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trappers-cloak · 1 year ago

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The Buck and the Fox: Chapter 3

"Men in Sheep's Clothing"

a/n: after months of me agonizing on how to finish this chapter, here it is! we last left off with Diana heading to bed with her husband Eugene. Now this is where things are starting to pick up.

Tags: slow burn, female!oc x Arthur Morgan, hints of pining. this is very plot heavy - while it is a work of fanfiction, it leans into creating a compelling story within the world/story of rdr2.

TW: incest, dubious consent, captivity

word count: ~ 4k

Diana Wegner

Diana hadn’t expected to see Arthur at the ranch, but it was a welcome surprise. She was also sorry not to have said hello, but it would’ve been too much of a risk with Eugene home early anyway. Still, the thought of Arthur kept her through the evening's chores.

Eugene, having arrived drunk with his new, unnecessary stallion, put Diana and Seamus to the task of stabling the horse and feeding him. The whole time, she thought of Arthur, knowing that such thoughts were folly anyway. For Christ sakes, she’d only met the man once, yet here she was giggling and blushing about him like a schoolgirl. She couldn’t place her fascination with him, besides the small fact that he was a dangerously attractive cowboy who quite literally had saved her life. It was something out of a storybook from her youth. Even Eugene’s new horse reminded her of Arthur - this new, frivolous purchase was the same color and pattern as the man’s war horse.

“Missus Diana?” a question from Seamus broke her from her thoughts.

“Oh, um…yes?” she asked Seamus, hoping he hadn’t seen her in her thoughts. His smirk told her he had.

“I just said that I’ve got the rest of this. You best get on inside. Mister Eugene said he…wants you tonight,” he mumbled. He knew better than to tease her after saying such a thing.

Diana’s heart sank. Here she was, fantasizing like she was Miriam’s age, and she had to go do her wifely duties with a man she near despised. She sighed, and handed Seamus the reins.

“Gimme some of that moonshine. The strong stuff, this time,” she said to Seamus. He handed over his own flask, a stolen engraved hip flask.

“This stuff’s got some poppy in it, if you catch my meaning. Absinthe, too,” Seamus said. Diana took a sip, and winced. She tried to give it back to Seamus, but he didn’t take it, and nodded towards her.

“Another sip. You’ve…well, you’ve earned it,” he said. He was gentler than usual. These nights brought out the kindness in him. Diana obliged, with a big sip. This moonshine, whatever special stuff Seamus kept, had a way of numbing the senses, more so than other moonshine.

The world seemed to float, and Diana's brain slowed its thinking. A bead of sweat formed on her forehead, and she giggled. It took more of her effort to walk, one step in front of the other.

Eugene was waiting for her outside his bedchamber. Months ago, it had been theirs.

“C’mon, darlin,” he murmured, drunk as a skunk himself. He clapped her shoulder and not-so-gently ushered her towards the bed. His “loving” demeanor was gone, and as she turned towards him, his eyes were dark. At the sight, he shoved her towards the bed.

“Now get undressed,” he snarled.

Normally, Diana would’ve slapped him. The moonshine and the memories of Eugene’s rage stopped her. That, and she’d forgotten her knife. So instead, she did as he asked, and laid on the bed. Prepared now, physically and mentally, she laid there. Bare. Vulnerable.

She fucking hated it.

But she had never been more grateful for the poppy-laced moonshine. It dulled the sensations, kept her calm. Instead of the task being a misery, it was more of a nuisance. Something she had learned to tolerate, even if she couldn't imagine doing it sober.

She looked down halfway through the deed. Her dear lord husband’s gut was swinging, and obscured any view she might’ve had. It wasn’t stopping him. She allowed her mind to wander.

It wandered where one might think it did. Towards the figure on the hill from earlier. She supposed Arthur could be her if she’d been born a man, but that wasn’t really why she thought of him so frequently. She conjured scenes from a dime novel, and put Arthur's face to them. It made her feel almost good, especially if she closed her eyes.

As Eugene moaned, her eyes snapped open again, startled. He moaned again, and she relaxed. Until it happened again.

“Oh,” he groaned. “Oh, Miriam!”

Diana froze. Not a single muscle moved. Her husband was finished, now, which haunted her even more. His face, inches away from hers, gave no inclination that he’d known what he’d said. She turned over as he laid down beside her, and stayed staring at the wall until morning.

When morning came and the roosters called, Diana was up and dressed in the same clothing from the previous day. Eugene still snored on his side of the bed, and she prepared herself for the early departure. Her husband was a monster of a man on a good day, and a hangover did nothing to improve the matter.

As she crept downstairs, she headed straight for the kitchen, nursing a hangover of her own. The smell of tea coaxed her like a siren song, and she wandered towards the edge of the ship until she came face to face with Miriam. The pair started in tandem, and froze. A moment passed, and Miriam rushed forward and embraced Diana in a hug so tight it took her breath away.

“Oh, Diana!” Miriam whisper-cried. “What are you doing out in the open?!”

“Your father was kind enough to take me to bed last night,” Diana replied, sighing as she said it. Nevertheless, she hugged Miriam with a similar enthusiasm.

“O-oh,” Miriam said. She wasn’t shocked, per se, but such a thing is never comfortable to hear. “Was it…” she probed. She didn’t truly want to know, Diana could tell.

“It was…normal,” Diana replied, still in a soft voice. “But-”

She was interrupted when a maid came in. It was Miriam’s governess, though she hardly needed one.

“I think that will be all, Diana,” she said, a cold woman with an equally icy delivery. “Now go on. Mister Wegner will be downstairs any minute now, and you wouldn’t want any trouble, would you?”

Diana and Miriam froze once again.

“No. I wouldn't want that. But I would like to say good morning to my stepdaughter and eat a meal with little interruption,” Diana replied, trying her hardest to emulate the same frigidity.

“Mister Cripps has prepared a morning meal, has he not?”

“At this hour, likely not. And that does not preclude me from saying hello-”

“Miss Miriam does not need such tidings. There is no reason for you to confuse her further with your…habits. Habits and ideas,” the governess said. Her face was unmoving. She was winning, goddamn it. Miriam remained silent, a type of silence that Diana recognized. Fear.

“Now, Miriam,” the governess said, turning towards the petrified girl. “Our lessons begin at nine. Go get yourself ready,” she commanded.

“Yes, Missus Carmichael,” Miriam answered in a voice quieter than a church mouse. She squeezed Diana’s hand once before leaving, and was ushered up the stairs to her glorified cage. Diana was alone. She took another sip of tea, still coming down from her fear of Missus Carmichael when the true reality of her situation slammed into her chest.

Eugene, her husband of years gone by, lusted for his own goddamn daughter. Not his stepdaughter, not his goddaughter, his own daughter, by blood.

Diana rushed out of the kitchen and ran to the barn, hoping to catch Seamus before his work had started. She was lucky enough to find him alone in the barn, where the only prying ears belonged to the cows.

“What in the-” he started, before Diana slammed the door behind her.

“You’ll want more of that Poppy-shine before I start,” she said, grabbing her metal mess cup from her belt. “Now pour.”

He poured, but stopped her before she could take a sip.

“I’m out of that good stuff - I gave the last of it to you last night. This is still strong,” he said. Diana rolled her eyes, and again went to take a sip. This time, Seamus let her, and the burn of the moonshine slid down her throat like nectar. The taste was rich, like a sweet plum.

Seamus took a sip as well, and grabbed a piece of paper from his coat.

“Look, Diana, there’s no easy way to say this, but-”

“Eugene wants to fuck Miriam,” Diana said quickly. She couldn’t bear holding it in another second. Seamus paused, his mouth agape.

“What?”

“He said her name last night. At first I couldn’t believe it, but he said it again.” the gravity hit her again, and dread along with it. For once, Seamus looked surprised.

“Well…shit,” he said, taking another sip.

“That's your reaction? Seamus, we have to do something!” Diana was close to shouting. Seamus moved again to get the piece of paper. Diana couldn’t believe him.

“Goddamn it, we need to do something-” she continued, and he slapped the paper down on the table.

“Look,” he said. “Just look at it.”

Diana unfolded the paper and unveiled a bounty poster. On the poster was a picture of the man who’d saved her. In big letters at the top read:

ARTHUR MORGAN. WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE $5000 REWARD BY THE STATE OF WEST ELIZABETH, AND THE COMMONWEALTH OF BLACKWATER. IF FOUND, DO NOT APPROACH. ARMED AND DANGEROUS. CONTACT THE PINKERTON DETECTIVE AGENCY.

After a beat, she spoke.

“Where did you find this?”

“Cripps saw it at the station this morning. Poster just went up.” Seamus tried to gauge the expression on her face, to no avail. The gears behind her eyes turned and turned and turned.

Seamus spoke up again, seemingly uncomfortable with the silence. Even the cows had stopped mooing. “Now, I knew there was something up with this feller when his old man came and started spouting nonsense about so-called ‘lost goods’. I’d guessed the pair were thieves, until I saw this.”

“Why are you showing this to me?”

“Well, I thought you’d just want to know–”

“That I’d had a savior delivered onto my doorstep?”

“Wait, what?” Seamus looked confused. “I was just gonna warn you–”

“That there are bad men out there? Seamus, you do business with bad men everyday. I’m married to perhaps the worst man in New Hanover,” she replied.

Seamus sighed.

“Listen Missus Wegner, I don’t think you’re thinking this through. I also don’t even know what you’re thinking of doing!”

This gave Diana pause - he was right. She knew for a fact that she was angry, that Miriam was a caged bird, and that her husband had said his own daughter's name as he found his completion the night before. She knew that she loved Miriam like something between a sister and a daughter, and that she had never felt something like that for anyone else. She also knew that the man who’d saved her, Arthur, was a good man. All her silly fantasies laid aside, he had saved her life at his own peril, without the expectation of money, sex or goods, or any combination thereof.

She sighed for what must have been the umpteenth time.

“You’re right. I-I just need rest, time to think,” she said. As soon as the words left her mouth, her eyes felt like they’d been attached to lead weights. The sleeplessness of the night sunk in.

“Climb up to the hayloft and sleep there. I’ll tell you if something goes down,” Seamus said, and Diana whistled for Pluto. Diana climbed up as instructed to find a bedroll amidst the hay. Her sheepdog bound up the rafters to join her, and snuggled up against her instantly. Before Diana fell asleep, she was startled by Seamus climbing up to pass her waterskin.

“Here, Missus Wegner. Oh,” he said, reaching behind him. He pulled out the bounty poster, along with two others. “I think these fellers are all working together. If you have some harebrained plan hatched involving that Arthur fella, you’ll probably encounter these guys too.”

“Thank you,” Diana responded, sleep beginning to overtake her. Seamus nodded, and started down the stairs. She opened the other two bounty posters, revealing the faces of two other men. One, a dark-haired mustachioed man named Dutch Van der Linde, and the other, a gray-haired older man named Hosea Matthews. She pondered the posters, and turned again.

“Seamus?”

“Yeah?”

“We need to save her. I will save her - even If it’s the last thing I do.”

Arthur Morgan

The gift box proved harder to balance on Ares’ back than expected. Ares was a stocky horse, but impatient, and loath to slow to balance a parcel on his back, and Arthur had had to slow the horse to a trot the whole journey back to the Overlook. By the time he had entered the forested trail back to camp, the steed was still restless.

Suddenly, another surprise- an unexpected voice came from the trees.

“Who’s there?”

The voice asking that question usually belonged to Bill or Javier- sometimes even Charles. This time, the voice was a different one- harsher.

“Micah?”

“That’s right, cowpoke, I’m back!” Micah came into view, his gigantic blonde mustache dripping with what must have been whiskey.

“And here I thought they were gonna hang you in Strawberry,” Arthur said. He tried to hide his disappointment at his comrades' safe return.

“You ain’t getting rid of me that easily! I don’t go down without a fight,” Micah retorted.

“Certainly had us fooled. You damn near gave Lenny a heart attack- the poor kid was panicking when he came back with the news!” Arthur said. The memory was a vivid one - Lenny had interrupted a meeting with himself and Dutch in a frenzy, panting and saying Micah was in jail in some ‘vacation’ town west of the Dakota River.

“Ehh, he’ll be fine. One day you’ll have to learn to loosen up a little, Morgan,” Micah said.

Arthur rolled his eyes and rode into camp, hitching his horse and grabbing the box from its back. He tried to hide his impatience to moderate success, but inside he was itching to know its contents. As he plopped on his cot, he did his best to open the box without tearing into it like some wild animal.

The cloak he pulled out was thick and the color of snow and soot. Sheep’s wool, by the feel of it. It had the recognizable smell of leatherworking material and livestock, plus a slight floral - or was it blackcurrant? - scent. He almost got so caught up in it, running his hands over the woolen decadence, that he missed the note at the bottom of the box. The green ribbon on the note gave it away, and he gently set the cloak down beside him to read.

Dearest Arthur,

Please accept this gift as a token of gratitude for saving my life just one week ago. Not a day goes by where I do not think of you and the kindness extended towards me. I am sorry that I had to cut our meeting short that day, and would love to speak with you - or share a drink with you - another time in the near future. Mister Cripps informed me of how delightful you were to have as company. I hope to see you again soon at Emerald Ranch. If you and your compatriots are still in need of money to get back on your feet, there is ample work to be found at the ranch, and Mister Cripps will happily buy any hides, if you continue your career as a hunter.

Warm regards,

Diana Wegner.

On the other side of the paper was a small addition.

P.S., if you should be in need of other business opportunities, feel free to visit and ask after myself or our foreman Seamus. I hope to hear from or see you soon.

Diana.

“Arthur?” Mary-Beth’s voice, like Tilly’s, carried itself on the air like birdsong. Arthur cleared his throat and looked to her, hoping she hadn’t been calling his name for the past few minutes.

“Sorry, Mary-Beth, I- well I was miles away, I’m afraid,” he said. The girl giggled, and responded.

“Aren’t we all! I understand. What’re you reading?”

“Just a letter, someone at the ranch southeast of here, offering some work. That and…well, they sent me something as a thank-you for helping ‘em out a few days ago,” he said, sheepishly. Mary-Beth noticed his expression, and visibly took note of the delicate cursive on the page he was reading, the packaging surrounding Arthur’s bed.

“A new girl, huh?”

“Nah - well, yes but…” Arthur trailed off. “Not in the way you’re thinking, so no need to get all excited,” he said.

“Okay,” Mary-Beth said, with a smirk. Like Tilly, Mary-Beth was like a kid-sister, barely eighteen years old.

Arthur folded the letter neatly, placing it in a spare satchel hanging by his bed, and picked up the cloak, spreading it out before him. It was large and surprisingly light- when slung over his shoulders, it felt almost like a blanket. Its comfort, combined with the slowly encroaching nightfall, looked to lull him to sleep. He was just getting to lay down, the cloak still on his shoulder, when a voice emerged.

“Arthur, my boy!” Dutch’s voice boomed over the ambient sounds of camp.

Arthur cleared his throat. “Dutch,” he said, “How are we doing? Money-wise?”

“Not so great yet. Have you managed to find a score? Have you done any collecting for Strauss?”

Arthur had to hold back a groan at the mention of Strauss. Even Dutch agreed that it seemed more dignified to be a bandit than to do work for the Austrian loan shark, yet Strauss still remained with the gang for reasons unknown.

“Not yet,” he said, “nor have I found a score. You know me, I’m better at carrying out the robbin’ than I am finding the people to do it.”

“I know, I’ve already asked others if they’ve found anything,” Dutch replied. “I’m sending some of the boys out to sniff around Valentine,” he said, turning towards the main campfire. “Bill, Lenny, you two head into town tomorrow. Take some of the ladies with you, and start scoping some stuff out. Micah, John, you two head to that ranch and see what you can rustle up…take Uncle with you, put him to work,” Dutch trailed off, looking around the camp to see who else he could delegate.

