#brothers jones feels

[adankrivervalleynearyou]

glee textposts pt. 7

texts w me and my friends edition

(credit to quest for the batman one)

[pushing500]

Being attacked is never fun. I can only imagine how scary it would be to be attacked by yourself, and how guilty you'd feel after finishing the fight so fatally. Mechi is having a really rough quadrum :(

People say "dig your own grave", but nobody ever says "build your own marble sarcophagus". Oh well.

I do not like seeing my brothers cry, and I don't think Kwahu enjoys seeing Mechi so shaken up. He'll do whatever it takes to prevent this incident from being repeated.

Goodbye, cool clone obelisk. It's time for you to go. Thank you for Kwahu <3

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[pookielious]

I would like to talk about the seer amount of chaos happening after they leave the German side in the last patrol like just about everyone is screaming, freaking out, vest and jackson crying ,vest and heffron trying to kill the prisoners all while Jones is trying to keep everyone calm and keeping them from killing the prisoners to ensure they won't have to go through the same thing again

then the way everything immediately went quiet when the medics came in all of the screaming came to a immediate halt and I really think that detail is neat the way they all just stopped and watched as the medics did their thing

[rockpaperscissuhs]

No wealth, no land, no silver, no gold Nothing satisfies me but your soul

O, Death

[applesaucesims]

After the ceremony, the party made their way into the old animal shed that had been made up for the wedding to seat all the guests for the reception. As a welcome, tea was served to the adults, accompanied by some freshly baked macarons for all tables.

Despite the sweet treats, the children's table was still overcome with boredom, especially due to the awkwardness of sitting together with the cousin-in-laws they had only just met. It was sort of understood that Louis was going to have an eye over them, due to his age, but he would rather have been anywhere else than look after the grumpy girls and toddler around his table.

While most adults were sat with their family, Judy had decided to stay with her nursing school friends, catching up with whatever drama was going on with any former classmates they were still keeping in touch with.

As teacups were starting to empty, Judy stood up from her chair to uncover the food that was waiting on a buffet table. Preferring a private conversation over one in the bigger group, Niall decided to follow his sister into the small side room, as soon as he noticed the movement in the corner of his eye. Good wishes for her marriage were in order, and this was as good a time is it got.

Niall awkwardly stood behind his sister, as she was uncovering the last of the plates, but she quickly turned to him, once he made his presence known. After all these years, the two were still very close, and Judy happily pulled her brother into a hug to thank him for his well-wishes.

Judy wanted to use the opportunity to catch up, too, and Niall made use of it, as he started rambling on about his life as a father of four and the subsequent worries. Of course, Judy did not mind listening to her brother's woes. She had really been doing it ever since they were children. And most of all, she was always there to give him advice as much as she could, or at least try to cheer him up.

In fact, with her help, a sincere smile of hope started growing on Niall's face. There was always room for improvement, and any step towards it would get him closer to it, too, as Judy made sure to remind him.

[TRANSCRIPT]

Judy: "I've gotta go check on the entrées, girls. Don't dig up gossip without me!"

Niall: "Excuse me, I'll just go give Judy my proper congrats."

...

Niall: *clears throat* "I haven't had the chance, yet, but... Congratulations on your union!"

Judy: "Oh, don't worry about it. I saw your happy tears! Now come and give your sister a hug!"

Niall: *laughs* "Of course, Jude."

Judy: "Enough about me, starting to get tired of that. How are you doing?"

Niall: "Well, I guess things are going better. Bonding with the children comes a lot easier to me now. Though Emma's much closer with them than I am. I just don't see them as often as she does. And I'm not sure I can ever properly repair things with Louis. I wasn't the best father to him, though I try to be."

Judy: "Hey, it's gonna be alright, Ni. Trying is already a big step forward. And you've not taken a look at the champagne, yet, so there's that."

Judy: "You know I'm proud of you, right?"

Niall: "I appreciate it."

[thejadecount]

2012! Casey and Rise! Donnie: We’ve bonded

2012! Leo, knowing exactly what’s about to come: What do you mean you bonded?

*faint explosion in the distance*

[terriblygrimm]

The Blues Brothers

Indiana Jones and The Last Crusade

The Sound of Music

Captain America: The First Avenger

Inglourious Basterds

—

(included the titles for folks who haven’t seen these films and may wanna watch)

let’s compile a list, shall we?

[zmediaoutlet]

this land is your land

for @wincestwednesdays - americana

"Relax," Sam says, and Dean says back immediately "You relax," but that doesn't work because Sam, damn him, is so relaxed Dean's surprised he's still walking upright and not a puddle of dissolved bones, somewhere a few miles back on the sun-baked road. Where the car's sitting, steaming, the engine ticking as it cools, alone--

"You know what's wrong?" Sam says, and Dean gives him a look, and Sam says, "You know how to fix it?" and Dean rolls his eyes, and Sam says, "So what are you gonna do about it between here and that co-op in town?" and Dean says, "You know, this is how you talked when you didn't have a soul," and Sam laughs kinda soft, hitching his backpack higher.

