#it's definitely the southern in me

[br-kker]

Back on my Telltale's The Waking Dead obsession, forgot how huge of a crush I had on this man:

He's so pretty <3

(GIF Credit: Unknown)

[frudoo]

Just an itty bitty teeny tiny thought about biker 141 finding themselves the sweetest little pretty thing.... Most people are terrified of them for good reason, Price as the club president, Ghost as his VP, Gaz and Soap are two of their top guys. It's a sight to see them on or off their motorcycles but then there's you. The sweet little thing who runs across the boys somehow and instead of showing an ounce of fear, you give them a brilliant smile and talk sweetly to them. The boys decide then that you'll be their shared old lady.

Idk something about Biker!141 traveling through the states and meeting a pretty lil southern waitress with a heart of gold <3

Warnings: Reader's coworkers + most townfolk are prejudiced assholes. Mentions of food, and getting way too friendly with strangers (this is fiction, stay safe irl please)

The diner falls silent the second everyone hears the roar of the motorcycles’ engines coming to a halt in the front parking lot. The cooks start cussing, the parents start pulling their children closer, the busboys go to hide in the back. But you, a sweet, naive waitress on your first week, are completely unbothered. You greet the four huge, rugged men clad in leather jackets and dirt-covered jeans as they walk through the door, telling them to sit wherever they’d like.

     Your boss, wide-eyed and baffled, grabs the back of your apron and drags you into the kitchen. You brush her off with an exasperated huff, eyebrows furrowed at the middle-aged woman.

     “Steer clear of those men. I’m gonna tell ‘em to beat it,” she tells you matter-of-factly, wrinkled arms crossed over her chest.

     “Don’t be ridiculous,” you roll your eyes, retying your apron and shoving past her, out of the kitchen.

     You’re surprised to see that most of the patrons have left the diner, wads of cash left on their half-empty tables to cover their bills. All of this just because of some men that look a little different than them? It doesn’t sit right with you. You pull out your little notepad as you approach the table they chose, putting on your kindest smile. They all smile back—even the one with the weird mask has crinkles around his eyes, giving him away.

     “I’m so sorry about that wait. What can I start y’all off with to drink?” 

     “Waters all around, sweetheart,” the one with the mutton chops hums, closing his menu. 

     “Alright… and have y'all decided on food?” You begin scribbling on your little tablet of paper, nodding between each of their orders.

     The meatloaf special for mutton chops, extra potatoes, no green beans. A cheeseburger for the one with the mohawk, onion rings instead of fries. Fried catfish for the last two, with fries (because they have taste, according to the pretty one with the scar on his cheek).

     “I’ll have that right out for y’all,” you smile, giving them all a little wink before returning to the kitchen and putting their ticket on the line. 

     The cooks all give you glares, and your boss even gives you the cold shoulder, but you pay it no mind as you fill up four glasses with water and arrange them on a tray. As you balance the platter on your fingertips and make your way back to your table, one of the busboys sticks his foot out and trips you, sending both you and the waters sliding across the floor. You’re absolutely humiliated, pushing yourself up on your sore knees and dusting off your uniform as tears stream down your face.

     The one with the mask hurries over, offering his hand to help you back onto your feet. Your bottom lip trembles as you look up at him, a pitiful little whimper escaping your throat.

     “I-I’m so sorry about that, I’ll go get you new ones right now,” you sniffle, expecting him to chew you out.

     Instead, he cups your round cheeks in his gloved palms and thumbs away your tears, shushing you softly. Despite not even knowing him, you allow yourself to melt into his touch.

     “No apologizin’, lovie,” he grunts, “No’ your fault. Tha’ fucker always givin’ you trouble?” 

     “Hm? Oh, n-no, not usually,” you explain, carefully pulling away to clean up the mess on the floor. “Thank you- um…”

     “Simon,” he introduces himself, giving you a nod before going to sit back down with his mates.

