#peaches duffy

[raysanthology]

Bowie Dove

Gonna start this off by posting a fan favorite for the first OC introduction - my beloved Bowie Dove most commonly known as Bobo. She actually started off as a random sim (hence Bobo, it was literally the first thing that popped into my head in that moment) that I created to fuck around with custom content/mods in my game. But I got so emotionally attached to her and ended up giving her substantial lore and such.

Bobo's just a girl from the Midwest with a drug addiction problem. Her and her brother's (Beau) parents were also addicts, so their grandparents uproot them from their toxic household to try and give them a better life. Their parents being in and out of jail, there was nobody to really take care of Bobo and Beau. Around their late teen/early adulthood years, their grandparents pass away, leaving the house to their grandchildren. Beau and Bobo, along with their friend Peaches, have always been the sort of odd ones out with their poor finances and upbringing. Beau turns to selling drugs from a semi-young age to help bring in finances for their grandparents; the 'friends' Beau has around him also just aren't the best people. As Beau gets older, he just sort of hops from job to job to make money (as well as Bobo) but evidently, getting out of selling drugs isn't easy, and makes a hell of a lot more than minimum wage.

Bobo's morbid curiosity and just bad circumstances overall give her that push to get into drugs. Initially, it's just things like cigarettes and weed, but eventually she starts to turn to harder drugs as a way to cope and interact with others. Peaches starts to get into these things as well. Bobo also starts sleeping around with people more often. In general, her life goes fairly downhill and she starts making a lot of bad decisions.

In short, eventually Beau goes to jail for selling drugs. Getting into this sort of trouble gives him a sort of wake up call, as well as he starts to notice how bad Bobo is getting. Because of their alternate sides of the issue, this causes a bit of a rift/struggle between the two for a while. At some point, Bobo becomes pregnant, and this is when she really realizes how fucked she is and that she needs to clean her life up for good this time.

The timeline of events isn't super clear and things still need to be fledged out, but eventually Beau and Bobo work on repairing their relationship, Peaches and Bobo prepare to help raise Bobo's kid together, and some other friends (who will later be introduced) make their way into the Dove siblings' lives.

Bobo and Peaches have been friends since childhood, in which their friendship eventually blossoms into a committed romance. Not before struggling through their many hardships first.

But that's about it for Bobo lore - I will link her Spotify playlist and Pinterest board and add in some pictures of her I've drawn. Feel free to ask questions or anything!

And on all future posts, I will tag the OCs that that post relates to, so that it will be easier to find information about them :)

[jade-gamer]

The phases of damsel - Duffy

[funtimespringscare101]

@chaosverse-mainblog @misterah13 What the Anarchy Crew does when they’re not messing around with M/Horror Mario.

Everyone, especially Damsel and Lucas, gets some serious downtime from having to deal with evil entities, like MX, and can finally chill for once. Also Damsel being British is something that heals me… She is a sassy one too.

Also it seems @heyimduffy got on Tumblr and I love the character she made so much so HEYY DUFFY HOW ITS GOING, check out my stuff Featuring Damsel!

[justforbooks]

Fleur Adcock

One of the leading New Zealand and British poets of her generation who was fascinated by the past and ancestral voices

Fleur Adcock, who has died aged 90, was one of the best loved and most esteemed poets in Britain and New Zealand. The full span of her work from 1960 until 2024 was published earlier this year in a 600-page volume of collected poems to coincide with her 90th birthday. She also translated Latin and Romanian verse, and edited The Oxford Book of Contemporary New Zealand Poetry (1982) and The Faber Book of Twentieth Century Women’s Poetry (1987).

Fleur’s deceptively relaxed conversational style is often barbed with an oblique take on reality. As the poet laureate Carol Ann Duffy said: “The sharper edge of her talent is encountered like a razor blade in a peach.”

Her poetry deals with life’s surprises and oddities, the unexpected or unexplained that can cut the ground from beneath your feet. Take the conceit of Regression, a poem from 1967: “All the flowers have gone back into the ground.” What appears familiar and recognisable becomes uncannily different as in dreams or nightmares.

In the same way Fleur probes the everyday with psychological accuracy. This appears in even her most tender poems, such as On a Son Returned to New Zealand (1971), about her first-born son, on his way home to his father: full of motherly pride in the first two lines – “He is my green branch growing in a green plantation. / He is my first invention” – she acknowledges the pain of parting with the wry comment, “No one can be in two places at once”.

Yet she is equally adept at melodrama: the awful realisation of the mistakes one has made, that haunt us in the middle of the night, occurs in Things (1979) when, at 5am: “All the worse things come stalking in / and stand icily about the bed looking worse and worse and worse”.

Fleur not only wrote about children, lovers, family relations, and increasingly, as she got older, her ancestors, but her world of affections, as the Australian poet Peter Porter called it, extends to animals both mythical and real, insects and creatures. In her precise observation, even the most insignificant or repellent win her admiration.

Slugs coupling “glide about, / silently undulating: two / slugs in a circle, tail to snout” and she exults at their climax: “they’ve dressed themselves in a cloud of foam, / a frothy veil for love-in-a-mist”.

