#joe vagabond

[artroidsart]

In a shocking turn of events, JOE is the one that gave me the most trouble!! Honestly, on-brand for the guy.

Joe's design always felt kind of simple to me. Normal non-magical boys are hard to make interesting designs for. So I turned his old vest into a full jacket and gave him some burn scars! You can't tell me something hasn't blown up in his face at least twice! I think this gives some character to his design, with a chipped ear and a blind eye. Now he REALLY looks unhinged! THAT'S the Joe Vagabond I know and love!

Color palette mostly stayed the same. He's always been a green guy in my head. Just made a few tweaks here and there with his grays and browns. The burn scars were an interesting challenge. Played around with the layer effects on GIMP and found one that worked!

Oh! And Merry Christmas Eve everyone! Happy Holidays and a Happy New Year!

[joe-iconis-banger-bracket]

Banger Bracket Round 1 Match 11

Rules:

Please have heard each song in the poll before voting.

Vote for the best song, not your favorite.

Propaganda welcome :)

Links to songs:

Penny Dreadfuls

The Squip Song

The Vagabond

Voices In My Head

[djotime]

JOE KEERY via Vagabonde Adventures

[freckledjoes]

Joe Keery in Greece with Vagabonde Adventures recently :)

(do not repost :))

[harley-sunday]

Vagabond

Summary: There’s nothing you wouldn’t do for Daniel. Even if it means flying out to Singapore on race day. 

Pairing: Daniel Ricciardo x reader (unnamed OFC)

Warnings: Language

Word count: 1.9k

AN: How could I not? ♥

Part of the Pieces of Us universe (collection of one-shots). 

Pieces of Us masterlist 

The sound of your phone ringing pulls you out of your early morning slumber and you blindly reach for where it’s laying on your nightstand, swiping right to accept the call without really looking at the screen, “Hello?”

“Hey,”

You pull the phone away from your ear and look at it in disbelief, thinking maybe this is all a bad dream, but the caller ID confirms it's not, “Blake?”

“Yeah.”

Shit. 

“Taff-” there’s an urgency to his voice that makes your heart beat faster and sends your mind racing because there’s no reason to call this early unless- Oh God- Daniel- What if-

“Taff,” Blake says again, his voice kinder now. “I need you here.” 

You let out a whimper in pain because no- Not like this- God, not like-

“Oh. No that’s not why- Shit. He’s ok,” Blake quickly tells you, “but I need you to listen, ok?”

You nod, then realise he can’t see you and so you whisper, “Ok.” 

“There’s a flight from Perth at twelve ten,” Blake tells you, using what you and Daniel dubbed his ‘manager-Blake-voice’. The one that doesn’t take no for an answer. The one who you trust blindly. And so you listen. Even if you don’t know what the hell is going on. “You’re flying Qantas, so you can use priority. I’ve already checked you in, I’ll send you the boarding pass in a couple of minutes. I’ll text you the rest of the information for when you land in Singapore, but there’ll be someone to pick you up, drive you to the track so you can see him before the race starts, ok?”

Twelve ten. Ok. That’s means you’ll have to be at the airport at ten at the latest, even if you only bring a carry-on, so you’ll have to leave here at nine-thirty, which is an hour from now, so technically there’s enough time, unless-

“Taff?” Blake’s voice interrupts your thoughts. “I need you to make this flight, ok? It’s important.”

It’s important. 

The words echo through your mind as you try to connect the dots, try to figure out what it is you’re missing, try to understand why Blake would call you at eight AM on a Sunday morning during the Singapore Grand Prix weekend, asking you to fly out not even four hours later. You try to come up with a million other reasons why he needs you there but it’s no good- You know there can be only one.

People say that whenever something mentally or physically terrifying happens, a person will either fight, or flight. You like to think there’s a third option; save what you can and make sure no one gets left behind. And so you ask, “Do you want me to pick up Joe and Grace?”

“No.”

You push yourself up from where you’ve been sitting on the edge of the bed and walk over to the window, peeking through the curtains to find the sun already high in the sky, “No, they’re driving to the airport themselves, or-”

“No, they can’t make it in time.” 

“Blake,” you whisper, something heavy settling deep in your chest because this is not how it’s supposed to go. “If this is- If he’s-” You take a shaky breath, “They should be there.” 

“I know, babe, but-” he sounds absolutely defeated. “I looked at all the options but with them at Karroun Hill they’re too far from an airport to make it work on such short notice.” 

You feel your throat go dry, because his parents should be there. “Michelle then?”

“She’s got the kids-”

“I can take the kids,” you offer immediately. “If I go over there and watch the kids, Michelle can go. They might still let you change the name on the ticket if you-”

“Taff,”

You start to feel yourself get desperate, “He needs his family there, Blake.” 

“Taff,” Blake tries again, his voice filled with sympathy. “You’re his family too.”

***

It takes you forty minutes to shower, pack a small overnight bag, and leave the house. Of course you need to stop for gas, which costs you another ten minutes, but ninety minutes after Blake called you’re at the airport and waiting for your flight to board. Which isn’t for another two hours. 

You kill the time by having breakfast, or try to anyway, because you’re way too nervous to eat more than a couple of bites and so instead you find a quiet corner and send a text to Grace and Joe to let them know you’re flying out to Singapore. Michelle gets a text too- by now you know better than to call anyone in a public place, especially with this kind of sensitive information- and she replies within minutes, telling you to give her brother a big hug when you see him. 

You decide against texting Daniel, don’t want him to be distracted, and instead you spend your time people-watching and remembering the last time you were in Singapore, two years ago, when Daniel finished fifth in that piece of shit McLaren. It was his best result in that god awful final year with the team and so you ignored Zak Brown’s pleas to celebrate with the team and instead opted for a quiet celebration with just the two of you. 

You’re so lost in thoughts you almost miss the final boarding call but there’s a kind gentleman next to you that nudges your elbow and says, “Isn’t that your flight, sweetheart?”

***

In the end, there’s a delay leaving Perth, a delay arriving at Singapore, and a never-ending queue at customs. To say you’re on edge when you finally get into the car Blake sent to pick you up would be an understatement. It’s already past eight in the evening and there’s no way you’ll make it to the track in time to see Daniel before the race. Your already broken heart breaks into a million more pieces at the thought of that and it takes everything you have not to break down right then and there. 

The driver seems to feel there’s an urgency, weaving in and out of traffic effortlessly, dropping you off at the paddock entrance a mere twenty minutes later with a hesitant smile. You make sure to thank him by tipping generously before you get out of the car and step into the hot Singapore air.

With only a few minutes left until the race starts there’s an almost eerie quiet in the paddock, most people getting ready in their respective garages, pit walls, or starting boxes, and so you make it through the gates and into the alley behind the garages with relative ease. No one seems to pay you any mind as you walk to the VCARB garage, which suits you just fine. 

