#Peg Shirley

[minisinmedia]

Emmaline Henry as Pamela and Peg Shirley as Agnes both wearing mini dresses on Love, American Style

[bbystark]

chimichanga tuesday

deadpool x stark!reader

summary: reader finds herself slightly jealous over Vanessa and Wade's previous relationship. based on this request

a/n: mdni. requests are open! i did not proofread whoops but enjoy! requests are open btw ;)

When Wade first brought up the idea of bringing you to his Chimichanga Tuesdays at Blind Al’s, you were over the moon. This was a big step for you guys and the relationship you had yet to put a title on. He had excitedly started listing the names of everyone that would be there, Colossus, Negasonic “whateverthefuck”, Blind Al, Vanessa- a wave of nausea went through you when he said her name. You weren’t the jealous type, you really weren’t, but the dude put himself through death-defying torture to live for this woman. It was hard not to feel threatened. Besides, who the fuck stays friends with an ex? It blew your mind. 

You knew about their entire history, Wade had told you a few months into hooking up. He didn’t seem to have any secrecy surrounding it, even going as far as to delve into their very active sex life (you had to tell him to shut up when he got to “a pegging christmas”). However, your own fear of his answers kept you from asking the most important one: did he still love her? Would he leave you if she decided she wanted him back? You felt so stupid. You were a Stark for God's sake, your ego should be untouchable. But alas, you actually strongly liked Wade. You were starting to head into that place where just thinking about him brought a stupid love-sick smile to your face. 

So yeah. You were a little jealous of Vannessa, and tonight was Chimichanga Tuesday. You were fucked. Both metaphorically and literally, being on your third Dirty Shirley within the hour. You were waiting for Wade to pick you up from your apartment, growing more and more nervous as time went on. You’re pulled from your thoughts when you hear the front door rattle, Wade bursting in with a stapler in hand. “Hey hot stuff! Sorry about the blood. Was running late to see your tight little ass and had to staple the toupee on the bus. Bumpy ride.” He makes his way over to you, tossing the stapler to the side and pulling you into a hug. “Hi Wade.” You melt into him. “When are you going to let me buy you lace glue for that thing?” You poke at a staple and he winces, grabbing your wrist gently. 

“Hey, the staples are very economically friendly. Not everyone has a disgustingly handsome father to inherit billions from.” He smiles at you, glancing around your apartment and seeing the large bottle of vodka sitting in the middle of your kitchen island. “Woah thirsty girl! You getting the party started already?” 

You suddenly feel ashamed, like a teen who got caught with a beer. “I’ve only had one.” He gives you a look. “Okay three!” He turns to the side and rolls his eyes to his imaginary audience. “We’re lucky she didn’t bring out the tequila. She gets real mean.” You shove him a little bit. “That was one time! It’s not that hard to say excuse me.” “Oh, I’m not mad sugarcakes. Watching you threaten to disembowel someone twice your size really got little Deadpool going. I am slightly concerned though. Broody and depressed alcoholics run in your family. What’s going on in that brain?” 

You open and close your mouth a few times, trying to find a response. You consider lying, but suddenly you feel a little light and stupid thanks to your last drink and the words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them. 

“Do you still love Vannessa?” 

Wade freezes, a little shocked by the question. He’s silent for longer than he’s ever been and you’re scared you’ve gone too far. You’re about to apologize and take your words back  when he puts his finger over your lips and says “Give me two seconds for a dramatic flashback and careful introspection that will eventually lead to important character development.” You give him a strange look and he sighs. “Trust me, it’s very important to our plot.” 

Wade thinks really hard. He still loves Vannessa in his own fucked up way but he wasn’t in love with her anymore. He knew she still loved him too, but in the same way an owner can’t hate a pet that constantly bites them. Except Wade was a pet who got cancer and abandoned her, not to mention put her life on the line on multiple occasions (although to his credit, he did save her and the entire timeline). But to put it simply, somehow the two most fucked up people had the healthiest breakup ever. 

Even given the chance, Wade knows he wouldn’t go back to Vannessa because it could never be the same. Wade used to painfully long for his past before seeing a motivational poster that said “keep chugging along” with a creepy looking animated train. Then it really clicked for him. Vannessa wasn’t his happy ending, even though she had given him many in the past. If he had chosen to stay with her instead of being a lab rat for Francis St. Fuck, she would have been. But is dying of cancer and leaving the woman you love alone for the rest of her life a happy ending? He realized that if he kept looking to the past, he would forget that he had created his own weird little family, even if it wasn’t what he originally planned. He would also forget that he has a smoking hot girl in front of him that he’s quickly growing more attached to. 

Wade has been quiet and staring directly at a wall for a long time, and it’s starting to really freak you out. “Wade..?” You try gently. He snaps out of it, shaking his head and laughing a little. “Jeez these flashbacks just keep getting longer and longer, like hello that’s what sequels are for.” You stay silent, looking at him expectantly. “Oh right!” He moves closer to you, taking your hands in his.

“Yes. Yes I do still love Vannessa.” your heart drops, and you quickly pull your hands from his. 

“What the fuck Wade?” 

“No! Wait let me finish, I do still love her, but not like I did. She used to be my everything, the only reason I lived and then later, the reason I tried killing myself but that’s beside the point- what I’m trying to say is that she’s my past. And I get us still being friends is like, totally not the norm but I promise there’s nothing there anymore. I just, care about her I guess. But I don’t want to keep letting my past get in the way of things that are happening now.” He looks you in the eye for the last part, and you almost tear up at the sight of The Wade Wilson being serious for once, and to you of all people. You take a few seconds before replying. 

“I know she’s a huge part of your very unconventional life, and I don’t want to get all psycho and say that I don’t want you to see her because really, I truly don’t mind. Just kind of had a jealous monster take over for a second. I’m sorry.” You give him a shy smile. 

“Hey, I’m just surprised you still haven’t realized you’re fucking an avacado’s abortion. That’s a win in my book.” You both laugh and you take his face in your hands gently, smiling. You don’t really have much to say, you still feel silly, even more so that he’s essentially calmed all your insecurities. So you just stare at him, the drinks in your system letting your fingers dance across his face, just taking all of him in. Wade can’t handle it. 

“I think I like you.” He blurts out. He cringes, he can’t believe he just confessed like a middle schooler. “Bad Deadpool.” he whispers to himself. 

You laugh and then bring his face to yours for a clumsy kiss. “I think I like you too. Avocado abortion face and all.” You kiss him again, slower this time, trying to avoid the staples poking out of his scalp when you place your hand on his neck. He pulls away slowly, eyes still closed. “Good Deadpool.”

[enchantedflameandflower]

Gavin (Karl Urban) x reader!

Some hot making out in a magical tree house that is for sure going to lead to more…

co-written with CheshireCatSmile

@kus-babygirl @shirley-girly @jynx15 @everchar-of-the-shire @vavafaure1994

@deathlesun @butchers-girl @hippo2211

@bohemianblasphemy @karlurbanism @imherefordeanandbones @torntaltos @babyfri3dric3

karl urban masterlist

direct link to part 1

part 7

8.

Gavin chuckles, his dark eyes crinkling pleasantly at the corners then pulls you toward the make shift doorway and starts down the carved steps toward the space with the counter. When he's at the bottom he grabs you around the waist to lift you down the rest of the way. He's so strong he makes it seem effortless.

“I don’t know how you do that,” you say. “You might hurt yourself tossing me around like that.” You can’t help yourself, running your palm over his arm, feeling the muscles.