Arthur cleared his throat, which had become oddly tight at the mention of the ranch. Dutch had to mean Emerald Ranch. He spoke before he could think.

“Maybe we should just try to find jobs, Dutch. I thought we were lying low. I’ve already run into O’Driscolls, Hosea showed me some good hunting around here, and maybe we can just hide until Blackwater blows over,” he said. Dutch responded by staring at him, wordless. He remained quiet, an unreadable expression on his face, until Hosea spoke up, lifting his face from the book it was buried in.

“He’s right, you know,” he said. “And it’s only what I’ve been telling you this entire time. We have a good contact at the ranch, both for selling our goods and he’s the foreman there. Townsfolk will buy our stories more if we start looking for work too - we can’t milk the “laid-off worker” angle for long if we don’t start working around here,” he continued.

Arthur could see the gears turning in Dutch’s head. The need for fast money, a way to escape from all of this, was the first thing on the older man’s mind - but so was not getting shot to swiss cheese by the Pinkertons.

Dutch’s voice went to a higher pitch, like it always did when he was stressed. “Fine,” he said. “Everyone gather round! Guards too, get over here!” he shouted to no one in particular.

The camp denizens, sober or not, began to gather in a semicircle around the front of Dutch’s tent. His lover, the redheaded Molly O’Shea, peeked out from behind the front curtain - Dutch turned to her and took her hand before addressing the lackluster crowd.

“My boy Arthur here…” Dutch began, gesturing to Arthur with his free hand, “has, along with Hosea, convinced me that what we need now is not only money, but honest money. Good honest work. So that…” he paused again. Arthur had once found the words “pause for effect” in Dutch’s speech notes, and had to stifle a laugh to himself. Dutch continued. “That…is what we shall do. Tomorrow I want all those able to start looking for good, honest work. There’s plenty of ranchers, drivers, railway men looking for hands, and we shall supply it. Keep an eye out for scores, but do not do anything unless you bring it to Hosea and I first!”

“We failed in Blackwater because we tried to do too much too fast, and didn’t coordinate,” Hosea continued off Dutch. “We will save lives with this - ours and the lives of others.” it looked like Dutch was going to keep on strategizing to the gang, but a member towards the back, cleared his throat. Karen and Abigail turned to reveal Micah, raising his arm. Where he was trying to make the gesture seem tough, Arthur conjured an image of schoolchildren.

“While honest work seems a good plan for the rest of you…” he started, “some of us haven’t the uh.. temperament for such things, right boss?” he looked towards Dutch, trying to appeal to him. Dutch looked firmly back.

“It’s like Hosea said, Micah,” he started, but a quick look exchanged between himself and Micah prompted a change in Dutch’s expression. Arthur watched their faces, trying to channel his inner Hosea - read them, their thoughts, their intentions. He came up with nothing. Dutch continued.

“Any of you have any trouble, see me, Miss Grimshaw or Mister Pearson. We always need people at the camp and hunting if they don’t find a job,” he said. The gang gathered still, grumbled their assent, and stood there for a moment. The silence was heavy until Miss Grimshaw spoke up, with an authority befitting the de facto camp mother.

“Well don’t just stand around, y’all, get back to whatever it was you were doing!” This spurred the camp back into motion, as if they’d frozen in time beforehand. Most of the men made a beeline back to the campfire, with a convenient box of whiskey bottles beside it. Abigail took the arm of the woman from the Grizzlies they’d rescued - Adler, was it? - who was crying softly. Little Jack, the resident 5 year old of the gang, took the woman’s other hand, and the pair led the crying woman to their tent, tucked behind the chuckwagon. For about an hour, the entire camp resumed it’s normal activities; singing around the fire, chopping firewood, playing poker, and, of course, drinking.

After three beers and four of Uncle’s outrageous stories later, Arthur grabbed a bowl of venison stew and took the steaming bowl of Pearson’s cuisine back to his tent. Sitting down, he could hear Dutch’s voice faintly behind him, speaking in whispers. He took a bite, and wished that he’d had the stew Cripps had offered earlier. That had smelled like apricots and berries - in fact, it smelled like the cloak, spread out on the bed. Blackcurrant. It must grow near the ranch.

Dutch emerged from the small wooded area behind Arthur’s tent-wagon, his whispered speech ending in a “we’ll figure it out. We always do.”

Arthur turned, expecting to see Dutch walking with Molly. The pair often rendezvoused in the evenings away from camp, considering Dutch’s tent - and bed - were smack dab in the middle of camp. But, instead of seeing Molly with a messy red braid replacing her neat plait, Arthur saw Dutch emerge…with Micah. Micah instantly walked towards the chuckwagon, not even giving Arthur a second glance.

“Thanks, boss,” was all the cowboy said. Dutch nodded, and turned to Arthur.

“Goodnight, Arthur. Let me know how you make out tomorrow,” he said, and ducked into his tent without another word.

That night Arthur had a dream; a red fox wandered the plains, and disappeared into a forest.

Only once did the creature glimpse back at him.

#arthur morgan rdr2 #the buck and the fox #rdr2 oc #rdr2 #rdr2 fandom #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan x oc

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my-weird-news · 1 year ago

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Shocking Twist: Houston Woman Kills Landlord, Hides Body, Keeps Collecting Rent! 😱

Murder, Mayhem, and the Mysterious Case of the Fleeing Landlord Oh boy, gather 'round folks, because I've got a wild tale for you that's like something straight out of a twisted sitcom! 🕵️‍♂️ It's a story of a missing Texan landlord, a lady with a penchant for creative excuses, and a whole lot of suspicious bloodstains. 🏠💀 So there's this woman, Pamela Ann Merritt, who must have taken a masterclass in crafting bizarre alibis. She tried to sell the idea that her landlord, a spry 78-year-old named Colin Kerdachi, had pulled a "Houdini" and escaped to Africa. 🌍✈️ Yup, Africa! Because, you know, that's where all retired landlords go on vacation, right? But hold onto your cowboy hats, folks, because this yarn gets even more tangled. Turns out, our dear Pamela didn't just stop at the wild safari tale. Nope, she went the extra mile and allegedly turned Mr. Kerdachi into an involuntary under-the-stairs tenant. 🐕🏠 Can't afford rent? No problem, just hide a body instead! Genius! Picture this: Houston's freezing over, power's out, and Colin's gone AWOL. People are scratching their heads like, "Did he turn into an icicle or what?" 🧊❄️ But lo and behold, after months of scratching, the cops finally find him. Not in an igloo, not on a tropical island, but behind a staircase like a forgotten Christmas decoration. 🎄🕳️ Now, I'm no detective, but something smells fishier than a catfish fry at a Texan fair. Turns out, Pamela had her own version of home improvement going on. Imagine the scene: "Honey, should we paint the walls or scrub off the bloodstains first?" 🎨💉 What a dilemma! The plot thickens when Pamela's fellow tenants start spilling the beans. There's Tabitha Pope, a recent addition to this reality TV-worthy cast. She uncovered blood pools, knives in mailboxes, and bins full of blood – just your average Tuesday morning surprises. ☠️📦 And let's not forget her genius move of tricking Pamela and her boyfriend into revealing the body's location. Talk about playing a twisted game of "Where's Waldo's Corpse?" 🧐🔍 Of course, the comedic duo (Pamela and her boyfriend) didn't disappoint. They put on a show that could rival any amateur theater production, loudly discussing a "dead dog" under the stairs. Bravo, guys, bravo! 🐶🎭 So, what's Pamela's masterstroke in this symphony of absurdity? She claims the bloodstains are from "rotten meat" and the remains are from a dog. I guess her refrigerator doubles as a crime scene and a pet cemetery – versatile! 🍗🥩 And let's not forget the star witness, Michael Brown, who probably has a future as a stand-up comedian. "Oh, yeah, I saw the landlord with a stab wound, but I figured he just needed a vacation... to the hospital!" 🏥😂 So there you have it, folks – a missing landlord, a stab-happy murderer, and more twists than a Texas roller coaster. It's the stuff David Sedaris dreams of – bizarre, hilarious, and stranger than fiction. If you're ever in need of a good laugh, just remember the tale of Pamela, Colin, and the great African escape! 🤣🕺# Murder, Mayhem, and the Mysterious Case of the Fleeing Landlord Oh boy, gather 'round folks, because I've got a wild tale for you that's like something straight out of a twisted sitcom! 🕵️‍♂️ It's a story of a missing Texan landlord, a lady with a penchant for creative excuses, and a whole lot of suspicious bloodstains. 🏠💀 So there's this woman, Pamela Ann Merritt, who must have taken a masterclass in crafting bizarre alibis. She tried to sell the idea that her landlord, a spry 78-year-old named Colin Kerdachi, had pulled a "Houdini" and escaped to Africa. 🌍✈️ Yup, Africa! Because, you know, that's where all retired landlords go on vacation, right? But hold onto your cowboy hats, folks, because this yarn gets even more tangled. Turns out, our dear Pamela didn't just stop at the wild safari tale. Nope, she went the extra mile and allegedly turned Mr. Kerdachi into an involuntary under-the-stairs tenant. 🐕🏠 Can't afford rent? No problem, just hide a body instead! Genius! Picture this: Houston's freezing over, power's out, and Colin's gone AWOL. People are scratching their heads like, "Did he turn into an icicle or what?" 🧊❄️ But lo and behold, after months of scratching, the cops finally find him. Not in an igloo, not on a tropical island, but behind a staircase like a forgotten Christmas decoration. 🎄🕳️ Now, I'm no detective, but something smells fishier than a catfish fry at a Texan fair. Turns out, Pamela had her own version of home improvement going on. Imagine the scene: "Honey, should we paint the walls or scrub off the bloodstains first?" 🎨💉 What a dilemma! The plot thickens when Pamela's fellow tenants start spilling the beans. There's Tabitha Pope, a recent addition to this reality TV-worthy cast. She uncovered blood pools, knives in mailboxes, and bins full of blood – just your average Tuesday morning surprises. ☠️📦 And let's not forget her genius move of tricking Pamela and her boyfriend into revealing the body's location. Talk about playing a twisted game of "Where's Waldo's Corpse?" 🧐🔍 Of course, the comedic duo (Pamela and her boyfriend) didn't disappoint. They put on a show that could rival any amateur theater production, loudly discussing a "dead dog" under the stairs. Bravo, guys, bravo! 🐶🎭 So, what's Pamela's masterstroke in this symphony of absurdity? She claims the bloodstains are from "rotten meat" and the remains are from a dog. I guess her refrigerator doubles as a crime scene and a pet cemetery – versatile! 🍗🥩 And let's not forget the star witness, Michael Brown, who probably has a future as a stand-up comedian. "Oh, yeah, I saw the landlord with a stab wound, but I figured he just needed a vacation... to the hospital!" 🏥😂 So there you have it, folks – a missing landlord, a stab-happy murderer, and more twists than a Texas roller coaster. It's the stuff David Sedaris dreams of – bizarre, hilarious, and stranger than fiction. If you're ever in need of a good laugh, just remember the tale of Pamela, Colin, and the great African escape! 🤣🕺 Read the full article

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lonesome-dreamsss · 2 years ago

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hear me out. jack/ennis and music.

ennis is writing a song for jack.

now he ain’t much with words so he just takes his guitar (his daddy taught him to play when he was a kid, before everything went sour) and he plays what’s in his heart, he’ll be damned if he lets himself put sappy nonsense into words but by god you can hear the love in them damn notes

and as he scribbles the notes onto the back of an old newspaper, he thinks about what the look on jack’s face’s be like when ennis plays it for him on their anniversary in a few days.

but, here’s what ennis doesn’t know.

jack is writing a song. for ennis.

now jack ain’t exactly a musical genius, put a guitar in his hands and he’s a clumsy fool, harmonica in his mouth an’ it sounds like a darned cat screechin’ to death. but words is something he’s good with. the fella could be a damn poet, ennis has said before, with a gruff smile.

and his voice ain’t exactly bad either. you’d hafta kill him before the fella would admit it but he ain’t bad with tunes. get the man drunk and he’d be serenading the whole bar with the voice of a goshdarn angel.

so, rhymes coming to him instantly as he scribbles on a notepad, jack wonders what ennis will say when he sings this for him in a few days, on their anniversary, in a simple lilting tune.

a few days whiz by, and jack and ennis are back up on brokeback just like in the old days. it’s night, and as the stars twinkle in the sky, ennis points out theirs and jack smiles and leans into his shoulder. the rough, desperate, almost animal thing between them still exists, but in the past decade or so of gentleness and consistency and steady love, it’s subsided, replaced with a quiet intimacy ennis could only call domestic.

now ennis is suddenly shy, but jack can read him, asks “what’s on yer mind, cowboy?” and ennis tells him, mumbling, it’s sappy, he knows, it’s stupid, it’s dumb, never mind, but, he wrote jack a song, and jack laughs. ennis is heartbroken, and gets up to go back into the tent, muttering “it’s fucking stupid”

jack realises what ennis thinks and runs to meet him, cups his face in his hands, says, “that ain’t why i laughed, friend. it’s. well. i wrote a song for you, too.” and ennis looks up and his eyes light up, and there’s something in his eyes. it’s dust, he says. or pollen. shouldnta come up here in spring, he says, as jack chuckles and knows damn well there ain’t nothin in his eyes.

and so, under the starlight, the warmth of the fire painting the two men with glowing yellows and oranges just like that second night up on brokeback, the tune and lyrics blend together perfectly. ennis plays the guitar, softly humming, love clear in his eyes, and jack’s angelic voice drifts up to the stars, who have always looked upon them so kindly.

and when the song ends, the guitar is forgotten as jack leans forward, throwing his arms around ennis’ shoulders, and kisses a surprises but grateful, awed ennis with the same passion he had twenty years ago, but this time less careful, less held back, less animal, with so, so much love, as ennis holds him by the waist and kisses back.

and…my darlin..i’ve loved you since the day i first saw you

sandy hair and a quiet smile that made me fall for you

and…my dear…i will love you for always

as the stars up in heaven shine down upon me ‘n you

SCREAMING CRYING AND THROWING UP, THIS IS THE CUTEST FUCKIN THING IVE EVER READ IN MY ENTIRE LIFE!!! I LOVE THEM SO MUCH I CANNOT!!! THANK YOU FOR SHARING THIS IM LITERALLY WEEPING IT'S SO BEAUTIFUL OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!!! "replaced with a quiet intimacy ennis could only call domestic" TOOK ME OUT I SWEAR TO GOD LIKE WHAT THE FUCKKKKK. AND THEN ENNIS POINTING OUT THEIR STARS IM LITERALLY GONNA COMBUST IJSKWNEKFNFIDNEKENRKFDJSBSKDNE

#brokeback mountain #ennis del mar #jack twist #you would not believe how bad i want what they have #incoherent sobbing #they just. they're so GOOD #(ಥ﹏ಥ)

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honey-dewey · 4 years ago

Text

Target Practice

Pairing: Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels/Reader

Word Count: 2,085

Warnings: Mentions of injury (The reader has a bad knee), drinking, and it gets spicy near the end.

Permanent Taglist: @phoenixhalliwell

After noticing he’s falling out of touch with the ladies, Ginger sets Jack up with a bit of target practice. He thinks it’s stupid, right up until he sees his target. You very much didn’t want to be here, right up until you figured out who was going to be attempting to woo you.

“Just give it a try!” Ginger insisted. “It’ll do you good to have some practice, I promise.”

Jack scoffed. “I don’t need practice to bed someone,” he said. “I can use my Tennessee charm.”