     You mutter his name under your breath to remember it as you drop the broken glass in the garbage, drying off the tray and placing four new fresh glasses of water onto it. This time, the journey to the table is successful, and you hand each man their drink with a polite smile, still slightly embarrassed. They all make it a point to thank you with more enthusiasm than is needed, and the ones you don’t know introduce themselves as John, Kyle, and Johnny. 

     When the bell dings, signaling that their food is ready, you suck in a deep breath and place their dishes onto your tray, praying that this one won’t get dropped. Thankfully, you make it back with fully-intact plates, thanking the heavens that the cooks had sense enough not to burn the guys’ meals. You’re about to turn and allow them to enjoy their food, but John spreads his legs and taps one wide thigh, signaling for you to take a seat. You’re not entirely sure why you do it, but you comply, and he wraps an arm around your waist as he eats and converses with the group. 

     They’re all good company, constantly telling jokes that get you giggling, or pushing flirty little remarks your way. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy the attention, but eventually your boss comes over to snatch you off of John’s lap. You can practically see the steam coming out of her ears as she drags you into the kitchen once again, face red and eyes wild with rage.

     “You’re fired,” she grits her teeth, forcefully undoing your apron and pulling it off of your body.

     “Go to hell,” you retort. "You'll fit right in."

     You don’t let her see, but your eyes are blurry with tears as you grab your purse from your locker and shove your way out the front door. You’d forgotten how chilly it was outside and now you’re shivering as you pull out your phone to order an Uber. When you hear the little bell on the door jingle, you flinch, half-expecting it to be your old boss coming out to hit you with a broom. Instead, a warm leather jacket is placed over your shoulders and a strong arm pulls you against a firm body.

     “Jus’ me, dove,” Kyle grins, rubbing your arm with his hand in an attempt to warm you up quicker. “The lads’re takin’ care o’the bill. Be out any second.”

     You nod and rest your head on his shoulder, protesting only half-heartedly when he takes your phone from your hands and cancels your Uber. 

     After a few moments, the other three men pile out of the diner, adjusting their gloves and wiping sweat off their brow. John sniffs and smiles at you warmly, pointing towards where their bikes are parked. Kyle helps you put his jacket on properly as he walks you over, and all four of them line up next to their respective rides. You shyly sway in place as they look at you expectantly.

     “Well, hen? Take yer pick.”

[buttered-beurre]

I talked about this on discord but just:

I love Festival of the Lost not just being a Halloween event. That it takes influence from Día de los Muertos.

The countless candle lightings for each of those lost, the cempasuchil flowers and petals scattered across the Tower and City. The painted pumpkins reminiscent of the sugar skulls.

That so many get together to celebrate the memory of their friends and family-

That Eliksni and the Cabal get to join in on remembering. Sharing the stories of those they dont want to forget, remembering the Lost amongst the candles and the flowers and the masks. Placing things on ofrendas, eating sweets and other foods. Enjoying the music. Being tearful, sad, mournful, happy all in one.

[8-rae-rae-8]

writing graves' accent is hard because he just sounds so incredibly normal to me. thats just a guy

[fully-automatic-ass]

Rating the OM! brothers' spice tolerance

another hc :3

7) Lucifer

come on. come on.

we all know this old bitch would start coughing at the very mention of salt. this bastard creaks like rusty fucking box springs every time he moves and you're telling me he can handle spice above a 0 on the Scoville scale? Impossible.

6) Belphegor

need I explain? (based off vibes)

5) Asmodeus

i don't really have any explanation for this. also based on vibes and vibes alone

4) Leviathan

idk, i feel the really hot cheetos (or the demon equivalent ig?) give him an edge

3) Satan

...yeah it's still just vibes

2) Beelzebub

He eats a lot, so I would imagine that he has a pretty high spice tolerance.

Wonder what his favorite spicy food would be?

1) Mammon

He really is first in everything, huh?