He eyes you up and down with a glint in his eyes. “I can handle you just fine…I'd say you’re about perfect in my book.”  He caresses your cheek then turns to start opening some of the other cabinets until he pulls down a cook top that looks to work much as a camp stove would. He checks the fuel canisters then rummages through his pack for the food packets. "Savory beef stew and savory chicken stew...which would you like tonight?  Or...there's...chow mein or white cheddar mac 'n cheese."

“Mmmmm mac ‘n cheese,” you grin. Something feels so good about sharing this with just him, comfortable and right. “It’s so nice to be away from everything. Thank you for bringing me.”

"It's my pleasure sweetheart. I'm kinda glad it worked out this way. Not that I want Jack to worry any more about his family or the baby...but it's nice sharing this with you. I would have been hesitant to go look for this treehouse if he was with me. I mean, he would have been totally focused on the business and wouldn't have wanted to take the time." He clears his throat. "I mean...he's just more on the serious side."

“He is. But I think it’s important to keep some magic and adventure in your life. At least it is to me. Honestly, I could stay out here for ages and never worry… It’s so beautiful.” 

Gavin finishes heating the food and brings it over to the table, sitting next to you. He smiles softly as he hands you the mac 'n cheese. "I had you pegged as a mac 'n cheese type of girl right from the start. Jack said you'd lived in Seattle and were used to fancier big city stuff. But I just had a feeling." He plucks off a piece of the leftover corn bread to dip in his stew. His thigh is warm against yours.

You laugh and take a big bite then hum gratefully. It’s actually very good. “I’m not used to fancy anything, believe me. But even if I was I’d much rather have a homey mac and cheese.” His thigh shifts against yours under the table and a little flutter of warmth goes through you so you press even closer.

"I like you just the way you are."

When you finish eating, you make sure to clean up while Gavin goes through his pack. It’s starting to get dark and the rain is picking up again.

"Thanks for cleaning up. I'll take the sleeping bags upstairs. I'd hate to have anything happen to that beautiful old quilt." Then he chuckles. "Upstairs higher up in the tree that is." He gathers both the bags up and traverses the carved stairs. Then he looks over his shoulder. "Ready for dessert?"

You laugh a little but a wild flutter goes off in your chest and warmth suffuses you. How could you have gotten this lucky out of nowhere? You try to tamp your excitement in case it doesn’t work but you can’t help it. You’ve never had anyone be this kind, not even at the beginning. “Oh, yes I am,” you smile. You dig a flashlight out of your pack and follow him up.

He unrolls one sleeping bag on the double bed and smooths it out over the mattress then spreads out the second one face down and zips one side and the bottom together making it easy to slide in from the other side. The rain starts coming down a little harder and you're both grateful at how much of the room is actually securely covered. Someone must have done a lot of work getting things in shape before they left. "I'll just grab our packs and bring them up in case we need anything."  He's back in a moment and you notice his hair got a little damp.

You had shimmied out of your jeans while he grabbed the packs like he had done the night before then slipped into the sleeping bags and scooted all the way over so he can slide in too. It was dark now so you left the flashlight on and grinned when he came back in the room. “You’re wet again,” you teased but you loved the way his hair looked a little disheveled.

"Yeah, I grabbed the quilt and folded it back up to put away then I took a look over the edge and out toward the ridge. But I got out too far from the roof," he chuckles. "Didn't get too wet luckily." He reaches in his pack and pulls out a chocolate bar to share. Then he undresses down to his boxers and a tank. You watch his muscles ripple and bunch and can't help admire his strong body.

He has a couple funny tan lines from working so much in the sun but they don’t deter at all from the way he looks. He smiles when he sees you watching him and you’re sure he can see all the less than innocent thoughts in your head. You sit up and pull off your sweater but leave your t-shirt on as he climbs in. “It’s strange how it doesn’t seem to be too cold in here isn’t it? It’s lovely.”

"It is," he agrees. Then he smiles. "Just cool enough for comfortable cuddling...but first..."  He splits the chocolate bar in two and hands you half as he slips into the sleeping bag.

“You definitely know the way to get me in a good mood,” you grin. “Mac ‘n cheese and chocolate in bed?” You curl up close to him and take a bite of the candy, humming with pleasure at the sweet, rich taste.

"You are so different from what Jack has in his head," he says, wrapping his arm around you and pulling you close. "You're beautiful and kind and down to earth. Pretty perfect in my book." 

“I think people in town think I’m a snob because I’m quiet. I’m just…I don’t know,” you shrug and take anther bite of chocolate. “Do you talk about me a lot?” you grin, wriggling closer.

"Well...I have to be honest...I noticed you that first day you came in to interview. Just something about you caught my attention. Thank God your references were so great. Jack had to agree with me you were the best person we could hire. He was impressed too and that's not always easy. But I think he has this idea since you were at that big firm in Seattle that you're a city girl at heart. He told me to be caref....well he told me you'd probably get tired of life down here and move back to the city." He clears his throat.  "Anyway, I'm glad you answered our ad."

“I’m glad I did too. I couldn’t stay in the city anymore. Not with…” you trail off and stop yourself, not wanting to talk about your ex at all. “I noticed you the first day too. But you’re always so busy and I so desperately wanted to do a good job.” You finish the chocolate and snuggle a little closer to him, licking your fingers clean.

You notice a little spot of chocolate on his lower lip as he shifts closer to you and settles. "What?" he inquires as he watches your eyes flick to his lips more than once.

“Um,” you bite your lip, letting your gaze flick to his eyes and lips again. “You missed some,” you smile, then lean forward and slowly swipe your tongue over his full lower lip.

His hazel eyes darken a shade. "Mmmm," he hums and captures you in a slow sensuous kiss, his tongue gliding in to swirl around yours in a possessive dance sending warmth all the way to your toes.

You moan softly into his kiss as he takes over completely and fills you with so much heat you wish you were wearing nothing at all. Your arms slide around his broad shoulders unconsciously as you try to pull him closer.

One strong arm tightens around you as his other hand slides into your hair. A low rumble rolls through his chest sounding like the purr of a large jungle cat. His fingers drag through your hair and it’s so good, you feel like you’re going to melt away. His tongue swirls around yours again, making your heart race. You shift against him, rubbing your foot along his calf.

That masculine rumble rolls through his chest again, vibrating against you. He pulls back so slowly from the kiss and presses a row of kisses along your jawline.

His mouth is hot and insistent and you have to gasp for air when he breaks the kiss as if you had forgotten you need to breathe. “Gavin,” you moan his name. “Something feels different here…almost as if there’s magic in the air…doesn’t it?”

He lets out a shaky breath and you know he’s affected by you too. His dark eyes glitter in the dim light as he looks at you. "Mmm...yes...it does sweetheart.” The rain makes a tinkling sound high overhead...almost like hitting soft chimes and it's sound is like music drifting down from the highest branches.

You think it must’ve been years since you’ve felt as relaxed as this. That voice in your head is still telling you to hide away but you can barely hear it. You let your fingers trace the muscles of his shoulders, perfectly built and lithe and so strong, you can’t get enough.

He nuzzles at your neck softly then whispers, "I think it must be magic that brought you here and brought us to this place and time. It's almost like I remember you from a dream."

“You feel like magic…” you breathe. He’s warm and solid, almost on top of you and his stubble lightly tickles your sensitive skin as he’s careful not to rub. It makes you feel like your entire body is coming alive for the first time.

"You feel so right in my arms," he says, husk in his voice. "Like you were always meant to be there. That probably sounds like a line...but I promise you it's not." He kisses his way down your throat to your pulse point and stops to lightly touch there, his lips warm and soft.

You tilt your head back in pure bliss and shivers of pleasure go through you making you cling to him tighter. “It doesn’t sound like a line. I feel it too.”

