blink and managed to finish it through. She had called in a favor to Jack Donovan to lay down the drum track for her. He was waiting on her to meet him so they could record it in his private studio. She had consulted the cards, the saints, and now she had consulted Jackie. 

‘Get your passport, babe.’

“Hey, Hey...wanna go to Dublin with me?”

Giving her best friend a slightly cracked grin as the pieces of herself started to realign once more. 

[thisoneisbatter]

Holy: Chapter Three

This is a new fic that is completed but I think I'll be rolling it out chapter by chapter because it is a long one. It's brat tamer, jaded widower Sheriff Hassan in full effect. This fic does contain some very rough sex and consensual sexual violence in some chapters so please do not read if that is a trigger for you. Otherwise, please enjoy and leave feedback!

Holy

Chapter Three

Word Count: 2500

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

The eery calm of Crockett is upset and Leslie thinks she knows why.

The Crock Pot Luck was a waste of time for Hassan. It was networking with people who’d already decided not to like him. It was different for Leslie, though. She was out in full force, talking everyone’s ear off. Her mother was there too. “Mom, this is my boss.” She grabbed Hassan by the elbow, forcing him in front of her mother. “This is Sheriff el-Shabazz.” “Hassan, ma’am.” He held his hand out to the frail woman. “The old Sheriff, Henry, he, um, he was a good man.” She muttered, limply shaking his hand. “Yes, ma’am. I only spoke to him on the phone but he seemed…great.” He never knew what to say to that. He never knew if it was a statement or a dig. “Our Leslie, she really enjoys going to work. Since my late husband passed, she’s worked so hard to keep these old bones moving. I’m glad she has somewhere to get away from me.” Her laugh was more of a cackle, followed by a hacking cough. “Always a way with words, Ms. Cindy.” An obnoxious, nasal voice chimed in from behind Hassan’s back. He didn’t need to turn around to know it was Bev. “I see you’ve met our island’s newest addition. Crockett’s very own Muslim Sheriff, no less. You know what they say about the tide of Islam.” Her Islamophobic joke landed blissfully flat. “Oh, shut up, Beverly.” Cindy mumbled, turning her walker to amble away. As she wandered off, she shot off one more quip. “Go suck off a crucifix, you old cow.” “Well,” Bev clutched at the silver crucifix around her neck. “Aren’t we lucky that your mother is feeling well enough to join us today.” “Is there something we can help you with, Ms. Keane?” Hassan asked, trying to hold in a chuckle from that glorious interaction. “Actually, yes.” She turned to gesture at Joe Collie slumped over a picnic table with his dog by his side. “Joe Collie is passed out cold and while I don’t much mind what happens to him, this is a family event. Could you find the time to remove him?” “He isn’t breaking the law, Bev. We can’t just haul him off to jail because you don’t want to look at him.” Leslie replied. With her hands in her pockets and her stern face, she looked almost intimidating. Her gun belt and uniform added enough bulk to her form to hide that underneath it all she was built like a nineth grader. “It sets a bad example for the children.” Bev replied curtly, turning on her heels to make her way back to the priest she’d been bothering all afternoon.

They barely had time to make their rounds before Joe Collie was very much awake and screaming. “Pike! Pike!” His shriek cut through every conversation at the park. “Who did this to my Pike?!” “Oh God.” Leslie murmured when they arrived at his side. A small crowd was forming to watch the man’s suffering as his faithful companion foamed at the mouth and convulsed. Hassan crouched down next to Joe with a hand on his back. “What happen, Joe?” His tone was gentle, absent of his usual deep rumble. “We all know what happened!” He yelled, pointing a finger at Bev who was feigning exasperation at the back of the crowd. Dr. Gunning came to offer her assistance in finding out what killed Pike. That seemed to calm Joe a bit. He was still drunk and he was definitely still angry. Anyone would be. Hassan decided to drive Joe back to his trailer while Leslie held down the fort and made sure no more animals mysteriously died. Joe’s place was disgusting, but Hassan tucked him into his bed and left him a glass of water none the less. Everyone deserves a little compassion, even the ones who refuse to accept it.