The formation lap starts just as you enter the back of the garage, the roar of the engines sending a shiver down your spine. You find your way through the maze of corridors, offices, and driver rooms with relative ease, grabbing your pair of headphones as you pass the comms wall, and then all of a sudden you’re in the actual garage and there’s no going back. 

You look around and find Blake in his usual spot, near the back, standing a little to the side so he can keep an eye both on the monitors and the pit wall. The pit crew is too busy watching the cars line up on the starting grid and so you’re able to sneak past them to stand next to Blake. You look at him once you’ve put your headphones on and connected them to the comms unit and your heart, oh your heart. He looks so defeated, the sad smile he wears so unlike him, and you hate it. 

There’s so much to say and yet you both keep quiet, knowing now’s not the time. It’ll come- After. 

And so when Blake puts his arm around your shoulders and pulls you close, just as the red lights come on one by one, you have to bite your lip to keep from crying and try to get time to slow down. You don’t want this race to ever start. Or end.

***

It’s when Daniel gets boxed on lap fifty-eight that Blake nudges you and motions for you to take your headphones off. When you do, he leans in and puts his mouth close to your ear, “Pierre’s going to share his channel with you after the finish, ok?”

All of a sudden there’s a lump in your throat and all you can do is nod.

***

“Ok mate, thanks again for the hard work,” you can hear Pierre tell Daniel. “When we stop at the bridge, P1 on full-car switch-off, P0 on everything else.” On the screen you see Pierre looking at the garage from over his shoulder, “There’s someone here with a special message for you, Daniel.” 

“Hi babe,” you start, the tears you’ve been fighting all day finally spilling over. “I just want you to know that I’m so proud of you.”

There’s a lot of static on the line but you think you hear him let out a quiet laugh, “Ah, I can’t believe this.”

“I’ll see you in a bit, ok?” You smile through your tears, “Take it all in, Dan. It’s yours.” 

On the screen that shows you his onboard camera, you can see him nod. It takes a while before he answers, but when he does his voice is full of emotion, “Yep. Understood.”

***

It’s when the screens show Daniel sitting in his car, in Parc Fermé after the race, that you need to step out of the garage and into the corridor that leads to Daniel’s driver room. Because all of a sudden it hits you. He’s never going to have a moment like this ever again. The quiet crying from earlier turns into big, ugly sobs because God, it hurts. There’s too many people around for anyone not to notice you and so you use your access code to unlock Daniel’s room and step inside, a safe haven in the middle of all this madness.

You try some of the breathing techniques Michael taught you when he was still working with Daniel and after a few minutes you’ve calmed down, if only a little. It’s then the door opens and Daniel steps inside and all of a sudden it’s like nothing else exists. He looks the way you feel and so you are wrapping your arms around him before he’s even had the chance to close the door behind him and tell him, over and over and over again, “I love you. I love you. I love you.” 

 You know there’s not much time, know he has interviews and debriefs to get to, and so you pull back a little and cup his face, rubbing your thumbs over the stubble of his beard before you lean in and kiss him. Hard. 

“I should go,” Daniel whispers against your lips.

“I know-”

“Wait for me?”

“Take as long as you need.” You stand on your toes and press another kiss to his lips, “You know I’d do anything for you, right?” There’s a hint of that mischievous smile you fell in love with all those years playing on his lips, and so you match his smile and add, “And-” 

Of course he plays along, “And?”

You rest one hand against his chest, over his heart, “You love me for it.”

He lets his hands fall to your hips and rests his forehead against yours, sharing a breath, “That I do.”

“That you do.” 

He presses a kiss to your forehead then, “Always.” 

[cirr0stratus]

And we are vagabonds; we travel without seatbelts on, we live this close to death

“Ain’t no grave, I guess.” He said, maybe meant it. Maybe meant it as much as he had the night he’d said it the first time, angry and scared and furious and warm, and for a moment, he could almost feel Joe under his fucked up fingertips.

“Yeah.” Joe said, voice low, a gentle agreement eight states away. “Ain’t no grave.”

An Old Voice by @blood-mocha-latte

[vintagelasvegas]

Postcards of Downtowner Motel, 129 N 8th St at Ogden – circa 70s, 80s. The motel was opened by local attorney Robert Cohen in '63. It has been owned and maintained by DTPLV since the 2010s.

When Cohen opened the Downtowner it was called the largest "apt-hotel" downtown with 93 rooms. The land was owned by the Pinjuv family and Cohen owned the motel, along with downtown’s MacDonald Hotel, Crest Hotel, and the Strip’s Vagabond/Center Strip Motel, totaling over 500 rooms in all.

In the late 70s he was indicted in a child prostitution ring. Failing to appear for arraignment on charges of sexual relations with a 14 year-old, Cohen fled the U.S. and sought asylum in Israel. He was disbarred by Nevada Supreme Court in '79. Brought back to Southern Nevada, he plead guilty to reduced charges of statutory rape and received three years probation. In the 80s he was found liable for robbery and assault to guests at Downtowner motel because he failed to provide security. At his Crest Hotel, carbon monoxide poisoning caused two deaths and send others to the hospital. Throughout it all he fought for and won the privilege of gaming license to maintain slot machines at his hotels.

Metro officer and future governor Joe Lombardo appeared on the television show COPS in '91 making an arrest at the motel.

“This place is nice now. When I was an EMS, we used to carry bodies out of here all the time.” – Nef, 2019

Notes & Bolts. Review-Journal, 10/1/63; Couple Awarded $167,000. Review-Journal, 6/22/84; Phil Pattee. Fumes blamed for deaths, 20 injuries. Review-Journal, 7/6/85 p1; Monica Caruso. LV motels plan to cash in on mega resort boom. Review-Journal, 1/9/94; John L. Smith. Legal quirks allow former fugitive to buck the system. Review-Journal, 2/23/97.

[innervoiceart]

"Nature Boy" was Nat King Cole's first big hit, since then it has been covered over 1223 times! The story behind the song is even more sensational

Joe Moondad has the strange story of eden ahbez:

"In the late 40s, there was a rumor that there was a "hermit," disenchanted and disillusioned with the world, supposedly "out-of-sync" with society, living in California in a cave under one of the L’s in the Hollywood sign.

No one really cared about this strange man, until one night in 1947, when someone tried to enter backstage at the Lincoln Theater in Los Angeles. Nat King Cole was playing there, and the man said he had something for Cole. Of course, the employees didn't let the strange man see Cole, so he gave whatever he had with Cole's manager.

What he had was a song sheet, which Cole would later take a look at. Cole liked the song and wanted to record it, but he had to find the strange man. When asked, the people who saw the man said he was strange, indeed, with shoulder-length hair and beard, wearing sandals and a white robe.

Cole finally tracked him down in New York City. When Cole asked him where he was staying, the strange man declared he was staying at the best hotel in New York - outside, literally, in Central Park. He said his name was eden ahbez (spelled all in lower-case letters). The song he gave Cole was titled, "Nature Boy." It became Cole's first big hit, and was soon covered by other artists through the years, from Frank Sinatra and Sarah Vaughan to Tony Bennett and Lady Gaga, most recently.