He nips gently at your pulse and smiles against your skin as he feels your heartbeat increase. "Either this place is magic or you are," he murmurs in a slightly gruff timbre.

It’s hard to believe it could be you but you can hardly even think with the way he feels. You thread your fingers through his tousled hair and guide his mouth back to yours, wanting to taste him again.

He immediately responds to your coaxing and his lips are on yours, tongue sliding in to possess yours. He presses you closer and deepens the kiss like a man parched, finding an oasis in the desert and leaving you whimpering helplessly beneath him.

His body somehow grows even hotter and feels even better than before. The sleeping bag has fallen away and he’s holding you against him. You tangle your legs with his as he tangles his tongue around yours and it makes you moan softly.

He takes his fill then finally lets you breathe as he kisses his way along your jaw again to that sensitive hollow just behind your ear. He flicks his tongue out to taste just there sending more warm shivers through you and making your center throb. You shift your hips pressing to his firm thigh and you can feel his cock swelling against your stomach. He gives a low rumble and flicks his tongue over that little spot once more.

“Gavin…” you whimper. Pleasure and heat flare inside of you. “If you do that again I’m going to go crazy,” you tease, laughing softly.

He pulls back to smile at you and rubs his hand comfortingly along your side. “Why don’t you catch your breath, sweetheart,” his voice is husky but his words are sure and you know he must have seen that tiny last fleck of lingering anxiousness in your eyes. “I don't mind taking my time with you. Let me just hold you close for awhile and we can listen to the rain. Feel the magic of this place." He adjusts his position and lays back, wrapping his arms around you and snuggling you close to his body.

You curl your arm around him, letting your fingers drift over his chest and tilt your head just a little to look into his dark eyes. “You really don’t mind?”

You can see the emotions swirling there, but mostly you see the warmth and growing affection with that carefully banked simmering heat. You also see the promise of more and the conviction of his words.

“No, I don’t mind. We can wait until you’re 100% sure. I’ll be here no matter what.”

You settle in against his chest again, resting your head on his warm shoulder. You’re almost there, you know, and you have a feeling you’re not going to make it out of this bed without giving in to your desires. But for now, this just feels perfect. “I love the sound of the rain. I couldn’t be happier.”

"Your happiness makes my heart feel warm and full," he murmurs.  He settles you closer against him and his warm breath gently ruffles your hair.

All of him feels so so good.

"I could fall asleep with you pressed against me every single night and die a happy man. Rest for a bit, sweetheart. I’ll be here."

~*~*~

Next up: SMUT! (I promise to get the next part out quicker!)

really hope you like, reblogs, comments and like mean everything <3

[artdcnaldson]

hi boo, as promised, my dodge mason thoughts :))) i was cooking up a storm lol (its very long, apologies)

dodge mason… the cowboy that you are. i need this man more than anything. something about that man just makes me wanna be a sweet innocent christian country girl lol. this is much more cheesy and cutesy than my previous submissions, he just makes my knees weak fr (but also i need him desperately)

im attaching this (hopefully it works) cuz its exactly how i picture him here

alright, picture me this, youve just moved with your dad to this nowhere town in texas. you know no one here, theres nothing to do, youve already graduated high school before the move. its just summer, in a strange place, full of strange people.

maybe youre kind of a farmers daughter type? youve moved onto a ranch, your dad is really into rodeos and he gets you your very own horse. but hell if you know how to ride a horse that big. youd only ever ridden ponies when you were little. its sweet of your dad though, at least now you have a friend to pass the time with.

on one particularly hot day your dad decides that you should go into town a grab a cool drink and enjoy some shade. you settle on the cute looking diner, very fitting for a town like this. if you happen to notice the cute boy behind the counter you dont say anything about it. just steal a couple glances at him, maybe blush a little pink when ordering your shirley temple with an extra cherry. (tihi)

if he notices how pretty your flowy little sundress hugs your waist or sits on top of your thighs while sitting in the booth, he doesnt say anything either. he simply makes a mental note to find out your name, he's sure youre new, he wouldve remembered you if youd gone to the school senior year.

some time later he meets your dad at one of his rodeos (competitions? idk, i am not a country girl yall). spots him in the crowd, sees his opportunity to find out your name. they get to chatting, your dads all too happy to talk about you, his pride and joy. he happens to mention that youre wanting to learn to ride your new horse. dodge happens to offer his assistance. how can he resist an opportunity like that? theres truly nothing he would love more than teach you how to ride... a horse, of course :)))

when your dad had told you hed found a cowboy to teach you how to ride, you had expected another one of your dads friends. already made peace with the fact that it would be slightly awkward but ultimately worth it. but then he shows up, the boy from the diner. a cowboy, huh? definitely not what you were expecting. but hes wearing the boots and the hat, he certainly looks the part. hopefully he can play it too. (also i need him to call me darling and tip his hat, i need to have it)

you try your best to get to know him while he's teaching you, but he's not big on answering questions, instead redirecting them back to you. he does laugh, a beautiful, intoxicating sound, when you make a joke about his name being very fitting. dodging all your questions. (legit giggling to myself rn) he tries to tell you about the town, but he doesnt know much more than you, except this weird game he's heard people are playing over the summer...

he asks a surprising amount of questions about your life, you had pegged him as the quiet, stoic type when you first saw him at the diner. but this charming cowboy whos teaching you how to bond with your horse - because apparently its important for her to trust you before you start riding her - is a totally different story. when you invite him in for some fresh lemonade, hes chatting away with your dad about rodeos and all the places nearby he needs to visit. it wasnt at all what you had expected from him.

he starts spending a lot of time around the farm, teaching you to ride your horse, your dad inviting him to come for dinner, or really any excuse he can find to drop by. hes totally enamoured with you, he even feels a little guilty about it. youre so innocent and pure-hearted, he really has no business flirting with you the way he is. hes sure you cant even tell most of the time, that same sweet smile on your lips every time he speaks. totally unaware of the way his gaze lingers, eyes wandering, glued to your ass when youre wearing those damned blue jeans.

it takes you a long time to learn how to ride your horse, but eventually you get good at it. the day you finally succeed at riding around the farm without his help, you both dread that it might be the last time he comes by. but the next time he shows up on a horse of his own. tells you that he wants to show you more of the area, he takes you around, you talk for hours. simply just enjoying each others company.

the time after that you're already waiting for him outside, that morning you had gotten up earlier than usual, just to spend extra time picking your outfit, styling your hair, blushing your cheeks. this continues for a while. your dad starts to notice, youre acting like a little schoolgirl around him. dodge can tell, hes basking in it, he loves it. his compliments become more frequent and more intentional.

eventually your dad insists on bringing you to one of the rodeos, youre hesitant, youd rather not end up trapped in a long conversation with one of his old friends. but when you realize that dodge will be there, competing, you immediately agree to go. youve never seen him in his element like that. you make sure to wear his favorite dress of yours and style your hair just the way he compliments it the most.

its not like youre together, but you want him to know that youre there for him. to see him. and oh he knows. the second he sees you, he knows. ugh he can barely contain himself. youre standing right there, dressed up just for him, watching him in awe as he hang on tight to the rowdy horse.

need him to come out all sweaty and running high on adrenaline. picking you up and spinning you around, his pretty little thing, all dressed up for him, special for him. i need him to be so caught up in the moment that he put his hat on your head, kissing your cheek. luckily your dad had left with some buddies, because everyone at the rodeo knows what it means to wear a cowboys hat, everyone but you. you dont realize that hes staking his claim on you, making it clear to anyone who looks at you that you're his. not that you would have minded that part if youd known.

i need someone to make comment/joke about the cowboy hat rule, and dodge teaching you to ride, to which you enthusiastically, but oh so very cluelessly, mention that yes, hes been trying teaching you for a while now. but that youre only just starting to it right, something about it all being in the hips. i need you to look up at him confused when he just drags you away, mumbling something about that guy being an ass and promising to explain later...

what the fuck do yall know about my man dodge mason. my man my man my man. i havent stopped thinking about him since that fancam... i need to be the innocent farmers daughter who gets corrupted by the handsome mysterious cowboy, such a clique, but i need it anyway!!!!!