Ginger crossed her arms. “Your charm won’t last forever!” She said strongly. “Your latest mission lasted half an hour longer than it should have because you couldn’t seduce one woman! And you almost didn’t succeed at all!”

“And?” Jack countered. “That was a screw up. I’m not everyone’s type. I don’t need target practice or whatever you’re insisting on.”

Ginger raised an eyebrow. “Do you want me to take this all the way to Champ, because I will.”

Jack sighed, leaning over his desk. “Fine. Fuck it, fine. Do whatever.”

Half an hour later, Ginger was calling Jack down to the saloon. You stood by her side, absently waiting.

“I doubt he’ll show up,” you said once she’d hung up. “Worked with him once, and once may have been enough.”

Ginger snorted. “That sounds like Jack,” she said. “You know what you have to do?”

You nodded, heading over to the bar. Leaning over, you ordered a drink, just a small one, so you wouldn’t be too drunk for this, despite how tempting it was. Your last mission with Whiskey had ended up with you in the hospital with a bullet through your knee, and you hadn’t exactly been keen on working with him again after that. So he’d been dropped as your mission partner, and you two hadn’t talked since. You didn’t hate him, you just had unresolved and highly complicated feelings about him. Mostly the very well-buried crush that persisted even after you two had stopped talking, but you could hide that, right?

Meanwhile, at the saloon’s entrance, Jack was talking to Ginger.

“And I just go in there and flirt?”

Ginger nodded. “Try to bed them. For this mission, we need a tracker. You don’t actually have to fuck, but get them into bed and willing.”

Jack looked towards the doors. “And just who is my lovely victim?”

Ginger pushed open the saloon doors. “Your old partner, Agent Bourbon.”

You smiled and took a sip of your drink, ignoring Jack, as per Ginger’s instructions.

“You have your mission,” you heard her say softly. “Go.”

Jack walked up to the bar, sliding into the barstool next to you. “Hey there pretty thing,” he said, looking at you. “What’s your name?”

You turned. “Bourbon.”

Jack’s damned smirk bloomed on his face. “Name yourself after your favorite drink?”

You decided to play hard to get, but not impossible, smiling back at him and swirling around your drink. “Yes, actually. And let me guess, you’re a whiskey kind of man?”

“How’d you possibly know?” Jack said, ordering a whiskey for himself.

“Oh I don’t know,” you said sweetly. “Maybe the arrogance? The boldness? Whatever you call it. You’re cocky.”

“And you’re feisty,” Jack countered. “Let me buy you a drink, and you can see just how cocky I can get.”

You stood. “No thanks cowboy. See you around.”

Jack immediately followed you, grabbing your arm. He wasn’t too firm, and you absolutely could’ve slipped out if you wanted to. “C’mon Bourbon. No drink, okay? You just seem like the kind of person I shouldn’t let go of.”

You sighed, staring into his wide puppy eyes. “One drink,” you offered. “It’s on you.”

Jack lit up, tugging you to a table where you could sit facing him. You smiled, the small grin coming out involuntarily at his eagerness.

“So,” Jack said once you two were sat back down. “Who are you? Under that hat and that attitude, what’s the real Bourbon like?”

You laughed slightly. “I am many things,” you said, tangling your feet with his. “I think you said I was feisty?”

“Oh definitely,” Jack drawled. “But I believe I saw a limp in your step. Surely an injury of that caliber has a very unique story.”

“Oh? An injury of that caliber? Very fancy.” You swung your injured leg around, feeling the deep ache in your knee. “It’s a story. Not a kind one.”

Jack smiled. “Well. A story, even a bad one, shows character.”

“Hm.” You pretended to consider. “Well, years ago, I had this work partner. Kind of a dick, but he was nice, and we got along. However, he got distracted and I got shot on a work mission. Bullet shattered my kneecap, but my work was able to patch me up well enough. Now, I’ve got a limp.”

Jack was quiet. “Wow. Your partner sounds like a jerk.”

“Not really,” you hummed, swirling your glass around and watching the last few sips of bourbon sparkle in the light. “He’s just a bit distracted, that’s all.”

You and Jack talked for a while, you genuinely enjoying the time you spent together. The mission slipped your mind entirely, until Ginger stepped in of course.

“Are we focusing?” She asked, standing by your table.

Jack rolled his eyes. “Yes,” he said, knocking back the last of his drink. “Entirely focused. Bourbon’s just playing really hard to get.”

You laughed. “Whiskey’s completely forgotten this entire exercise,” you admitted. “But so have I.”

“Okay,” Ginger said slowly, looking at her clipboard. “Good enough. You’re both dismissed from this.”

“Thanks,” you said, not bothering to move. “Jack? Wanna stay? Finish our drinks?”

Jack smiled. “Of course Darlin’.”

You and Jack continued to drink, light banter flowing as easily as the drinks. You were comfortable, injured leg propped up on Jack’s thigh. He didn’t mind, actually encouraging it when you grumbled that the damn thing was bothering you.

“I truly am sorry about it,” he said at some point, absently rubbing away the worst of the pain in your leg. “Shouldn’t’ve ever happened.”

“Builds character,” you pointed out. “How many times have you been fatally injured?”

“Seven.”

You nodded. “Must be why you’re such a character. Horrible injuries are good for forming a personality.”

Jack chuckled. “C’mon Bourbon, let’s go somewhere more comfortable.”

You and him ended up in his office, sprawled on his couch. You refused another drink, and giggled when Jack made himself a Shirley Temple.

“There’s no alcohol in that,” you pointed out. “Make me one?”

Jack snorted, fixing you a drink and putting multiple cherries in the bottom. “No, but it’s damn good.” He handed you your drink, and you smiled.

The night passed in a blur of cherries and laughter, and before you knew it, you were standing up to leave.

“I’m sure we’ll see each other tomorrow,” Jack said, walking you to the parking lot.

You nodded. “I’m sure we will.”

The next day, Ginger called you and Jack down to the bar again, as you expected. This time, you actually had to try, according to her, to resist Jack’s advances. Deciding that wouldn’t be too hard as long as you kept your composure, you sat at the bar and waited.

Jack came up to you with a cheesy pick up line and that beautiful, irresistible grin again. This time, you simply scooted away from him.

“Aw, c’mon doll, don’t play like that,” he drawled. “I promise I don’t bite.”

“No, but I do.” You turned in your seat, glaring Jack down. “So you best be leaving now, Cowboy. Find someone who actually likes that stupid charade you’ve got going on before I hurt you.”

Jack whistled as you stood and left the bar, joining two other agents, Mojito and Margarita. Both knew the job and the character you were playing, and Mojito gave you a sympathy pat on the back.

“Look, he’s a dick!” Margarita said, gesturing with her drink. “Tryin’ to pick you up like that. It’s uncultured and downright rude. Least a man can do is have some manners when he tries to take you to bed.”

“How big do you think he is?” Mojito asked eagerly, clearly committing to the part of your slightly drunk best friend.

Margarita snorted. “With an attitude like that? Damn honey, he’s probably tiny! Compensation is real.”

“Okay!” You said, waving your hands. Act or not, Jack was a dear friend, and talking about his dick made you uncomfortable. “How about one more drink and then we can go?”

Both agreed, and you ordered another round of drinks for the table. Jack was still at the bar, occasionally looking over.

“Manners be damned,” Mojito said after a minute. “He’s cute.”

“‘Jito!” You said. “He’s almost forty five!”

“Doesn’t mean he can’t be cute,” Mojito pointed out, taking a sip of her drink.

Margarita laughed, then perked up as ‘Take me Home, Country Roads’ started to play. “Oh my goodness! It’s our song!”

“No,” you corrected, seeing Margarita make to stand. “It’s your song.”

Truthfully, the song was a staple at Statesman. You knew every word, and damn if it didn’t make you want to get up and dance.

“You said one drink!” Margarita pointed out. “Well I want one dance, then yes, we can go home.”

You sighed. “Fine. Gives me a chance to stretch my fucking knee anyway.”

Standing and following Mojito and Margarita to the dance floor, you swayed to the music. Other agents, mostly on their breaks, filtered around you, singing and dancing. Margarita was almost immediately swept away by her boyfriend, Amaretto, waving to you as she disappeared. Mojito stayed and held your hands, swaying with you. She laughed when you stumbled over your own two feet, cursing violently. “Very mature!”

“Oh hush!” You said back, a grin filling your features. “Like you’re any better.”

Mojito giggled her agreement, talking above the music that she has to use the bathroom before you go. She left you alone on the dance floor, still swaying. You lost yourself in the music, allowing it to wash over you. You got so absorbed that you didn’t realize your knee was giving out until it buckled, sending you toppling to the floor.

At least, that’s what should’ve happened. Instead, a strong set of arms caught you, holding you above the ground. Looking up, you saw a familiar black cowboy hat haloed by light. “My savior,” you said, gripping Jack’s shirt in an effort to right yourself. “Do you do this often?”

“Often?” Jack asked, helping you upright. “No, I wouldn’t say I save the prettiest thing at the bar from falling flat on their ass often.”

You snorted, checking yourself over for wet spots caused by your drink. “Mhm. My knight in shining armor.”

Jack smirked. “Song’s not over,” he said. “Dance with me?”

Sighing, you reluctantly agreed. “Only because you saved me.”

His confident smirk fell away into a genuinely happy grin. “Perfect.” He took your hands, swaying side to side. You copied him, your false exterior falling away as you danced.

“How do you think we’re doing?” He asked, leaning closer so you could hear him over the music.

“Ginger definitely won’t be mad this time,” you decided, hearing the music finish out. “Okay cowboy,” you said, putting the act back on. “One dance, that was the agreement.”

Jack pouted, his slightly goofy smile remaining. “But darlin’, we were having so much fun.”

You spotted Mojito across the bar, nodding and giving you a thumbs up. “And just what do you suggest we do, Cowboy?”

“Call me Jack, please,” Jack said. “And I am suggesting that we take our little two man dance party to a more private locale. What do you say?”

Giggling at his words, you nodded. “Fine. But only because you asked so nicely.”

Jack led you upstairs, where the bar did, in fact, have bedrooms. He opened one and locked the door behind him, grabbing your hips and leading you to the bed. “You sure you’re up for this?”

“Kiss me,” you growled into his lips, the act lost. You gripped his shirt, pulling him flush to your body. “Dammit Jack, it’s been years. Just kiss me.”

He did much more than kiss you, his touch white hot against your skin. He left a very noticeable mark on the side of your neck, along with more private ones in other areas. When he was finally done wrecking you, he lay back against the sheets, pulling you close. “Bourbon? How’s your knee?”

“Shh,” you mumbled, eyes closed. “Knee’s fine. Think Ginger’ll be pleased?”

Jack grinned, kissing your forehead. “If she ain’t, I am more than happy to do it again.”

You laughed slightly, turning over in Jack’s arms so you were more comfortable. “Me too.”

#kingsman the golden circle #kingsman #agent whiskey #jack 'whiskey' daniels #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x you #Pedro Pascal #My writing

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hermionegranger56 · 4 years ago

Text

a v late recap of evermore

so i think Taylor Swift sensed that i was Going Through It and was like here you sad bitch, here’s another surprise album to help fix all that. cause good lord evermore is just what i (and i think we all) needed. i truly TRULY can’t believe we’re lucky enough to get a sister album to folklore, i love it so much. the first day it was out i drove myself 2 hours to the very end of the Cape and sat on an empty beach and cried to it and honestly??? magical. here are my thoughts on it that no one asked for:

first, as an overall here, this album complements folklore so well. it’s the spring to folklore’s autumn, it’s self-assured and warm and beautiful. each album shows off her lyrical genius so well and she only grows stronger here. when folklore came out, i was floored because the music was so different for her and so up my alley. each song’s production sucked me in and it was like she was confidently telling us “here is another genre i can work with” (masterfully at that). evermore feels different. it feels like Taylor is so comfortable in this creative space, she isn’t trying to fit into any new molds or expectations, she is just HERE, now, saying “this is who i am and this is my craft”. it’s really been a privilege to watch her grow as an artist. ok. here we go

willow:

god the video was so beautiful, a really good continuation of cardigan. the chorus is so so delicate and prettyyy, thats MY MAN ughhh its so good. it reminds me a lot of invisible string tbh, or if betty from cardigan grew up and found love. this is really one of my favorites, she starts so strong

fave lines: “the more that you say, the less i know/ wherever you stray I follow/ i’m begging for you to take my hand/ wreck my plans, that’s my man”; “life was a willow and it bent right to your wind”

champagne problems:

oh dear god, it’s if all too well and new years day had a baby and it is a MASTERPIECE. i can picture it all, college sweethearts, broken hearts, i feel like its new england at christmas, ivy league old money…its cinematic. and it gets at the feeling like you’ll never be good enough so you leave before that happens (basically before you get to the tolerate it stage??) and OOF. AND GODDAMN THE RANTING BRIDGE (illicit affairs came close on folklore but i think THIS might be the best bridge since All Too Well). I’ve screamed it a lot tbh

fave lines: BRIDGE BABYYYYYY EVERY SINGLE PERFECT WORD. WHAT A SHAME SHES FUCKED IN THE HEADDDD

gold rush:

this one is bright and lovely and catchy!! it reminds me a lot of mirrorball tbh, all like swirly and magical. i can’t even put it into words but i can see this one so clearly. its all rosy and golden

fave lines: “eyes like sinking ships on waters/ so inviting, i almost jump in”; “what must it be like to grow up that beautiful?/with your hair falling into place like dominoes/ I see me padding across your wooden floors/ with my Eagles t-shirt hanging from your door”; “the coastal town we wandered round/ had never seen a love as pure as it”; “my mind turns your life into folklore”

’tis the damn season:

UGH I FUCKING LOVE THIS ONE EVEN THOUGH IT MAKES ME WANNA TEXT MY EX. the melody is SOOOO satisfying, the progression to “write this down”, i’m obsessed. the idea of being home for the holidays and feeling a little lost and tired and nostalgic for what could have been is something superrrr relatable. this song reminds me of snowy drives around my hometown in the best/worst possible way hahah. one of my top 5 for sure.

fave lines: “we could call it even/ you could call me babe for the weekend/ tis the damn season, write this down/i’m staying at my parents house/ and the road not taken looks real good now”; “and wonder about the only soul/ who can tell which smiles i’m faking”

tolerate it:

oh honeyyyyy this track 5 packs a punch, i mean the lyrics are absolutely BRUTAL in the best way. it’s just so sad, and encompasses a lot of my own insecurity about always feeling like you’re more invested in a relationship and watching someone fall out of love or just stop caring. i LOVE the “my love should be celebrated, but you tolerate it”, like bitch YES your love should be celebrated. also taylor sounds angelic on the “I” at the start of the chorus

fave lines: “i know my love should be celebrated/ but you tolerate it”; “i made you my temple, my mural, my sky/ now i’m begging for footnotes in the story of your life”; “what would you do if I/break free and leave us in ruins/ took this dagger in me and removed it”

no body, no crime:

YESSSSSSSSS I LOVE THE SUBGENRE OF COUNTRY ABOUT WOMEN KILLING SHITTY HUSBANDS AND THIS SONG IS SO FUCKING GOOD AHHHHH!! I LOVE the beat, i love country taylor, i love the addition of HAIM. UGH ITS SO CATCHYYYY, like i’m obsessed with the slide from “i think he did it but i just. can’t. prove itttttt NOOO no body no crime” UGHHH this is without a doubt in my top five

fave lines: “she thinks i did it but she just can’t prove it”

happiness:

I heard this one described as an emotional marathon and holy shit it is, each line is a sucker punch. i really like how it feels like a conversation and looks at the acceptance and pain that mingle together when a relationship just…ends. her lyrics are unmatched on this album but this is a particularly strong track

fave lines: “i haven’t met the new me yet”; “when did all our lessons start to look like weapons/ pointed at my deepest hurt”; “there is a glorious sunrise/ dappled with the flickers of light/ from the dress i wore at midnight”

dorothea:

this one feels like Betty 2.0 and its so sweet and bright and also kinda sad. it’s wistful!! that’s the word i want, wistful! the vibe is gives off reminds me of Red, like musically. it’s home-y. idk if that makes sense but i like it a lot

fave lines: and if you’re ever tired of being known for who you know/ you know, you’ll always know me”

coney island:

ugh this one is magical, i honestly really love the instrumental to this one, it’s so soothing. the lyrics to me feel like you’re in some dream state, going through every heartbreak you’ve ever been through. I love the addition of The National, the vocals fit together so well (and I like it better than both Bon Iver features i think??)

fave lines: do you miss the rogue/ who coaxed you into paradise and left you there/ will you forgive my soul/ who you’re too wise to trust me and too old to care?”

ivy:

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH (that’s how i feel about this absolute masterpiece oh my GOD) it makes me so incandescently happy, the folk feel, the lyrics that are so cinematic and poetic and paint such a clear picture (to me) of two Victorian lovers who are in unhappy marriages but don’t let that stop their love. the chorus just like….fills my whole chest, the OH GODDAMN hits so different. and i want “my pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand” tattooed on me, that is one of her BEST lines and i will die on that hill. its all so pretty, i can’t deal. the vibe also strongly reminds me of a) invisible string and b) Little Women (2019). i think taylor should do folk and uhhhh only folk please

fave lines: EVERY WORD BUT ESPECIALLY: “i’d meet you where the spirit meets the bone/ in a faith forgotten land”; “oh goddamn/ my pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand/ taking mine, but its been promised to another/ oh, i can’t/ stop you putting roots in my dreamland/ my house of stone, your ivy grows/ and now I’m covered in you”; “he wants what’s only yours”; “clover blooms in the field/ springs breaks loose, time is near“; ”so yeah, it’s a fire/ its a goddamn blaze in the dark and you started it”

cowboy like me:

ALL RIGHT everyone sleeps on this song but oh my GOD its so good!! it’s smooth and dreamy and gives me that old fashioned, bonnie and clyde type love story and some of the lyrics are so poetic. I really love the addition of the Tim McGraw chords too???? BUT DEAR GOD COULD WE HAVE GIVEN MARCUS MUMFORD MORE OF A ROLE HERE??!! HE SOUNDS WONDERFUL, GIVE HIM A FEATURE, GIVE HIM A WHOLE VERSE. THIS IS A FOLK ALBUM TAYLOR, USE FUCKING MUMFORD AHHHH (i fucking love him omg)

fave lines: “dancin’ is a dangerous game”; “you’re a bandit like me/ eyes full of stars”; “now you hang from my lips/ like the Gardens of Babylon/ with your boots beneath my bed/ forever is the sweetest con”

long story short:

A BOP!! GIVE ME SOME HAPPINESS TAYLOR WOO! I really love how catchy this one is. it feels like her introducing the craziness of her life to joe and being like look all of that was tough but here i am now and I couldn’t be happier. It’s refreshing, self-deprecating and endearing. I couldn’t love it more and it is ALWAYS stuck in my head!

fave lines: “and he’s passing by/ rare as the glimmer of a comet in the sky”; “long story short I survived”

marjorie:

ha hahah hah ha this one ENDS me, like dear LORD i need to call my grandma immediately. it is so so GOOD and SAD, like the you don’t know how good something or someone is until they’re gone, but even then, they’re still there with you. I love the grandma wisdom of “never be so clever you forget to be kind” etc. and holy SHIT the addition of Taylor’s grandmother’s opera singing as background vocals is GENIUS AND DEVASTATING, god the part where she goes “i’d think you were singing with me now” and then Marjorie comes in is honestly one of the most beautiful musical moments i’ve heard in a hot minute and it breaks me every time. wow.

fave lines: “never be so polite/ you forget your power/ never wield such power/ you forget to be polite”; “the autumn chill that wakes me up/ you loved the amber sky so much”; “and if i didn’t know better/ i’d think you were singing to me now”

closure:

ok i’m sorry, this is my only skip here. I really do love the lyrics and the idea of, yeah no you don’t deserve closure from me. i just can’t get past the pots and pans beginning, its too chaotic. but i’m sure it’ll grow on me! it does feel like finally moving on and i do love that about it

fave lines: “don’t treat me like/ some situation that needs to be handled”; “i know i’m just a/ wrinkle in your new life/ staying friends would/ iron it out so nice”

evermore:

god her voice is SO soothing in this one, it’s literally hypnotic. the song itself feels wandering and dark at first, like you’re stuck in this depression, and then bon iver comes in and it picks up and it feels like coming out of the trees, into the sunlight and finding your way again. finding that the pain WOULDNT be for evermore like she says. it feels like an ending and a beginning. beautiful

fave lines: “writing letters/ addressed to the fire”; “and when i was shipwrecked/ i thought of you/ in the cracks of light/ i dreamed of you”; “and i was catching my breath/ floors of the cabin creaking under my step/ and i couldn’t be sure/ i had a feeling so peculiar/ this pain wouldn’t be for evermore”

#taylor swift #evermore #tswift #evermore album #willow #champagne problems

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eponymiad · 5 years ago

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Queen’s Thief Appreciation Day Four: An AU (this is a country western AU. Drag me for it, if you must. I deserve it. But it has been a JOY to write).

Irene's friends drag her out to a country western bar. She's less than thrilled to be there. Helen's obnoxious cousin, on the other hand, is thrilled.

Irene can’t believe her friends tricked her into a night out at this godforsaken country western bar again. She’s leaning against a wall in the darkest, emptiest corner of the bar and she’s— well, she’s painfully aware of what a TV stereotype she looks like, brooding in a corner, sipping her double whiskey and glowering at the crowded dance floor. She’s not going to pretend otherwise.

She’s still annoyed when her brooding is interrupted.

“Those are really cool earrings.”

She jumps at the sudden voice in her ear, close and loud enough to be heard over the music. Irene turns to look at the guy, who looks pleased to have gotten a reaction. How the hell hadn’t she seen him walk up?

Irene knows him, but can’t seem to place him. He’s got warm, brown skin; dark, curly hair, and... Oh. He only has one hand.

Helen’s cousin.

Irene can’t remember his name— something old-school, maybe a family name? Or religious?— even though they’ve met a few times, at bars and parties. He’s much younger, and from what she can remember, immature and desperate for attention.

Clearly that hasn’t changed. He’s managed to take the western theme entirely too seriously. He’s in a Nudie suit — dear gods, did he own this already? — embroidered with erupting volcanoes, some men sword-fighting, and what looks, inexplicably, like elephants. His brown leather cowboy boots have matching gold accents, and his double ear piercing includes a thin gold hoop and what looks like a carved sapphire stud. The entire outfit is ridiculously over the top.

Much to Irene’s irritation, it actually works.

“What?” she says. She’s distracted.

“Your earrings — they’re really cool,” he repeats.

Her hand flies up to the golden bees dangling from her ears. They’re her favorite earrings, inherited from her mother. She wouldn’t have worn them tonight if she had known she’d be coming here. “Thank you.”

He smiles at her, warm and friendly, if a little awkward. “Gen, by the way,” he says loudly, talking over the noise. “I know we’ve met but, well.” He gestures at the loud, drunken space around them as if that explains why he expected her to have forgotten him.

It probably does.

“Irene.”

“I remember,” he says with another warm smile. It tugs at something in her chest.

“But really, what’re you doing wearing those earrings here? Those are the nicest things this bar has ever seen,” he says.

She gives his Nudie suit a once over.

“Well,” Eugenides says, with a thoughtful head tilt. “Maybe tied for the nicest thing.”

“Mmm,” she says, and half-turns back to look at the dance floor, worrying one of her earrings between her thumb and forefinger. “I thought we were going to dinner.”

From the corner of her eye, Irene can see he brightens, though she can’t imagine why.

“Well, you’d have to ask me out first, but I’d say your chances are pretty good.”

Her single raised eyebrow belies the hitch in her breath she manages to hide. That was obnoxiously smooth.

“I’m going to dance,” he says, left hand — only hand — palm up, tilted slightly toward her in offering. “Join me?”

She looks at him. “No.”

He shrugs. “Suit yourself. It was nice talking to you, Irene,” he says, and waltzes off to the dance floor. Within seconds, he’s found someone else to dance with.

Irene is leaning against the bar, a fresh drink in her hand, when the music shifts to something upbeat and familiar. Oh — apparently they’ve moved on to the line dancing part of the night.

She’s watching the drunken crowd dance to “Cotton-Eye Joe” when she spots Gen. He’s front and center, dancing in a group, and somehow, inexplicably…he’s good.

A line dance to “Cotton-Eyed Joe” isn’t supposed to be something anyone is good at — it’s a dance they teach five-year-olds in PE. It doesn’t involve any actual skill.

Except apparently it does. Gen is moving with a practiced grace that shouldn’t be allowed at a country western bar. He’s dancing in time with Helen and five or six other people who look as though they could be relatives . Irene wonders if they’re one of those families — it happens sometimes, a group shows up who is so good it blows everyone else in the room out of the water.

Irene can’t stop watching them.

Eugenides looks over at the bar and catches her eye. She still can’t bring herself to look away. He gives her a giant, toothy grin and, without ever looking at his dance partners, slips his right arm over one man’s shoulder, his left arm around a woman’s waist, and together they lift two women off the ground for a spin.

“Red wine, please. And a cup of water?”

Gen has appeared at her side again, fresh off the dance floor, face sweaty and hair a little wild.

The bartender looks back at him funny. Gen tilts his head, feigning ignorance. Irene snorts. Gen doesn’t turn, but she sees a tiny upward tilt at the corner of his mouth.

The bartender rolls his eyes and pours the wine without any more fuss. Gen’s smile is victorious when the other man looks away.

Drinks in hand, Gen turns toward her. “Having fun?”

“Definitely,” she says, sarcastically. “Nothing more fun than fending off drunk assholes at a bar.”

Eugenides wrinkles his nose. “Well, I’m not that drunk. But point taken,” he says, with a nod, and starts to leave.

Ah, shit.

“No,” she says, with a quick hand on his elbow. He freezes. “I meant— Not you.”

“Ah,” is all he says, and takes a sip of his wine. “Why’re you here, then? Aside from admiring my dance moves.”

She gestures at the throng of people. “Got dragged out by friends. If I leave, they’ll just make me go out next weekend. If I stand here and drink my whiskey while they dance with drunk strangers, it buys me another two months.” She shrugs.

Gen smiles. “Do you want to get some air?” he says, and gestures at the exit with his right arm.

Irene debates. She doesn’t want to give him the wrong impression — she knows what men are like. One yes and suddenly they think they’re entitled to positive answers the rest of the night. Alternatively, he seems marginally less drunk than everyone else who has approached her, and it’ll get her away from the guy who’s been leering at her across the bar for 20 minutes now.

“Sure,” she says, and heads toward the door without waiting to see if he follows.

Of course he follows.

Outside, where the din from the club is distant, they have a real conversation. He lives up in the mountains, and hates horses, and asks for the story behind her earrings. She tells him about the vintage jewelry collection her mom left behind, and about running her dad’s company.

“What do you do? Or are you still in school or...?”

Eugenides laughs.”I’m a computer hacker, basically. But an ethical one,” he assures her.

“What does that even mean?”

“Companies pay me to break into their systems and expose security threats. It’s fun,” he says, and waggles his eyebrows a little. Irene laughs despite herself.

They chat some more, but eventually there’s a lull in the conversation that neither of them seem to know how to fill. She’s swirling the ice in her glass idly, fighting her desperation to be home with a reluctance to end the conversation.

“Do you want another drink?” Gen says tentatively, like maybe he thought she was angling for him to buy her one.

“No, I think I’m going to head home,” she says, because the...everything is getting to her, the concentration of stimulus and emotions making her skin itch,

“Oh, okay,” he says, and he definitely sounds disappointed. Which, again, is the problem with ever telling men yes.

“I need to close out my tab though,” she says. He nods, and makes his way toward the door.

The dancing looks fun. It always looks fun. It’s the actual act of dancing that’s less than enjoyable. Crowded dance floors, strangers trying to touch you, people watching…

Irene wishes — though she’ll rarely even admit it to herself — that she could dance with the carefree abandon she’s seen people like Eugenides relish in her entire life. Unfortunately, she wasn’t afforded that luxury.

Irene is eying people on the dance floor while she waits for the bartender to finish up with someone else. She sees Eugenides watching her in her periphery. She looks at him. Gone is the shy kid from two minutes ago. The sly smile is back. It’s like he can see through her; it’s unnerving.

“Irene...do you want to dance?”

She hesitates, but just for a second. Fuck it.

Gen looks delighted.

He leads her out to the dance floor. The song switches just as they find an empty spot, and Irene freezes. She’s not going to do a fucking square dance, and she’s certainly not going to do it with him. Gen might have a modified choreography with his relatives, but that doesn’t mean he can manage to dance one-handed with a woman who barely knows the steps. She’s awful at following dances she doesn’t already know. She’s going to fuck this up and embarass them both.

Somehow, Gen picks up on her exact freakout. He shakes his head. “Don’t worry,” he says. “I’ve got you. Just reach for me like you’re expecting my right hand, but I only use my left.”

And he does.

Irene is fairly certain she wouldn’t be able to explain, even in an hour, how the hell Gen does it, but she makes it through the entire dance without messing up a single time. It’s entirely thanks to him.

It’s also...very fun.

She’s not sure how long they’ve been dancing, but Gen is spinning her every few seconds to something carefree and upbeat, her hair slipping out of her bun, when a very large man puts an arm on Eugenides’s shoulder to get his attention. Irene recognizes him from earlier — she’s fairly certain he’s one of the cousins.

“Gen,” says the man, with an accent so heavy she can hear it from the first word. “We have to go.”

Gen looks at his cousin sharply. “Why?”

“Boagus,” the man says with a heavy eye roll. “Got into a fight outside.”

Gen narrows his eyes up at the man, but eventually shakes his head in resignation.

The tall man looks from Irene to Eugenides. “I’ll meet you outside,” he says over the music, and walks off.

Eugenides turns to her. “What luck you have,” he says, and his smile is back to shy. He hesitates for a second.

Irene wants to say something — though she has no idea what — and she’s probably being ridiculous — when Gen leans forward just enough for her to realize what he’s going to do. He pauses, and gives her time to pull away. Instead, she can feel herself swaying toward him just enough that he takes it as invitation to close the gap.

He has his hand on her jaw, angling her face down toward his just a little. The kiss is far too soft and sweet for the middle of a sweaty dance floor, surrounded by drunken fools and loud, pounding music.

It’s a really nice kiss.

When he pulls away, he grins at her, a full-faced thing that makes his eyes twinkle.

“Bye,” he says, with a quick wave, and he’s gone.

What the fuck was that?

Irene kicks off her kitten heels and dumps her purse on her silver entryway table the second she’s through the door.

This was a weird night, and she’s so relieved to be home she could cry. Her skin is still prickling from the kiss-and-dash, and all she wants to do is scrub the night off of her with a hot shower.

She gets the water running, and doubles back for her phone while it heats up. Maybe she’ll put on some music — ABBA or Beirut or literally anything but country music.

She flips open her crossbody bag, and sees a folded napkin she definitely didn’t put in there. Opening it, she recognizes the horse and lilies from the bar’s logo. Scribbled in terrible handwriting just below it is a name and number—

Gen

471-288-6547

Find it on AO3 here!

My ETERNAL, undying love to @helvetica-upstart for the life-changing betas.