And, yes, I know Beel probably fits better here, but like Mammon's favorite food is (i think) the spiciest cup noodles in the devildom, so either he's a masochist or he has a high spice tolerance.

or both. whatever

[hazbinhazbinhazbinreblog]

I've been thinking about how depending on how old Vox was when he died and where he lived he could have grown up hearing Alastor's broadcasts or read news about his death in the paper

Depends on where Vox lived I agree, Alastor's broadcasts were probably a pretty local thing while he was alive. I can't put a name on Vox's accent as far as specific locations goes. If they were nearby or Alastor was more popular to reach a broader area then yes I think he would have listened by choice and enjoyed the show

[practically-an-x-man]

every time I watch The Golden Circle I go "now why the fuck did they cancel the Gambit movie???"

[dandunn]

I finished Absolution and I really liked it God bless you Jeff vandermeer you mad bastard

[whalehouse1]

Also as a BluePulse shipper, finding out Bart is based in Alabama (I know, I know his vernacular would be different due to his age and upbringing along with his culture but I’m going to do what comics do with language and culture just for this) has been a gift for this reason alone.

JL member: What are you two doing?

Bart: Why nuthin’ much stranger. We’re just two swee’d yun’ southern boys havin’ a swell ol’ time.

Jaime: We’re jus’ ea’din’ sum go’ ol’ American apple pie an’ enjoyin’ the pleasure of eachothah’s company.

[urproblematicfav-arsonk]

Been listening to the bonnie & clyde musical because JJ brainrot and now I'm cursed with radiobelle au ideas help

[spawksstuff]

The De Completionist Checklist Part 5

1955

Note on the dates: I will mostly be going by when a show/movie was shot rather than its release date. Variety Magazine will be given first priority.

My score: 11 / 17

Need To Find: Maitnee Theatre Beyond a Reasonable Doubt, Studio 57 Vacation With Pay, You Are There: (The First Major Use of Penicillin, The Rescue of the American Prisoners from Santo Tomas, Eli Whitney Invents the Cotton Gin, Grant and Lee at Appomattox)

Favorite Movie: Bamboo

Favorite TV Show: Science Fiction Theatre YORD and The Millionaire Iris Millar

Favorite Scene: When Ike Clanton addresses the reporter in You Are There. Eyeballing him up and down, smirking, menacing, laughing.

[imsosocold]

More ,, c!dream transfem poetic ideas....please...

Our purely putrid filthy, fusty, musty, stanky, rank fem-not-female daymare. She’s fraying clothes with seams ripping in the way envelopes and wrapping paper are in their desperation to be opened. She’s patches peeling off the way fruits are peeled with their skins being left out to rot in the sun. She’s the scab and sunburn you pick at until it prickles. She’s sweat from heat against the sweat of the cold. She’s the dust you forgot to sweep up that hangs sparkling in the air. She’s the floorboard that creeks with your breaths. She’s an old fridge whose very self, never mind its contents, is rotting. She’s the light that won’t stop flickering. She’s an old time styled radio that only garbles out guttural sounds and spits static. She’s shoes splitting at the soles that you still expect to shield your feet from the metal as you kick at your broken down rusted car. She’s the bandana you  wear when the sands and their winds get too high. She’s the odd smelling and shaped stains that won’t come out and won’t be questioned. She’s a mattress on TOP of a mountain of blankets that are sour smelling and matted with sweat.  She’s the grimy coins kids are excited to find. She’s the sketchbook scraps forced to be used as napkins. She’s waking up with wounds you don’t remember how you got and soon will forget having. She’s front yard fires, never strong enough for barbecue. She’s the constant pain that you have no clue where comes from but can’t afford to see a doctor over it. She’s toilet paper veils and toilet paper roll telescopes and napkin handkerchiefs and towel headscarves and Piñata pets. She’s a burning flag (L’Manburg or American) at a backyard concert and brunch. She’s licking at the salt lick in cold hoping it hasn’t frozen over. She’s playing music on the bottom of garbage cans and pans and on top of thighs. She’s a little kid carrying stuff in her hoodie and inside her shirt feeling so smart about it. She’s showing off what you found in the parking lot. She’s moths hitting against patio lights. She’s fireflies caught bare handed in the backyard which you at first are excited about before feeling grossed out. She’s the sea urchin you step on out of spite.  She’s the solid salt chunks caught in your mouth from swimming in the sea. She’s empty tortoise shells and even emptier, exposed tortoise spines. She’s animal blood being boiled; something you can’t scrape out. She is pure folk punk. She is everything. She’s made up of and makes up with popsicle stick people and macaroni art men and bottle cap boys and chalk chicks and tally girl tabs.  She feels like cicada husks and bed bug shells and dragonfly wings and rhino beetle horns. If you kissed her she would taste of raw meat and then blood because she bites on instinct. She could ride a bike with flat tires. She could make a heater out of an old fan. She somehow gets drunk from church wine and high from smoking straight up grass and chewing on loose exercise -machine tums. She holds an open potluck made up of leftovers as she does scratch off tickets and sniff stickers together. She hand washes clothes and dishes alike but if she had a washing machine she’d get lost in watching it spin until she felt like throwing up. She’s distance spitting seeds and tobacco alike. She collects sand and spices and stamps; all the little things you never know if/when you’ll need. She makes the sort of grits that always get stuck in your teeth and to the top of your mouth and to the bottom of your stomach but in a way that’s comforting. She lets bugs and insects and animals climb onto and all over her.