-🐞

NEEDHIMNEEDHIMNEEDHIM

This is soooo so sweet too like :(( he’s literally the only thing that makes Carp bearable :((

Just thinking about like having your first kiss with him like maybe a cute little picnic you set up in a little clearing hidden away from prying eyes 🥺

It’s all innocent and sweet— you made little sandwiches, and cut up fruits, and made him a pie. Little glass bottles of lemonade. It’s all so sweet, like you’d copied it off of an old movie.

And you’re talking his ear off and he’s so fine with that— he’s more of a listener anyway. Besides, you look so pretty with your hair in braids, a little sundress, glowing from the sheen of sweat on your skin.

He interrupts you mid sentence with a kiss, nearly knocking his teeth into yours. Your eyes stay wide for a moment, but you melt into him like butter. Its so chaste and sweet, but you end up on his lap and his tongue is in your mouth and his hands are palming your ass 🥰

#needthat

[michelasnook]

NOBODY'S SOLDIER

Sergeant Francesca Herrald doesn't like being in the military. She is one of the best snipers and the most meticulous medic. But at nineteen she desires to just live her teenage years. Inside the Fourth Squadron she just has to work. And she hates it.

Lieutenant Johnathan Price sees in the sister of his Captain a sad teen that wishes to escape that reality of blood and death. Even if she works with extraordinary focus and energy. He tries to make her life a bit more cheerful, but just when he thinks he is doing some progress, she turns and leaves. However, he just can let her go.

Now, something is wrong with her, more than usual. And he will do his best to understand her.

Words (for the chapter): 2503;

Warnings and tags (for the whole story): Lieutenant John Price, angst, depictions of violence, age gap, eventual smut, fluff, brother-sister relationship, panick attacks, minor character death, eventually more warnings.

A/N: So I started writing this story and I am now ready to start publish it all around. I fell in love with Francesca since the first chapters, and I hope I can manage to bring this story to conclusion (I've never finished a story in my life, but I feel confident). English is not my first language, but I hope there aren't any errors.

I. The Emptiness Machine

LONDON , 23rd of October, 2009. 

   I can imagine them all screaming my name, in unison, and then headbanging at the rhythm of my music. Even if my eyes are closed, I can see them all, while I move my head and strung the chords of my imaginary guitar. The riff is hard, but I know I'm nailing every note, making them all scream in awe. 

   I reach the most difficult part, my left hand going up and down the air and pressing on the right chords, with the right pressure, and when I almost nail it completely- one of my earbuds falls.

   No, it doesn't fall: Elia has yanked it out. He is looking at me, slightly disappointed.

   The pub all around me takes form again as the other people at the table chat. I sigh and pause the music on my iPod.

   "Care to grace us with your presence, Franny?" Elia asks me with a smile. I respond with a playful face, sticking my tongue out. He chuckles, turning back to his beer as the others laugh and talk.

   I swirl my shirley temple and then take a sip from the straw. I hate when my brother forces me to go out with our squad. He wants for me to socialize outside our job, but it's hard if you can't even drink alchool and all you want to do is just read and listen to music. It's even harder to try and make friend at base if everyone sees you Captain Herrald's little sister, or as the child of Major Herrald and Colonel Pearson-Herrald. Yet here I am, Sergeant Medic of the 4th British Squadron.

   I pluck the cherry from my drink and pop it into my mouth, just as Lieutenant Price sits down beside me with a dark beer in hand. I glance at it, wishing I could take a sip.

   "It's a Guinnes, right?" I ask, clear longing and sadness in my voice. John turns with shy smile and nods to me, then turns towards my brother and checks him. Slowly, without drawing attention, he slides the pint over to me. Grinning, I take a quick, satisfying sip before handing it back.

   "Thanks" I mutter, still savouring the dark tones of that good and cool Guinnes on my tongue.

   "Didn't peg you for a beer person" he says taking a drink from the same spot I pressed my lips on.

   "I enjoy a fresh Guinnes," I admit, "It's harsh to just drink it every now and then only when you pass me illegal sips." I pocket my iPod and earbuds in the big and old hoodie.

   He chuckles deep and smiles, shifting on his stool. "So, are you in on this mission?"

   Lieutenant Jonathan Price is the only one in the squad that actually tries to empatise and understand me. All the men and women at the table have enrolled because they wanted to, because they needed to give all their life to our country. But me? I don't want to risk my life only to save people I don't even know.

   I enrolled in the military academy at sixteen, but already at twelve I was trained by my father and deep in medical books under the scrutinous eyes of my mother. They wanted for me to be a military medic, a trauma field surgeon. And they got that, even if every night, at least until at seventeen I accepted my fate, I cried until I fell asleep. Under the command of my brother they now have total control of my being. Them and the United Kingdom, even if I just want to disappear in my old room in Bournemouth reading stories of dragons and fairies.

   John doesn't know the full story, but he listens when I talk. He's my sounding board when I need to vent, and I ignore his growing nicotine addiction as a form of silent gratitude. Sometimes, we share a cigarette when my brother isn't around.

   "I have no way out, so Afghanistan here I come!" I say mocking a tost and then take another slow sip. "Again, I suppose".

   John doesn't laugh, but just tries to smile to encourage me. "You can still leave, you can't stay out of coercion" he whispers, trying to not be heard by my brother that is just in front of him on the other side of the table. Elia is laughing at some joke Private MacGavin has said.

   "Except I can't if I want to stay in touch with all my family and not be disinherited" I suck even the last drop of my drink and then push it with the other glasses that have gathered from the others. "You know, I still would like some kind of family. So... I am stuck".

   I have two families: my actual blood and all family, and my gunpowder and injuries family. If I walk away, I would lose them both.

   "You wouldn't lose me, Sonne" he says, cues another one of his cute smiles. But I cringe at him for using my code name. 

   "Oh, don't worry. My brother would make sure of that" Elia thinks exactly as my father, even if he is more pleasant to be around and he cares about me more. 

   Elia and John are best friends, my brother has took the young Lieutenant under his wing, almost making him de facto his second in command. There isn't one single thing John wouldn't do under Elia's command. 

   "I have a mind of my own. Elia can make sure of whatever, but I think I'll never stop sneaking you sips of Guinnes" he chuckles at the end of the phrase and then pats me on my head, a few strands of ash blond hair falling on my forehead. I look at him, admiring him a few seconds. 

   If just he looked at me the same lovingly way I am looking at him now.

   "Thanks, Price" I say with a half sigh, then I turn to the little stage where three young teens are performing a Radiohead's song. I don't dare look at the Lieutenant for the rest of the night, not if I can avoid it.

-----------------------------------------------------

HELMAND PROVINCE, AFHGANISTAN, 25th of october, 2009.

   The base is rumbling with action: trucks rolling in and out, squadrons full of privateers marching around, weapons firing off in the distance. And the dust, there is too much dust, that is around our boots, that deposit on our faces and threatens to get in our eyes. It's not a place I like, it's not where I can find myself, opposite of my brother. 