In the groundswell of women’s poetry of the 1980s, Fleur – one of the few female poets to have joined Edward Lucie-Smith’s circle, the Group, in 1963 – became a voice to be listened to. She was an influence on a younger generation of poets that included Duffy, Carol Rumens, Vicki Feaver and Jo Shapcott, especially in writing about subjects such as smoking, celibacy, old age, masturbation, illness and bereavement, and thus opening up new topics for poetry.

There were some risqué tongue-in-cheek poems acclaiming the solo woman, like Smokers for Celibacy (1991), which concludes “Altogether, we’ve come to the conclusion that sex is a drag. / Just give us a fag”. Others celebrate women as superstars, fantastic figures of legend, elevated stratospherically, such as The Ex-Queen Among the Astronomers (1979), whose “hair / crackles, her eyes are comet-sparks” and who “brings the distant briefly close /above his dreamy abstract stare”.

Fleur was born in Papakura, in New Zealand’s North Island, to Cyril Adcock (who published as CJ Adcock), a teacher, and Irene (nee Robinson), a music teacher and writer. Fleur’s sister, Marilyn (later the acclaimed novelist Marilyn Duckworth), was born the following year.

In 1939 the family travelled to Britain so that Cyril could study for a doctorate in psychology at Birkbeck College, London, with war breaking out while the move was in progress. The sisters were evacuated, first to Grange Farm in Leicestershire – but other moves followed and Fleur counted 11 schools in seven and a half years.

Upon the family’s return to New Zealand, she studied classics at Wellington girls’ college and Te Herenga Waka – Victoria University of Wellington. In 1952 she married the poet Alistair Te Ariki Campbell, and they had two sons, Gregory and Andrew. They divorced in 1958; a second marriage of five months followed in 1962, to the writer Barry Crump, before Fleur departed for Britain in 1963.

She had already written most of her first collection, The Eye of the Hurricane (1964), which was published in New Zealand: many of these poems are placeless, reflecting her passion for the English landscape and inability to engage with the natural world of her native country.

When settings appear, as in her next volume, Tigers (1967), published in the UK, there is a sting. Stewart Island (1971) begins: “‘But look at all this beauty,’ / said the hotel manager’s wife”. It concludes with the image of a seagull descending with jabbing beak, and her comment, “I had already / decided to leave the country.”

Although Fleur’s work fitted into the mainstream of postwar British poetry despite its outsider interrogations, she carried out her personal explorations with the zeal of a newcomer. She developed a passion for places and journeys: the landscapes of Northern Ireland introduced her to her maternal roots, and made her aware of the ethnic complexity of her New Zealand identity; she fell in love with the Lake District, discovering Dorothy Wordsworth’s journals, as Arts Council creative writing fellow at Charlotte Mason College of Education in Ambleside (1977-78) , and then with the north of England, as Northern Arts literary fellow at the Universities of Newcastle and Durham.

Well established by then, and familiar to many as a poetry commentator for the BBC, she resigned in 1979 from her position at the Foreign and Commonwealth Office library to become a full-time writer. Later she supported herself when necessary by tutoring for the creative writing organisation Arvon.

After the publication of Poems 1960-2000 (2000), Fleur stopped writing for a decade. But then a late flowering occurred, with five new volumes, enough to double her previous output, as she became, in her words, “embarrassingly prolific”.

A strong motivating factor was her fascination with the past and ancestral voices; this was tied up with her reconciliation with New Zealand, a reunion effected over decades by constant travel back and forth, but now more intensely focused on the early years, her parents and their colonial origins.

It was a sideways glance at her country of origin, fuelled by her curiosity about places and her unceasing search for connectivity, an elliptical rather than a full circle. Poems in The Land Ballot (2015) and Hoard (2017) record excursions and road trips: titles include Kuaotunu, Rangiwahia, Drury, Pakiri, Ruakaka, Alfriston, Helensville and Raglan. Reviving memories, they fill in those gaps invisible in the earlier work that had shaped her poetic signature.

They also completed Fleur’s voyage of discovery within the frameworks of her immediate past, the genealogical past and the deeper past of New Zealand’s colonial history.

Among many honours Fleur was awarded the Queen’s Medal for Poetry in 2006 and the New Zealand Prime Minister’s award for literary achievement in poetry, 2019.

She is survived by her sons, Gregory and Andrew, six grandchildren, Oliver, Lilian, Julia, Ella, Cait and Rosa, and seven great-grandchildren, Charlie, Ash, Seth, Alexandra, Jean, Ella and Mira Fleur, and by her sister, Marilyn.

🔔 Fleur Adcock, poet, born 10 February 1934; died 10 October 2024

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

[heleniad]

She was born from an egg, a daughter of the gods, divinely fair, a pearl, drop-dead gorgeous, beautiful, a peach, a child of grace, a stunner, in her face the starlike sorrows of immortal eyes. Who looked there, loved.

She won the heart of every man she saw. They stood in line, sighed, knelt, beseeched Be Mine. She married one, but every other mother’s son swore to be true to her till death, enchanted by the perfume of her breath, her skin’s celebrity.

So when she took a lover, fled, was nowhere to be seen, her side of the bed unslept in, cold, the small coin of her wedding ring left on the bedside table like a tip, the wardrobe empty of the drama of her clothes, it was War.