The rest of the week had been mind numbingly dull. Hassan had given Leslie the task of using less than 150 words with him per day. She was struggling desperately. By Friday afternoon she’d figured out how to ration her words. He loved the silence. He was halfway through his remaining unanswered and unimportant emails from the week when he heard a squeal from across the room and looked up to see Leslie holding her hand up above her head. She’d been looking at the results of the lab work Dr. Gunning had sent off to a vet on the mainland, pouring over a toxicology textbook from the library all morning. “Yes, Leslie?” He sat back and crossed his arms. “I…know…what…killed…Pike.” With each word she held up a finger, adding five tally marks to the bottom of her desk calendar when she was done. She had 48 words left for the day. He gestured for her to spit it out. Instead she lifted her feet and pushed off of her desk, rolling dramatically across the floor in her chair to his desk. She thrust a post it note out to him. Sodium fluoroacetate/Compound 1080. “Is there anywhere on the island that uses it? Rat poison, right?” he stuck the post it note to the edge of his laptop monitor. He’d look into it more later. “Yes! The school house uses it, or at least they have it in their store room!” She quickly rolled back to her desk to mark down 16 tally marks on her calendar. “And I think the church still uses it.” 8 more tally marks. “But get this, it’s been illegal for private use since 1972.” 11 sloppy tally marks. “Who has access to it?” He was going to have to visit Bev. It turned his stomach. “I don’t know about at the church, but it’s locked at school.” She scribbled down 12 marks. She had one word left. Hassan chuckled a little at the childlike panic in her eyes when she noticed she had one word left. He stood up and crossed the room, smoothing her hair off of her forehead and giving her scalp a little scratch. “Good job, Leslie. You’ve been a good girl this week.” She smiled at him suggestively, pointing a baby pink nail at her lips. “What?” He knew what she wanted. “I was a good girl, don’t I get a treat?” Her green eyes and freckles glowed back at him in the golden hour sun shining through her window. She was beautiful. It was undeniable. Ridiculous and irritating and naïve, but he’d been seeing her as a woman much more lately. He smiled down at her, stepping even closer so that she was looking up at him from his belt level, his hand still securely in her hair. ”Open your mouth.” She complied without hesitation. He bent down and spit into her mouth, a mucousy glob that she swallowed down without complaint. “I’m not going to kiss you.” He stood back up and released her hair. She huffed back at him. “And you went over your word limit.” She tried begging while he put his coat on, steeling himself for a confrontation with Bev. “I don’t want to hear it. I’m going to try to get to the bottom of who is spreading poison around the island. Take off your panties, put them in your mouth, and keep them there until I come back.” Out of the corner of his eye as he left the office, he saw Leslie peeling off her panties and stuffing them into her mouth. She pulled her trousers back up and buttoned them as if it were just another day at the office. He was a little concerned at how normal all of this felt, but it had definitely made his life more peaceful. Hassan had barely touched her that week. He was tired. He felt every bit of his 42 years lately. His knees cracked when he bent down to pray. It was getting harder and harder to get out of bed early in the morning. The grey in his beard was creeping out more every time he trimmed it. His body just wasn’t always in his control anymore. When he was younger, he was insatiable. Shameema used to kiss his nose and turn away, laughing at his urgency. “Inshallah, Hassan, we have a lifetime together. Slow down, my love.” He knew that wasn’t true now, though. You don’t get a lifetime with anyone. Every moment is fleeting and the instant it slips through your fingers its gone forever. The last time he’d

made love to his wife, she’d been too tired to finish. He’d just held her while she fell asleep, careful not to disturb the port taped down to her chest. Tubes and wires had become as much of a constant part of her as the hijab she barely ever removed anymore. The long hair he’d loved to weave his fingers into was long gone. She was beautiful as ever, even in her frailty. She’d made him promise to move on, find a way to spread love instead of sadness. She’d held his head in her hands in her last days and said, “Don’t die with me, habib albi.” Her ghost didn’t haunt him. It urged him forward. Make a new life and live it. What would she think of him now?

[san-lorenzo-shop]

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[radio-nano]

Queen concerts were also successful beause of those guys!