   I look at him while he talks off in the distance with a Corporal that has orders to pass to him. His hands are on his hips, nodding and moving his hands if he needs to explain something. In his uniform and combact gear he looks the part; hell, he is the part. Elia thrives in this life. Meanwhile, I am here, just surviving it. 

   Captain Herrald returns with a piece of paper that the Corporal has given him, and looks at us with a sigh. He looks displeased.

   "The Chinook's been delayed. We're stuck here until tomorrow afternoon. They need us to work in the meantime. Franny, report to Role 3. John, head to JOC..." His voice is commanding, as always, but I barely hear the rest. I gather my gear and head to the Combat Support Hospital without waiting for further instructions.

   Role 3 is where I find a sense of purpose, if not belonging. After stowing my things in a small office, I report to Major Sheffield, the hospital's commanding officer. She's tall, redheaded, and carries herself with quiet authority. 

   "Seargent Herrald, I heard many great things about your operations. Care to walk with me?" Major Sheffield asks me, and I nod when she starts walking like she owns the place. Because she does, she owns the place. This is her hospital. 

   "So young and already putting your hands inside men's stomach to make them return home to their families, you must be proud" she says while we walk up the stairs and enter the surgical floor, where the many wounded soliders are awaiting their surgeries or to be discharged, ready to go home or back to action. 

   I mentally sigh when she saysthose words, because I don't know how to answer. But I smile, put myself practically on attention with my hands together behind my back and give her a cordial smile. "Yes, I am" I simply say, lowering my military medical surgeon mask. 

   "We have one surgery where we could really use another set of capable hands. Can I count you in?" she asks, while another doctor gives her a chart. 

   "If we finish before dinner, sure" I say with a smile, she returns it and leaves the chart for me to study. 

   Here I am, back to work. And the only thing I hope is that this base has good hiding spots. Even in this place, which should feel like my sanctuary, I still feel trapped.

------------------------------------------------------

   The desert wind feels fresh on my skin, like the vanilla ice cream I'm eating while sitting on the rooftop of our barrack. I can look at the stars clearly, like they've been painted just for me. One thing that I can surely be happy about this job is that it makes me travel around the world. Sure, it doesn't let me be a proper tourist, but at least I get to watch the sky from different parts of this planet. And this ice cream is actually really good. 

   I moan quietly with closed eyes when I savour in my mouth the last spoon of this wednesday's base dessert, then sigh at the sight of the empty cup. Even the small pleasure of life are short-lived here, and I am now left with the spectacle that is the base ahead of me. 

   It's dinner time, even if in half an hour everyone has to go to sleep, the base is still alive with activity. Everyone is busy with something, and me... I am just hiding. 

   Rooftops are my speciality, just like operation rooms. It's the duality of being a sniper and a doctor. I have two hiding places, but with time even these places feel so wrong to me. I don't belong. 

   I lean back on my elbows, listening to the rhythm of the soldiers marching below. I close my eyes and I take a big breath. Trying to convince myself that I belong here, that I am doing something actually right for me and for the people. But which people?

   Behind me, I can sense someone is climbing up the pipe to reach the roof, and then I hear the unmistakable sound of my brother's footsteps. Elia sits besides me with an non-alcoholic beer in hand. I didn't realise they would give beers out at base. 

   "Ugh, are you here to remind me that I'm still to young to drink?" I ask with a sigh. In response he hands me the green bottle. I smile and take a swig, but immediatly girmace at the taste and give it back in disgust. "Why do you drink this blonde shit?" I ask, wiping the drops around my mouth. 

   "I am blonde, we are blonde. Of course I am going to like a blonde beer" he says with a chuckle in his voice, looking out the base, but his expression is different from mine. 

   I can see it in his face, in his eyes. He is surveying his domain, his land, like a King. His dream is taking our father's position, rise to his rank. So yeah, he wants to be the King of this land. 

   "Everything good at the hospital?" he asks, still not looking at me, his diamond-like eyes reflecting the moonlight as his golden beard gleams.

   "I did four GSWs, a fasciotomy, and cleaned so many burns and immobilized so many fractures that I lost count" I say, groaning as my shoulders scream for rest. I give in, lying down with a tired sigh. "I was in the OR for nine hours, then spent the rest of the time in the trauma wing." My muscles ease as my back hits the ground.

   I open my eyes and see Elia's usual proud smile when it comes to my work. When it comes to be happy about what I accomplish, Elia does it for me. He covers joy and proudness for all my family, decanting my successes in the field, from the lives I save to the enemies I take down. 

   "You've been awfully quiet, Fran" he says, setting his beer aside and turning towards me for the first time this evening. 

   "I always am" I say, avoiding his gaze. 

   I look at his forehead, his cheeks, even his lips- anywhere but his eyes. If I look at him in his eyes he'll see that I am scared to be here, that I don't want to be here. Just like how when we were kids and he could always tell how much I hated our father's training. And he would take the beatings for me. 

   Elia doesn't know still don't want to be here. He thinks I found some deep sense of patriotism at sixteen when I enrolled. He doesn't know what convinced me to stay.

   I can't let him see how scared and angry I am. It would be misinterpreted as a lack of confidence in my ability, and even though I hate it, I'm damn good at my job. This whole setup is insane, but I can handle it.

   "If you are bothered in some way, you can talk to me. I'm here as your brother, not as your Captain" he says, trying to meet my eyes. My eyes fall on his collar, where his insignias are, then his chest, decorated with medals. 

   Here, he's just my Captain. He doesn't get it. He never will. This is his land, not mine. 

   "I am fine, Elia. Just need to get through this mission" I say with a deep breath, moving my eyes back up, to the sky, to the indifferent dying stars. 

   He nods, staying by my side for a few more minutes. Then he finishes his beer, pats me on my shoulder and climbs back down. I sit back up, look down and can see my brother meeting with his Lieutenant. 

   John looks relaxed, though a bit tired from the work day. However, he looks like he could do it all over again. He's twenty-three and already a lieutenant; at this pace, he'll have Elia's job in a few deployments.

   I see Elia telling him something, and then John looks up in my direction. I stay where I am and wave. He returns the gesture, touching the visor of his cap and flashing me a small, kind smile. 

   Oh, I really liked that smile. Damn as hell I need to get to Lucy after all this shit. 

[doyouknowthisactor]

By "roles" I mean playing a different character, and in a different piece of media; someone playing one character across a franchise only counts as one thing for the purposes of this poll, as does playing multiple characters in one franchise/piece of media

Below are some of this actor's roles. Please only check after voting!

Sorry to Bother You as Diana DeBauchery

Don't Worry Darling as Peg

Dream Scenario as Mary

A League of Their Own 2022 as Shirley Cohen

More roles

[clementine-kesh]

ok you know the episode of community where annie, britta, and shirley discover that abed has a hidden talent for shit talking during their lunchtime gossip sessions and use him to bring the cool girls down a peg then he inevitably becomes Too Powerful and has to be taken down? i can see that exact scenario happening with tuvok, chakotay, and b’elanna + seven (seven is abed of course)

[lucassantostoons]

Felix the Cat's Birthday Party Guest List

Mickey Mouse

Mickey Mouse

Minnie Mouse

Donald Duck

Daisy Duck

Goofy

Pluto

Clarabelle Cow

Ludwig Von Drake

Goof Troop

Max Goof

Pete

Peg Pete

PJ

Pistol Pete

Chip N Dale Rescue Rangers

Chip N Dale

Gadget Hackwrench

Monterey Jack

Zipper

The Three Caballeros

Panchito Romero Miguel Junipero Francisco Quintero Gonzales III

Jose Carioca

DuckTales (1987)