A thousand ships — on every one a thousand men, each heaving at an oar, each with her face before his stinging eyes, her name tattooed upon the muscle of his arm, a handkerchief she’d dropped once for his lucky charm, each seeing her as a local girl made good, the girl next door, a princess with the common touch, queen of his heart, pin-up, superstar, the heads of every coin he’d tossed, the smile on every note he’d bet at cards — bragged and shoved across a thousand miles of sea.

Meanwhile, lovely she lay high up in a foreign castle’s walls, clasped in a hero’s brawn, loved and loved and loved again, her cries like the bird of calamity’s, drifting down to the boys at the gates who marched now to the syllables of her name.

Beauty is fame. Some said she turned into a cloud and floated home, falling there like rain, or tears, upon her husband’s face. Some said her lover woke to find her gone, his sword and clothes gone too, before they sliced a last grin in his throat.

Some swore they saw her smuggled on a boat dressed as a boy, rowed to a ship which slid away at dusk, beckoned by the finger of the moon. Some vowed that they were in the crowd that saw her hung, stared up at her body as it swung there on the creaking rope, and noticed how the black silk of her dress clung to her form, a stylish shroud.

Her maid, who loved her most, refused to say one word to anyone at any time or place, would not describe one aspect of her face or tell one anecdote about her life and loves.

But lived alone and kept a little bird inside a cage.

— CAROL ANN DUFFY

[hsboo03]

Based on Eddbedandeddy's story "Fast Times at Peach Creek High".

https://archiveofourown.org/works/46515541/chapters/117128146

Chapter 1/6 (AO3) I made this little drawing, I was aware of the whole series and I liked how Edd and Eddy's relationship was going after Ed's separation, the conflicts, the doubts and how every little decision It has a reason to be. Thanks for keeping the EENE fandom active and for such a wonderful story. 🍓🌸

So, as it were, Ed had been the only thing keeping them friends. As in, just friends, mind you- Eddy would be his best friend until he was decomposing in the ground and nourishing the worms, three amigos or not. But they found themselves filling the quiet left by Ed’s absence with a series of sloppy make-out sessions- starting with one that Eddy himself had initiated during their late-night viewing of a Dario Argento film.

At one point Double Dee said aloud that he found the story to be unengaging."Intriguing as you find the soundtrack, I fail to see what distinguishes this film from Ed's B-movies."He grabbed the remote- Eddy tried to wrestle it back from him. “Give it back! You have no taste!”

[brn1029]

Time for your Rock Report

HALO Films has announced a biopic based on the life of the iconic late AC/DC frontman Bon Scott. Production of the movie, called The Kid From Harvest Road, is expected to begin in early 2025. The project aims to capture the essence of Scott's early life in Fremantle in a fictionalized narrative set in the 1960s, according to the Australian producers. "Through careful storytelling and attention to detail, The Kid From Harvest Road can offer viewers a reimagined glimpse into the life of a young Bon Scott, while also capturing the spirit of the times in which he lived. It's an approach that allows for creative interpretation while still honouring the essence of Scott's journey," HALO Films announced on its website. Young Australian actor Lee Tiger Halley will play the role of Scott. The biopic's script is co-written by Stephen Belowsky and director David Vincent Smith. Tim Duffy is the producer. Ian Hale and Nicko Mezzino will executive produce for HALO Films and Protocol Pictures, respectively. The producers urged "anyone to share their stories of the time and help develop the rich tapestry in this love letter to Fremantle."

Bruce Springsteen and Noah Kahan are set to headline the upcoming Sea.Hear.Now festival, scheduled to take place in Asbury Park, New Jersey, on September 14 and 15. Kahan is set to headline on Saturday (September 14), with the Black Crowes, 311, the Revivalists, the Hives, Grace Potter, Sierra Ferrell, Peaches, Guster, Ziggy Alberts, and Robert Randolph Band also on the lineup. Springsteen and the E Street band will headline on Sunday (September 15). The Gaslight Anthem, Trey Anastasio Band, Norah Jones, Kook & the Gang, Action Bronson, Gorgol Bordello, Larkin Poe, and Joy Oladokun will also perform that day. The two-day event will feature more than 25 artists across three stages, art installations, and a professional surf contest.

Weezer, the Killers, Foo Fighters, Sheryl Crow, Greta Van Fleet, and the Breeders performed at the festival last year.

[mayolfederico]

Carol Ann Duffy - Beautiful/Bellissima

Carol Ann Duffy Da  Feminine Gospels (2002) BEAUTIFUL She was born from an egg, a daughter of the gods, divinely fair, a pearl, drop-dead gorgeous, beautiful, a peach, child of grace, a stunner, in her face the starlike sorrows of immortal eyes. Who looked there, loved. She won the heart of every man she saw. They stood in line, sighed, knelt, beseeched Be Mine. She married one,but every…

[taste-in-music]

Into The Unknown - The Blasting Company / Anyone Else But You - The Moldy Peaches / we fell in love in october - girl in red / So Long - Maya Hawke / Canyon Moon - Harry Styles / Goodbye, My Danish Sweetheart - Mitski / Syrup & Honey - Duffy / Pale September - Fiona Apple / Winnebago - Samia / invisible string - Taylor Swift / Man of Weakness (Acoustic) - Your Smith / Sarah - Alex G / Holocene - Bon Iver / Death with Dignity - Sufjan Stevens / Let’s Fall in Love for the Night (1964) - FINNEAS / Smoke Signals - Phoebe Bridgers / How to disappear - Lana Del Rey / and many more...

autumn frolic

[nellygwyn]

The King didn't sign but a scribe with a fair hand wrote it all down and the King thought the men in the meadow dogs for taking the shine off the crown; afterwards fumed, fitted, foamed at the mouth. Those from the North rode north, not believing a word they'd heard from the weasel King who'd tax the fart from your arse, razored their falchions.