Of course, the media went crazy about the strange, mysterious man who handed Nat King Cole, one of the biggest hits during that time. Everyone went out to try to find out more about him.

What little they found was that he was once an orphan, who never stayed at one place very long, living in various foster homes. He explained he just never fit in and was always searching, for something.

["They say he wandered very far...

Very far, over land and sea..."

They found out he would hop freight trains and walked across country several times, subsisting solely on raw fruits and vegetables, then one day he completely vanished.

["A little shy and sad of eye...

But very wise was he..."]

He finally showed up again in the Hollywood hills. When a policeman stopped the strange, long-haired man with beard, sandals, and robe, ahbez simply replied, "I look crazy but I'm not. And the funny thing is that other people don't look crazy but they are."

["And then one day...

One magic day he passed my way..."]

He then showed up backstage at Nat King Cole's concert in Los Angeles, to present him with the song, "Nature Boy." No one seems to really know why he selected Cole, there were some rumors that he came out of hiding when he began to hear about the racism going on and trouble throughout the world, and he thought "King" was the best person at that time to pass his message along.

["While we spoke of many things...

Fools and Kings..."]

When he was asked about racism, he replied, "Some white people hate black people, and some white people love black people, some black people hate white people, and some black people love white people. So you see it's not an issue of black and white, it's an issue of Lovers and Haters."

It was that theme of love that he continued to talk about, what was missing in the world, and what would be needed in the future if we are to survive.

ahbez would eventually get his message out, especially after the counter-culture finally caught up with him and the hippie movement began, when other artists such as Donovan, Grace Slick, and the Beach Boys' Brian Wilson sought him out. He also wrote songs for Eartha Kitt and had another song recorded by Sam Cooke.

In 2009, Congressman Bill Aswad recited the last lyrics of the song before the Vermont House of Representatives at the passing of his state's same-sex marriage bill in '09.

Author Raymond Knapp described the track as a "mystically charged vagabond song" whose lyrics evoked an intense sense of loss and haplessness, with the final line delivering a universal truth, described by Knapp as "indestructible" and "salvaged somehow from the perilous journey of life."

["This he said to me...

The greatest thing you'll ever learn...

Is just to love and be loved in return."]

"George Alexander Aberle (April 15, 1908 – March 4, 1995), known as eden ahbez, was an American songwriter and recording artist of the 1940s to 1960s, whose lifestyle in California was influential in the hippie movement.

He was known to friends simply as ahbe.

Ahbez composed the song "Nature Boy", which became a No. 1 hit for eight weeks in 1948 for Nat "King" Cole.

Living a bucolic life from at least the 1940s, he traveled in sandals and wore shoulder-length hair and beard, and white robes. He camped out below the first L in the Hollywood Sign above Los Angeles and studied Oriental mysticism. He slept outdoors with his family and ate vegetables, fruits, and nuts. He claimed to live on three dollars per week.

In the mid-1950s, he wrote songs for Eartha Kitt, Frankie Laine, and others, as well as writing some rock-and-roll novelty songs. In 1957, his song "Lonely Island" was recorded by Sam Cooke, becoming the second and final Ahbez composition to hit the Top 40.

In 1959, he began recording instrumental music, which combined his signature somber tones with exotic arrangements and (according to the record sleeve) "primitive rhythms". He often performed bongo, flute, and poetry gigs at beat coffeehouses in the Los Angeles area. In 1960, he recorded his only solo LP, Eden's Island, for Del-Fi Records.

This mixed beatnik poetry with exotica arrangements. Ahbez promoted the album through a coast-to-coast walking tour making personal appearances, but it sold poorly.

During the 1960s, ahbez released five singles. Grace Slick's band, the Great Society, recorded a version of "Nature Boy" in 1966 and ahbez was photographed in the studio with Brian Wilson during a session for the Smile album in early 1967. Later that year, British singer Donovan sought out ahbez in Palm Springs, and the two wanderers shared a reportedly "near-telepathic" conversation. In the 1970s, Big Star's Alex Chilton recorded a version of "Nature Boy" with the photographer William Eggleston on piano. The song was finally released as a bonus track on the 1992 Rykodisc re-release of the album Third/Sister Lovers.

In 1974, ahbez was reported to be living in the Los Angeles suburb of Sunland, and he owned a record label named Sunland Records, for which he was recording under the name "Eden Abba." From the late 1980s until his death, ahbez worked closely with Joe Romersa, an engineer/drummer in Los Angeles. The master tapes, photos, and final works of eden ahbez are in Romersa's possession.

Ahbez died on March 4, 1995, of injuries sustained in a car accident, at the age of 86. Another album, Echoes from Nature Boy, was released posthumously."

[help-imanartistt]

JRWI RIPTIDE SPOILERS BELOW THE CUT (EP 53 ONWARDS)

okay joe iconis but why did you write the vagabond about gillion tidestrider?????

this is way less put together and very rambly so apologies for that

ITS LITERALLY JUST POST BANISHMENT PRE CHIP GILL IF THAT MAKES ANY SENSE. (its not just bc it mentions destiny but hey that helps yk)

The song starts out slow as Gill is slowly coming to terms with the fact that he feels like a bad person and how he feels deserving of his fate due to his actions. (I also like to the idea of the "formerly blonde hair" referencing some sort of crown or status symbol slowly fading or smthn?? idk idk) At the same time he is struggling to come to terms with it hence "i guess i'm what you'd call a vagabond" Even he is unsure of who he is anymore as he has now been made to feel like a bad person. After this line the song begins to pick up as Gill slowly gets more and more angry with himself and the world around him for his situation.

Here Gill is floating in the water left with nothing but his own thoughts. He decides to put his faith in destiny and put a smile on his face to pretend like he's okay. Mans is fully in denial. He tries to convince himself in the chorus that he doesn't need the elder's approval to feel like a good person and that he will be okay without their guidance.

This bit is also like gill eventually distracting himself and trying to move on but every time he looks at his sword the memories just flood back to him leading into the chorus.

This last chorus slows down quite a lot whereas the previous ones were more upbeat and angry. This coincides with gill finally coming to the realisation that he doesn't really know what to do with himself now that he's out of the undersea and that the elder's gave him direction. But now he's been left to figure out the world on his own and just wants someone to take him in and help him hence why he was so quick to trust Chip even after being taught about humans from the elders. Gill has also now at this point fully accepted his fate in the title of "The Vagabond"

thank you for coming to my ted talk

[dnpanimationstudioclone]

How or do you think that your rewrite of hazbin crew could get along with canon hazbin crew?

hmmm

With my Charlie & canon, I can see them get along well. I can see my Charlie give some good advise for Charlie on communication & taking more time to get to know her friends, understand their issues aswell as get them to understand her own, aswell as apply her own lessons more on herself & do more thorough research on what she’s doing(morals, rehabbing etc). If my True Intentions thing is true, I can see My Charlie wonder if she’d have been the same had she not met Joe(her sinner friend). might be disappointed in herself that so much of what she did was just for…her…wonder if she was honestly actually trying to make this work to begin with…feel bit bad for her too since she never got herself someone like Joe that did actually guide her from becoming like that & now is dealing with the fallout. I can see my Charlie def be taken aback by Charlie’s unawareness till she remembers….their family issues. I can see My Charlie & OG def give tons of suggestions to eachother of new activities to try. I can also see my Charlie suggest OG use her magic & connections more(My Charlie-u can use those things without being like them yknow, it’s all up to u. That’s what this is about, being who u want to be).