Scrooge McDuck

Huey Duck

Dewey Duck

Louie Duck

Webby Vanderquack

Bubba the cave duck

Bentina Beakley

Launchpad McQuack

Darkwing Duck

Drake Mallard / Darkwing Duck

Gosalyn Mallard

Looney Tunes

Bugs Bunny

Lola Bunny

Daffy Duck

Porky Pig

Petunia Pig

Sylvester J Pussycat

Granny

Tweety Bird

Tasmanian Devil

Wile E Coyote

Roadrunner

Marvin the Martian

K-9

Pepe Le Pew

Penelope

Speedy Gonzales 

Gossamer

Witch Hazel

Foghorn Leghorn

Elmer Fudd

Yosemite Sam

Mac Gopher

Tosh Gopher

Tiny Toon Adventures

Buster Bunny

Babs Bunny

Plucky Duck

Hamton J Pig

Furrball the Cat

Shirley The Loon

Fifi La Fume

Lil Sneezer

Gogo Dodo

Dizzy Devil

Calamity Coyote

Little Beeper

Arnold the Pit Bull

Byron Basset

Fowlmouth

Mary Melody

Bookworm

Concord Condor

Barry Marky

Marcia the Martian

Animaniacs

Yakko Warner

Wakko Warner

Dor Warner

Pinky and the Brain

The Godpigeon

The Girlfeathers

Pipsqueak

Slappy Squirrel

Skippy Squirrel

Rita

Runt

Mindy

Buttons

Freakazoid

Freakazoid

Tom & Jerry

Tom Cat

Jerry Mouse

Droopy Dog

Butch the Bulldog

Woody Woodpecker

Woody Woodpecker

Winnie Woodpecker

Knothead Woodpecker

Splinter Woodpecker

Chilly Willy

The Adventures of Rocky & Bullwinkle & Friends

Rocky the Flying Squirrel

Bullwinkle J. Moose

Mr. Peabody

Sherman

Betty Boop

Betty Boop

Bimbo the Dog

Bonkers

Bonkers D. Bobcat

Fall Apart Rabbit

Fawn Deer

Jitters A. Dog

Miranda Wright

Disney Princess Characters 

Snow White

Bashful

Happy

Grumpy

Sleepy

Sneezy

Dopey

Doc

Prince Charming

Cinderella

Gus

Jaq

Aurora

Still work in progress

[the-unspeakable-tsar]

The Holmes Family Tree

At the top are the parents. Sherlock's father; Sieger, Sherlock's Mother, Violet Rutherford; and Sherlock's Stepmother Eudoria

First lets start with Violet and Sieger's children:

Sherlock, Sherringford, Mycroft, Shirley, and Rutherford

Then there are Eudoria and Sieger's Children:

Enola, Sigrina, and Siegerson.

Let's start with the branch that descends directly from Sherlock.

I have placed Sherlock's Children as five in Number. Raffles is the son of Majorie Raffles (the sister of A.J Raffles). Henry Holmes and his wife Elizabeth are the creations of the Charlotte Holmes series.

Keep Sherlock Holmes Jr in mind as we'll focus on him later. We'll go down Henry and Elizabeth's line.

Pascal, Valentina, Agatha, Perpetua and Johnathan Holmes are the children of Elizabeth and Henry

Crispin and Morland are Pascal and Elizabeth's sons. Crispin marries Celine, and Morland marries May. Keep Morland in mind.

Crispin and Elizabeth have the following children: Alistair, Agatha, Julian, Leander.

Morland is a complicated old bastard with two sons: Sherlock and Mycroft. Note that i've written Elementary beneath them.

Alistair and Emma have: Milo and Charlotte

Julian and Kim Min-Ji: Margarate Holmes, Carmilla Holmes, and Sherlock Holmes (Sherlock & Co.)

Now let's move to the side along the chart and go back to one of Sherlock's children.

Sherlock Jr is a problem, I've decided. He is the start of a parallel branch. He had some unknown son. then that son would in time go on to sire the lineage that produced the following

Euris, Mycroft, and Sherlock (BBC's Sherlock). Euris would then later bear a child with a descendent of Moriarty. Resulting in Ron Kamonohashi.

Mycroft has a smaller branch. Three children:

Andrew Holmes, Violet Holmes, and Isabella Holmes.

Violet Holmes would then have a child later with James Bond, resulting in Clive Reston.

Shirly Holmes would marry Charles Jones. Resulting in the birth of Fetlock Jones and Laura Jones.

Laura Jones and her husband Lord Hamish Croft establish the lineage that would come to result in Laura Croft.

Fetlock's is Jupiter, and his daughter Charlotte marries Peerless Jones.

The following children of Peerless and Charlotte are: Barnaby, Darwin, and David.

David Marries Judith Walton and has three children: Fred Jones Sr, Martin "Merlin" Jones, and Ellie. Fred Jones Sr later illegally adopts a son, naming him "Fred Jones Jr".

Barnaby has a son named Harold and a grandson named Jebediah Romano Jones.

Sherringford Holmes, the older brother of both Mycroft and Sherlock, would have three children. Richard, an unknown country squire, and Sebastian.

Richard would change his surname to Queen in the United States to establish himself as an independent detective. He has two sons, Dan and Ellery Queen.

Ellery has two sons: Ellery Junior and Gullivar.

The Squire has one son: Stuart. Stuart has two kids, Jenny and David.

Sebastian marries a woman named Peg: Through them they have a son named Robert who becomes an ambassador for the United Kingdom.

Robert and his wife Joanna then later have a daughter named Shirley Holmes (many of her name).

Rutherford is Sherlock's twin brother and a vampire (making him a genetic dead end).

Sigerson Holmes (son of Eudoria) marries Jenny Hill, a descendent of Fanny Hill. Their daughter then marries a Weston and have a son named Geoffrey Weston.

I wasn't sure how to fit Enola Holme because, as far as I know,w she doesn't go on to have anyone I can identify as being a possible descendent. (good for her.)

Lastly, Charlotte Holmes. I also believe that Charlotte was having an affair with Mary Watson, but that is neither here nor there. She marries some fuck-off prince named Rupert of Kravonia and they have a son: Alexander (i accidentally named him Rupert as well in the image).

Sirgrina and John Vanstattart Smith have three Children:

Dennis Nayland Smith, Violet Smith, and John Smith.

Dennis Nayland fathers: George, Harold, and John "Hannibal" Smith.

Violet marries a man named Sneed and has a son named Lancaster "Shockwave" Sneed. A supervillain from Marvel Comics who used to beat the fuck out of Shang-Chi.

Thus concludes the family tree of The Holmes. Please reblog or message me if you have questions or comments.

[aletterinthenameofsanity]

sister I'm trying to hold off the lightning (and help you escape from your head) (Jeffbritta finale fic)

Title is from "Deep End" by Holly Humberstone. Finale character study of Jeff Winger. Crossposted on ao3.

Jeff and Britta, at the end.

---

At the end of it all, as Season 7 dawns, there are only two souls left from the beginning to make their way to the study room table. The two who started it all, end it all, remain at all.

Two lonely souls, alone at last.

Annie and Abed have left. Shirley left for that detective that Jeff's pretty sure she ended up marrying- there's an opened and unanswered invitation sitting sadly on his kitchen counter. Troy abandoned them all for the high seas long ago. Pierce died.

Frankie and the Dean and Chang are all still here, and they matter, but they didn't sit here at the study table on that fateful night where the closest thing that Jeff has ever had to a family began.

Abed would love the symmetry. But Abed is gone. Someone more sentimental than Jeff might even say that Abed's heart left long ago, dying in the lava floes beneath the school. 