Hot, humid, but not horrible. The fields growing up with something green. Maybe future wheat. Dean's not a farmer. The kind of summer day where you want to lay in thick grass and drink about twelve ice-cold beers and eat watermelon, or burgers off the grill, or a rainbow snowcone just dripping with every color, like remember, that time --

"Fairfield County Fair," Sam says, grinning. He drags his hair back from his forehead. Their jackets tied around their waists and Sam's sleeves rolled up to his elbows; if it gets much hotter out here he might strip that layer too and then, hey, free show. "Yeah. That was good. Other than the ghost."

"Ghost was easy," Dean says, "as was Miss Mindy the concessions girl. You remember, right? All that funnel cake?"

"I think I puked it all over the tilt-a-whirl," Sam says, dry, and Dean grins back at him so Sam rolls his eyes, but -- he remembers, and that's what matters to Dean now. When he's got this brother, stitched back together, remembering the snowcone and the tilt-a-whirl and also what it means, that they're walking side by side through this yellow afternoon, sweating their balls off.

A barn, past the next field of maybe-wheat. White-painted metal that's peeling bad as they get closer, but it's got a heavy fall of shadow in the driven-over silty dust and abandoned crates that don't collapse when Dean plants his ass on one, so it's good enough for now. "Could go for a snowcone," he says, and Sam snorts somewhere past his closed eyes and there's a thunk of his bag hitting the dirt and then scuffing away, through the silt, and Dean watches the world golden through closed lids and imagines. Sam sweating, long, his body moving sure through the shadow and then -- through the barn door, sliding on squeaky rollers -- and then into somewhere Dean can barely hear him except whatever he imagines might echo through the wall, but it's okay because he'll come back. He's promised that, now. Dean turns his head against the side of the barn anyway, his ear against the warm metal, in case there's some echo. Long night and a long day and a long night ahead and maybe it's lame but he's old now, or feels it, and he's tired. He'll take even an echo.

In the barn: dusty John Deeres, and tools Sam doesn't bother to describe, and a case of too-warm water of dubious age in cheap plastic bottles. "Thief," Dean says, but just to say it, and Sam shrugs and says, "Trespassing, too," but he cracks a bottle and hands it to Dean and Dean dumps it over his head, just to get off some of the sweat and dust. Long walk. Sam says dude and Dean says, "Bite me," but when he slicks his hand back over his head Sam ends up smiling at him, after all, and hands him another bottle to actually drink, and then -- bends at the waist and dumps water over the back of his own head, slicking his hair to black in the shade, dripping down and turning the dust to mud. Stripped down to his t-shirt after all and the water sopping the grey to dark. "See, I'm a genius," Dean says, and Sam scratches through his hair and groans like he does on other midnights and says, "Don't get ahead of yourself," but when he sits down next to Dean his hair's curling wet against his neck and he looks as relaxed as Dean's seen him in -- god, how long? Years anyway. Like Dean would see him sometimes in dreams, during that year that's pressed too close up against his back teeth, and he'd wake up on those mornings with his heart full in his chest and with a good mood, almost, that lasted until he opened his eyes and remembered what bed he was in and the mood pierced like a water balloon that hadn't popped right. Draining out slow until he was left pointless and limp.

Sun finally heading toward setting. Over the fields the air's golden, thick in that way of summer. Sky exactly the shade of a cherry '67 Mustang. Acapulco Blue. Sam's bootheels stretch out to full-length in the silt, past the mud-mess he made, and there's his legs long in denim. Dust on the hems. Dean leans forward, elbows on his knees, taking in one of those long deep breaths that when he blows it out feels like he's expelling air from decades ago. Lungs one hundred percent empty.

Big hand on the back of his neck. He closes his eyes. Sam strokes up over his head where the hair's gone spiky-wet and then smooths it back down, his thumb braced up behind Dean's ear. Heavy and hot.

"Gonna make it back to town tonight?" Sam asks. Like he doesn't know the distance just the same as Dean. Dean shrugs. Sam hums and squeezes Dean's neck, and then Dean opens his eyes and looks from where his head's held down like this to see Sam's heel draw up through the dust, and for his knee to press against Dean's, and then his hand dragging down Dean's back and then back up under his shirt, hot on damp skin, a big square heavy thing. Landing somewhere up between his shoulderblades. Dean wants it on his dick and on the side of his face thumbing his mouth and also just exactly where it is. Sam touching him. Over that last year, what he missed more than anything else. For Sam to touch him and for it to mean what it was supposed to, when Sam touched him.

"We've probably got the worst case of swamp ass this side of the Mississippi," Dean says.