Scroll if you want to learn who these guys are and what they did. You will also read about a Lord, a henna user, who had best haircut and Queen’s favorite food. (I wrote in bold letters the parts about Queen members and some funny facts.)

1. a"rigger". They assemble the stage (all 6000 square feet of it). Sometimes this can take two days, so there are two stages on this European tour. While one is being taken down at one venue, the other is being assembled at the next.

2 another "rigger".

3 John "Tumbridge" Wells, one of the security men responsible for looking after the members of Queen. "Tumbridge" looks after Brian May, escorts him wherever he goes and keeps the fans from getting too close.

4 Wally Gore group security, he looks after John Deacon

5 Alex Alexandrou, carpenter. There's two of us, and we put up all the stage scenery. I put up the walkways around the back and sides of the stage wich Freddie runs along. He likes to run on carpet, so I have to lay that down everywhere.

6. Chris "Crystal" Taylor, group coordinator. He organises all of the personal Queen crew, roadies, the security men. He makes sure they all know what they have to do and when they have to do it.

7. Jim Deveney, monitor engineer. "I sit out of sight on stage. I have to make things sound good so that the band can hear what they're doing. The sound comes through these speakers called "monitors" wich face onto the stage. The worst act I ever worked for was Rod Stewart. He was really miserable.

8. Joe Fanelli, Freddie's main personal assistant, who cooks for him at his London Home. "He likes anything really exotic, North African food, curries, good French cooking. He hates veal and doesn't eat carrots. Lambs is a bit iffy too. Brian's vegetarian but he eats fish. John likes very simple food, pie and mash and Roger likes anything but lamb.

9. Tony Williams, in charge of Queen's wardrobe. "I have to look after all of the band's stage clothes. That includes lots of details like making sure all the changes of clothes they need are backstage (Freddie changes about three times each performance), labelling the band's stage shoes (because they all wear the same stripey Adidas), and looking after Freddie's special moustache scissors. Also I have to wash all of their clothes in my hotel bedroom. My bath is always full. And Brian May has been using all this red henna do dye his hair and it comes out all over his shirts. It's very hectic".

10. Brandan Hyland, group security

11. One of the 15 "truckers" who each drive a massive 40 feet lorry loaded up with sound and lighting equipment.  (For extra money they also operate the spotlights wich "follow" the group around stage).

12. Brian "Jobby" Zellis. one of Queen's personal road crew.

13 Brian May, Queen's guitarist.

14 John "Moxy" Glover, Roger Taylor's personnal roadie. "Basically I have to look after his drum kit and set it up on stage. I have to keep him supllied with drum sticks. He has sticks made with his own name on and he uses about ten sets  a show. I got a bit drunk with Status Quo's roadies in Paris earlier this tour, and started throwing all his sticks in the audience.

15. Terry Giddings, group security.

16. Dieter Breit, physiotherapist for the group and crew. He has to look after any sprains and injuries that anybody might suffer, e.g. a sprained guitar-playing finger which needs massaging on Brian May's valuable hand.

17. A lighting assistant.

18. A "rigger"

19. Peter "Ratty" Hince, one of Queen's personal road crew. "I have to look after John Deacon's bass guitars and Freddie's guitar and special radio microphones (the one that don't have a fead) and keyboard instruments. I have to make sure that everything is exactly where it should be on stage, otherwise Freddie particularly will glare and let me know if anything's wrong. He's very particular about things being just right. Personally I don't enjoy these tour as much as the old ones. Nowadays ther's too much equipment, too many hangers-on, and everybody's trying to be important."

20. John "Collie" Collins, one of Queen's personnal road crew. "I'm the spare man, really. I work with Ratty  and the piano tuner, help to see that everything is where it should be at the right time. Do you know I got married yesterday! I celebrated the wedding with the band and crew. It had to be squeezed in during the tour.