I can see my Vaga & Vaggie spar together, show eachother diffferent moves & duel for fun. I can see my Vaga encourage Vaggie to have more one on one time with the gang aswell as talk more with Charlie, especially about the….angel thing. I can see my Vaga be surpised with how….more tame OG’s actions r compared to hers….specifically how it affected Charlie. My Vaga woudl proabbly be confused by OG’s attire & the practicality of it🤣. Vaga-My name’s short for Vagabond. What’s yours for? Vaggie-…uh same thing…

I can see my Angel Dust & canon laugh & chat at Husks bar, perhaps do makeovers with eachother & play with their fat nuggets. I can see them realize they process things a lil bit differently & their situations & how they were handled also different(especially with Val). I can see my Angel advise Angel to properly talk to the people around him & that eventually….hell have to open up eventually about what really got him in Hell. Also advises on how he communicates with Husk, reflect on what he says & does(My Angel-Yous can’t exactly expect them to be all considerate & careful if you can’t show by example yourself)

My Husks I can see get along well enough, probably just drink. I can see them talk about their Angels, Alastor & their different approaches. I can see my Husk warn OG about how he phrases things, what words he uses & that it might be good for him & Angel to talk more about their relationship aswell as his own past baggage more too. If my breakup thing happens, I can def see my Husk be worried but at the same time….if Rocky’s the right one for Angel, he doesn’t want to stop that….maybe suggest he find someone who could better connect with him too.🐤

I can def see my Niffty & OG kill bugs together aswell as share stuff about boys & sewing. My Niffty would be surpised & maybe lowkey jealous by how open OG is more with her unhinged side….would wonder if she’s got similar origins but too scared to ask & expose herself . Mine would def be jealous of OG’s less bug traits.

My Alastor would absolutely tell OG to tone the Hell down🤣🤣🤣. OG-On what?! My Al-everything but def starting with the red, seriously dude we died being mistaken for deer, did u learn nothing about blending too well with surroundings!? Also WHOS DOIGN YOUR HAIR!?!?!?! I know not Velvette, no WAY she’d allow THAT to be done in her salons! I can see them atleast bond over their drama with Vox.

My Sir P & OG def enjoy doing inventing stuff & scheming together. Would be surprised of his relationship issues with Baxter(my Sir P & Bax def vibe). Would also be surprised by his backstory(wishing his wasn’t as dire himself) & lowkey jealous he still got his arms.

My Baxter & OG r def off doing science experiments together aswell as end up talking about Niffty.

What do u guys think? How would you imagine canon & your rewrite crews to get along? I’d love to know💖

[darkmaga-returns]

Written by Derrick Broze

The Last American Vagabond

Nov 23, 2024

As President-Elect Donald Trump prepares to take office in less than 60 days with a plan to initiate the "largest deportation operation in history", it's important to reflect on the policies which lead to the current immigration crisis. 

On November 19th, U.S. Senator Bill Cassidy of Louisiana released a report accusing the Biden administration of failing to "secure the southern border" resulting in the exploitation and abuse of migrant children.

The report, The Biden-Harris Administration's Failure to Protect Unaccompanied Children from Abuse and Exploitation, lays the blame for the crisis at the feet of the Department of Health and Human Services’ (HHS) Office of Refugee Resettlement (ORR) and the Department of Labor (DOL). Cassidy says the Biden administration's lax immigration policies led to the current situation where thousands of unaccompanied children have fallen prey human trafficking and forced labor.

“Joe Biden and Kamala Harris had the power to prevent the exploitation of children by securing the southern border. Unfortunately, Democrats treated the border crisis as a messaging issue for their presidential campaign rather than address the humanitarian catastrophe that has resulted from failed Biden-Harris policies,” Cassidy stated.

Cassidy's report concluded that the Biden administration took several steps over the years which altered the process by which unaccompanied children are assigned a guardian, often known as a sponsor. Typically, the sponsors must be a family member or family friend who has undergone a vetting process, including a background check.

However, Cassidy says the Biden administration weakened the sponsor vetting process, including by working with a third-party contractor, The Providencia Group (TPG), which has an "abysmal record providing similar services to ORR in the past". Cassidy also accuses the ORR under the Biden administration of refusing to cooperate with Congressional investigations into their sponsor vetting process.

[shewhoworshipscarlin]

Dudley Dickerson

Dudley Henry Dickerson Jr. (November 27, 1906 – September 23, 1968) was an American film actor. Born in Chickasha, Oklahoma, he appeared in nearly 160 films between 1932 and 1952, and is best remembered for his roles in several Three Stooges films.

Given the era in which Dickerson performed, he was usually cast in stereotypical roles that were common in films of the time. His boundless energy can be seen in what are rather restrictive roles, and was a master at what has become known as "scared reaction" comedy. One of his early screen credits was the Our Gang comedy Spooky Hooky (1936), as a bemused caretaker. Dickerson also appeared in Soundies musical films with Dorothy Dandridge and Meade Lux Lewis; Big Joe Turner had recorded three numbers for Soundies but was not present for the filming, so Dickerson stood in for him and lip-synced his vocals.

Modern viewers will remember Dudley Dickerson for his portrayals of startled cooks, quizzical orderlies, frightened porters, and apprehensive watchmen in such Three Stooges films as They Stooge to Conga, A Gem of a Jam, and Hold That Lion! In Hold that Lion, he played a lovable train conductor who memorably bugged out his eyes and shrieked, "He'p, he'p, ah'm losin' mah mahnd!" when a lion attacked him and ripped the seat of his pants while he was shining a pair of shoes. This gag had been used by Moe in a previous short, but Dickerson's portrayal of the scene was so funny that the crew (and Dickerson himself) could hardly contain their laughter, as one can hear in the final release.

Probably Dickerson's most memorable role was that of the hapless chef in the Stooges' A Plumbing We Will Go, in which he uttered in bewilderment, "This house has sho' gone crazy!" He was also able to show the range of his acting talent in this role, able to raise a laugh from the audience by just giving a suspicious, sideways look to a kitchen appliance that had previously acted up. The footage would be recycled twice more in future Stooge comedies: 1949's Vagabond Loafers and 1956's Scheming Schemers. Both films included a newly filmed scene of a raincoat-clad Dickerson informing guests that "dinner's postponed on account of rain" (a turn of phrase usually used to describe the cancellation of a baseball game due to inclement weather).