Jeff takes a gulp of his beer, his thumb smoothing over label of whatever discount brand the local gas station provided. He's years, lifetimes, away from the expensive bottles of brandy his old law firm provided.

It's been years, but the bitter taste of ambition still tastes stronger than the sour sting of the beer in his hands. He'd entered this school and this study group with two goals: get his bachelor's as quickly as possible, and fuck the blonde in his Spanish class. 

He's accomplished both, and look where it's landed him. As alcoholic as he once was, a teacher at a school that chewed him up and spat him out a better man with a far more broken heart than he entered with.

The door creaks open. A familiar face beneath darker hair enters. This season, this year, Britta's traded out her leather jackets for sweatshirts, her bleach-blonde curls for the natural darkening of the years. She's lost some of that natural intensity that once attracted her to him, more often to be found with eye crinkles than pouty lips.

She's grown up. Matured, but also softened. Let the years wear her away as firmly as they have him.

They have eroded, here. Weathered away into sand. Become older and more brittle and more nuanced.

"Last ones left," Britta says, as if she can read his mind. That's what intimacy is, Jeff supposes- years of close quarters and paintball fights and quick fucks and teasing and supporting and screaming boiled down to, at the end of the day, the kind of telepathy that aches because the person in front of you is more mirror than anything else.

Jeff tilts his bottle to her. She toasts him with her own glass of amber liquid as she sits down in her seat, forever next to him, forever around a corner from him. 

The table is empty around them. The seats hold ghosts, taken away by airplanes and boats and Buddhist funeral ceremonies and the sands of time.

Jeff's maudlin. He knows it. His Season 7 pitch was never what he truly wanted. Who needs a bunch of hot redheads when his family is gone?

He wants them back. He wants everything, their flaws, their strengths, their babbling voices, their annoying quirks. He wants their round pegs to fill the square hole in his heart.

But they've all grown up. They've all left. 

And he's been left behind.

Britta's hand settles on the table, palm up, an offering.

Jeff looks past her hand at the table. At the one they built together, when the old one was smashed to pieces. This one has no notches. They have not christened it with paint and dirty talk and sweat.

An old dilemma from Jeff's questionably-taught Philosophy 101 class filters back to him: the Ship of Theseus. If you replace every part of a ship, is still the same ship? Or is it something completely new?

The table is new. The study group is almost completely replaced.

But at the center of it all, Britta and Jeff remain. They are still here. 

Jeff looks back up at Britta. There is a kindness in Britta's eyes that has always been there, even beneath the snark and intensity that he first met her with. She's always wanted the best for others. It's why she paid for Abed's first film class with money she didn't quite have, why she pursued a psychology degree, why she has always been first unto the breach and the last one to retreat.

Britta Perry is is bitten-down finger nails and eye crinkles and snarky comments and bad analogies. She is stubborn and bright and flawed and passionate and a buzzkill and a failed therapist and a lapsed anarchist.

She is, at the end of it all, Jeff's best friend. Not by circumstance, not by artifice, but by choice.

She deserves to have someone choose her in return.

He hasn't been left behind. Not quite. The rest of the group left him, yes, but not because of him- because of themselves. Because of what they need for themselves. Self-discovery, their own lives, their own dreams.

Jeff wants to believe that someday, they'll be back. He'll get to see them all again, wrap his arms around them all, pull them into a group hug full of laughter and old jokes and new happiness.

But for now, he still has friends, both old and new. He has Frankie and the Dean and Chang, in all of their messy, crazy glory.

And he has Britta. He has Britta Perry, so different and so similar to the woman he started this study group with.

Jeff reaches out and takes Britta's hand, curling her familiar fingers between his own.

"Last ones out," he says, and it feels like a promise. An oath. A vow.

Jeff smiles, and Britta smiles right back.

[justsomeguycore]

i’ve done some thinking on the jeff shirley fucking issue and i think if she got to do a full dominatrix thing and tied him up and whipped and pegged him that would be good for both of them. sorry good christian mother you’re going in the fishnets

[hisprettyboyiguess]

i bet shirley pegs u

😐😑😐

How is whether or not he pegs me relevant? (He does)

[yourlilkaiju]

I really don't understand why people find the need to join a fandom and be so obsessed with a person for their looks to the point that they are willing to attack others so viciously that they are willing to turn the other cheek to things like abuse. @cynifer, honey. Are you proud of yourself? Do you take pleasure sending your spies and flying monkeys at the anti's? Does it make you happy or miserable? Frankly these things aren't really all that logical to me and you frustrate me. Your ideals are pedantic at best and for a grown woman, you act like a teenager fresh out of highschool. I dealt with girls like you. Most who acted like you were the bullies and also the ones who bashed my head into the wall without a second thought.....I am kind of grinning because those same girls thought that I was not the type to fight back.

No.

See.

You went after my mom.

Rookie mistake.

I can hold my own. My mom can hold herself up like a lady 25/8. I, however, have scared the shit outa military personnel and grabbed business execs by the balls (figuratively speaking) and made sure that they ate out the palm of my hand by noon. I am not scared of people hiding behind a computer because there are worse things in life than a scared little girl who likes to send well meaning ladies into swamps to find personal fulfillment at the end of the day. I do not like scolding other adults. But if I have to take an insecure overgrown wannabe Shirley orphan Annie's down a peg, then I fucking will.

Do not mess with a southern bitches mama.

As for the Jensen Ackles ordeal, FIND A NEW FREAKING OBSESSION. Christ Almighty, YOU ARE FIFTY FUCKING YEARS OLD. I have my own obsessions and I get it. It's cool to have things that make you happy. But he is a person. He has a life. PICK A NEW FICTIONAL HUSBAND. Key word there being FIC-TIO-NAL.

Happy spying.

I'll happily be buried on the hill I stand on because at least with SEPHIROTH and the REST OF THE FINAL FANTASY FANDOM I am happy.

A good number of the SUPERNATURAL HELLERS, COCKLES and AA's are just...no.

Jfc.

Maybe I should change my name to Dorothy and have my mom dress up as Glenda for Halloween. Got any ruby red slippers for me to inherit? I got a janky house.

Now if you excuse me, I'ma go be happy.

In my final fantasy, DMC and Resident evil bullshit with some anime nonsense. Kay? Kay.

Cynifer! Darling! It’s been ages….

But definitely not long enough.

Lord.

You must be referring to me about the part regarding Danneel abusing Jensen. (She did/is, but go off.)

But um.

Sweetie.

I haven’t said a damned thing about that interview you’re referring to. I mean… where did I say it?

Also, block and ignore yet you keep talking about us!

Maybe follow your own advice.

Bye sweetie! Definitely be a stranger!