21. Roger Taylor, Those "shades"! That turned up collar! Must be Queen's drummer.

22. A trucker

23. Another trucker.

24. A rigger.

25. Another rigger

26 John Deacon, youn know , Queen's bass player, the one with the good haircut.

27 Tom "Midget" Foehlinger, sound monitor

28 An unknown person who sneaked in

29 Mickey Conafray, trucker

30 Mick Riddle, caterer

31 A lighting assistant

32 Albert Sutton, truck driver. "I carry the sound system, or some of it. We don't see the band or the road crew most of the time, because we travel ahead of everyone else. We have to get to the site before they do, and although we help with the setting up, we're off for two days while the rest of them are working on the concert. There are 15 "truckers" on this tour, plus the bus wich takes the road crew and sometimes the band. The worst thing about this job is being away from home for a long time when you're on tour. And the best thing is...erm maybe that should be a secret".

33. A caterer

34 Dave Lewis, another Caterer

35 A sound monitor.

36 Stave Benjamins, one of Queen's personal road crew, or "roadies" as they hate to be called. They look after all the instruments, microphones and amplifiers which Queen use on stage, setting them up, tuning them, and keep them clean.

37. another trucker"

38. Dave Thomas, caterer. I've been catering for Queen since 1975, every tour. The band eat the same food as everyone else, but they do have certain favorite foods. After a show they usually like an omelette or sometimes beans on toast or occasionally a steak au poivre. They're also pretty fond of Indonesian cooking".

39. Rex Ray, second sound engineer. He mixes the sound for all the support groups.

40. Spike Edney, keybordist and second guitar player: " My biggest fear is that it might get too damp, which makes the synthesisers cut out. I just pray that I'm out of clouting range of Freddie if that happens. He might not realise why I'm not playing and he'd be very upset if he thought I was daydreaming of something. But Queen on the whole are great to work with and they get drunk a lot too. Champagne every night, it's great!

41. Simon tutchener, lighting director. "I operate the main lighting console during the concert. It took three weeks to rehearse. I have a crew who set all the lights up, and 14 spotlights operators who I control through an intercom system and one man on a "Ver-lite", plus a man on the colour changer computer, plus a man on a computer which controls the up and down movement of the whole lighting rig, and then there are a few bits on stage, including Brian May special spaceship thing which comes down during his solo spot with all the flashing lights and..." (that's quite enought about lighting. Ed)

42 Stage rigger, who helps to set up the 6000 square feet of stage (all carpetted)

43 Sylvia Reed, assistant to the tour manager, Gerry Stickells. She is really a personal secretary.

44. James "Trip" Khalaf, chief sound enginer: "I mix the live sound for Queen, and I'm in overall charge for the half a million watts of PA (ie sound system. pa means Public adress) that we're carting around.

45. Lord Frederick Lucan of Mercury. You know him. Freddie.

46. "Phoebe", one of Freddie's personal assistants. These people help to arrange Sir Frederick's day, making sure he gets to appointments on time, and taking care of all those little details, which keep him happy.

47. A rigger

48. Lyndsey Beckingham, caterer. One of a team of five who feed the crew and the group. The caterers have their own van to transport all the food, cookers and fridges necessary to feed up to 60 people three times a day.

49 Bill Louthe, sound monitor. One of the assistants to the chief sound engineer, who sets up the massive sound system making sure it works perfectly, and run around while Queen are on stage, putting things right ( like tangled wiring) and making sure that there are no problems which could cause any deterioration of the sound quality.

50. Dave Mills, head of backstage and front of stage security. "My job is to stop any skirmishes or fights by pulling people out, people who faint, and putting in the hands of the first aid people. Earlier on this tour, in Dublin, I pulled out a young man whose ear was barely hanging on by a thread, probably because some idiot threw a glass."

51 Gerry Stickells, tout manager. The most important poeple on the tour. He looks after the road crew, from the lighting team to caterers; hiring them, making sure that they're paid and that everyone's alright. (he even remembers every crew member's birthday, making a fuss of them so they get too miserable). The other important thing he does is to go out months before the tour to look at the planned concert sites and to make all the thousands of arrangements that need to be made in advance. He's been working with acts like Rod Steward and Elton John and has organised Queen's road tour for 11 years. "They have to be highly-strung crazy people, they have to in order to ware themselves up to perform. So I admire them, yes. But I wouldn't want to socialise with them. Soon as this tour is over I'll go home and watch television."

52 Mike Weisman, production and stage manager. "I'm in charge of seeing that the stage and scenery is all but together properly. We work all day to get everything right. I have to coordinate all the work of the riggers and carpenters."