Dickerson received featured billing in several Hugh Herbert comedies produced by Columbia Pictures, in which, as Herbert's valet, he is always in scary situations and reacts with comic terror.

In the early 1950s, Dickerson appeared in several episodes of TV's The Amos 'n' Andy Show, usually as a lodge member or Joe the Barber.

Dickerson had also appeared opposite Columbia comic Andy Clyde. When Columbia concluded its long-running Clyde series, producer Jules White called Dickerson back to appear opposite Clyde in a remake of the 1948 short Go Chase Yourself. To White's surprise, Dickerson had lost considerable weight and would no longer match the scenes filmed in 1948. White regarded Dickerson so highly that he filmed the new scenes anyway. Columbia released the film in 1956 as Pardon My Nightshirt.

Dickerson retired from acting in 1959. He died of a brain tumor in 1968 at age 61, and is buried at Lincoln Memorial Park in Los Angeles, California.

[lindoesntwin]

TOP MANGAS OF 2024

Ranked by MyAnimeList

Berserk - 9.47 ⭐

+1 detailed art +1 mature themes +1 action

Jojo's Bizarre Adventure part 7: Steel Ball Run - 9.32 ⭐

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Vagabond - 9.26 ⭐

+1 fight scenes +1 realistic character growth

One Piece - 9.22 ⭐

+1 cinematic art +1 hilarious characters

Monster - 9.16 ⭐

+1 cliffhangers +1 suspense +1 landscapes

Slam Dunk - 9.08 ⭐

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Vinland Saga - 9.08 ⭐

+1 brutal +1 consistent art

Fullmetal Alchemist - 9.04 ⭐

+1 pace

Grand Blue - 9.03 ⭐

+1 over the top +1 stupid but funny

Kingdom - 9.01 ⭐

+1 not original but fantastic

Oyasumi Punpun - 9 ⭐

+1 depressing and realistic +1 life-changing

Land of the Lustrous - 8.97 ⭐

+1 minimalistic art

Real - 8.95 ⭐

+1 variety

20th Century Boys - 8.94 ⭐

+1 fast-paced +1 well polished art

Ashita no Joe - 8.93 ⭐

+1 story delivery +1 tone

Yotsuba&! - 8.9 ⭐

+1 easy to read +1 happy and lively

Kaguya-sama: Love is War - 8.9 ⭐

+1 sharp art style

Umineko When They Cry Episode 8: Twilight of the Golden Witch - 8.9 ⭐

+1 thrilling

GTO - 8.87 ⭐

+1 well thought out concept +1 amusing story

March Comes in Like a Lion - 8.86 ⭐

+1 unique style +1 human and genuine

[fudgebuggyy]

✥ The Integral of Us ✥

Pairing: Jayce/ Viktor , Male!OC/Jayce/Viktor

Rating: Mature

Word count: 4k - 1/3 Chapters

Tags: No Hextech AU, Bilgewater lore, married Jayce/Viktor, bearded!Jayce, longhaired!Viktor, Original Character POV, dynamic: married couple adopts little shit

"If you want a threesome, that's triple the coin." "I'd consider doubling it if it's just you and him.” “You like to watch?” The man laughs again, and it’s almost as lovely as his accent. He feels it like a hand closing around his throat, feels dizzy from it. He wants to paw at him like a dog, wants to dot the mole above his mouth with the tip of his tongue. “Something like that,” the man says.

✥ ✥ ✥

When two Piltovian toolmakers open up a workshop in Rat Town (of all places) named Coin & Crank (dreadfully), it gets slopped in fish guts and ransacked within a week. A Piltovian’s stubbornness should’ve come with little surprise, and when they rebuilt, the only reason it wasn’t burnt to the ground was thanks to word getting out that the last ransackers fled the Coin & Crank with permanent brain damage.

(Also, look, they're super fucking hot and all the local twinks are having an existential crisis.)

Novelty in Bilgewater warrants as much attention as a barnacle on a ship’s hull—the transit point of every crew cutting through the Guardian’s Sea; runaways, smugglers, merchants and vagabonds, bandits down on their luck. 

Naturally it’s a real fucking pit stain. 

So when two Piltovian toolmakers open a workshop in Rat Town (of all places) named Coin & Crank (dreadfully), it gets slopped in fish guts and ransacked within a week. A Piltovian’s stubbornness should’ve come with little surprise (they didn’t bother changing the name) and when they rebuilt near the outskirts of the Buhru temple, the only reason it wasn’t burnt to the ground was because word got out the last ransackers fled the Coin & Crank with permanent brain damage. 

Violence breeds respect in real fucking pit stains. 

“Nice, ey?” Fat Joe winks, waving his brand new mechanical arm at a swarm of seagulls trying to pick at the fish guts flooding the docks; the forceps in his hand awfully dull in comparison to the fine metalwork of those prosthetic fingers. 

Fat Joe is neither fat nor called Joe, and despite what he proclaims during drunken tales at the taverns, he didn’t lose his left arm to a month-long serpent hunt; he was just born without one. He was born without much of a frontal lobe either.

“Well, shit.” Isak can’t look away from the arm, watches as it tosses the forceps aside, watches as those metal fingers rip out another massive scallop-shaped scale from the chunk of serpent’s flesh flung over the chopping block. Joe drops the scale on a pile beside them.

He does it with the kind of obnoxious flourish that goads all the dockworkers into one collective leer: fuck this guy. 

“Weren’t you the one who called them trinket-tappers?” 

“Still are.”Joe bobbles his head. “But, I’ll be damned, those Tinkers make a good arm.” He spreads the fingers wide, twisting the wrist, that soft mechanical whirr. It’s too clean of a thing in a place where everything is welded together, crooked and hack-jobbed, uncared for, hasty, horrid. Here, in the carving bay where the docks are cobbled together with driftwood and guts, the powdery copper of rusted iron. Out here, where you make do with whatever cargo strays into the bay. 

Isak stares at the intricate detail of that arm. It’s so pretty and so charming and so painfully Piltovian, down to the screws.  

“How much did you pay for it?“

“All of last catch’s coin.”

Isak spits a laugh. “Well, god-fucking-speed. I’ll give it a week.” He’s too preoccupied with using his own forceps to bat away the seagulls eyeing the scale-less serpent’s flesh that he doesn’t catch Joe fast enough. The arm whirrs down, the bite of cold metal around Isak’s throat. 

Joe drags him into the air. Boots skim the blood on the planks below. The arm hums now, hums wildly as Isak bats at it, trying to claw into the gaps in the metal.  

Joe cocks a brow. “Still giving it a week, sweeting?”

Vision splotchy, Isak grins.“Call me that again, and I’ll just ask you to squeeze harder—” 

“Oi! You can kill the kid when we’re done!” A voice like a Triton’s trumpet snaps all their heads up. 

Danni is dwarfed beneath the serpent dangling from iron chains and covered in platforms and pulleys, where workers hack at it for parts, crawling into and out of it like roaches. Its exposed belly, innards steaming. 

