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percywainwright.bsky.social
"Flavius, hold me."
@percywainwright.bsky.social
160 followers 580 following 750 posts
I miss when Twitter used to be good. Here primarily for Interview with the Vampire (and Merrick Mayfair), but also Outlander/the Lord John series, writing, and books (gothic, horror, fantasy, historical fiction, romance, and everything in between)
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percywainwright.bsky.social
November 15, 2025 at 12:20 AM
percywainwright.bsky.social
Reading these screenshots like gollum wrote them and having a great time with that mental image
November 11, 2025 at 10:01 PM
percywainwright.bsky.social
please political gods let the funniest possible thing happen
November 6, 2025 at 12:20 AM
percywainwright.bsky.social
Not the guardian news alert I’m always lowkey keeping an eye out for but I will take it
October 17, 2025 at 6:08 PM
percywainwright.bsky.social
October 7, 2025 at 2:04 AM
percywainwright.bsky.social
I'm finally watching 28 days later (for the first time, yes, i know) and as always, letterboxd knows what's up
genuinely absurd to think that a movie this good can only ever be watched in the video quality resolution of an early Youtube video 💀 shot on samsung lg refrigerator this isn't even a virus outbreak, british people just be like that a list of things that will always be scarier than zombies: 1. men
October 6, 2025 at 2:57 AM
percywainwright.bsky.social
Not to be ungrateful for summer or whatever but I cannot wait for the forecast not to say VERY HUMID every. single. day
Toronto's smoky, steamy summer has NOT BEEN MY JAM
August 8, 2025 at 3:53 AM
percywainwright.bsky.social
After seeing Mary: An Awakening of Terror recommended *everywhere* over the past few weeks I decided to pick up a copy today and yeah ... I am so here for this profoundly uncomfortable (complimentary) take on 'Adult Carrie'
an image of a woman in a bathtub (from behind) on the cover of Mary: An Awakening of Terror by Nat Cassidy
August 6, 2025 at 12:55 AM
percywainwright.bsky.social
Coolest possible vintage store find for $5
July 28, 2025 at 10:28 PM
percywainwright.bsky.social
In essence:
July 26, 2025 at 2:26 AM
percywainwright.bsky.social
Today has really tested my emotional stability
We got interview with the vampire stuff AND I WILL NEVER BE OVER THIS MY DAWSON’S CREEK LOVING HEART IS EXPLODING And a new Outlander trailer I just 🤯🤯🤯
July 26, 2025 at 2:26 AM
percywainwright.bsky.social
Bertha in the latest episode of the Gilded Age:
Lorne from Angel saying, “You want me to talk to my family? On purpose?”
July 14, 2025 at 2:31 AM
percywainwright.bsky.social
OH THANK GOD
July 13, 2025 at 2:25 AM
percywainwright.bsky.social
July 4, 2025 at 5:56 PM
percywainwright.bsky.social
I found another first edition Anne Rice hardcover in amazing condition at a second-hand store for ten bucks … and of course it had to be fucking Marius’ book
June 27, 2025 at 11:38 PM
percywainwright.bsky.social
This game is so funny. It wouldn’t let me play Aquarius the other day but HIMBO is allowed? 😂
June 20, 2025 at 2:28 AM
percywainwright.bsky.social
THANK YOU LIBRARY GODS
June 10, 2025 at 10:12 PM
percywainwright.bsky.social
Me 🤝 the frowning cartoon dude from the air pollution tracker
The air quality in Toronto from the wildfire smoke is still pretty bad (106 AQI)
June 8, 2025 at 9:06 PM
percywainwright.bsky.social
I had to wear an N95 mask to run errands today because of how bad the wildfire smoke is but I am the first person to borrow this copy of Maggie Stiefvater’s new book so I’m counting today as a big win 🥹
The Listeners by Maggie Stiefvater
June 6, 2025 at 5:12 PM
percywainwright.bsky.social
THE PEOPLE WANT A LORD JOHN SPINOFF (AND BY THE PEOPLE I MEAN ME)
Shrek prayer circle to manifest the Lord John solves crimes show of my dreams
May 26, 2025 at 6:12 PM
percywainwright.bsky.social
I sometimes feel self-conscious about how many em dashes I use in my writing but Anne Brontë was operating on a whole other level
THE TENANT OF WILDEELL HALL It is a soaking, rainy day, the family are absent on a visit, I am alone in my library, and have been looking over certain musty old letters and papers, and musing on past times; so that I am now in a very proper frame of mind for amusing you with an old world story; - and, having withdrawn my well-roasted feet from the hobs, wheeled round to the table, and indited the above lines to my crusty old friend, I am about to give him a sketch - no not a sketch, - a full and faithful account of certain circumstances connected with the most important event of my life - previous to my acquaintance with Jack Halford at least; - and when you have read it, charge me with ingratitude and unfriendly reserve if you can. I know you like a long story, and are as great a stickler for particularities and circumstantial details as my grandmother, so I will not spare you: my own patience and leisure shall be my only limits. Among the letters and papers I spoke of, there is a certain faded old journal of mine, which I mention by way of assurance that I have not my memory alone - tenacious as it is - to depend upon; in order that your credulity may not be too severely taxed in following me through the minute details of my narrative. - To begin then, at once, with Chapter First, - for it shall be a tale of many chapters.