"You remember that time in Tupelo?" Sam says, and of course Dean does. Of course, every single time, like some dorky glittery journal in his heart, he remembers -- Sam's face over his in Tupelo spattered with mud-and-blood and laughing at how disgusting it was, and doing it anyway; Sam's breath desperate at the back of his neck in Portland, both Maine and Oregon; Sam's fingers lacing with his in Colorado Springs, and Sam pressed chest-to-chest with him in Pittsburgh, and Sam's mouth blurring strange in the drunken dark in too many places to name. Dean remembers.

Sam lifts his hand, stretching Dean's shirt, and Dean feels the air gust up against his sweaty back before he follows it, unbending slowly, and then Sam's whole arm's shoved awkward up against his spine, his fingers and thumb bracketing Dean's neck, and when Dean tips his head back Sam's there to catch him.

"Gonna miss the show tonight," Dean says, slit-eyed. Salt in his eyelashes.

The county such-and-such. Volunteer firefighters put on the show, one of the witnesses told them. Not a big display but big enough to please the kids and the folk who hadn't got too cynical for it. He was kind of looking forward to catching it, just because. When was the last time they'd had a July 4th that wasn't some kind of miserable?

"Maybe," Sam says. His eyes on Dean's mouth. Which is so like the soulless version Dean's heels dig into the ground, some weird no instinct making him want to stand -- but then Sam's eyes flick up to meet Dean's, and he grins lopsided and dorky like Sam always used to, when he was okay enough to grin, and relief washes through Dean like stepping under a waterfall. "Could celebrate right here, though. Right?"

"You think that line actually works on anyone?" Dean says, chest blooming hot, and Sam says, "Guess we'll see," in a way that's frankly smug, and Dean rolls his eyes but he also swivels on his stolen crate-seat and presses his mouth against Sam's and gets salt-sweat and stale bottled water and also the good spit-flavor of his tongue, and so maybe Sam deserves the smug.

Birds calling in the trees by the barn, squawky-loud like they're making commentary. Sam's thigh hard and hot alongside his. At first Sam presses against him too hard and Dean grunts, and then Sam lays his other hand soft against Dean's cheek and kisses him sweet, instead, and then grips Dean's neck and kisses him just -- right, Goldilocks finding the right level of comfort. Dean lays his hand on Sam's chest and feels his heart go right out of himself, like a roman candle.

[hopeinthebox]

tagged by the fabulous @cordiallyfuturedwight and @jimin-gaon <33 here's the december list

apologies for being late again new year same me: @aprylynn @jiminsproof @pauls-mccharmly @thvinyl @visionsofgideontheninth @btsbs @kimchokejin @jihopesjoint @eoieopda @monismochi 💜 and anyone else who feels so inclined MWAH p.s. please do tag me anyway if you've already done it

[vibe-stash]

No Country for Old Men (2007)

Directors: Ethan Coen & Joel Coen DOP: Roger Deakins Production Design: Jess Gonchor Art Direction: John P. Goldsmith

[monkee-mobile]

i feel like i can’t put into words how sweet it is when the monkees all cling to Mike when they’re in a scary situation (especially davy, that kid is all bark no bite, second something’s after him he’s running to his mumma aka. Michael the goddamn string bean in a wool hat, who just gives the most exasperated face ever to the camera and waves around like grass in the wind because his skinny body can’t handle the power of a 5’3” british boy grabbing his arms)

but like, mike makes them all feel safe and it’s just so damn sweet. like, the show didn’t have to do that, but they did. they just decided that these kids need a mother and that mother is fucking mike.

i’m sorry, i just have so many feelings about it. You know peter’s like glued to his side, especially after the devil and peter tork. Mike protects them, it’s his nature, and they all feel safe with him. AGH

[cb-writes-stuff]

speaking of the change god, has anyone told you yet that if you switch the language from english to japanese 20 times while interacting with a change god statue, the change god will talk to you and your party? its pretty awesome, and makes your party super op!

(Creaky old man voice) Back in my day, you just had to enter a cheat code on the code menu and you’d unlock 10x studs or the minikit finder. None of this faffing about, changing the language 20 some-odd times. Kids these days, I swear…

[thespookybean14]

Desperately need these two to be friends in a alternate universe, just hear me out, I think the friendship works. :)

[stuck-in-the-ghost-zone]

i was born to sing sea shanties on a ship. and then to retire and be an old grizzled lighthouse keeper.

[moon-jellie]

If I see any look me in the eye hate it's an instant block...clearly some of you have never relished the divine feeling of doing work tasks in a hot open garage with the rock n roll blasting

[elliehallers]

Ryland if she saw Magneto in the streets:

"FREE MY BROTHER FROM YOUR CULT, YOU RACIST, TERRORIST PIECE OF SHIT!!!"