Joe tosses Isak onto the docks. Something about Danni makes men uneasy. (She likes to say it’s the age-old magic of a giant bosom.)

Wheezing, Isak aims his foot at Joe’s crotch but the oaf sidesteps him fast enough. Turning towards Danni, Joe flips her off excitedly with his new asset. “You seen this shit yet?”

“Congratulations! You can wipe your ass with both hands now!” She shouts, all Triton-trumpet-y, and she tosses him one of her brilliant smiles. Paired with her magical bosom, it distracts Joe long enough for Isak to aim for his crotch. This time he doesn’t miss. 

✥ ✥ ✥

Fat Joe doesn’t shut up about his new arm. 

Especially once everyone’s flooding the bar counter of the Wailing Lady, blasting their freshly earned coin on the taverns of Rat Town. The catch from that day was a gold rush. Whatever is left of the carcass dangles down in the docks. From the tavern’s terrace, Isak can make out the mangled shape of it. Even from all the way up here, it’s a colossus, swinging back and forth like a hanged god. 

“Nice, ey?” Isak overhears Joe slur for the hundredth time today. He doesn’t have to look to know the guy is wiggling his perfect prosthetics into any face willing to gift him attention. 

The arm has mostly been met with caution, a couple of nasty jokes about Piltover—their gold lapels, their shiny shoes, their oblivious postering—but most shut up once Joe started picking up chairs and tables, hoisting the giggling bar maiden up onto his shoulder. 

He’s a whole one-man show. He should start a circus. 

It’s annoying enough to even force Danni out onto the terrace for a smoke. Rolling her eyes, she hands Isak her cigarette to share. 

“Think he’s gonna try and jerk off with it?” Isak takes a long drag, closing his eyes and angling his head like that’ll give him a better visual. 

Danni groans. “Why must you ruin everything?”

“We might get lucky and he accidentally rips off his ballsack.” 

She snatches the cigarette out of his fingers. “You had some time to think about it?”

“His ballsack? Honestly? He’s not that bad-looking,” Isak looks over his shoulder, “if you close your eyes—”

“No, I meant you covering my shift at the Canary, you little freak.” 

“The Canary. Right.” 

Isak’s gaze sweeps over Bilgewater, opening up before them like a cavity, blackened and sprayed with flecks of light beneath the ancient stone overpass that arches over the bay. And higher, higher, up the stacked shacks and shops and roped bridges lobbed along the cliffs like thatches of moss growing on rock, up, up, crowned with buildings made of old ship prows, their curlicue balconies jutting into the night sky. Up there where the Canary lays tucked between dice houses and theaters, where the laughter is more drunken and delicious than anywhere else.  

“You can take a decent bath up there.” Danni uses that pretty-pretty-please tone of hers, probably the kind she uses to coax patrons into the rooms in the back.

Granted, the idea of a warm soak in place of dunking his head in a greywater tank makes his stomach loop a little. 

Isak sucks in a breath. “Who’s going to take care of Guppy while I’m gone?”

“You can take her with you. The girls would adore her.” Danni hands him the cigarette. “Come on…Please? You’re hot, buttercup.” She jabs her elbow into his side. “It’s easy coin, double the amount you make at the docks.”

“Mh-hmm…To think you’d suck up to me just to fuck a Noxian soldier.”

“Ex-soldier,” she points out. “And yes, so I can fuck a Noxian. Have you seen him? It’s our anniversary.”

This time, Isak rolls his eyes. “You met a week ago.”

“Exactly,” she sighs, stretching her head back. She smiles. “He wants to take me to some fancy dice house. He’s never been. Guy was basically a monk his whole life. A very hot, very horse-cocked monk—”

“Don’t—” Isak sputters a laugh. He shakes his head. “Don’t put those words together like that.”

Danni twists and looks down into the bay.

“Think about it…Good ale. A bath. They’ll proper feed you, promise. Plus, you can even keep your trousers on.” He snorts at that. “And who knows, maybe you’ll make enough to get those Tinkers to build you some sweet little fingers.” She grabs his left hand, presses into the stumps where his pinkie and ring finger used to be. He lets her, and only her. 

By now Danni knows him well enough. They’re the alley cats scrounging up food wherever they can, hopping from odd-job to odd-job, from the carving bay of the slaughter docks, to snatch-and-grabs around the canals below. They’ve been dishwashers, barbacks, danced on tables, woven fishing nets, shuffled card decks. They’ve pedaled moonshine and baggies of brinepowder, vials of daggerroot stuffed under their belts. Spent days on hunting ships, drunk and high, entertaining the crews that brought back serpents the size of mountains. 

Isak’s capacity for shame abandoned him a long time ago. Covering a shift at a brothel might be a step-up. 

“The shit I do for you,” he finally sighs. 

Danni shuffles with her feet the way she does when she knows she’s won. It’s her tell at poker; she’s terrible at poker. 

“You love me.” She pops her cigarette into his mouth and kisses his cheek, that goofy smooch of hers. He bats her off. 

“They better make me daggers for fingers,” he says once he’s had a full drag, flicking the stub of it over the railing.

“Tiny pistols,” Danni says, lifting his hand and aiming it over his shoulder, possibly at Fat Joe. 

“Extendable.”

“Hidden cutlery.”

“Storage space.”

“Music box.”

“Music box,” she hums in agreement. 

And then he laughs, and she laughs, and then they stop, and for a moment they listen to the huffing and clanging of this place as they gaze into the bay. 

This is his favorite moment of any night:

The hallowed grounds of the Buhru temple, misled into the cliffside like the figurehead of an ancient ship, overlook the blood-squalid slaughter docks, the canals running through Rat Town. The first ray of light crushes through the fog bank, a starting pistol for the ships in the bay setting out into the waves for the serpent hunt. He imagines the sailors toss their tithe into the depths—their payment for the gods, for Nagakabourus, the Great Kraken of the Serpent Isles—and the sun makes the water flash a deep, whimsy-blue.

And the priestesses ring the temple bells at first light, that skull-numbing gong humming through the streets, and for a moment, a real, real moment…Bilgewater isn’t so wretched.

✥ ✥ ✥

“Why you do think they came here?” Danni says, her head falling to his shoulder, his head falling to hers. 

“Who?”

“The Tinkers.”

He shrugs. 

“Same reason anyone else does.”

Was it she who told him this place is for the runways? For the leftovers?

It’s for everyone who was someone else before their ship, like an arrowhead to places unbelievable, shot into these waters, and the fog, finally—parted. 

✥ ✥ ✥

It turns out the Canary is heaven. 

Velvet-plush, nestled inside a repurposed merchant’s vessel on the highest cliffs of Bilgewater, filled only with angels and moonshine that’ll leave you blind in the morning. 

By the time Isak plops into his promised bath, he’s happier than a pig in shit. 

The girls, as Danni calls them, are sweet. They’re a mix of young men and women, Yordles, a Vastaya or two, flocking around him like cherubs, they file the dirt from his nails, untangle his curls, smooth his chapped lips with honey and sugar and, Oh, you have such lovely hair, Isak! Oh, Isak, how are your lashes so long? Isak, your eyes, oh, your eyes! 