[husheduphistory]

Pickles: The World Cup, a Pup, and a Whole lot of Luck

On July 30th 1966 the World Cup was held high over the heads of the England national football team. The Jules Rimet trophy, the World Cup, the golden, glittering, hardest-won trophy in sports had already made headlines once before this final match. Not due to speculation about who would get to raise it up in triumph, but because there was chance that  there would be no trophy to award at all.

In March of 1966 the Methodist Central Hall in London was hosting the Stanley Gibbons Stampex, a rare stamp exhibition with the theme that year being "Sport and Stamps.” To coincide with the theme, the expo had a very unique addition to the display, the World Cup trophy. With England providing the setting for the World Cup finals in only a few months, the timing of the special exhibition was expected to bring thousands upon of thousands of people through the doors to catch a glimpse of the coveted award. Standing 12" tall, perched on a base of lapis lazuli, and fashioned after Nike the Greek goddess of victory, the special guest at the exhibition was not an easy booking and the visit was only agreed upon when the strict demands of the Football Association (FA) were met. For one, the trophy was to be kept fully enclosed in a glass case. Additionally, it was to be guarded at all times with the association understanding that their most precious prize would never be alone in the months before its most important event. The showcase was secured. The security was scheduled. 

Then on March 20th, only twenty-four hours after it went on display, the Jules Rimet trophy vanished.

The Jules Rimet trophy.

The shock over the disappearance could only be matched by the anger seething from the the heads of professional soccer all over the world. While the Football Association in England issued apologies expressing their deep regret over "this most unfortunate incident" and remarked that "It inevitably brings discredit to both the FA and this country" the Brazilian Sports Confederation stated "Even Brazilian thieves love football and would never commit this sacrilege! It would never have happened in Brazil.” Honorary president of the Finnish FA, Erik von Frenckell, laid his opinion out simply with his exclamation of "I’m damned angry!”

The obvious question on everyone's mind was how this possibly could have happened. The terms set by the Football Association were met, the trophy was housed in a protective cell, and it was always under a set of watchful eyes....right? To the utter dismay of the soccer world the best answer that could be given to that question was a reluctant "sort of". True, the coveted prize had protection, but security was not strictly enforced when the exhibition hall was closed to the public. On the morning of the theft a Methodist service was being held on another floor of the building and the stamp exhibition was closed. There was also wooden bar blocking the doorway to the trophy, a small padlock on the showcase, and a curtain over the padlock. Feeling intermittent checks would suffice on this quiet morning the guards went on a "break". At their 11am check all was safe and sound but when they returned for the midday check-in they found a broken board, a forced open lock, a disturbingly ruffled curtain, and an excruciatingly empty showcase. The building it was stolen from was only a few hundred yards from Scotland Yard headquarters.

Police stand guard at the display case after the Jules Rimet trophy was stolen.  Photograph: Keystone/Getty Images

Alsa-Guard Security Services, the firm hired by the exhibition to protect the World Cup trophy, vehemently denied any negligence on their part calling the theft an incident of "human error" and saying that "nothing went wrong, it was just stolen.”  The search for the trophy was forced to begin with a stab in the dark because there were simply no suspects and no solid leads. One security guard working that day reported seeing a man with slick black hair meandering around a pay phone just after 11am but he did not bother to investigate because when he saw the mystery man he was already walking to the nearest bathroom and did not feel it was overly important. The hopes of the soccer world rested on the Metropolitan police force. But, just in case there was more incentive needed, reward money for the return of the trophy began to flow in from businesses and people like the Gillette razor company, a doctor who had treated many of the players, and the chairman of Fulham.  Everyone hoped for the best, but the FA had already secretly arranged for a replica trophy to be made in case the World Cup event arrived before the World Cup trophy was returned. 