#qtappreciationweek #I take full responsibility for my actions bUT ALAS THE FATES WANT WHAT THEY WANT #queen's thief #queen’s thief #these disaster humans y'all #BUT THEY'RE VERY CUTE AND THEY LIKE EACH OTHER A LOT OKAY?

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rustbeltjessie · 5 years ago

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Diary of an Emotional Masochist, Chapter One: Dignity and Shame

I am an emotional masochist. I’m the kind of person, who, when I’m already going through a bout of nostalgic melancholy, will decide to read old journal entries or look through old photographs. The kind of person who, when it’s three a.m. and I can’t sleep because I’m thinking about what loves have come and gone (to borrow a phrase from Edna St. Vincent Millay), will get up and Google search those loves. I am the kind of woman who, when I’m already sad, will listen to an album that devastates me. I have a long list of albums that it’s almost too painful to listen to, albums that remind me of such specific times in my life that listening to them takes me right back to where I was then. A different person would purge their record collection and iTunes library of such albums, but, like I said – I am an emotional masochist. On lonesome evenings, after a couple glasses of whiskey, nothing sounds better to me than spinning one of those records (or queueing up one of those playlists). This is one of those lonesome-whiskey evenings, so won’t you join me in indulging? We’re listening to Crooked Fingers’ Dignity and Shame.

From the first sparse, haunting notes of “Islero,” I am transported back in time to the summer of 2005. God, that summer. That terrible, wonderful summer. I’d fucked up my life the year before, and I thought that would be the summer I’d fix it, except all I did was fuck it up even more. God, that summer. That March, I moved away from Chicago after living there for five years. I planned on moving to Milwaukee come autumn, to start fresh in a fresh town. In the meantime, I moved back in with my parents. I wasn’t home, much. Nights, after work, I went to one of the two bars in Kenosha where all my sad drunk hoodlum friends hung out. On days off, I walked in the woods – the heat was relentless, and the canopy of trees offered cool green comfort. Or I drove to Chicago to see shows and drink with my friends and try to remember why I’d left; drove to Milwaukee to scope out neighborhoods, sit for hours at the Hi-Fi Cafe, go record and dress shopping. On one of my record shopping expeditions, I bought Dignity and Shame. It was on the Staff Recommendations shelf, and I liked the cover art, so I took it home with me – and it was serendipity, it was exactly the album I needed at the time.

As soon as I got home, I set it spinning on my turntable, and the first track – “Islero” – gave me goosebumps. The second track – “Weary Arms” – made me cry. It had sad cellos and a lonesome cowboy guitar, and Eric Bachmann’s voice was a raspy baritone: Beware of strangers knocking at your door. Old lovers, too. Don’t think for one second they’ve forgotten you. Oh, oh, oh. By the time the final, hidden track played, I’d melted into a puddle of tears and goosebumps on my bedroom floor. The album destroyed me, and it spooked me because so many of the stories sounded like things right out of my life, both from that year and six or so years before it. It was like Eric Bachmann had read my diary and set it to music. I wanted to write him a letter and say: “Get out of my head, god damn it! Get out of my aching heart.” It’s impossible for me to write about Dignity and Shame, or about the summer of 2005, without descending into hyperbole, sentimental poetry, and melodrama. My God, that summer was hyperbole, sentimental poetry, and melodrama. I was still young enough that it was acceptable to feel things that intensely, acceptable to talk about a sunrise over Lake Michigan by saying things like: “When the light shot through the horizon in streaks of peach and gold, it was the most god damn beautiful thing I’d ever seen.” Dear diary, listen to me.

My “Weary Arms” wrapped tight around so many lovers, that summer – four of them, plus a handful of brief flings. Later that year, I lamented that I hadn’t had as many wild love affairs as I’d had in years past, which, yes, says something unflattering about me. And Eric Bachmann sang: You have many enemies, for reasons no one’s certain of.

One night, while I sat at one of the bars and waited for my friends to arrive, a girl approached me. I didn’t know her, but she knew me. She sat down across from me and lambasted me for sleeping with a guy she’d been dating at the time…two years before. She called me a slut, and some worse things. I wanted to buy her a drink, to appease her. I couldn’t understand why she hated me so much. When I slept with that guy, I had no idea he had a girlfriend. So many enemies, so many lovers, but could a jaded girl like me heed an uptempo “Call To Love?” In that song, Eric took the role of a particular one of my lovers, and said: Won’t you hear my heart? I’m transmitting a call to love. On a night when the moon was orange-red and luminous, that lover said: “The moon is the color of your hair.” Another night: “You were born in the wrong era, Jess.” And, though I was a sucker for sentimental poetry, my guard was up. Lara Meyerratken answered for me: Don’t need my heart kicked ‘round the block no more. You may be smooth-talking, daddy, but I’ve heard it all before. I traded gossip with the “Twilight Creeps.” In this sweet-sad song with the bright piano and the shimmering backup vocals, I was both the singer and the sung about. I could have sung it to one of my lovers, should have said to her: Flower, don’t dig so deep so you don’t go anywhere. But the words were also about me: You say someday you’re gonna float away. Take yourself some kind of holiday. I often told my sad drunk hoodlum friends, the twilight creeps, that I needed to get the hell out of town. “If I could just get gone for more than a few days, go somewhere more than a few hours away…there ain’t no use in trying to make me stay.”

My lovers all wanted to make me stay. The flower-girl, I’ll call her Valerie. The one who spoke poetic words to me, I’ll call him Jack. And there was Lon, and Carmine. In different ways, for different reasons, they each wanted me to choose them over all the rest. Even a few of the week-long flings and one-night stands, older punk guys or younger hippie girls, said things to me like: “How did I get so lucky as to meet a girl like you?” Or: “So, are you my girlfriend now?” And when I said no, they called me a heartbreaker. A “Destroyer.” It’s a woebegone cowboy of a tune. Doleful drums, piano that tinkles like ice cubes in a bar glass, and a lap steel guitar – which, as far as I’m concerned, is the aural equivalent of an anti-hero walking off into the sunset. The song is all about how the singer is going to make someone his, and then he’s going to leave them behind. When they called me heartbreaker, I wanted to sing it: Lay down, just let it come, and resign your heart, today, to get blown away. “Valerie,” well, that’s why I’m referring to that lover as Valerie. Much like me, she was a punk rock girl turned heroine of a Tom Waits song (heroine of a Crooked Fingers song). She had thriftstore dresses and jailhouse tattoos and self-inflicted scars. “Valerie,” the song, has a sanguine strut, is a besotted love song, and I thought of Valerie, the girl: Red roses, silk, you in your sleek summer dress. You were light, revelation, oh, I love you the best. But she and I kept our love unspoken. We both had other romantic complications, and only touched each other on long hot nights after too many bottles of wine and too many pills. “Sleep All Summer” was my song for Jack, the young ex-goth whose mouth was pink and pouty like he’d been sucking on a strawberry popsicle. Our love was either all the good songs and kissing ’til our lips were raw, or it was screaming matches and hangover headaches. What bliss is this, and then he’d get attention-starved and whiny, and I’d burn hot and cold and say nasty things, and we’d say: “This is it, we’re through.” But – There ain’t no way we’re gonna find another, the way we sleep all summer. Why won’t you fall back in love with me? And we’d run into each other at the bar, and faster than our friends could say I told you so we’d be tangled up in the backseat of his car or rolling around by the lake, and the whole thing would start all over again. He’d play the martyr, and I’d say: I would change for you, but babe, that doesn’t mean I’m gonna be a better man.

And “Coldways” kill cool lovers. Lon was a folk singer from the north woods. He’d been one of my best friends for years already, and when we started dating I was so tired of complicated, fiery relationships that I mistook comfort for True Love. My heart still hurts when I think of how I hurt him. He wanted me to marry him and I just wanted to be drunk and in love, to listen to “Coldways”’s thrumming, swelling sound. To sing along: Come out, come on, tonight the city’s alive. “Wrecking Ball” has a jaunty, punchdrunk piano, and the piano had been drinking, but so had I. God, I drank so much that summer. On the rare night I spent at home, I holed up in my room, wrote long, sad, tales of people in the legend of my life, and drank blackberry brandy mixed with Sprite. Something like that would taste over-sweet to me now, make me shudder, but maybe the same part of me that craved sentimental poetry also thirsted for sugary drinks. And most nights, I wasn’t at home. Most nights, I changed clothes in my car after work. I swapped my reeking-of-pizza button down shirt and black slacks for one of my vintage dresses. A mint green confection, or a pink and white sundress. Something from the ‘50s, blue with red and white polka dots, or a slinky black number that a ‘30s jazz singer would have worn. And I sat at one of two bars, drank whiskey and Coke, or brandy old-fashioneds, or gin and tonics all night long. I waited for my friends to arrive, and I drank and smoked and entertained myself with one of the items I always had in my bag – a book of poetry by Dorothy Parker or Edna St. Vincent Millay, a deck of Alice In Wonderland tarot cards. And sometimes, someone would find me intriguing. I swear, I wasn’t a Manic Pixie Dream Girl, but… I was a redhead in a retro dress (usually with a strand of fake pearls, too) sitting in a dive bar, smoking pastel-colored cigarettes, reading sonnets and tarot cards. Christ. Often, someone found me intriguing, chatted me up, and I wound up with yet another lover. I was a destroyer, destroying myself with booze and love. I was a wrecking ball. Eric Bachmann, accompanied by that barroom piano, sang: And you laughed and you danced, and it let you feel fine for a while. Hanging out with the kids who you knew soon would fall out of style.

I’ve left two songs out, dear diary. I did it on purpose, because they are the two that hurt the most. They are also the two that heal the most. The kind of songs that make me weep, then tell me to dry my tears. “You Must Build A Fire,” oh, it is one of the saddest songs. It begins with only two guitars (a finger-picked lead and that god damn lap steel again), and Eric’s voice is so plaintive, sounds like it’s about to crack, and he sings: Oh, gracious love, you were so kind to me. You only broke my heart, let my arms and legs stay strong. So I could swim upon the open sea, searching for another love. Floating along aimlessly. I haven’t told you about Carmine, yet. Carmine was a musician who looked like a magician from an old-time carnival. The year before, he’d ruined me in a worse way than any other lover ever had. (As a friend put it, he was one of the ones who fucked me up so bad I was pretty much ruined for anyone else.) He ruined me, but I let him back into my life. That summer, we got together. It was supposed to be closure, but of course it just opened everything up again. He said: “I want to be with you. I want to try again.” I said: “Okay, yes, let’s start over. I want to be with you.” He said: “Only if you break things off with all your other lovers. I want to be your only.” The nerve, giving me an ultimatum like that when he was even more of a notorious libertine than I was. And the song sang: I had someone, a love I thought was true. But sometimes you just get tired, and you must try not to die. And give your love, though no one may receive. You must build a giant fire, for the whole wide world to see. It sounded like that whole heartbroken, hot summer. Oh, where are you, love?

The title track, “Dignity and Shame,” is a piano ballad that told me: To be sure, there ain’t no cure. There could be no one to save you. It is the track I return to over and over, more than any other track on the album. Though my life has calmed down a lot in the decade since that summer, sometimes – that feeling comes, you’ve been here once before. That wicked feeling you don’t want to feel no more. And then, Eric Bachmann (get out my head, god damn it!) sings: You’re not the same as the day that you came. You can choose dignity, or shame.

I choose dignity. I carry my broken heart like a torch in the night. Little keeper of light, burning deep, burning bright in the dark.

[originally appeared in Witchsong in October 2015]

#jessie lynn mcmains #my writing #music #memoir #crooked fingers #dignity and shame #2015 #2005 #love #lovers #heartbreak #panic attacks #drugs #alcohol #lyrics #this is still one of my favorite pieces of music writing i've ever written #and since witchsong has gone dark i thought i'd share it here

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breaniebree · 4 years ago

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ASC Playlist

This is for tim2604 on ff.net who requested a list of my playlist from my story A Second Chance. Some of them are individual songs that are also mentioned on the album, but they are all listed here as being mentioned whether by song title, lyrics, or album name. The ones at the bottom are still to come at a Halloween party ;)

Here it is!

It’s Only Rock n’ Roll But I like It - The Rolling Stones

All You Need is Love - The Beatles

Stand - Rascal Flatts

Free Bird - Lynyrd Skynyrd

A Night at the Opera (album) - Queen

Death on Two Legs (Dedicated To …)

Lazing on a Sunday Afternoon

I’m in Love With my Car

You’re My Best Friend

Sweet Lady

Seaside Rendevous

The Prophet’s Song

Love of My Life

Good Company

Bohemian Rhapsody

God Save the Queen

Werewolves of London - Warren Zevon

Girls Just Wanna Have Fun - Cyndi Lauper

I Will Survive - Gloria Gaynor

Respect - Aretha Franklin

Blackbird - The Beatles

PS I Love You - The Beatles

The White Album (album) - The Beatles

Back in the USSR

Dear Prudence

Glass Onion

Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da

Wild Honey Pie

The Continuing Story of Bungalow Bill

While My Guitar Gently Weeps

Happiness is a Warm Gun

Martha My Dear

I’m So Tired

Blackbird

Piggies

Rocky Raccoon

Don’t Pass Me By

Why Don’t We Do it in the Road?

I Will

Julia

Birthday

Yer Blues

Mother Nature’s Son

Everybody’s Got Something to Hide Except Me and My Monkey

Sexy Sadie

Helter Skelter

Long, Long, Long

Revolution 1

Honey Pie

Savoy Truffle

Cry Baby Cry

Revolution 9

Good Night

Rubber Soul (album) - Beatles

Drive My Car

Norwegian Wood (This Bird Has Flown)

You Won’t See Me

Nowhere Man

Think For Yourself

The Word

Michelle

What Goes On

Girl

I’m Looking Through You

In My Life

Wait If I Needed Someone

Run For Your Life

The Game (album) - Queen

Play the Game

Dragon Attack

Another One Bites the Dust

Need Your Loving Tonight

Crazy Little Thing Called Love

Rock it (Primo Jive)

Don’t Try Suicide

Sail Away Sweet Sister

Coming Soon Save Me

Birthday - The Beatles

Led Zeppelin III (album) - Led Zeppelin

Immigrant Song

Friends

Celebration Day

Since I’ve Been Loving You

Out on the Tiles

Gallows Pole

Tangerine

That’s the Way

Bron-Y-Aur Stomp

Hats Off to (Roy) Harper

You Like Me Too Much - The Beatles

In My Life - The Beatles

G N’ R Lies (album) - Guns N’ Roses

Reckless Life

Nice Boys

Move to the City

Mama Kin

Patience

Used to Love Her

You’re Crazy

One in a Million

Don’t Bother Me - The Beatles

I Saw Her Standing There - The Beatles

I’ll Cry Instead - The Beatles

I’ve Just Seen A Face - The Beatles

I’m A Loser - The Beatles

I Am the Walrus - The Beatles

Act Naturally - The Beatles

Hold Me Tight - The Beatles

Carry That Weight - The Beatles

With A Little Help From My Friends - The Beatles

Across the Universe - The Beatles

While My Guitar Gently Weeps - The Beatles

Something - The Beatles

Eight Days A Week - The Beatles

Can’t Buy Me Love - The Beatles

Because - The Beatles

Let It Be - The Beatles

Strawberry Fields Forever - The Beatles

Dream On - Aerosmith

Innuendo (album) - Queen

Innuendo

I’m Going Slightly Mad

Headlong

I Can’t Live With You

Don’t Try So Hard

Ride the Wild Wind

All God’s People

These Are the Days of Our Lives

Delilah

The Hitman

Bijou

The Show Must Go On

Presto (album) - Rush

Show Don’t Tell

Chain Lightning

The Pass

War Paint

Scars

Presto

Superconductor

Anagram (For Mongo)