He feels quite princely, stretched out in the wooden tub, soaking in milky water sprinkled with orange slices and herbs like a victory roast, guzzling moonshine with the vigor of man having returned from battle. (He chews on a few oranges, which the girls find very goofy and very concerning, so they bring him a plate of mash and beans, which, yes, he is allowed to eat in the tub, and yes, silly, there are seconds, and yes, even fourths, but are you sure?)

Guppy happily lays belly-up on the ground being cooed over. The heart on her furred stomach humming with delight. Poros anywhere outside of Freljord are a rarity, and if anyone loves attention more than Isak does, it’s his horned ball of cotton. 

Isak is dressed and oiled and painted and promised that, no, he won’t have to dance if he doesn’t want to, and yes, he may continue drinking as long as he makes sure the patrons are happy at all times. Isak can’t dance to save his life, but he’s got a nasty mouth, which has been the source of much happiness for quite a few men, a comment that earns him a raucous pile of laughter. 

Oh, you are so funny, Isak! one of them says, fixing his eyelashes. If Danni runs away with her Noxian, will you stay? They warble this, very heavenly, very cherub-like. It’s by then that Isak knows Danni must’ve ordered them to butter him up in hopes he’d be more willing to fill-in, so she can go about screwing that mute mountain of hers. 

She met him up here. Maybe Isak will snatch some rugged bounty hunter. Or a captain. Maybe a warlord. 

But Isak’s usual douse of luck runs low and attracts only toothless pirates who get confused about him having a cock.

He doesn’t mind it much though. He’s fed, he’s clean, he’s got a decent buzz going. He drinks and flirts, and flirts and drinks, and he doesn’t remember ever feeling so lovely, perched on laps of sailors who curl their hands over his thighs, and he only threatens one of them with with his pocket knife when a callous hand tries to wiggle into his trousers without payment. 

Maybe he can get used to attention like this, the thick and stiflingly unmistakable kind.

The drinks are getting to his head once the ale starts splashing across the bar counter. Whatever decorum Isak mustered up until that point, eviscerates. He’s wielding drunken stories like he’s at a pub in Rat Town, and the Madame of the place—an elegant Vastaya, with powdery-white ears, called Selis—threatens to toss him out early if he doesn’t settle down. 

“Swear to the gods and Nagakabouros,” he shouts, wiggling his left hand in the air, “those teeth sliced my fingers clean off! They’re this big! That’s what happens if you set sail without paying your tithe.”

“Bollocks.”

“Precisely, mine are huge—”

One of the sailors proclaims Isak would make a spectacular harlot, which is delightful news considering Isak wants stay here forever. 

The girls have gathered around him in a soft circle of oiled skin and silk, and he’s talking, talking all over himself, and they should pay him more for this, they should pay him to live here, to bathe in milk and orange slices and make up new stories about how he lost his fingers every night. 

The Canary is filled with melodies of a lute, soppy laughter rattling at the lanterns dangling from beams, their lovely spectral light swinging, swinging—

He sees him then. 

The man in the corner. 

He sits on a settee behind a film of pink gossamer. His robes are parted to reveal someone slender, courtly, the line of a fine-spined aristocrat. Men in Bilgewater don’t look like this. There’s always a tooth missing, or an eye. From afar, he seems too…intact. 

A newcomer, maybe. Too regal for a bounty hunter and too unassuming for a warlord. A merchant passing through? The son of a noble on the run?

Isak slinks away from the girls and the sailors once they break out into a discordant sea shanty.

The man watches him, eyes shadowed in the low lights. There’s something feline about it. Unsettling. 

Isak feels these things in his stomach curdle, feels suddenly so sloppy with liquors and spirits unknown, bumbling around the settees and tasseled pillows, the sheer fabrics draped low. He tries to saunter, fingers at the fabrics as he passes, scratches at dried candle wax on tables. All his common sense left scattered at the bar. One step, a stumble, his bare feet catching on the edge of a carpet. All knobby-limbed, he finally slumps onto the settee, his elbow knocking into the stranger’s. 

“Hey.”

Someone shove a harpoon into his eye. 

Hey?

“Hello,” the man says. It’s low and liquid, and Isak stares at the very particular way the colorful shards of light pool in the hollow of his cheek, the glorious shape of his nose, his Albatros brow. He’s an old oil painting, bounty from an abandoned ship ghosting into the harbor at night. 

The man asks him for his name, and Isak is drunk. He must be. He gives the man all of it. He might as well have rolled onto his back and shown him his belly. “Isak. Isak Lovenskinn.” It’s a stupid name, stupid when said all at once, but the man hums it in repetition: “Lovenskinn.” His accent strange, rounding over vowels. “Freljordian?” 

“Half.” Isak nods. 

He doesn’t look like an Isak or a Lovenskinn. The thick blood of his Ionian mother embedded in the black of his hair, the shape of his eyes—blue as an ice hole.

He stays quiet and stares at the man in hopes it’ll squeeze out a compliment. His ego has inflated to the size of a planet, and at this point he doesn’t know what he’ll do if it doesn’t keep getting fed. Go on, tell me I’m too sweet for a place like this. Tell me I shouldn’t be working here. Tell me you’ll take me away. Go on, tell me I’d make a spectacular harlot—

“You’re far away from home.”

“And you? How far are you away from home?”

“Is this your first time?”

Isak can’t help but snort. “‘ve sucked enough cock for the both of us, baby.” And there goes him trying to be sweet. 

The man doesn’t rattle easy. He tilts his head to the side, surveying him the way one might the change in weather pattern before a hunt. The graceful lines of his face impenetrable.

Isak loves a challenge. Isak is drunk and brazen. With a breath, he inches close, swings his leg over the man’s knees and bumbles into his lap. He’s lanky beneath him and surprisingly lean. He’s warm. 

Running his hands along the man’s narrow chest, Isak settles. This is familiar territory, this he knows, he’s good at this, he can do this. Leaning in close, Isak regards the pretty mole above the stranger’s mouth. There’s an obvious flutter of surprise on the man’s face. Isak wants to lap it up like kibble. 

“You can touch me, you know. Petting zoo policy,” Isak says, reaching for the man’s hands, but he stops once he realizes how the man pulls back. Stiff. Unsure. He hides it well. “Okay…” Isak softens, he can do this too. “If you want, we can take it slow, I can be real gentle. I make a great virgin.”

And that makes the man laugh. It’s as lovely and lilting as his accent. “My partner would like you.”

“Your what?”

The man’s hand disappears into his robes. For a second, Isak prepares to snatch his pocket knife, but he loosens when the man reveals a satchel, placing it carefully in Isak’s hand. The heaviness of it, the familiar clinking. 

If one thing makes Isak salivate more than a handsome face, it’s a fat satchel of gold. 

“Do you do house visits?” The man tilts his head, a strand of dark hair falling onto his brow. Isak stares at it, hypnotized. 