Nice meadow, Runnymede; where an English oak made a mirror of shade, next to the Thames, where a knight could kick off his boots to paddle in clover. A horse lifting its tail to crap. A bishop pissing into the river. The King like a chesspiece, wooden, white. A pawn of a page from the distant castle. Widows and nuns took up their threads, wove the scene into tapestry - but not those mongrels rutting under the tree.

Green and gold for the smock of the pretty page; rust for his hair. His face pink as the peach he passed to the King on a pewter plate - his life nothing to no one, then, or now, except he was there, like the swans, the dragonflies, the wasp circling the sucked, chucked pit of a drupe. Weft and warp - for here comes the bit where the boss baron stands to intone the grave nuances of the grievances.... 'Quod Anglicana ecclesia libera sit'

Now, I was a luckless loutess of a troubadour, offstage, as it were, mending my lute on the riverbank - I kenned not then that my posthumous fame would rest in 'Anonymous' - and I earwigged in as those wadded counts laid it down to the King. 'And another thing... 'And another thing....' The field had filled with tents, servants, banners, mounts, and, being the girl of a villein who'd died unfree, I reckoned this business had nowt to do with me.

'Earls and Barons are not to be amerced save by their peers'....though I tuned my ears at 'Una mensura vini through all our Kingdom' 'And one measure of ale.' I'd been on the road for a year and a bard likes to guarantee the size of her beer. But when I heard 'To no one will we sell, to no one will we deny or delay, right or justice' I thought Too Bloody Right. I strummed in key. The words sharpened the air, like liberty.

'Anonymous' by Carol Ann Duffy (from her collection of poems 'Sincerity')

This poem is about the signing of the Magna Carta by King John of England on the 15th June 1215 at Runnymede water meadow, told from the perspective of a lowly female troubadour.

[terfywho]

From Mrs Tiresias

by Carol Ann Duffy

*

All I know is this:

he went out for his walk a man

and came home female.

Out the back gate with his stick,

the dog;

wearing his gardening kecks,

an open-necked shirt,

and a jacket in Harris tweed I'd patched at the elbows myself.

Whistling.

He liked to hear

the first cuckoo of spring

then write to The Times.

I'd usually heard it

days before him

but I never let on.

I'd heard one that morning

while he was asleep;

just as I heard,

at about 6 p.m.,

a faint sneer of thunder up in the woods

and felt

a sudden heat

at the back of my knees.

He was late getting back.

I was brushing my hair at the mirror

and running a bath

when a face

swam into view

next to my own.

The eyes were the same.

But in the shocking V of the shirt were breasts.

When he uttered my name in his woman's voice I passed out

*

Life has to go on.

I put it about that he was a twin

and this was his sister

come down to live

while he himself

was working abroad.

And at first I tried to be kind;

blow-drying his hair till he learnt to do it himself,

lending him clothes till he started to shop for his own,

sisterly, holding his soft new shape in my arms all night.

Then he started his period.

One week in bed.

Two doctors in.

Three painkillers four times a day.

And later

a letter

to the powers that be

demanding full-paid menstrual leave twelve weeks per year.

I see him still,

his selfish pale face peering at the moon

through the bathroom window.

The curse, he said, the curse.

Don't kiss me in public,

he snapped the next day,

I don't want folk getting the wrong idea.

It got worse.

After the split I would glimpse him

out and about,

entering glitzy restaurants

on the arms of powerful men -

though I knew for sure

there'd be nothing of that

going on

if he had his way -

or on TV

telling the women out there

how, as a woman himself,

he knew how we felt.

His flirt's smile.

The one thing he never got right

was the voice.

A cling peach slithering out from its tin.

I gritted my teeth.

And this is my lover, I said,

the one time we met

at a glittering ball

under the lights,

among tinkling glass,

and watched the way he stared

at her violet eyes,

at the blaze of her skin,

at the slow caress of her hand on the back of my neck;

and saw him picture

her bite,

her bite at the fruit of my lips,

and hear

my red wet cry in the night

as she shook his hand

saying How do you do:

and I noticed then his hands, her hands,

the clash of their sparkling rings and their painted nails.

*

@rad-by-nature @drowsy-hopes-and-dreams thanks guys for encouraging this!

[funtimespringscare101]

A Found family duo that grows with the addition of Damsel, Lucas and later Darnell and Nene. It's full of rebels and anarchists lol

@chaosverse-mainblog I finally had motivation to post these FireStar Peach sketches I did!

Sketch 1 - FireStar and the foul mouthed kid she just found and kinda adopted.