There was a question if the thief had even committed the crime for money. The value of the Jules Rimet trophy was approximately $8,500 but the stamps at the exhibition that were left untouched easily valued over eight million dollars and were considerably easier to hide. The question of financial motive was answered the next day on March 21st when English Football Association chairman Joe Mears was contacted by a voice named "Jackson" informing him that a package was on the way. When the parcel was opened the chairman found the removable liner from the top of the trophy and a ransom note demanding the equivalent of $42,000. The parcel also contained a threat that the trophy would be melted down if the authorities were alerted but Mears was not intimidated and they were informed anyway. When "Jackson" was contacted an arrangement was made to meet on March 25th in Battersea Park and make the exchange. The exchange never happened. When "Jackson" spotted law enforcement making their way toward him he attempted an escape but was apprehended. The man in cuffs was forty-seven year old dockworker Edward Betchley, a man with a past peppered in petty crime but when questioned Betchley insisted he was only a middle man to an entity he only knew as "The Pole.” He denied any knowledge of the trophy's location but was charged with theft regardless.

Edward Betchley, who is charged with the theft of the Jules Rimet trophy. William H. Alden/Evening Standard/Hulton Archive/Getty Images.

On the evening of March 27th there was one brain that was absolutely not thinking about the missing World Cup trophy, he just wanted to sniff the hedges outside. Pickles was a four year old black and white collie mix who spent his days living happily with twenty-six year old David Corbett and his wife in the London suburb of Norwood. Corbett's brother was expecting a baby and David decided to take Pickles out for an evening stroll over to a payphone to give him a call. Once outside Corbett fiddled with the leash while Pickles decided he had to explore the neighbor's car, specifically the front tire. When Corbett went to clip the leash to Pickles's collar he saw why the little dog was so insistent on exploring. Tucked behind the wheel was a package, wrapped in newspaper and tied tightly with string. Corbett picked up the package and felt its considerable weight before he placed it back down again. He was suspicious, thinking it might have been a bomb placed by the IRA. After a few rounds of picking up the parcel and putting it back down again he hesitantly picked it up one last time and tore away some of the paper. What greeted him from inside the wrappings was a gold shield and the words "Uruguay" and "Brazil". Corbett was a soccer fan. He knew exactly what this was. Pickles had just found the missing World Cup trophy.

David Corbett and Pickles.

Pickles posing for photographers.

Corbett's wife, who was not a fan of the sport, did not have much of a reaction to his announcement back home but when he rushed into the local police station, still wearing his slippers, he was certain the reaction would suit the magnitude of his find. He marched up to the desk, put it gingerly down in front of the sergeant, and declared "I've found the World Cup!" There was no exclamation of surprise, no fanfare, no gasp. The sergeant looked the statue over and only said "That doesn't look very World Cuppy to me, Sonny.”  Despite the sergeant's lack of enthusiasm detectives were called in and were able to confirm that yes, this was the missing trophy. They were more than likely delighted, but the cloud of happiness enveloping the detectives and Corbett quickly turned cold. Within minutes Corbett went from savior to suspect and he was brought in for questioning. After hours of interrogation Corbett exited the police station and Pickles entered the spotlight as a national hero.  

Pickles the dog being photographed by the press. Central Press/Getty Images.

The following morning when Corbett went to work he had the new obstacle of avoiding the press that was firmly planted outside his home. On his way in he stopped and bought every newspaper he could get his hands on. The headlines were ablaze with the news of England's new national hero, not Corbett, but a scrappy little pup named Pickles.

The fuzzy little dog won the hearts of everyone who heard the story of the chance discovery. Corbett was given a reward equivalent to $16,000 but Pickles was awarded a solid silver medal by lieutenant-colonel Alexander Hendrick Roosmalecocq, secretary of the National Canine Defense League in an elaborate ceremony, a silver platter, a one year supply of dog food,...and an agent. In the coming months Pickles appeared in numerous television commercials and secured a role in the film The Spy with the Cold Nose.

On July 30, 1966 Corbett and Pickles sat at home watching the World Cup final. It was down to England and West Germany and when the match came to an end it was England who met Queen Elizabeth II and won the privilege of raising the newly recovered Jules Rimet trophy after a 4-2 victory. Corbett and Pickles were guests of honor at the team's victory dinner in London and when team captain Bobby Moore went out onto a balcony to greet elated fans he was not alone. First he held up the World Cup trophy, and then he held up Pickles. The crowd went wild.