- Now, Halford, before I close this letter, I'll tell you who Eliza Millward was: she was the vicar's younger daughter, and a very engaging little creature, for whom I felt no small degree of partiality; - and she knew it, though I had never come to any direct explanation, and had no definite intention of so doing, for my mother, who maintained there was no one good enough for me, within twenty miles round, could not bear the thought of my marrying that insignificant little thing, who, in addition to her numerous other disqualifications, had not twenty pounds to call her own. Eliz's figure was at once slight and plump, her face small, and nearly as round as my sister's, - complexion, something similar to hers, but more delicate and less decidedly blooming, - nose, retroussé, - features, generally irregular; - and, altogether, she was rather charming than pretty. But her eyes - I must not forget those remarkable features, for therein her chief attraction lay - in outward aspect at least; - they were long and narrow in shape, the irids black, or very dark brown, the expression various, and ever changing, but always either preternaturally - I had almost said diabolically - wicked, or irresistibly bewitching - often both. Her voice was gentle and childish, her tread light and soft as that of a cat; - but her manners more frequently resembled those of a pretty, playful kitten, that is now pert and roguish, now timid and demure, according to its own sweet will. Her sister, Mary, was several years older, several inches taller, and of a larger, coarser build - a plain, quiet, sensible girl, who had patiently nursed their mother, through her last long, tedious illness, and been the housekeeper, and family drudge, from thence to the present time. She was trusted and valued by her father, loved
May 12, 2025 at 11:30 PM
percywainwright.bsky.social
in honour of this news alert I just got
The Guardian: Cardinals start procession to Sistine Chapel to elect new pope – follow live
May 7, 2025 at 2:48 PM
percywainwright.bsky.social
Australia has also done the funniest possible thing in their election
The Guardian Australia's rightwing Coalition leader Peter Dutton - who had hoped to become PM - has lost his seat in the election
May 3, 2025 at 12:26 PM
percywainwright.bsky.social
Shrek prayer circle
April 20, 2025 at 8:42 PM
percywainwright.bsky.social
Happy Lestat-having-an-existential-crisis-in-Memnoch-and-drinking-Jesus’s-blood day to those who celebrate
of tears I could scarce control them. "The blood. Taste it. Taste the Blood of Christ." And a terrible smile of resignation came over him, almost a grimace, his body convulsing beneath the immense beam, and the blood trickling freshly as if with each breath He took the thorns tore deeper into his face and the stripes on His chest began to swell into seams through which the blood leaked. "No, my God!" I cried out, and I reached for Him and felt His fragile arms, bound to the huge crossbar, His aching, thin arms beneath the torn sleeves, and the blood blazed in front of me. "The Blood of God, Lestat," He whispered. "Think of all the human blood that has flowed into your lips. Is my blood not worthy? Are you afraid?" Sobbing, I cupped His neck with both hands, my knuckles against the crossbar, and I kissed His throat, and then my mouth opened without will or struggle and my teeth pierced the flesh. I heard Him moan, a long echoing moan that seemed to rise up and fill the world with its sound, and the blood flooded into my mouth. The cross, the nails driven through His wrists, not His hands, His body twisting and turning as if in the last moments, He would escape, and His head bashed down on the crossbar, so that the thorns went into His scalp, and then the nails through His feet, and His eyes rolling, the pound and the pound of the hammer, and then the Light, the immense Light rising as it had risen over the balustrade of Heaven, and filling the world, and obliterating even this warm, solid, luscious glut of blood that sank into me. The Light, the light itself and the being within it, In His Image! The light receded, swift, soundless, and leaving behind a long tunnel or path, and I knew the path was straight from Earth to the Light. Pain! The Light was disappearing. The separation was unspeakable! A swift blow struck my entire body with full force. I was flung back into the crowd. Sand stung my eyes. The screams rose all around me. The blood was on my tongue. It flowed from my lips. Time pressed in with
April 20, 2025 at 4:25 PM