Sketch 2 - Why you shouldn't get on FireStar's bad side, like here, M crossed a line when he said something about FireStar's Mario, and he got fireballed. M never said anything about the others from FireStar's glitched copy of SMW again... (Man, Horror Mario is so much fun to draw fr)

Sketch 3 - This is the Original sketch of the official Fire and Lead duo render used in the Give Me 6 Horrorbrews to Draw Challenge post, Pico came out amazingly here and I'm very proud of it!

Digital Render (free to use) Below:

[honestlydarkprincess]

for your ask game: 1, 17, and 30 😌💞

(also you better not fall asleep in your chair again or i’m gonna be mad, love youuuu 🥰)

JACE MY LOVE!!! There is a VERY good chance I'm going to fall asleep in my chair again 😭 you'll probably get a drunk voice note about it hehehe, don't be mad you love me too much 🥰 love you!

1. have you ever wished on a shooting star?

yes i have! i can't remember what for but i love wishing on shooting stars, wish chips, at 11:11, etc. like I don't know if I really believe it's gonna make it happen but i think it's cute

17. favourite song?

OOOOOOOO very difficult question, i'm definitely like, a mood listener? when it comes to music so even tho i love a song or an artist it's not always the vibe i'm going for, so picking a favourite is so hard!!

let me just give you 3 songs i'm obsessed with right now:

howling - noah kahan

forever drunk - peach prc

solas - james duffy (i'm relearning piano because i WILL force myself to learn this song)

30. ask anything you want!!

what would you like to ask me my love? 🥰

random asks!

[levithestripper]

Modern AU! VDL Gang Headcanons

✩ Masterlist! ✩

✩ Warnings: None! ✩

✩ Included characters are: Arthur Morgan, Bill Williamson, Charles Smith, Javier Escuella, John Marston, Kieran Duffy, Lenny Summers, Mary-Beth Gaskill, Micah Bell, Sean MacGuire ✩

✩ Taglist: @reddeadrevolutionn, @leech-in-a-peach, @floup-doodles, @mesangelique, @the-1-sin-bin ✩

✩ If you want to be added to a taglist, fill this out! ✩

✩ Length: 1.4k || Read on Ao3 ✩

✩ A/N: me, posting rdr2 content two days in a row? what is this, march again? since i combined day 8 + 9, i wrote some headcanons instead for a change of pace! ✩

If Arthur had access to today’s music and entertainment, he’d unironically really enjoy traditionally ‘girly’ pop music. No, he doesn’t give a shit what anyone has to say about his music taste. He enjoys what he enjoys, and he’s not ashamed about it.

He absolutely loves old TV shows. Every day like clockwork, he sits in front of the TV at 5:00 to watch Adam-12 and watches until M*A*S*H is over at 8 pm. He skips Happy Days, though. He thinks that show sucks ass. Sometimes Hosea joins him too. Just two old men, watching old man shows.

Continuing on the train of Old Man Things™ Arthur does, he falls asleep slouched over on the couch. A book still open in his hands, the TV still on, and Arthur’s out fucking cold.

He has a Doberman that he adopted from the local animal shelter. Every morning, Arthur takes him out for a walk before work, a walk when he gets home and one late at night before bed.

Arthur spends more time at Dutch and Hosea’s house than he does at his own apartment. He can’t help it; he misses them too much if he’s away for too long. ‘Specially Hosea. Whenever he comes home, Hosea just wraps him up in a warm hug that makes Arthur melt. It’s not every day Arthur gets a hug from the one and only Hosea Matthews.

Okay, I’ll be honest with ya’. The first thing that came to my mind when thinking of modern Bill; was him moonlighting as a Drag Queen. I’m just gonna leave that there lmao.

But anyways, Bill would definitely be really into fantasy shows and other nerd shit like that. It was Kieran that got him into it, too. Bill, being the gay disaster that he is, immediately accepted Kieran’s invitation to join him at a D&D campaign he was hosting. It only hit Bill after the fact that he had absolutely no idea how to play D&D. Like at all. He was too caught up in staring at Kieran’s cute, blushy face for anything Kieran said to process. Let’s just say that watching Bill flounder as he tried to keep up with the campaign made Kieran fall for him even harder.

Charles takes pottery classes at a local art studio in town. It’s mostly filled with single moms taking their kids to dance classes or the other art classes the studio offered. Charles could feel the stares the women gave him while he worked the clay on his pottery wheel. His hair is always pulled back and tied up into a sloppy bun or a half-assed ponytail. He used to keep it down, but clay got stuck in the ends, and it was almost impossible to get out. Charles ended up having to cut an inch or two of hair off after his first class.

When he’s not making art, you’ll usually find him playing video games or volunteering somewhere. Usually, it’s either the shelter or the zoo. Charles genuinely enjoys handing out with all the different kinds of animals there; they all seem to really like him.

Javier owns his own boutique that bordered the town square. It wasn’t the biggest store, but he had everything you could ever want and more in stock. He loves working around Halloween since that’s when all of the little kids came in to look around for costumes. All of the kids are so nice, and if they need it, he’ll help them pick out the perfect outfit. Seeing the smiles his clothes brought to other people is what makes running his own business worth it.