Corbett and Pickles watching the World Cup final at home.

Queen Elizabeth II presents the trophy to Bobby Moore, captain of England’s national team. STAFF/AFP/Getty Images.

Captain Bobby Moore kissing the trophy following England’s victory. Hulton Archive/Getty Images.

Four years later Brazil won the Jules Rimet trophy in perpetuity after a new trophy was designed. In 1983 the trophy was again stolen but this time there was no Pickles to come to the rescue. Sadly, the hero pup died unexpectedly one year after his time in the world spotlight. The trophy was never recovered and it is assumed it was melted down for the gold.

Pickles was buried at home in Corbett's garden, his resting place marked by a small plaque that reads "Pickles, Finder of the World Cup 1966.”

The grave of Pickles the dog.

[eugeniettremblay]

basic information.

Full name: Eugenie Terpsichore Tremblay Nickname(s) or Alias: Genie Gender: Female Species: pureblood witch Age: 26 Birthday: August 30th, 2003 Zodiac Sign: Virgo House: Hufflepuff Amortentia: Garden soil, broomstick polish, and old books Patronus:  Hedgehog Army Affiliation: Crimson Allies Sexuality: Heterosexual Nationality: English/French City or town of birth: Paris Currently lives: Willow’s Rest Farm, Devon Languages spoken: English, French Native language: English and French - her Father only spoke to her in French and her Mother only spoke to her in English. Depending on which country they were in, the family would speak French or English when out in public. Relationship Status: Single

physical appearance.

Height: 5′6″ Hair colour: Blonde Hairstyle: Long and wavy Facial Hairstyle: Eye colour: Dark brown Tattoos: Piercings: Ears Scars/distinguishing marks: A small scar under her chin from falling off a broomstick at school, during her first year. Preferred style of clothing: Long and midi flowing dresses and robes, aprons and pinnafores, long and midi skirts, loose blouses, t-shirts, sandals or bare feet in the spring and summer, boots in the fall and winter. Light and bright colours, florals, gingham and plaid.

health.

Smoker?: Drinker?: Very rarely, usually wine or champagne Recreational Drug User? Which?: Addictions: Allergies: Neurological conditions: Anxiety Sleeping habits: She’s a very light sleeper and an early riser. Eating habits:  She’ll try anything once and enjoys most food. She tends to make sure everyone else is fed before worrying about herself, even before she had children. Exercise habits: Horseback riding, hiking and swimming. She tries to keep active every day, even if it’s just playing with her children or walking around her property to feed the animals. Emotional stability: She’s quite emotionally stable but can get anxious, especially when she feels confronted or boxed in. Sociability: Omnivert Body temperature: Cold

personality.

Label: Mama Bear/Girl Next Door Positive traits: Caring, Good-natured, Hardworking, Loveable, Warm Neutral traits: Modern, Proud, Soft, Whimsical Negative traits: Cautious, Impatient, Silly, Strong-willed Character Alignment: Neutral Good - A neutral good character does the best that a good person can do. He is devoted to helping others. He works with kings and magistrates but does not feel beholden to them. Neutral good is the best alignment you can be because it means doing what is good without bias for or against order. However, neutral good can be a dangerous alignment when it advances mediocrity by limiting the actions of the truly capable. Goals/Desires: To raise her children right and help others in any way possible. Likes: Her boys, tea, old books, music, animals, picnics, horse-riding, Christmas baking and cooking Dislikes: Blood purity, instant meals (fast food or packet mixes), being lazy, being sick, her children being sick or injured, feeling like a failure Fears/phobias: Her children dying, dying and leaving Wilder and Ziggy without her Favourite colour: Yellow Hobbies: Reading, horse-riding, swimming, baking, music Habits: Chewing her lip, fidgeting Taste in music: She likes oldies (50s - 90s), music that she can sing along to, and music that make her happy

house & home.

Describe the character’s house/home:

Willow’s Rest

Do they share their home with anyone? Who?: Yes. Her sons, Wilder and Ziggy; two cats (Hazel and Ella), one border collie named Outlaw, a Pembroke Welsh corgi named Bandit, eight hens (Blanche, Enid, Ethel, Gertrude, Gladys, Hetty, Maude and Winifred), two ducks (Donald and Daisy), two geese (Abigail and Amelia Gabble), four horses (Domino, Brandy, Traveller, Little Joe), a cow (Betsy), three pigs, six sheep, a reindeer (Olive), and a surly rooster named Cluck Norris.

career.