She lets mosquitos bite her and shows off the bumps that develop proudly because don’t they deserve to eat too?  She’s wanting to be lost. She bops herself on the head on an empty soda bottle when she’s not blowing into it and a paper bag.  She snacks on perlite like popcorn and chews on wood chips. She drinks the water from leaks and blisters. She sucks up the guts out of pumpkins and suckles on bark and gnaws on sap and loves moss even more than Kris. She’ll feed house and store and backyard and forest plants alike. She has a garden just for weeds. She makes her own manure. She grows mushrooms in the upstairs bathroom sink. She raises crayfish in a school Petri dish. She only wants to eat the green tomatoes and bananas and peaches. She wants to see how sticks and stones break bones. She has squirted lemon and tomato juice directly into her eyes just to see what it’s like.

She wakes up the crickets and the chickens. Her green motif comes from  staining from chlorine and leaves painted brighter and more waxy than they could ever be in nature for advertising and the lack of green colored stars that exist. Science kits and first aid kits are the same to her. She brings astronaut food to the beach picnic. She gets bone shards stuck in her teeth along with her tonsil stones. She keeps taxidermy in coolers. She keeps bait in buckets and gives them out like gift bags. She recites rites for roadkill.   She made wind chimes out of fake dimes. She nicks nails from construction sites. She dances in dumpsters. She blacks out in the bakery bins behind the store fronts. She kicks her shoes onto the roof after making a contest of how far they could be thrown off when on the swing set. She writes messages out of spider webs. She braids grass to put into her hair and wears roots like rings. She knows the exact classifications that foods like tomatoes and pumpkins and strawberries and eggplants fall into. She has such strong opinions about oatmeal over corn meal, squash vs gourds, egg whites in comparison to yolks. She has grown with the grass and she finds perfume in skunks and every abandoned place is immediately familiar to her. In universe she invented the hawk tuah meme. She’s genuinely “not like most other girls” without even trying. She’s almost disgustingly  authentic and actually is very proud of it. It will take months, even maybe years, to sort out my thoughts on her and so many other pretty piling-up things but I will eventually write (and certainty think) about her forever lol. 

[motherboardmania]

i really do love the southern (particularly southwestern, since ive only ever lived in the southwest. though ive seen both coasts) but i swear, having spent literally less than a month total of my entire life being further north than like... the northern state border of oklahoma? Im kind of sick of it. ive spent a little over 2 decades in the southwest and im more than ready to move on, whenever capitalism will finally let me do that safely.

[fuckmeyer]

I saw a post about racist Jasper stans bitching bc they’re not able to enjoy shitty J*sper content bc of tags or whatever lol and someone said: “What is there even to enjoy?”. I had to laugh and I thought if you bc it’s so true. Most Jasper content isn’t even that enjoyable. It’s mostly the same boring white-supremacist garbage that I’ve seen before; even the jalice stuff is played out.