On his days off, Javier’ll be drawing new clothing designs in his sketchbook, or he’ll be taking a nap on the couch. After Lenny’s done with his own shift at the boutique, he’ll sometimes stay over at Javier’s and makes dinner for them both.

Poor Johnny Marston is a college dropout. He originally went just ‘cause Arthur went, and he wanted to be just like his big brother, but when he got there it was nothing like he imagined it be. John was ashamed of himself at first, refusing to tell Hosea or Dutch about what he did. They both were paying so much to send him there! John wouldn’t be able to handle Hosea being disappointed in him. Dutch, he could deal with, but making Hosea upset with him is something John would never do.

When John did end up telling them, neither Dutch nor Hosea was disappointed. They didn’t even seem upset, surprisingly enough. They both pulled John into a big group hug; even Arthur joined in this time. John and Hosea were the shortest out of the four, so they were snuggled in the middle while Dutch and Arthur held everyone close between them.

Even though Arthur teases the hell out of him and vise versa, every once in a while, he has to tell John just how much he loves him. John really couldn’t ask for a better brother.

Kieran is a textbook gay kid. He’s only ever had two jobs, one at a bakery; and the other at a florist’s shop. Funny enough, he met Bill during a shift at the bakery he worked at. Kieran was in the middle of frosting cupcakes when Bill rushed inside, clearly late for something important. The sudden entrance caused Kieran to yelp and mess up the cupcake he was working on, smudging the once perfect frosting. It was obvious how bad poor Bill felt when he saw the damage he caused, so he bought a dozen donuts instead of only one like he had planned on.

It almost became a tradition after that. Bill always seemed to be late for work or some prior arrangement, and Kieran always had a box chock-full of the man’s favorite donuts ready for him. Neither of them was confident enough to grow balls and ask the other out, but when someone asked them how long they’d been dating, they both realized how much the other was just as emotionally constipated. Like a ‘holy fuck, you’re gay too??!!?’ moment, combined with an ‘I want to kiss the hell out of your pretty face’ moment if that makes sense.

Lenny works at Javier’s boutique full time while attending the local college, studying to become an english teacher. It was the best of both worlds, he gets to hang out with his best friend all day, and he gets paid enough to live comfortably while putting himself through school.

I’m sorry, but I can’t not see Lenny being this universe’s version of lil nas x. Maybe not as famous as lil nas, but he definitely still has his style and makes/enjoys that genre of music. And you can’t forget the gay part. (arguably the best part, but I digress).

If you think Mary-Beth works anywhere but a library/bookstore, you’re wrong. Incredibly wrong. She lives there. You have to convince her not to spend her entire paycheck at the second-hand shop the library has on weekends. Seriously, it’s almost impossible to keep her from thrift shops and other flea market like events. If she’s not buying hundreds of knickknacks, she’s baking. I’m tellin’ you; she’s the perfect package!! I’m this close to marrying her on the spot. Mary-Beth’s food is to die for, regardless of what it is. Brownies, cookies, cake? Divine. Omelets, french toast, steak, BBQ ribs? Heavenly. I swear, I’m gonna marry her, so help me god-

In general, Mary-Beth is just the sweetest person alive. She doesn’t care who you are to her; if you’re her friend, you’re getting hugs and kisses and are taking midday naps together. And don’t you dare assume that she always wants to be the little spoon! She likes to hold you close just as much as she likes being the one held.

Micah likes to pretend he’s a bad boy greaser from the ’50s, wearing a leather jacket and riding a showy motorcycle. Don’t get me wrong, he looks hot as fuck dressed like that, but he thinks he’s intimidating, and it’s hilarious to watch.

Good ‘ole Sean MacGuire is a bass guitarist/drummer for a band he joined in high school. They’re still a garage band, not yet making it big, but he’s confident that he’ll be rocking out on a big stage in front of millions of people one day. Sean wears one of those thick cloth headbands that people will wear when working out when he performs. Why? ‘Cause Sean thinks it makes him look hot, and it really did do a good job at keeping the sweat out of his eyes. It’s almost concerning how much he sweats, though, like really. After a couple of hours of practice, Sean looks like he took a bath in his clothes. He’s like a walking shower with an Irish accent haunting it.

[gbmarian]

When I was 14 years old, I had an experience that convinced me the Egyptian god Set is real. That was the moment I first became a Setian. But over the years, I would experience several crises of faith. I alternated between thinking Set is actually real and thinking I am just imagining things.

It didn’t help that there were people in my life who were obsessed with “proving me wrong” about my beliefs. The Christians I knew were most obvious, assaulting me with their apologetics and their conversion tactics. I never minded them that much, because none of their arguments were ever based on logic. They were rooted instead in emotions (“Don’t you want to go to heaven with the rest of your family?”), and they all hinged on biblical scriptures. These people didn’t understand that the Bible has no bearing on my life at all. It’s like trying to convince a Star Trek fan they are “wrong” by quoting Star Wars at them; it’s just NOT going to work.

But the people who really succeeded in shaking my faith at times were the militant atheists I knew. They would laugh at me for believing in Egyptian gods, claiming this is somehow “even sillier” than being a Christian. They constantly asked me things like, “What proof do you have for your beliefs? Why should I believe any of this?” Few of them understood that I am not interested in “proving” my beliefs to other people; nor am I interested in “converting” anyone. But they all seemed to take great relish in putting me on the spot, embarrassing me, and making me feel humiliated.