Red Tide

Hand Over Fist

Available Light

Working Man - Rush

Blow Up Your Video (album) - ACDC

Heatseeker

That’s The Way

I Wanna Rock N’ Roll

Mean Streak

Go Zone

Kissin’ Dynamite

Nick of Time

Some Sin for Nuthin’

Ruff Stuff

Two’s Up

This Means War

Bleach (album) - Nirvana

Blew

Floyd the Barber

About a Girl

School

Love Buzz

Paper Cuts

Negative Creep

Scoff

Swap Meet

Mr Mustache

Sifting

Big Cheese

Downer

New Jersey (album) - Bon Jovi

Lay Your Hands On Me

Bad Medicine

Born To Be My Baby

Living in Sin

Blood on Blood

Homebound Train

Wild is the Wind

Ride Cowboy Ride

Stick to Your Guns

I’ll Be There For You

99 in the Shade

Love for Sale

Like A Prayer (album) - Madonna

Like A Prayer

Express Yourself

Love Song

Till Death Do Us Part

Promise to Try Cherish

Dear Jessie

Oh Father

Keep It Together

Pray for Spanish Eyes

Act of Contrition

Wide Awake in Dreamland (album) - Pat Benatar

All Fired Up

One Love (Song of the Lion)

Let’s Stay Together

Don’t Walk Away

Too Long A Soldier

Cool Zero

Cerebral Man

Lift ‘Em On Up

Suffer the Little Children

Wide Awake in Dreamland

Whiplash Smile (album) - Billy Idol

Worlds Forgotten Boy

To Be a Lover

Soul Standing By

Sweet Sexteen

Men for All Seasons

Don’t Need a Gun

Beyond Belief

Fatal Charm

All Summer Single

One Night, One Chance

Dark Side of the Moon (album) - Pink Floyd

Speak to Me

Breathe (In the Air)

On the Run

Time

The Great Gig in the Sky

Money

Us and Them

Any Colour You Like

Brain Damage

Eclipse

I Will - The Beatles

We Will Rock You - Queen

Toto IV (album) - Toto

Rosanna

Make Believe

I Won’t Hold Back

Good for You

It’s a Feeling

Afraid of Love

Lovers in the Night

We Made it

Waiting for Your Love

Africa

Back in Black (album) - ACDCHells Bells

Shoot to Thrill

What Do You Do for the Money Honey

Givin’ the Dog a Bone

Let Me Put My Love Into You

Back in Black

You Shook Me All Night Long

Have a Drink On Me

Shake a Leg

Rock and Roll Ain’t Noise Pollution

London Calling (album) - The Clash

London Calling

Brand New Cadillac

Jimmy Jazz

Hateful

Rudie Can’t Fail

Spanish Bombs

The Right Profile

Lost in the Supermarket

Clampdown

The Guns of Brixton

Wrong ‘Em Boyo

Death or Glory

Koka Kola

The Card Cheat

Lover’s Rock

Four Horseman

I’m Not Down

Revolution Rock

Train in Vain

The Boys Are Back in Town - Thin Lizzy

You Shook Me All Night Long - AC/DC

Cherry Pie - Warrant

Baby, I Love You - The Ramones

Insomniac (album) - Green Day

Armatage Shanks

Brat

Stuck with Me

Geek Stink Breath

No Pride

Bab’s Uvula Who?

Panic Song

Stuart ant the Ave.

Brain Stew

Jaded

Westbound Sign

Tight Wad Hill

Walking Contradiction

I Can’t Help Falling In Love With You - Elvis Presley

Octopus’ Garden - The Beatles

Who Wants to Live Forever - Queen

Blaze of Glory - Bon Jovi

Waiting for a Girl Like You - Foreigner

Night Visions - AJ McLean

Jagged Little Pill (album) - Alanis Morrisette

All I Really Want

You Oughta Know

Perfect

Hand in My Pocket

Right Through You

Forgiven

You Learn

Head Over Feet

Mary Jane

Ironic

Not the Doctor

Wake Up

These Are The Days of Our Lives - Queen

Follow You Down - Gin Blossoms

Fastlove - George Michael

A Long December - Counting Crows

It’s All Coming Back to Me Now - Celine Dion

How Bizarre - OMC

Thriller - Michael Jackson

Lovefool - The Cardigans

Un-Break My Heart - Toni Braxton

Wannabe - Spice Girls

I’ll Be There For You - The Remembrandts

Dance Like a Hippogriff - Weird Sisters

I Put A Spell On You - Annie Lennox

Open Your Heart - Madonna

The Earth, The Sun, The Rain - Color Me Badd

Everything I Do (I Do It For You) - Bryan Adams

Saturday Night - Whigfield

Mamma Mia - Abba

Waterloo - Abba

You’re My Best Friend - Queen

Ride of the Valkyries - Richard Wagner

#a second chance #breanie

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curestardust · 5 years ago

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if you want: (bad) sci-fi comedy with drama / lots of boring characters but cute waifus / weird and overcomplicated plot

Watching the anime from the top of the Seasonal pile is always a gamble. Somehow an anime about horse girls (x) that I assumed to be fanservice-galore ended up being one of my favourites and then a sci-fi mystery which I was quite looking forward to ended up being a fucking trainwreck.

“Kanata no Astra” is, to put it plainly, a plot twist factory. We have like 3 episodes of the characters just doing stuff then every fucking episode ends on a cliffhanger and ups and ups and ups the story to where it goes from shocking to “you can NOT be serious”.

But lets roll it back a bit, to the very first episode. After an overdrawn sequence introducing us to Aries and Kanata, we finally meet the rest of the characters. The year is 2063, and apparently they have camps now where they just drop off a bunch of students on another planet to survive for a week and this is normal. Cool. Immediately, you know the personality of each main character as they’re as cookie-cutter as it gets and we’ve seen it a 1000 times. The clumsy one, the one with the hero complex, the cool and smart one, the tsundere, the brooding one, the shy one, the charming one and the always cheery one. There’s also a 10-year-old with them, who’s cute. Of course, all of them also have their random skills that will make them useful for the trip. Which of course goes as well as you would expect. Like 2 minutes after landing on McPa, their camping planet, a random ass sphere appears and sucks each of the characters in, who find themselves in deep space. Somehow, all of them managed to put their helmets back on so now their main problem is that they’re floating in the middle of nowhere! But do not worry, dear viewer, as a old ship is for some reason floating very close to them and after a bit of dramatic struggling they all manage to board it. Then comes the shocking reveal! They somehow ended up 5,000 lightyears away from their home planet! There isn’t enough food or water for a full trip. Oh no! But do not worry, dear viewer, as somehow there are 5 habitable planets just on their way back home where they can restock (and at this point the possibility of food and water shortage is immediately forgotten). What a coincidence! And this is where we start our story, a group of teens, lost in space, against the elements, having to visit dangerous planets and the mystery as to how this all happened. Sounds interesting enough, right? Well, prepare for all that potential to be squandered.

This is where the spoilers start as I need to talk about all the nonesense I’ve been subjected to.

First of the planets they visit all blend together. There is only one thing that’s a threat and it’s always the fucking plants. There is one time an animal is a threat to one of them but that’s solved in a few minutes. It doesn’t matter anyway, as it’s quite obvious that none of them are going to die. This anime tries to blend lighthearted humour with drama and it really doesn’t work. The humour always comes out of nowhere at the worst moments possible, always undercutting the seriousness of any situation. The characters also get their backstories revealed, usually in boring flashbacks, and I could basically see the “Plot Armour Unlocked” achievement pop up in my peripheral vision whenever that happened. Then these characters get thrown into the background and are relegated to random remarks so we don’t forget that they still exist as we move forward with the story. These backstory reveals are supposed to make us really feel for these characters which would be carrying the emotional weight of the upcoming dramatic moments but it doesn’t change the fact that all of them have 1 personality trait. The anime was basically asking me to care for characters with the personality of a pebble. I didn’t. And that’s bad because everyone is always CRYING! Speech? Crying. Reconcaliation? Crying. Dramatic backstory? Crying. Danger? Crying. Anything? Crying! I was rolling my eyes so often I almost gave myself a migraine.

Then the main story. First, the “smart one” (Zack) and the” hero complex turned captain” (Kanata) find out that there’s a traitor among them who was the cause behind the sphere. Then they do the logical thing and keep it to themselves and observe everyone with a close e- OF COURSE THEY DON’T DO THAT. They immediately tell everyone on the ship about it! There’s an uproar that lasts about 30 seconds then they all settle on the fact that they’re all companions and friends now UWU and they shouldn’t worry about it. Anyway, anyone with half a brain could narrow the potential suspect down to 3 characters. Luca, the DIY master and cheery one, Ulgar, the always brooding and mysterious one and Charce, the charming chef who doesn’t seem to have anything bad about him. Well, Luca and Ulgar have a show off on like the second or third planet where their backstories get unlocked and they can be crossed out from the list. Meaning, that you knew who the traitor was halfway through, making their reveal pretty lackluster.

But this all would’ve been fine, has it not been for the plot surrounding their “attempted murder”. Through everyone’s stories one thing becomes clear: they all had shitty parents (except for Aries). If I had known what the actual reason ends up being I’d have been screaming “NO this is good, this is an interesting concept!!!”. As we get a few scenes with the parents back home, this could’ve been so interesting. Maybe, they sent their kids they didn’t love to die and then someone regrets it and threatens to report it and then they have to stop them! THAT would’ve been great. The actual reason though, not only is ridiculous but comes from complete speculation. The 10-year-old with them, Funi is another member’s adopted little sister, the tsundere Quitterie’s. The 2 look literally the same. Same skin colour, hair colour, eye colour but somehow this didn’t peak Quitterie’s curiosity in the slightest as when Zack does a DNA test she is like “omg what if we’re actually related wow”. Except, Zack finds something else: the 2′s DNA are a complete match. So he reveals to them that they’re “the same person”. Interesting. Then he jumps about 1km forward and arrives to the conclusion that they are, in fact, ALL clones of their parents and as a law was passed tha made cloning illegal, it was the reason for wanting to kill them in deep space. Wha...

Ok...ok. Now we’re going into a weird territory but I can deal with this. Not a bad concept. Aight.

Except it doesn’t stop here. On their last planet, they find an astronaut who’s been in stasis after her ship broke down. When the team finds her and unfreezes her she is like “OMG I can finally go back to Earth!!!” and they’re like “...what’s Earth?”. Now this storyline was what completely broke me. They apparently live on a planet that looks very much like Earth, called Astra. Which is fun cause they named their ship Astra...and they acted like they didn’t know what it was? There was a plaque with the quote “Per aspera, ad Astra” in the ship (which I’m quite familiar with as it’s one of my favourite quotes). Then Kanata is like “Astra....I like that.” ISN’T THAT YOUR PLANET’S NAME??? Imagine naming your ship “Earth”, like????????

Khm, anyway, Polina, the astronaut, explains to them that an asteroid was supposed to crash into Earth and this is why they were looking for another planet to migrate to. Jump a little forward and we get the info that the sphere is actually a warp gate humanity used to move over to Astra, however there was war and crime and shit over land and they deactivated them. Then humanity was so ashamed that they “rolled back history” 100 years and erased that part from human history......and this somehow worked.....oh and they also abolished all countries and unified the whole planet and made everyone speak the same language. Oh, and they also banned guns...

Anyway, all this is kept secret by the only place they allowed to keep the Monarchy system which is where Charce is from and is how he knows all this. Then he goes and completely KO’s me with his final revelation that Aries is the clone of the daughter of the king??? And was being raised by one of her handmaidens??

Let me also finish this complain-fest off with the stupidest moment in the whole anime. Charce, after realising that he does actually want to be with his friends, activates the warp gate to commit suicide. Kanata jumps to him and he....he.....puts his arm out toward the warp gate and shouts “Stay back!” at it. Then when that OBVIOUSLY doesn’t work and his forearm gets sucked in Charce panicks and deactivates the gate, ripping Kanata’s right forearm off. This is all pretty hilarious in itself but then Kanata dramatically says to Charce “You promised to be my right hand man” as we get a shot of his bloody amputated right arm. [Key Smash]. I laughed for almost 5 minutes at that.

If you skipped all that here’s a short summary: can’t balance the drama and the humour, the humour is pretty bad, the characters all have 1 personality trait, the emotional moments don’t carry any weight, incredibly stupid and overcomplicated story with a lot of plot holes, predictable outcomes.

But for some reason people do like this anime. I’m guessing half of them are there for the cute waifus and the other half hasn’t seen actually good sci-fi comedy with drama (cough Cowboy Bebop cough) but whatever. Watch it, don’t watch it, this was more of me complaining than an actual review.

[3/10] (x)

Recommend: HELL Yeah! | Yes | Eh??? | Nope | This anime killed my parents

#dusty reviews #Astra Lost in Space #Kanata no Astra #long post #sorry yall #but i had to get this all out of my system

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waywarddaughterwrites · 7 years ago

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Welcome Home

A/N: So, I owe you all an apology. I promised you guys a fic weeks ago and I got a good bit of it written before I totally blocked on it and I have yet to be able to pick it up again. Hopefully that will resolve soon, though! This one is a short one (probably more ficlet than fic) but it is dear to my heart. I’m a very southern woman and I’ve noticed that when I spend time in my hometown, my accent gets real deep. So, I imparted that little trait onto Reader. (Seriously y’all I paid attention to how I talk and wrote it as such and it broke my spirit a little bit). Kinda implied established Gabe x Reader in this one, just a fluffy little fic with our favorite golden boy. As always, if you’d like to be tagged in future fics, let me know. I’ll add this one to AO3 probably tomorrow, so I’ll add the link to this post after! Much love and chocolate to you, dearies. <3

Read Me on AO3:

(Coming soon)

Tag list:

@kissofthebadwolf @eurusholmmes @ourloveisforthelovely

***********************************************

You pulled up outside of the bunker and could physically feel your shoulders lighten as the weight of the last two weeks lifted from them and blew away. Who would have thought the hunting life would seem like the easy, carefree choice? Stepping out of the car, you stretched and sighed as you felt your stiff muscles and joints pop and groan. It had been a long car ride. North Carolina isn’t too far of a drive, but you were so eager to be home that you didn’t bother to stop for anything but gas. You pulled your duffel out of the backseat and threw it over your shoulder as you made your way to the door. You could almost cry in anticipation of your own bed, your own food, your boys...

It wasn’t that you didn’t love your family. They had their charm and innocence working for them, and your hometown had a sense of nostalgia. Being home felt like stepping back in time into another life. You could see in your old school friends the life you would have led. Your mother’s cooking and your father’s pipe tobacco made you homesick for what could-have-been. Your sister had just popped out kid #3 not more than a year ago and it saddened you on some level that you were just now meeting him. You hadn’t seen your grandmother since your grandfather’s funeral. It was bittersweet to be home and surrounded by the missed and almost-forgotten memories. Everyone wanted to know about your life, though, as if you owed them details and explanations (which on some level, you did) and what you couldn’t tell them you lied about, but then you had to keep track of all of the individual lies and explain away scars and weird reflexes and habitual knife-in-your-boot traits...it was stressful, to say the least. You would never stop loving your family, but you’d missed the unorthodox peace that the bunker and your boys brought you.

You shook your head to clear it and bring you back to the present. Your hand was resting on the handle of the door, but you’d zoned out, reminiscing. Grinning as you remembered what—who—was waiting inside, you eagerly turned the knob and flung open the heavy door as best you could...

...to a completely empty bunker. At least, the living area and library were empty. Strange. Disappointing as well. You were hoping for a “honey, I’m home!” moment. Oh well, there was time for that later. Your bed was calling your name. You made your way down the stairs and hallway to your bedroom. Throwing your bag on the floor, you collapsed onto your bed, moaning in joy at the feeling of your familiar blankets and pillows.