Level of education: Hogwarts Current job title and description: Owner of Genie’s Books and Tea Name of employer: Self-employed

family, friends, & foes.

Parents names: Daphne Tremblay (née Greengrass) and Jacques Tremblay Are parents alive or dead? Alive Is the character still in contact with their parents? She’s estranged from her parents Siblings? Relationship with siblings? One older brother Important Relatives: Cassiopeia and Scorpius Malfoy (Cousins) Other Family: None Partner/Spouse: Exes/Past Partners: Evan Montgomery Children: Wilder Roen Montgomery (10) and Siegfried “Ziggy” Kosmas Montgomery (6) Best Friends: N/A Other Close Friends:  N/A Pets: Two cats (Hazel and Ella), one border collie named Outlaw, a Pembroke Welsh corgi named Bandit, eight hens (Blanche, Enid, Ethel, Gertrude, Gladys, Hetty, Maude and Winifred), two ducks (Donald and Daisy), two geese (Abigail and Amelia Gabble), four horses (Domino, Brandy, Traveller, Little Joe), a cow (Bessie), three pigs, six sheep, a reindeer (Olive), and a surly rooster named Cluck Norris. Enemies?: Death Eaters

[gendryw4ters-blog]

I'm gonna need to scream at you about Fisherman!Toye now (this is going to be a rant/stream of consciousness so...i'll apologize up front). Because can you imagine? With the beanies and the big wool coat. And working hard all day, mostly by himself. And then going home to his small cottage by the sea, and wearing one of those Aran sweaters and chopping wood for his fireplace and waking up before the sun and arguing with vendors and going back out on the water and the word count is running out

omg sorry this is so late!! i only just saw it this morning!!but YES i am here for this.

like?? His family would sometimes write to him like “aren’t you lonely out there?” and he has to admit that sometimes on very cold and stormy nights that it would be nice to have someone around to cuddle but for the most part no, he’s actually really content in his own little world by the sea (and besides, he gets to chat to other locals at the markets on sunday). he might even have a dog, a big old collie called Ted who follows him around everywhere, even onto the boat (and it’s him who first notices something strange in the water and his barking is what alerts joe), and he comes to the markets, and joe likes that because even though he doesn’t mind chatting having Ted around kind of distracts people away from him and his leg (which he injured pretty badly in an accident a few years ago). and his cottage would be small but not claustrophobic; it’d be comfortable and warm and there’d be thick wool blankets and rugs everywhere, and he’d have a small outhouse where he’d smoke his fish (and so there’d always be this lingering smell of woodsmoke on his clothes and in his hair but not in an overpowering way; in that soft warm subtle way like your coat just after a bonfire). 

and over the winter, he’d still go out on his boat (just doubling up on his layers of knitwear), though he wouldn’t always be able to make it out to the market as often as he’d like to so his hair gets a little longer (and hes not going to cut it himself because he did that once and he was pretty sure that if Ted could laugh at him he would be), and he’d make soups with the things in his pantry and eat smoked meats and thick crusty bread that he’d baked himself (baking is not his forte or his favourite thing to do by any means but his Ma taught him this recipe that always somehow seems to work and so when he can’t get to the markets he makes that instead), and when the weather was too bad to go out to sea he’d read one of the books his sisters would send him and write to his family about how things were going or how he sometimes wondered about getting Ted a friend (his littlest sister had written him back a very excited letter at that, talking about getting his dog a wife and asking if she could have one of the puppies- and it made him smile so much that he kept it in a separate drawer to the others so he could read it on days that weren’t so good), and things would be cosy and warm and good.

and oh god i could go on about this for YEARS because i worked in a tiny fishing village cafe for a long time and it’s very romantic and very lovely and i really really really love Fisherman!Toye but im conscious that a lot of this is very not written well and rambly so sorry about that but also!!! 

I LOVE FISHERMAN!TOYE