Whenever I started to think that maybe the atheists were right and maybe I really was just imagining things, it made me terribly depressed. My walk with Set is the one thing that truly helped me determine myself in my life, and to think that it might simply be a “delusion” was very upsetting to me indeed. There were other experiences that contributed to such crises of faith, as well, including a suicidal depression in high school and some truly terrible experiences I had while meeting up with other esotericists during my twenties. Such experiences were cited as “proof” by my tormentors that my spiritual interests were simply a recipe for madness, saying I should “get wise” and resign myself to atheism.

In 2007, I made a pilgrimage to Malvern, Pennsylvania, which is where I was living when Set first exploded into my life back in 1997. I needed to see my old stomping grounds and visit all the woodsy areas I used to frequent. There is one area in the woods by Malvern where I always used to pray and worship back in the early days. This area is called Duffy’s Cut, and much to my surprise, they uncovered a mass grave of Irish railroad workers there at some point after I moved to Texas. So when I returned to Malvern and visited Duffy’s Cut, I thanked the ancestors who had been buried there for letting me use their place of rest for my rituals.

Just being there, in that place where Set and I first met, re-awakened something truly powerful in me. And when I returned from that pilgrimage to Duffy’s Cut, I no longer cared what my atheist colleagues said to me. None of their attacks on my faith bothered me anymore. They were completely missing the point, and they had succeeded in making me miss the point as well. But no more.

The point is that it really doesn’t matter if Set (or any other god) is actually “real” or not. Even if the atheists are right and it IS all just make-believe, this still would not negate the efficacy of my spiritual work. Just believing in Set and working to emulate Him throughout my life has saved me from self-annihilation time and time again. Even if Set is just a fictional character, praying to Him and making offerings to Him has had a profoundly positive impact on my life. This does not “prove” that He is real by any means; but it does indicate that He is real enough, and that Setianism is a powerful tool regardless of whether “the supernatural” actually exists or not.

And no one has any business busting my chops for utilizing a tool that helps me to improve myself (especially if THEY are in need of some serious self-improvement, themselves!).

I have not had any crises of faith since I made this realization in 2007. This is not to say that everything has been all peaches and cream. There are times when I actually don’t find this stuff very useful, and I have to put it away and take a break for a while. This has nothing to do with losing faith; it is simply a matter of needing to rest my brain or focus on something else for the time being. Setianism does not work like Christianity, where there is all this pressure to absolutely “buy into” the belief system all the time. This stuff is always here when we need it, and we can also put it away whenever we don’t.

Furthermore, Setians should never feel guilty about needing to take breaks from their quests. Set does not expect any of us to be Terminators. He doesn’t expect us to put Him before ourselves all the time. He also doesn’t judge or condemn anyone for lapsing in their faith or their practice. Set wants His children to be fully autonomous and self-determined, and sometimes this means doing things without Him if you need to for any reason. He is not bothered by this at all; nor does He consider it any kind of “sin” or “offense.” He understands these issues better than most any other deity, and He is always there waiting for us when we need Him again.

[barnesandrogersfanfics]

Rose Coloured Glasses - Part 6

A/N: Some Defending Jacob Spoilers ahead! 💕 (Taglist is open).

It had been a month or so since the Vermont trip and Andy never brought up what happened (or hadn't happened) between us which I was grateful for!

We were actually getting along really well now, so i put it behind us and chalked it up to him being a bad drunk! If he didn't remember what he had said.... it was best to leave it that way. Work had been busy keeping everyone occupied and in my free time.... well Frank took up all my free time.

"Hey, i was thinking we could go out tonight, a couple friends of mine are getting together" Frank said Early Friday morning as we both stood in my bathroom brushing our teeth.

"You want me to meet your friends?"

"Yeah why wouldn't i?" he scoffed spitting toothpaste into the sink before rinsing.

"I don't know, i just thought you were all about the sex. Keeping it casual, having fun" i shrugged taking my turn to spit and rinse my mouth.

"This still seem casual to you? I don't think I've ever spent this much time with the same woman..... its like i'm hooked on you sweetheart" he mumbled as he pulled me into his arms burying his face in my neck "Your like a drug" he traced kisses up my neck, my phone started ringing from the bedroom, the ringtone for Andy causing Frank to groan.

"Does he know when i'm trying to get you into bed?" He moaned as i turned to go and answer the phone, Andy never called this early so it must be important.

"Hey Andy" i said sitting on the edge of the bed holding my phone against my shoulder as i pulled on a shirt and started with the buttons.

"Morning, sorry to call so early"

"Thats fine i was just getting ready to leave"

"Im on my way to you, court got moved up on that Malloy case"

"The class A possession?"

"Thats the one, you've got the case files right?"

"Yeah i had everything ready to go"

"I'll be with you in 5".

He hung up and i started rushing around grabbing my bag and slipping on my heals.

"Frank i gotta go! Court got moved up and Andy's on his way" i called looking out the window seeing the black Audi come to a stop outside "Shit! His here i gotta go!" I rushed towards the front door and Frank caught me on the way out giving me a quick kiss and then i was out the door rushing over to Andy's car, as soon as i was in the car the car was moving.