[lindaseccaspina]

Almonte and History of its Cinema Life - Shirley Todorskl

Clipping from the files of Lucy Connelly Poaps CLIPPED FROMThe Ottawa JournalOttawa, Ontario, Canada09 Apr 1920, Fri  •  Page 7 Margery Wilson Hollywood Actress Comes to Almonte 1924 “Our Town Is The World” Part 2 — 1950 International Movie Almonte Our Town Is the World— 1950 Almonte International Movie — Local Cast Names Peg O My Heart — Gracie Mark’s Belt “Cry Me a River’ Movies Shot in…

[bloodhive]

my top five books of 2022 (in no particular order)

hangsaman by shirley jackson. a bildungsroman centering on college freshman natalie waite, who spends a great deal of time inside her head. deals with growing pains, sexual abuse, mental illness, and trauma. it’s got an almost parallel plot structure that i really enjoyed, and natalie is an incredibly relatable character for any young woman who’s ever felt monstrous in her righteous anger. “imagine being people.”

sharp objects by gillian flynn. a sort of mystery about a journalist fresh out of the psych ward who’s been assigned to the disappearances of two little girls from her hometown. deals with self-harm, cycles of abuse, grief, and familial relationships. it features a cast of fascinating characters who play off each other in increasingly fucked up ways and in my opinion is gillian flynn’s best novel. definitely also read her article “i was not a nice little girl...” once you’ve finished.

scandal at bizarre: rumor and reputation in jefferson's america by cynthia a. kierner. historical nonfiction on nancy randolph and the bizarre plantation through a societal lens rather than a biographical one. it’s incredibly informative and well-written, kierner’s sources are cited religiously, and there’s a few pictures that aren’t easily accessible elsewhere. that being said, at times it reads more like a college textbook than a work of narrative nonfiction, so i found it to be a rather labor-intensive read.

in the dream house by carmen maria machado. a memoir detailing an abusive relationship through narrative tropes. machado writes beautifully and draws from a variety of sources, i left this book with an extensive list of other media to check out. there’s really no way to describe this book in my opinion. it’s innovative and emotional and amazing and everyone — particularly women who’re interested in other women — should read it. my favorite chapters(?) are “dream house as bluebeard,” “dream house as haunted mansion,” and “dream house as ambiguity.”

peg plunkett: memoirs of a whore by julie peakman. a biography on margaret “peg” plunkett, an 18th century sex worker, brothel keeper, and writer from dublin. pulling primarily from peg’s own memoirs with a variety of other sources throughout, peakman’s book paints a picture of both peg’s life and sex work in 18th century ireland as a whole, with some forays into london as well. it’s incredibly readable (as far as historical nonfiction goes) while still maintaining an academic vibe. definitely read if you’re interested in 18th century ireland and/or sex history. 

[mybookplacenet]

Featured Author Interview: Claudia Ricci

Tell us about yourself.: I started my professional life as a journalist for two major newspapers but turned to fiction writing three decades ago. During a bout of cancer in 2002, I started painting and it has flourished over the years. Where did you grow up, and how did this influence your writing?: I grew up in the Hudson Valley of New York State, and always loved to read. I remember spending summers with piles of books. Living in a beautiful rural area, I felt close to nature and that surely influenced my first book, Dream Maples, a story of women artists set in a sugarbush in southern Vermont. Do you have any unusual writing habits? For many years I "saw" my fiction like a film strip inside my mind. All I had to do was sit down and the words just poured out. More recently, I have been writing out of a more spiritual energy. I meditate every morning and often ideas come to me during this quiet time. What authors have influenced you? I grew up in the Hudson Valley of New York State, and always loved to read. I remember spending summers with piles of books. Living in a beautiful rural area, I felt close to nature and that surely influenced my first book, Dream Maples, a story of women artists set in a sugarbush in southern Vermont. Do you have any advice for new authors? Try to write every day. Try to say the things that are deepest in your heart. Try to lay the images and ideas out in the most poetic prose possible. And then, after you publish, don't get bogged down worrying about how many people are reading your writing. You are writing for yourself. You are writing out of a deep psychic need, so just keep showing up at the computer. I think of the writing practice as if I am going outdoors every morning with a beautiful silver cup. I hold the cup up and let the words flow in. Some days the cup is sparsely filled but that's OK. And some days the cup is overflowing!!! The best book I can recommend to young writers is Brenda Ueland's classic, "If You Want To Write." As Ueland points out, "No writing is a waste of time." And "Inspiration comes very slowly and quietly. When I wait with inspiration, my time is not wasted." Ueland wrote some six million words in her 93 feisty years! What is the best advice you have ever been given? "Just keep writing!" I got my PhD in English at UAlbany, SUNY, in 1996 in a program called, Writing, Teaching and Criticism. I became very close friends with another fiction writer, PM "Peg" Woods. We continue to write together every week on Zoom. Whenever one of us gets stuck we remind each other that the only way forward is to "just keep writing." So that means you might write some 2,500 pages (as I did with Dreaming Maples) to produce a 425 page finished book. And it might take you 23 years to finish a book, as it did with my third book, Sister Mysteries. What are you reading now? "The Oracle of Stamboul," by Michael David Lukas and "Hell of a Book" by Jason Mott. Both are very very strong works of fiction (for very different reasons.) I try to find books that are not only technically masterful but also offer characters I can really care about. Too many "fine" works of fiction leave me wondering why I should care about the characters. What's your biggest weakness? I am impatient by nature, so I have to work at slowing down and appreciating small steps in the writing process. (That's also true for my painting.) What is your favorite book of all time? Ah, it has changed over the years. As a youngster I loved Jane Eyre and I have read it many times. In high school, it was Faulkner's "The Sound and the Fury," as I had no idea that you could write in stream of consciousness as he did. In grad school it was "The Song of the Lark" by Willa Cather, the captivating story of a young woman becoming a singer. Today I'd have to say that there are many favorites, including "Beloved" by Toni Morrison, "The Hours" by Michael Cunningham, "The Keepers of the House" by Shirley Ann Grau, and my own novels, which are like children to me. When you're not writing, how do you like to spend your time? Hiking in the Rocky Mountains and the Sierras, canoeing, traveling, especially in Italy, sewing and gardening. And of course playing with my grandchildren, who are gifts from heaven. Exercise is essential to my writing process, as it clears my mind and calms me down. Do you remember the first story you ever read, and the impact it had on you? As a very young child, I loved "The Bobbsey Twins, again, because I loved the characters, two sets of twins, Nan and Bert, and Flossie and Freddie. I still have the books on my shelf! What has inspired you and your writing style? I have been inspired most of all by nature, and by writers who write beautiful poetic prose about nature. I have been inspired by music, especially flamenco, in my second and third novels. I have been inspired by paintings, most of all the work of Impressionists, especially Renoir. I have been inspired by the stories of my Italian ancestors too. What are you working on now? I am working on a book that is both memoir and fiction. It's a tale about my great grandfather, Pasquale Orzo, who was born out of wedlock in southern Italy in 1870. (He was given the name Orzo, a type of macaroni, and I believe it was a way of branding him for life as an "illegitimate".) Most babies born out of wedlock in those days in Italy perished so it's a miracle that he lived. I have started to write his story and his mother's, and it is forcing me into fiction. What is your favorite method for promoting your work? Hosting parties and readings in bookstores and other venues. Also, I am an avid blogger and a lover of Instagram so I try to promote my work on each. What's next for you as a writer? I have all I can do writing the book I am writing now (I started it two years ago.) How well do you work under pressure? I was once a daily newspaper reporter (most recently with "The Wall Street Journal.") I could meet any deadline, even with complex stories. But these days, I see no reason to pressure myself with artificial deadlines. I live day by day, in deep gratitude and appreciation for the bounty of blessings I've been given. How do you decide what tone to use with a particular piece of writing? The tone comes with the words. The first chapter of my new novel, "Pearly Everlasting," poured out of me in a breathless staccato voice, in part because it was about a sexual assault. Other writing in the same book is slow and very poetic. It all depends on what is happening. If you could share one thing with your fans, what would that be? I would share my deep appreciation for writing and reading -- which are gifts. What a miracle that we have brains to create the words and images and characters and worlds we create. How amazing that we then have hands and fingers to transfer these complex ideas to paper and ebooks, and astonishing eyes to read the books that are written. All of it is part of a great great mystery and one I am constantly thankful for. Claudia Ricci's Author Websites and Profiles Website Amazon Profile Goodreads Profile Claudia Ricci's Social Media Links Facebook Page Twitter Instagram LinkedIn Read the full article