“You rang?”

Your head shot up from the pillow you’d buried it in and turned to the intruder. You snorted and rolled your eyes at Gabriel, suggestively sucking on a lollipop and wagging his eyebrows at you in the middle of your bedroom. Picking up a small pillow, you chucked it at him.

“Go away, Feathers. I’m exhausted.”

Gabriel easily caught the pillow and he removed the candy from his mouth, eyebrows raised in a strange expression.

“You’re...what?”

You raised an eyebrow at him in return, having half-a-mind not to answer. Unsure about what he was looking for, you repeated yourself.

“I said, I’m exhausted. I’d like to take a rest.”

Gabriel’s expression morphed from incredulousness to full-blown amusement as you spoke. Yours, however, had moved from bemused caution to total confusion. Gabriel plopped himself on the edge of your bed by your legs and draped himself over you, propping himself up on your other side with his right hand. The sucker had disappeared and his face was suddenly a foot from yours. The close proximity made your heart race a bit faster, and you swallowed before you spoke again.

“Gabriel, what in the hell are you doin’?”

Gabriel grinned as he replied, “well, I was hoping to spend some time with my favorite human, but apparently she’s exhaaawsted.”

Your eyes closed and you sighed. Spending time back home had let nostalgia and some old habits seep back in over the last couple of weeks...including your accent.

“Oh good lord...”

Gabriel burst into laughter. You could feel yourself blushing. You ducked away from him, trying to hide your face back in your pillow.

“Aw, shucks, sweetheart, don’t hide that purdy face! Say more things!” He laughed as he exaggerated your accent and wrestled the pillow from your grasp. Your face was positively burning by now. You opted for hiding your face in your hands in embarrassment.

“No!” You squeaked from behind your hands as Gabriel tried to pry them from your face as well. You were fighting laughter now, too, and allowed your hands to be pried from your face. You glared up at the golden-haired man sitting on your bed with a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Pleeeeeease?”

You did your best to look angry and intimidating (intimidating to an archangel...yeah) as you pursed your mouth and shook your head defiantly. What you weren’t expecting was the angel to lean forward quickly and peck your mouth with his own. It was over as quickly as it had happened, but the shock of it made you gasp. Gabriel was still grinning as he watched you, but it was a bit softer, now. He winked at you and you glared at him once again, but with less malice this time.

“If y’all are just gon’ tease me I ain’t never gon’ talk to you again,” you replied, purposefully enhancing your accent just slightly. Gabriel giggled at you and you stuck your tongue out at him. He leaned forward and kissed you again, slower this time, but just as firm. When he pulled away, he smiled at you, his eyes twinkling.

“I won’t tease you, I promise. I think it’s adorable. I think you’re adorable.”

“You ain’t so bad yourself, Cowboy,” you smiled as he kissed your nose.

“Just promise me one thing,” he said softly as he peppered kisses onto your face. Your eyes had fluttered closed and you hummed in response. “I get to be there when the Hardy Boys get back and hear you for the first time.” Your eyes opened and you let out a long-suffering sigh.

“Alright, but if I get the same response from them that I’m getting from you, just remember it’s your fault,” you smiled coyly at him. He practically growled as he pushed you backward onto your pillows and crawled on top of you.

“I’d like to see them try,” he threatened, “I’d smite them where they stood.” He resumed his task of covering every inch of your face and neck with kisses, although they were less soft and more heated this time. You grinned as your fingers found their way into his hair.

“It’s good to be home,” you sighed.

#waywarddaughterwrites #supernatural #gabriel x reader #gabriel fic #supernatural fanfiction #gabriel #gabriel supernatural #gabriel reader insert #gabriel fluff #established relationship #gabriel x reader fanfiction #gabriel x you

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rinoaheartillyy · 8 years ago

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Time Compression goes all screwy (well, screwier) and drops a character from VIII into the XV world of Eos and after they go back to the VIII world, the opposite happens for a brief moment before time fully corrects itself. What is the first things out of the displaced characters' mouths?

Firstly I just wanna apologise for the extremely late reply to this! It’s a really great question that made me think a lot, so thank you ^^ I hope I’ve read it in the correct way, I’m so sorry if I’ve misunderstood it! I couldn’t think of what character from each ff I’d like to write about so instead I’m gonna give you most of the main characters from each game. I’ve thought about different stories and interactions that these characters would have and because I also couldn’t decide on what location to use in both worlds, I’ve switched up time compression a lil’ bit so that when each character travels to their opposing world, they end up in a location in that world that relates to their personality. I hope that makes sense lmao. Okay, so here goes. VIII → XVSquall: naturally ends up in one of the most gloomiest places on Eos, the Vesperpool. It’s dark and damp and after looking around for a minute, he realises what’s happened he’s used to it by now. Squall’s first words is (you guessed it) “…Whatever.” Most likely, he’s shrugging off the feeling of being alone. He sees blue sky in the distance and starts heading in that direction because he knows that’s where he’ll find Rinoa.Rinoa: finds herself in beautiful Galdin Quay on the sand watching the waves. She’d be scared if it wasn’t for the tranquil scenery, it feels just like home. Her gaze wanders and lands on the back of a guy dressed in all black who appears to be fishing. “Squall..?” It’s more of an inaudible question to herself rather than getting ‘Squall’s’ attention.Selphie: Wiz’s chocobo post (where else?) Doesn’t hesitate for a second. Squeals at the sight of so many cute animals and immediately starts customising her very own chocobo. “You’re even cuter than the ones back home! AND YOU COME IN PINK!!!”Zell: is the first one to interact with someone from this world. He’s at a campfire and across from him, Gladio is sat eating some cup noodles. “WHERE ARE THE HOTDOGS?!” Of course hotdogs are the first thing on Zell’s mind no matter where he is in time or space. Gladio invites Zell to sit down and the pair have a pleasant conversation, discussing the worlds they’re from, the different books they like and who their friends are. Zell even compliments Gladio on his tattoos but the chat suddenly turns sour when Zell has a taste of cup noodles and spits them out yelling “UGH, GROSS!” Quistis: feels tiny as she stands before the Rock of Ravatogh. The first words to escape her mouth are “well this puts the Fire Cavern to shame” as she starts heading up the mountain. Nothing like a bit of adventure in a foreign world during time compression when you’re waiting to be sent back home, right?Irvine: ends up in the Weaverwilds (to him it’s the middle of no where). A blonde-haired guy is fighting some sabertusks and Irvine helps out by shooting them down from afar. Prompto runs over and thanks him. Irvine tips his hat, “Nice guns you got there. Hey, uh, any hot women around these parts?” Prompto looks confused but nevertheless shows Irvine photos of Cindy and Aranea before the two start an in-depth conversation about guns and women. Irvine also lets Prompto wear his cowboy hat for a while and Prompto takes many selfies.Laguna: wakes up in a bed at the Leville Hotel in Lestallum. “Raine?! Ellone?!” Confusion overtakes him for a while as the hotel room looks so familiar, almost like Raine’s bedroom. When he walks out of the hotel, he realises he’s trapped in time compression and sighs, holding on to the thought of Raine still being alive. He takes a deep breath and takes pleasure in how similar Lestallum looks to Winhill with its narrow paths and flower shops. With a feeling of nostalgia, Laguna walks to the market to buy some things that he can take back with him to give to Ellone. Seifer: fishing at the Forgotten Pool. It’s peaceful until “TURN THE ROD TOWARDS THE FISH!”Seifer turns around to see Ignis staring at him, arms crossed. He holds his head in his hands and mutters to himself, “I can’t believe I managed to find someone more annoying than chicken-wuss. I actually miss that little shit.” He tries to return to his fishing, it lasts a couple of minutes before Seifer gets so annoyed, he threatens Ignis with his gunblade. A fight is about to ensue when Ravus appears out of no-where. He and Seifer start arguing about whose coat is better whilst Ignis quietly disappears. XV → VIIINoctis: Ultimecia’s Castle. Noct is completely freaked BEFORE he sees Ultimecia so when she appears on the stairs he muffles a scream and hides hoping she didn’t see him. He hears her leave the room but continues to tense up in hiding. He whispers aloud, “If anyone is listening, please dear Six, I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve this but please please PLEASE send me back to Ardyn.”Prompto: finds himself flying on board the Ragnarok with Selphie in the driver’s seat. “Oh my god, THIS IS SO MUCH BETTER THAN THE REGALIA!” Starts taking photos without a second thought. Selphie teaches Prompto how to fly the Ragnarok and they swap every now and then with one flying and the other jumping up and down and yelling “WHOO-HOO!” Gladio: admiring Balamb Garden’s library. Spends ages looking through all of the collections. He finally settles on what looks like a good read when he sees a familiar looking blonde spiky haired kid in the corner of his eye. “HEY! CUP NOODLES ARE THE ULTIMATE FLAVOUR EXPERIENCE!!” Gladio then gives Zell a lecture on why cup noodles are better than hotdogs for the next few hours.Ignis: also ends up in Garden but in the cafeteria. He smells something delicious and the cafeteria lady gives him a plate with two hotdogs on. Ignis takes a bite and- “THAT’S IT! I’VE COME UP WITH A NEW RECIPEH!” Everyone in the room looks at him like he has three heads and Ignis suddenly feels extremely out of place and starts longing for his friends.Luna: Trabia Garden in the aftermath of the missile attack. At first she’s worried about where she is and why she’s ended up here but as soon as she sees there are people hurt and in pain, those thoughts are forgotten as she immediately proceeds to help the injured. Her first words are “I need some cloth to make bandages, STAT!” or some other statement that involves more professional medical terminology lmao.Aranea: appears to be in Galbadia, sitting on Edea/Ultimecia’s throne. “That’s it, I’m staying.” Aranea’s first words are before bossing Seifer around like a servant, getting him to fetch her cocktails and kneel on all fours before her so he can be her footstool. Cindy: in Dollet by the car that was crushed by X-ATM092. She’s almost heartbroken by the sight of it and knocks on the door closest to the car. When a couple answer it, Cindy’s first words escape her. “This might sound weird to y’all but… can I fix y’alls car?” Cindy has the door slammed in her face but doesn’t let it phase her. She proceeds to fix the car anyway and even gives it an upgrade.Bonus → XV chocobros after time compression stops and everyone is back home.At camp, Ignis is cooking dinner. Noctis and Prompto are salivating already. Gladio returns to camp a little later after doing a couple of more hunts and breathes in the aroma. “Mmm, Iggy, whatcha cookin’?” Ignis stares down at his grill and Noctis and Prompto look at each other with worried expressions. “Umm…” Ignis mumbles. Gladio walks over to Ignis and sees eight hot dogs on the grill. He frowns at Ignis and refuses to speak to him for the rest of the night. Safe to say, Gladio is extremely unimpressed.

#emeraldlatias #ahhh thank you so much for this ask!!#this was sooo fun to write #i'm really sorry again if it's not what you were expecting!#final fantasy #ffviii #ffxv #i'm aware that this seems to revolve around hotdogs lmao

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gyromitra-esculenta · 8 years ago

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Crackverse 9: Old Soldiers

For dear waifu @drift-ed that bugged me about crack enough. The ugly-ass sweaters are mentioned only in passing, Jack and Sombra bond over, and there is a mention of Smurf tits and weaponized tennis tables. Masterlist: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5Part 6 Part 7 Xmas New Year Part 8 Soulmate AU

It was all peachy and dandy until the goon decided to pull a gun on Jack. Jack didn’t like having guns pointed at him.

“Grumps, uh…” Sombra switched to a private-private channel. “Shouldn’t we, like, call an ambulance, or something?”

“Anonymous tip-off. Done five minutes ago.”

“But… he just went up to him five minutes ago?”

“Yes.”

“Madre de Dios, does that happen that often!?”

“Have I ever told you about the Paris Table Incident? That one got recorded.”

“You’re an evil, evil man. I know I shouldn’t, I will regret it, but I’m going to look that up right now.”

“It was like watching a beautiful hyper-train wreck. I knew I shouldn’t, but I couldn’t take my eyes off. It wasn’t a publicity stunt?”

“No.”

“That was real?”

“We tried to pull it off the web.”

“Whoever titled it ‘Five easy steps to disable bastion unit with a tennis table’ was a goddamn marketing genius.”

“Yep.”

“Why the tennis table though?”

“It was on hand.”

“And, grumps, you willingly share the bed with that thing? Respeto.”

“As long as I don’t cheat on him.”

“Good abuelo doesn’t know about your boyfriends then.”

“…shit.” To be perfectly frank, Gabriel admitted, he had forgotten that little detail himself.

“Are you both done fucking around? I’m fucking boiling,” pinged at the other private channel.

Keeping Hakim occupied enough to not notice a human bulldozer going through his ‘security’ wasn’t that hard. Keeping himself from snorting out loud when Sombra sent him a picture of an almost literal pile of bodies of said ‘security’ was a challenge.

“Well…” And that poor bastard who just lost half of his teeth on the other side of the wall. “Keep at it. Once you set a trap you never know what will fall into it.”

“Hilarious,” Jack grumbled on the line. “Your plans fucking suck. Where the fuck are you?”

“Of which we have a perfect example just now,” Gabriel rolled his eyes behind his mask and when Sombra finally let the feed go through he ghosted away to the sound of Hakim’s indignant squawk at the sight of his ‘security’ properly disposed of. Or virtually annihilated. It was time to start the show. “Right here, Jack.”

The following scream of pain was indisputably deserving of an Oscar, Gabriel thought.

Winston harrumphed lightly at the sight of D.Va and Tracer dancing to the song Lucio was in the act of composing at the moment. Was that Beethoven he heard in the background?

“Winston, luv, watcha want?” Lena giggled at him, waving her hands erratically in the air.

“Oh, yes, did Soldier tell you anything about, hm, a trip to Egypt?”

“Sure, luv, he’s getting his mum.”

Winston’s left eyelid twitched nervously when he thought about exactly what potential female specimen could have spawned the man in question. Sure, he was capable and useful, certainly resourceful and knowledgeable about combat operations, but the temper. God, the temper and the mouth on him…

“His mother?”

“To be exact,” Lucio nodded, “he was more like ‘mommy won’t be hiding for much longer now’.”

“Our own grandma, imagine that!” Hana high-fived Tracer.

“Holy shit,” Jesse let the camera fall to the couch beside him, eyes wide, meeting the questioning gaze of the other three people and one genetically modified gorilla in the room. “I just, uh, remembered, I was supposed to buy Genji the return ticket. Be right back!”

“You motherfucking arsehole! You fucking shot me!”

“Jackie, baby, we agreed on that,” Gabriel had a creeping feeling of suspicion tugging at the back of his mind that maybe, maybe, he, unbeknownst to himself, did manage to botch something up.

“We fucking agreed on the fucking lower back!”

“That’s not much of a difference, baby?”

“Gabriel,” it was the full name now and the warning edge he hadn’t heard since forever in Jack’s voice. He… was definitely in serious trouble here. “I’m not fucking wearing fucking armor on my ass!”

Shit. There it was.

“Jackie…”

“Well, you should, anciano,” Sombra yet again invaded the ‘private’ channel, she was worse than Pharaoh’s ants. “To protect your assets.”

The deafening silence on the other side of the comm could have only meant one of the two outcomes possible – and neither of them was any good, honestly. Gabriel readied for screams, or to duck behind a cover under a barrage of pulse fire because, if the universe worked properly – and it usually did regarding its capability to screw him over – Jack was somewhere with a good vantage point. And just behind Gabriel’s position.

“You know, that was actually pretty good, chica,” Jack chuckled.

“I know, I was sitting on it for days, abuelo.”