"I can't believe this shit!" Andy moaned speeding along the road "they must have a bigger case coming in later"

"It'll be fine, you've got this".

Just as i thought Andy had it in the bag, he was in there 10 minutes tops. We walked outside the court house to Bobbys coffee cart, a regular stop off while we were here.

"All right, you're due back in for a session in 15 minutes. Then meeting with Lynn, her office. I think she wants an update on the Willis case" i read off to Andy as we waited for our drinks and he looked over items on the cart listening to what i was saying.

"Oh, that makes two of us. Bobby you guys outta Peach?"

"Could be, let me check the back" Bobby replied handing us our coffee's.

"Thanks. How's the hip?"

"Oh you know, worse than yesterday, better than tomorrow" Bobby replied before moving round the back of the cart. I couldn't help but laugh a little at the older man before picking up where i left off "you wanted a conference with Judge French in Chambers. His clerk says he has a 2:30, if you want that" i finished saying just as his phone started ringing in his pocket. Andy held the paper cup in between his teeth as he fished his phoned out, i quickly reached out to take it from him before he spilt it.

"Thank you" he smiled before answering the call "hey".

I watched as Andy listened to call, he closed his eyes briefly, shaking his head.

"Oh jesus, okay. Where?.... okay, yeah. I'll meet you over there". He hung up slipping the phone back in his pocket.

"Something wrong?" I asked.

"You're a lucky man Mr B, only got one left" Bobby came back out handing Andy his Peach yoghurt.

"Thanks"

"What is it?" I asked again seeing the look on Andy's face.

"We gotta clear the rest of my day...." he reached over taking his coffee back "i'll tell you about it in the car" he said walking towards the carpark at a pace i struggled to keep up with.

"Andy? Whats going on?" I asked once we were both in the car.

"That was Detective Duffy on the phone"

"Okay...."

"They found a body in the woods this morning, 14 year old boy".

"Oh my god.... thats awful...."

"I need to get over there"

"Sure, you should go straight there.... i'll grab a taxi back to the office and clear your day"

"I can drop you at the office before i go"

"No you should get over there, i'll be fine. Call me later?"

"Okay"

"Don't worry, i'll take care of everything else, you go"

"Thank you Y/N, your the best".

Once i was back at the office i cancelled all Andy's appointments and meetings, rescheduling what i could. Then spent the rest of the afternoon just answering calls and taking messages. Around 4pm the calls finally stopped and i spent the rest of the afternoon sitting around waiting to hear from Andy.

Frank: Hey, u still okay for drinks tonight?

Y/N: Hey, i think i'm gonna have to reschedule Frank. Today has been awful... i'm not really feeling up to drinks.

Frank: oh... really? Maybe it will cheer u up?

Y/N: Not likely lol you can still go though right? Go enjoy yourself. Think i'm just going to head home once i'm done here.

Frank: ur working late, everything okay?

Y/N: Not really. Like i said its been a day of it.

Just as i sent the last message to Frank my phone started ringing and Andy's name flashed up.

"Hey, how you doing?" I answered quickly tapping my pen nervously on the desk, Andy sighed quietly but i still heard.

"Hey, i'm ok.... just been a tough day. The kid, Benjamin Rifkin, he was Jacobs year at Archer. He was found stabbed three times in the chest...."

"Jesus....Who could do that to a kid??"

"I have no idea, but we'll find them don't worry. We found a partial print, but no matches so far."

"You sound exhausted Andy"

"Yeah"

"You should go home and get some sleep, do you need me to do anything else before i leave the office?"

"Wait your still there??"

"Yeah i had stuff to do and i wanted to make sure you didn't need anything else"

"Im on my way up there now, just getting in the elevator so i might loose you..."

As if on cue the call disconnected.

A couple minutes later Andy walked in and dropped into the chair across from me, he leant back in the chair rubbing his hands over his face.

"Can i get you a coffee or something?"

"That would be great actually" he said with a smile shrugging his jacket off and rolling up his sleeves.

"Today has been awful"

"I bet, did you have to talk to the parents?"

"Yeah i just came from seeing the Rifkin's.... god" he shook his head.

"That bad huh?" I said standing in front of him and putting the coffee on the desk.

"Worse" he looked up at me with tears in his eyes, i could tell he was trying so hard to keep it together but it was getting to him. I stepped forward wrapping my arms around his shoulders, his arms automatically wrapping around my waist and holding me tight, his head resting just above my stomach. If anyone would have walked in it would have looked so bad.

"Now I've gotta go home and talk to Jake, probably get 20 questions from Laurie....."

Shit! His wife!

"You should go home Andy" i said trying to step away from him but he held on tight.

"Just.... give me 5 minutes"

"5 minutes" i agreed running my fingers through the short hair on the back of neck.

"This is the best i've felt all day" he mumbled "i always have to be the strong one you know....."

"You don't have to with me, you ever need someone to talk to i'm here".

"Thank you Y/N".

Everything taglist: @jesseswartzwelder @dumblani @barnesandrogersworld @patzammit

Rose Coloured Glasses taglist: @readermia @princess-evans-addict @jennmurawski13 @matsumama @ex-bloodjunkie @kaithezaftig