The only J*sper content I enjoy is content where he is worshipping Maria, thinking about Maria, talking about Maria, loving Maria, doing anything for Maria tbh. Is that bad? XD I owe it to you and your writing! idk something about a 19/20 year old dumbass confederate falling madly in love with a native brown woman and literally seeing her as a god-like figure as she’s basically handing him his karma for his racist crimes sends me. Ppl act like he was this awesome person before Maria and that it’s her fault he’s gutter trash now with the C*llens but he was gutter trash BEFORE he met Maria. She honestly made him so much better, stronger and MUCH more interesting. She literally created the man these stans thirst over so much. She is the blueprint.

the thing anti-María Jalice stans don't get is, without María, you do not have Jasper. for everything Jasper is, María is the catalyst ❤️

canonically, all we know about Jasper Hale pre-change is 1) he was born in Texas, 2) faked his age to join the Confederate Army* where he became the youngest major in Texas, & 3) was persuasive

beyond that, María made Jasper into the man the fandom adores. you like that he's an empath? guess whose venom made him one. you like that he's a warmonger? guess whose war he fought for. you like that he has a troubled past? guess who put the trouble in it. you like that he's "soft" "empath" "baby" (tbh i don't see it but ok)? guess who made him want to be that way. you like that he's submissive to Alice? guess who broke him in first.

you want Jasper with Alice but wish the María era didn't exist? lol just say you want the hot faceless Confederate to get with the psychic Mississippian & go

as for me, MARÍA ALL DAY BAYBEEEEE

here we have a woman who has suffered all her life at the hands of colonizers. born "1800s or earlier," we can suppose she has firsthand experience with colonization (at least Napoleon's invasion) & lived through Mexico's War of Independence. i.e., she has a deep familiarity with what it means to have your way of life ripped from you by invaders. PLUS she was a victim of Benito's army in the Southern Vampire Wars; her entire coven including her mate was killed.

& despite her losses, she rallied to take back her land & drive out her oppressors. baseline, she is a strong, cunning, powerful indigenous woman with a deep love for her community and her people. HOT

now let's look at Jasper, a bright leader in the Civil War who suffered defeat at the hands of the Union army. yes, María changed him. but did she force him to stay? to go to war? the newborn vamp with the strength & speed to overcome a "grown" vamp chose not to do so. the empath with the power to make anyone disregard him chose not to use it. some say María was "abusive" & "manipulative," but few acknowledge that Jasper had a choice.

why didn't Jasper leave? because he's submissive to anyone more powerful than him. because he was a loser. because the Southern Vampire Wars gave him a second chance at victory. because "empath" or no, he wanted to play war & win.

that's what's compelling about Jasper/María. as wrong as Jasper was for fighting for the Confederacy, he believed he was fighting for the same thing as she. he saw his way of life destroyed by "invaders" & fought back. it's a sick & twisted parallel between oppressor & oppressed that becomes subverted as their relationship goes on... & one that can heal them both.

María's experience with colonizers gives her a visceral picture of what it means to be oppressed... but her relationship with Jasper gives her the victory & emotional reflection she needs to move on. Jasper's military training gives him the hunger & knowledge for war... but his "curse" of empathy provides him with the tools he needs to recognize & address the horrors of his problematic past & move on.

tbh, i find Jasper & María are perfectly suited for a delicious character-driven narrative. Maria's story is that of a traumatized indigenous woman on a path from colonization to decolonization, & the sacrifices & destruction she endures realize that vision. Jasper's story is that of a troubled man on the path from self-hate to self-love, & what it means to undo the societal teachings/traumas & forge a life of empathy & forgiveness.

& that is something Alice alone can never give Jasper.

tl;dr all hail Queen María

[mcondance]

AARON + A SEAFOOD BOIL

[essektheylyss]

I have, against all good judgment, started playing Control. I did make it through the first challenge without dying (after I got past the first proper jump) which bodes better than expected, given my video game track record, but we'll see how it goes.

Anyway, I need to make a version of the Socrates meme but with Jesse getting hired as director immediately upon the culmination of some decades-long revenge quest.