LYNN IS MOVING! once this blog's content is transferred to the new blog, this one will be archived.

you can find lynn at @mslangermann

So, what’s the worst case?

LYNN IS MOVING! once this blog's content is transferred to the new blog, this one will be archived.

you can find lynn at @mslangermann

LYNN IS MOVING! once this blog's content is transferred to the new blog, this one will be archived.

you can find lynn at @mslangermann

Emmy Rossum in Spirit And Flesh Magazine’s ‘Alter Ego’ issue | 2015

the feral need to follow every b/g3 blog i see

he's a fucked up, horrible, living nightmare. i desire him carnally

SHAMELESS 4x02 | “MY OLDEST DAUGHTER”

one of my favourite things about boys is that it's so very easy to arouse them. just run a hand a little too far up his leg, back a little too far into him in line at the grocery store, nonchalantly give him a little peek of that lingerie, look deep into their eyes while you bite your lips. so lovely

i’m gonna do it………………… i’m gonna move lynn onto her own blog.

"Ehh." She cups a hand at the side of her mouth, mimicking a buzzer sound. "Wrong. But you still get participation points for trying." Reaching across the small table, she offers his arm a reassuring squeeze to play up the bit - all smiles as she does.

"No, I'm the middle child. The trouble maker." It's safe to say both her and her youngest brother filled that role during different stages of their lives. For Lynn, it was her childhood - where she spent her time in the bad books of the nuns who were so desperate to keep her in line.

"I'm sure we have plenty of stories to swap about older brothers," she says as she retracts her hand - only after letting it linger for another heartbeat. "Really? A long way. Are the two of you close?"

He makes a point of not digging into client's personal lives, except for where it might benefit an investigation. Some level of information is necessary to have -- connections to whatever or whoever they're trying to uncover, motivation for seeking out a private investigator in the first place -- but anything beyond that is their own business. Geoffrey doesn't need to know most of it, and getting tangled up in someone else's background hardly serves him. He's well equipped with the tools to dig, of course, and probably could have parsed out Lynn's entire life story hours after she entered his office.

But where's the fun in that?

Big family, then. Italian -- and not in the distant way most Americans claim heritage. It isn't hard to picture her in that kind of environment, raised alongside two brothers but holding her own. "Where do you fall in the sibling lineup? I'd guess... youngest." The scrappy girl trying to keep up and make space for herself, learning early not to take anyone else's shit. It makes some kind of sense in his mind's eye.

"I've got one brother. Older." Even a century later Ian's continued existence is a strange revelation. They're close, now, and he's grateful for that -- but some part of him will always be standing in that field with a shovel and an ax in his hands wondering why God hated him so much. "Still lives in Ireland with the wife and kids -- I'm the only one who left the country."

RABID (1977), directed by  David Cronenberg.

ANASTASIA 1997 | Don Bluth & Gary Goldman

Asteroid City (2023)

Anastasia (1997) dir. Don Bluth and Gary Goldman

Fleabag  |  2x06

💿

send a 💿 for a song starter

The day’s aches and pains began to melt away as the steaming water slipped over her scalp. All at once she relaxed against the heat of the shower, tilting her head back to soak in every bit of comfort the rushing water had to offer. What started as a quick check in at her studio space, now inactive and darkened by a clutter of equipment, turned into an organizational overhaul.

Alone she boxed up equipment to sell or donate, spent an unseemly time bundling cords, conducted an inventory of the remaining pieces, and cleaned out desks. Every item dredged up a memory of Blake - the two of them arguing over a shot or Lynn running her fingers through Blake’s curls as he hunched over his computer or copious amounts of coffee shared between the two of them. Pieces of him were scattered about the room and here she was boxing some of it up. It was then a chill trickled its way down her spine, like a cold, dead finger brushing her skin. Paranoia, a constant compassion, had her jerking a gaze over her shoulder only to find the room empty. She and what remained of the equipment were all that lingered in that space. 

A shower would serve as a distraction, a way to shake the anxiety that hummed against her bones. For a long time she stood there, unmoving and content to simply be, all senses drowned out by the water hitting her skin and the porcelain beneath her bare feet. Her fingers moved then, unconsciously at first, into her hair, the circling motions lathering the shampoo. Lynn began to hum an old favorite. The melody could barely be heard beneath the water. When she rinsed out the shampoo, the humming turned to lyrics. Quiet at first, but soon enough she was picking up her voice to match the candor and strength of Barbra Streisand in Funny Girl. 

“I gotta fly once, I gotta try once - only can die once. Right, sir?” She sang out, her voice though out of practice, still held up after all these years. “Oh, life is juicy, juicy, and you see I'm gonna have my bite-” 

An unceremonious thump broke its way through her song and the water. Not a moment later, Lynn smacked the shower’s faucet off and stumbled out, grabbing at a nearby towel. Her heart was in her throat. The bat she kept by her bed as a poor excuse for self defense was in her bedroom down the hall. With the towel wrapped around her, she opened the door and attempted to slink towards her bedroom unnoticed. But the moment she stepped into the hall, she heard humming - humming that mocked her previous performance and humming belonged to an all too familiar voice. All at once the fear slipped from her, only to be replaced by a grating annoyance. Returning to the bathroom, she grabbed her bathrobe and tied it firm around her waist. 

Hair threatening to drip on the floor, she made her way to the living room where she was welcomed by Severen and a suspicious duffle bag resting atop her coffee table. The source of the noise, she imagined. Without letting him get a word in, Lynn was on the defense. 

“What’s in the bag?” She asked, her voice firm.