Well, Gabriel certainly had not expected that, and neither had he expected the silent dread welling up in his gut at the sudden realization that if they teamed up… No, he was better off not even trying to think about it.

“Genji, code red, y’all not going to fucking believe it!” Jesse almost screamed into the phone while pacing on the roof of the watchpoint.

“I’m not believing it already because I’m looking right now at a pair of Smurf tits.”

Jesse stopped and reconsidered.

“What?”

“Smurf tits.”

“…why?” This was a question Jesse was almost afraid to ask.

“Check your mail, I forwarded it.”

“…dude, answer me first, are these Smurf tits of the Papa Smurf banging Smurfette variety, or just regular Smurf tits variety?” Jesse formulated his words with some modicum of care while propping the phone on his arm and navigating the datapad’s menu awkwardly.

“Regular Smurf tits variety,” Genji confirmed with the accompaniment of a baby crying in the background.

“Huh. I got two.” Few fast swipes and Jesse had to sit down. “Okay, one, what’s with the ankle biter? Two, did she really write out the accent? Three, why did she mailbomb our server?”

“One, I’m flying coach, because someone forgot to buy me a ticket. Two, yes. Three, heck if I know.”

“Dude, I’m sorry, my condolences. I’m coming to pick ya up.”

Kicking in doors was never regarded as a subtle method of an entrance to a safehouse, but, considering, Gabriel had nothing in particular against it at that very moment, not when the whole 'lower back' dispute just blew over miraculously. The privacy thing notwithstanding, he should thank Sombra for her horrific puns she and Jack seemed to bond over - even if the very idea of that happening made his skin crawl uncomfortably. Maybe another of those atrocious sweaters would do, and getting Jack out of one shouldn't be a problem at all.

“I'm taking it out of your fucking ass,” the man in question mumbled in between the kisses and generous groping.

“Of course, Jackie,” Gabriel went for another kiss when a strange whistling sound caught his attention, along with a pinprick in his neck. He swatted at it dislodging something metallic.

“Haven't I told you, boys, not to ever try to trick the trickster?”

Jack's eyes rolled back and he went down like a literal sack of bricks.

“...fuck,” Gabriel managed to mutter before he joined him on the floor.

Gabriel had to honestly admit he felt properly and thoroughly chastised for being an unreasonable melodramatic moron with no imagination whatsoever, and he couldn’t fault Ana for quietly announcing the whole list of reasons why she was so, so disappointed with both of them. The mention of her having to remove the buckshot by hand had him wincing, really.

But now, they sat with the tea slowly getting cold, mesmerized by the spectacle taking place on the opposite side of the table.

Said spectacle laid sprawled on the couch and giggled menacingly while slapping his own face. Gabriel was thankful for the nanite metabolism that got rid of the cocktail fast and painless.

“Remind me that if there ever is a choice between sedating him, and shooting this stupid head of his off, there is no choice.” Ana shuddered.

“Yeah. This is easily the second scariest thing I’ve seen in my life,” Gabriel agreed. Jack mumbled something while almost putting two fingers in his eye and drifted away into the realm of sleep, again.

“I’m afraid to ask what was actually the scariest one,” Ana took a sip.

“I…” Gabriel faltered, returning for a second to the gut-wrenching horror when… No, it was better to leave it in the past. “I’d rather not say,” he added sourly.

“I see,” Ana patted his arm calmly, sighing. “At least now you are both all right. More or less.”

“So, how did you figure it out?”

“Gabe,” she rolled her eye, “you’re both bad enough on your own, but together, you are two biggest dramatic fucks I’ve ever known in my life. ‘I know your every move before you even think it’? I might even feel a little bit insulted.”

“Fair point.” Gabriel almost dropped the cup when Jack chose this exact moment to jerk awake, laugh manically, and then roll off the couch and land with a loud thud on the floor. One pale hand slowly rose in the air.

“Papi…!” Jack whined from under the table.

“…and conzidering ze dating-zess-pool of Talon has ze collaborative iq of pond zcum…” Lucio suspended his dramatic reading of Widowmaker’s e-mail to wave at Jesse and Genji. “…I turn to you in ze hope of alleviating zis issue…”

“What the fuck y’all doing?”

“Cowboy, good you’re here,” Hana zeroed on Jesse, her smile putting most of the known species of shark to shame. “We’ve reached a group decision you are going to take one for the team. If she gets laid, maybe she’s going to be less of a bitch to deal with!”

“Are y’all fucking daft!? Genji?”

“Oh. No, you’re on your own, McCree,” the cyborg took a step back. “After all, you forgot to buy me the return ticket.”

“You’re going bowling Saturday night, luv, the lane’s booked!” Tracer gleefully declared while handing him reservation details.

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izthecannibal · 8 years ago

Text

We’re Not Too Far Gone (Part 3) - Carl Grimes Imagine

Part 1

Part 2

Part 4

requests: could you do a multi chapter fic where like the reader is like 14?? and like negan takes her from hilltop to raise her as his own but she doesnt like him so she runs away and she gets captured by like dwight and thats the part where glenn and michonne are also captured aswell and they get to the lineup and thats where negan notices her and ricks group are “ shookt ” and when carl tries to hunt down negan and fails he ends up meeting reader during the tour and they form a great friendship??

and about the “ negans daughter” thing can you make the reader really close w jesus and he gets really upset when negan takes her away?? thanks aha

pairings: carl x reader

a/n: i’ve been reading the spider-man comics and i’m so in love with peter honestly why can’t guys my age be like him... also i’m not super happy with how this came out but you know the next part should be better

word count: 1,383

tagged users: @deeindarkwonderland @namelesslosers

“If you think any amount of pain you can inflict on me will make me wish I was dead, you don’t know me one damn bit,” you spat. Your body still shook, but no longer out of fear. You were fuming with rage, and your heart was beating abnormally quickly, making your jaw shudder.

Negan feigned shock, placing his hand over his heart. “My, oh, my! I knew you were a sassy one, but jeez... You sure know how to mouth off.” Negan’s face reflected one thing, and one thing only: He was pissed. You were alike Negan in the sense that you didn’t back down.

“I’m just getting started,” you replied, gritting your teeth out of habit. Negan chuckled at the ground, then stood back up. He wandered back towards Rick, glancing down at him like a king talking to a servant from a pedestal. He swung his bat from off his shoulder and aimed it at Rick’s chest. Rick stared blankly past Negan, seemingly distracted and unstable.

“Give me your shit, or I will kill you.” Negan smiled devilishly, leaning back and laughing a little at the reaction he was receiving from Rick. “Today was career day.” Negan bobbed the bat up and down as he began to walk towards you again, pointing its end at each person he passed along the way.

“We invested a lot so you would know who I am and what I can do. Little Miss (Y/N) over here has seen a lot of what I’ve created first-hand, but I can confirm that she has no idea in the damn world what I’m about to show all of you sorry bastards.”

You flinched when you heard your name fall from his vulgar lips, hating the way it sounded as it rolled off his tongue. Thankfully, Negan turned away from you, and back to Rick. He repeated his actions, pointing the tip of the bat at him. “You work for me now.”

Negan firmly planted his large boots in the ground and pointed the head of his bat at each of you individually. “You have shit, you give it to me. That’s your job. Now, I know that is a mighty big, nasty pill to swallow, but swallow it--you most certainly will.

Negan had seemingly forgotten you were there, for he was so focused on getting Rick’s attention and keeping it. “You ruled the roost. You,” Negan paused, sighing through his teeth before continuing, “built something. You thought you were safe.”

A boy wearing a cowboy hat with a gauze pad covering his eye stared in shock at Rick with his mouth wide open. His eyes followed the bat up to Negan, and then settled on you. His mouth closed as you looked him in the eye. Shivers went up your arms. Whether they were from the freezing cold air or not, you couldn’t tell.

“I get it,” Negan rambled. Your eyes darted towards the short brown-haired woman, who gagged silently. “But the word is out. You are not safe--Not even close. In fact, you are pegged... More pegged if you don’t do what I want, and what I want is half your shit.”

You knew it was coming. You had already gone through this at the Hilltop. It was heartbreaking the first time, but it wasn’t nearly as suspenseful. You weren’t there when Negan found out about your community. You had only heard of what happened in the stories that Jesus told you. As far as you were concerned, nothing this extravagant happened to anyone in your group.

You were at Negan’s mercy like never before. Half your supplies had been taken by him, then you were taken, yourself. You had almost escaped, but he was too good for you. If Negan’s third time was a charm, you were as good as dead.

“And if that’s too much, you can make, find, or steal more, and it’ll even out sooner or later. This is your way of life, now. The more you fight back, the harder it will be. So, someone knocks on your door,” Negan paused once again, pacing slowly towards you.

“You let us in. We own that door. You try to stop us, and we will knock it down.” Rick blinked as Negan jutted the end of his bat towards his head. “You understand?” Rather than answering, Rick stared blankly past you. His face was almost as pale as the woman next to him, only he showed no expression. It was like he was unaware of how much weighed on his response to such a simple question.

Negan leaned forward and put his hand to his ear. “What?” he whispered. “No answer?” Negan stood up straight and dragged his fingertips over his chin, through his beard. “You don’t really think that you were gonna get through this without being punished. Now, did you?” His indiction of each word grew more and more powerful with each word he said.

“I don’t wanna kill you people.” Rick’s breathing sped up, and yours followed suit. “Just wanna make that clear from the get-go. I want you to work for me. You can’t do that if you’re dead. Now, can you?” Negan’s head turned towards you painfully slowly.

“For you, my dear...” Negan said excitedly. He sauntered in front of you and squatted to your level. “I’m not sure what to do with you, just yet... Anyone got any suggestions?” He turned on his heels to face the group, who were all staring at you questionably.

You tilted your head down, and a tear fell from your eye onto your leg. You wiped your face quickly, unaware that you had even begun to cry. Your thumb began tapping your thigh--a nervous habit you had developed over the years.

“Alrighty, then. I guess Lucille shall decide her fate... if none of you are willing to compensate.” Your eyes eyes widened exponentially as Negan raised his bat above his head. You couldn’t make a sound, but the boy who you had glanced at earlier shrieked before Negan could crash the bat on top of your head.

Negan smirked and halted his motions, allowing Lucille to rest on his shoulder. He spun quickly to face the boy, whose face had been drained of all color, aside from the pink that splotched his cheeks and nose. “Alright! Now, things are starting to get exciting!”

Negan chuckled to himself, then focused on Rick once more. Like he wasn’t completely willing to take your life. Like he didn’t just make your heart thrash momentarily. Your breaths were quick, and you were sobbing at that point. Your eyes trailed up from your shaking hands to the boy who sat across from you. You couldn’t help but stare, for it was your only way of acknowledging his bravery.

“I’m not growin’ a garden, but you killed my people--A whole damn lot of them. More than I’m comfortable with, and for that... For that, you’re gonna pay.” He darted his head back to you again, and you dropped your head instantly. You gave up. You were at his mercy, and you were willing to do whatever he said you needed to.

“So. now... I’m gonna beat the holy hell out of one ‘a you.” He replaced his grip on Lucille and spun her in his hands. “This... This is Lucille, as (Y/N) is very aware, and she is awesome.” Your shoulders shook when he said your name.

“All this... All this is just so we can pick out which one ‘a you gets the honor.” Negan paced back and forth, passing over each person in the line. He stopped in front of a man with red-orange hair. To your surprise, he didn’t cower down. He stood up off his heels and raised his chin, almost like he was challenging Negan.

“Huh,” Negan sighed. He ran his fingertips over his chin once again, shaking his head. “Ugh, I gotta shave this shit.” He left the red haired man and strolled over towards the boy. You shook your head warily, sobbing once more as Negan stepped closer to him. You didn’t know the boy, but he saved you. The least you could do for him is make sure he got out of this alive, to return the favor.

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almaasi · 8 years ago

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reaction post typed while watching SPN 12x11 “Regarding Dean”

<3 <3 <3 smol cursed Dean is my jam, Meredith Glynn is my peanut butter, and thus I raise a toast to this episode

06:06pm

all i know about this is from the promos i saw on instagram. kind pumped, kinda wary. cursed-by-a-witch!dean was one of my favourite fanfic tropes though, back when i still read other people’s fanfic. i think i’ve written the trope myself once. maybe twice or three times? definitely In Which Dean Frogs Up is a cursed!dean fic and i love that fic dearly

this episode’s written by meredith glynn, who last wrote the dean-kills-hitler episode (the memory of which makes me smile. FUCK WHITE SUPREMACY)

(but actually though, it was weird how it was more of a “fuck your symbols” rather than a “fuck the bad thing you actually do” narrative?? if half the people who watch this show are republican, i assume many of them voted trump, and are therefore associated with nazism. and yet??? i’m sure many of them would also be like “hell yeah destroy hitler” without realising that the racist pumpkin and his motley crew of swamp-dwellers, who they just happily elected, has gotten nazism point two up and running, post-millenium)

06:18

ANYWAY

let’s watch this thing

dean caring about rabbits!! yes good

i’ve forgotten so much about the early seasons, i only watched season 2 & 3 once

06:22

EYY RABBIT

i hope this rabbit makes it out alive

(also dean is still a disney princess fight me)

06:23

I’M

HAPPY

BECAUSE DEAN AND RABBITS

AAAAH

“HEY BUDDY”

BUT LIKE?? WILD RABBITS ARE THE SCAREDIEST THINGS ON EARTH. I KNOW IT’S A TRAINED RABBIT BUT. IF DEAN CAN PICK UP A WILD RABBIT

HE’S A FUCKING DISNEY PRINCESS

THIS IS MY FAVOURITE THING

06:25

the fluFFY WHITE DOG

IS THAT A SAMOYED

IS THAT THE SAME SAMOYED I SAW IN AN EPISODE LAST YEAR AND COMMENTED ON HOW DEAN WASN’T SCARED OF IT

I DON’T KNOW WHY BUT I’M LIVING FOR THIS RIGHT NOW

06:27

it’s so nice that sam can say “right. well i’ll text mom”

mary was what this show needed

06:29

i’m really enjoying dean

just... existing

he’s good

06:31

THIS AUTOPSY LADY BETTER A) HAVE A NAME, AND B) LIVE THROUGH THIS EPISODE

06:31

c) fucking SPEAK WHAT THE HELL SHE DIDN’T SPEAK AND NOW SHE’S GONE

HER HAIR WAS SO COOL

but hey she didn’t die, that’s a plus

06:33

sam’s hair looks really good

also i like that sam judges dean really hard when he’s being an asshole

06:34

dean is actually starting to look more like season 1 dean

it’s the mussed hair and the stubble i think

and the pouty half-open lips

06:36

dean: “who’s dean?”

this is too relatable

i don’t think it’s meant to be relatable

but whenever this show does “something is wrong, they can’t see straight and they need blankets” i relate so hard

06:38

EEEEEY DEAN LOVES DORY

WE ALL LOVE DORY

DORY IS ME

(flashback to a few weeks ago, me standing in a hardware store, bawling my eyes out because i couldn’t remember why i needed to go the hardware store)

(turns out i went there to buy paint, but they didn’t have the paint i needed, and my brain freaked out and shut down)

(there was a nice sales guy in the garden centre though, and i bought a fern, which made me happy, and still makes me happy. nice people and plants are the best)

sidenote: DORY IS VOICED BY ELLEN DEGENERES THEREFORE COUNTS AS DEAN LIKING QUEER STUFF PROBABLY

06:43

sam put a note on the lamp

this is legit just reminding me of my own fics, i feel as if i would get along with meredith glynn if we ever met

06:44

rowena playing cards with a dude of colour

if she flips and murders them all i’m so done

also i had to google “crowley’s mother spn” because i forgot rowena’s name. i knew it began with r

and she’s one of my favourite characters

how the heck am i still alive