If he concentrates really, really hard, there’s a tiny voice in the back of his head that sounds an awful lot like Danni: Whatever you do, under no circumstances should you leave with anyone!!!

Isak’s not stupid. On occasion. 

The fact that he’s only lost two fingers has more to do with his minuscule douse of luck than intellect. And really, he likes this, likes this strange beautiful man, the way he looks at him, the way he feels beneath him. Something hot-liquid spills deliriously into his gut. A roll of his hips. The man’s breath hitches. Loud in their little bubble of gossamer, the sweet velvet fuzz of the settee. 

He makes a spectacular harlot. 

“If it’s a threesome, you’ll have to triple that,” Isak says.

“I’d consider doubling it if it’s just you and him.”

“Him, huh?” 

He tries to picture the type of man he lies with. Someone just as regal, just as collected?

“We have an arrangement of sorts.”

Isak smirks. “You like to watch?” 

The man laughs again, and it’s even lovelier than the last time. Isak feels it like a hand closing around his throat, feels dizzy from it. Everything twirling now. All the heat inside of him. He wants to paw at him like a dog, wants to dot the mole above his mouth with the tip of his tongue. 

“Something like that,” the man says. 

“What if I don’t do house visits? What if, what if you tell him to come here.”

Isak thinks he could ask for another shift if he promises not to turn the brothel into a Rat Town tavern again—

“He’s not the type to enter these kinds of…establishments.”

“He shy or something?”

“Principled.”

“I’m guessing you’re the fun one.”

This time, when he laughs there’s something naughty about it, touches his eyes, makes them flare alight like a crucible. “On occasion.”

Isak is so close to him now he reaches for that strand of stray hair, curls it behind an ear. An ear that is shaped so perfectly, carved alabaster. He realizes, horribly, that the man still hasn’t touched him. 

Behind them the sounds of the brothel are a swirl of drunken laughter and sweet-nothings, and the air so syrupy with incense Isak could choke on it, choke on the sweet pluckings of the lute. Here, Isak is a shameless thing. He wants to press his forehead against the man’s, wants to mumble all his filthy needing into that perfect ear, wants to say please. Something about him makes him want to plead until the spittle runs down his chin. He smells of crushed basil, honey. He smells like somewhere far away. He smells other. 

Something about it unsettles him so deeply it scrapes at the bottom of his stomach. A feeling he can’t put a finger on, but wants to, craves to, desperately, with all of himself. This feeling, this feeling. 

He’s so drunk, he’s so drunk, he’s so drunk. 

Isak doesn’t want him to leave, and he digs through his head for anything to say. “So…you wouldn’t describe yourself as a principled man?”

“My principles are a little more malleable.”

“Well,” Isak puffs his cheeks and exhales, “I’ve got none. So, how about I offer you a little show upstairs, free of charge. You can take me for a trial run, give me pointers, and then, and—” Isak clears his throat. “Then tell him to come. The rooms are nice upstairs. You’ll both like it, I promise. I—” He feels the man shift as if to stand. He surveys Isak in that disquieting way again, the heat of his attention searing from one side of his face to the other, then lower, until finally, the man touches him. Curls slender hands around Isak’s and closes them over the satchel of coins.

His fingers are so cold Isak wants to drag them to his mouth, thaw them with breath and tongue…

“Thank you, but I must decline that offer.” The man shifts a final time, and Isak, like a puppet made only of elbows and knees, falls to the settee as the man rises. “Keep it.” He gestures at the satchel. “Perhaps you will make up your mind.” 

“You’re leaving?”

Don’t leave.

He stands before him now, slouched to one side. Isak hadn’t noticed what the man kept hidden beneath his robes: a cane made of thick shining metal. 

Pretty.

Charming. 

“I hope to see you again, Isak Lovenskinn.”

Don’t leave.

“I don’t even know your name.”

Please. 

This feeling, this feeling—

“It’s Viktor.”

✥ ✥ ✥

With a sleeping Guppy tucked tight against his chest, Isak stumbles back down into the bay. Swaying along with all the drunkards leaving taverns and inlets, wading through the muck of last night slopped across the streets.  

When the first shard of sun cleaves through the fog, its light shining upon the carved stone of the Buhru temple, blue dome a knuckle digging into the sky, the gong chimes, and Isak imagines the acolytes, those chosen devoted few, spilling into its tombs for morning prayer. 

There, he puts a finger on the feeling, and he listens to it sing. 

[johnmarkmendoza]

The Adventures of Tom Sawyer

Mark Twain's The Adventures of Tom Sawyer was published in 1876, and narrates the life of a smart but mischievous boy Tom Sawyer living in the town of Mississippi River. This work is considered as classic American Literature and created a successful sequel The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn (1884).

Tom's age was probably around twelve to thirten years old; as we can see in the novel, he was a jolley prankster young man. He also experienced a normal life of a lad, like making trouble with other boys and whitewashing the fench as a punishment. But later on in his life he met Huck Finn, a vagabond whose father is a drinker. One day when Tom and Huck came across with robbers, and among those robbers were Joe and Dr. Robinson, then the two men got into a fight, and Joe murdered the doctor. At a young age, these two young men were brought into contact with this kind of experience. In normal circumstances, it could be a threat to their mental development and may lead to trauma until they grow old.

Those experiences lead them to be pirates to run away from their dark past. After many events, Tom met Becky, a girl whom he had been engaged to. One day, when Tom and Becky wandered in a cave, they lost their way. At the same time, Becky suffered from a health issue. Tom tries to find a way out, and Tom successfully led Becky to safety. At the end, after these tragic experiences, they manage to live their lives as normal children and will no longer be affected by their terrible past but in an adventurous way. This novel reminds their reader about the vulnerability of a child's mind but, at the same time, the effects of being steadfast no matter our age.

[oflights]

Shuffle your on repeat playlist and list the first 10 songs that play, then tag 10 people.

thanks @geesenoises for the tag! you've made me want to listen to sufjan's latest again 😌

here's mine:

boygenius, Ye Vagabonds - The Parting Glass

Great Lake Swimmers - Don't Leave Me Hanging

Lorde - Green Light

Blind Pilot - Oviedo

Natalie Imbruglia - Torn

boygenius - Souvenir

The Mountain Goats - Up the Wolves

Joe Hisaishi - A Girl of Fire

Taylor Swift - Clean (Taylor's Version)

Radical Face - Glory (Live)

pretty typical. i've been listening to Torn a lot because we're doing karaoke next week and that's one of my 90s/early aughts girl rock picks i'm determined to absolutely crush. been prepping and taking inspo from this lilithcore playlist that i love.

also Up the Wolves is because i was writing an aeneid movie adaptation in my head a little while ago and decided that would be the end credits needle drop. 😌

i'm tagging @moonflower-rose @peachesandpaperbacks @pixiedunhoff @thecouchsofa @raenestee @a-bichol @stationintern @kittycargo @feltwrong and @quail-in-red !! no pressure obvs