#rainy night in georgia

[peaceloveelvis]

Ordered a new Popsocket 🤭

[howardhawkshollywoodmusic]

48. Rainy Night in Georgia by Brook Benton debuted Jan 70 and peaked at number four, scoring 1101 points. The song was written by Tony Joe White, who had the number 100 song of 1969, Polk Salad Annie.

Brook was born in Camden, South Carolina, and had 50 chart entries 1958-70. Brook had the number 41 hit of 1960, Kiddio, the number 59 hit of 1960, Baby (You Got What it Takes with Dinah Washington), the number 93 hit of 1960, A Rockin Good Way (with Dinah), and the number 34 hit of 1961. The Boll Weevil Song. It's Just a Matter of Time was a gold record in 1959, peaking at number three.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Brook Benton - Rainy Night in Georgia

[azahar]

sunday song - rainy night in georgia

Voice ❤️

[moms-music]

Brook Benton - Rainy Night in Georgia

[ereborne]

Song of the Day: March 26

"Songs About Rain" by Gary Allan

[sorokill]

[valithiri]

David Tennant in Takin' Over the Asylum 1x05, Rainy Night in Georgia

[random-brushstrokes]

Georgia Mills Jessup - Rainy Night, Downtown (1967)

[rushinintolove]

Takin' Over The Asylum (1994) | 1.05 Rainy Night in Georgia

[ac3may]

" the wag diaries "

How You Met

~ Georgia Stanway ~

~~~~~~~~~~

it was evident to everyone who knows you that you and Georgia were meant for each other

it all began on a rainy autumn day in Germany

as an up-and-coming American singer-songwriter, it was your first time in the country

with your latest single blowing up on TikTok you had somehow managed to wrangle yourself a European tour

having come from a close but not wealthy family unit back in Colorado travelling at all was new to you

but especially travelling SO far around the globe

that's the reason you made it a mission to get out and explore every place you go

even when the weather is miserable!

which brought you to the hole-in-the-wall café you’d found yourself in

bundled in several sweatshirts and a rain jacket on top

rushing out of the cold and wet into the first local-looking business you saw

you had underestimated quite how busy the small business would be

so in your stumbling, feeling like a wet cat dragged backwards through a hedge, you ended up tumbling into someone

and it wasn’t just any someone

after recovering from the hot coffee you had spilt on yourself in the fall

and the feeling of the stranger's hands electrifying you through your many layers as she steadied you

you finally took in the full glory of the women in front of you

cheeks rosy from the cold, an amused smirk resting on her face 

Georgia was just as stunned to see you 

despite the wind-whipped hair stuck to your forehead and the bewildered animal look you had going on

you were obviously not from here 

sucking a deep breath she managed a cheeky smile

flustered and embarrassed you began stuttering out badly strung-together phrases of German in hopes of not being shamed out of the shop entirely

Georgia’s grin only widened as she realised that you had  mistaken her for a native

finally putting you out of your misery she, in her very English accent, boldly stated her most commonly used German phrase 

“entschuldigung, ich spreche kein Deutsch”

the confused look that crossed your face only reminded Georgia more of a puppy than you had originally 

so with a chuckle she held out her hand and introduces herself

only laughing harder at the embarrassed but relieved expression that crossed your face as she did so

after much debate over who owed who coffee the two of you found yourselves settled snugly together in the corner of the shop, drinks steaming in front of you

with conversation flowing but mugs long since emptied the pair of you are only broken from the bubble you created when your phone begins buzzing incessantly 

ignoring it once you’d sent an apologetic smile to Georgia as it rang again

after encouragement to answer you are immediately met with the worried voice of your manager (and older brother) 

after confirming where you were, and that you were safe he was quick to remind you of how close you were cutting it to sound check for your show that night

eyes widened at how long you had spent talking with the English women you’re quick to exchange numbers and a ticket to your show

it’s months until you see each other again though

and even longer before you became official

but Georgia had never been more thankful for the awful weather than she was that day

~~~~~~~~~~

Idk if what I’ve written is great but G is one of my favourite concepts so far! Let me know what you guys think.

We're moving through the WAG diaries nicely!! Reader Origin's and dating blurbs coming next unless I get some requests so feel free to make suggestions ◡̈

[ofliterarynature]

TBR TAKEDOWN: Week 9 (July 28)

TLDR: I have too many unread books, and I’m asking tumblr to help me downsize. Pick one or none, and comment if you can - a convincing sentence is worth a dozen votes! You’re also welcome to just choose the one that sounds the worst :D Book descriptions below the cut, see my pinned post for more info.

I Am Princess X by Cherie Priest

Once upon a time, two best friends created a princess together. Libby drew the pictures, May wrote the tales, and their heroine, Princess X, slayed all the dragons and scaled all the mountains their imaginations could conjure.

Once upon a few years later, Libby was in the car with her mom, driving across the Ballard Bridge on a rainy night. When the car went over the side, Libby passed away, and Princess X died with her.

Once upon a now: May is sixteen and lonely, wandering the streets of Seattle, when she sees a sticker slapped in a corner window.

Princess X?

When May looks around, she sees the Princess everywhere: Stickers. Patches. Graffiti. There's an entire underground culture, focused around a webcomic at IAmPrincessX.com. The more May explores the webcomic, the more she sees disturbing similarities between Libby's story and Princess X online. And that means that only one person could have started this phenomenon---her best friend, Libby, who lives.

Tinkerbelle by Robert Manry

This book tells how a dream became a deed: how a middle aged, married and presumably sober copy editor of the Plain Dealer, of Cleveland, Ohio, happened to get the idea of sailing across the Atlantic Ocean in a small boat, how he acquired the boat, and how he executed the voyage that made his idea a reality. It is the story of the 13 1/2 foot sloop Tinkerbelle, believed to be the smallest boat ever to cross the Atlantic nonstop.

The author, having undertaken to explain why he made the voyage, describes his adventures during the 78 days it lasted: being awakened by a submarine, being knocked overboard by big waves, meeting three Russian trawlers, suffering weird hallucinations, repairing a broken rudder in mid-ocean, receiving a feast from a Belgian ship captain, trying to get dry, being interviewed by a Cleveland TV newsman 250 miles from journey’s end, and receiving a welcome from an armada of small boats at his destination, Falmouth, England.

Quite apart from the thrill of the exploits it reports, Robert Manry’s story has the happy effect of persuading the reader that he too could sail a small boat single-handed across the Atlantic… if only he could find the time.

The Cantaloupe Thief by Deb Richardson-Moore

It's ten years since wealthy matriarch Alberta Resnick was found stabbed to death in Georgia. Local reporter Branigan Powers sets out to investigate the city's only unsolved murder.

Branigan knows that the homeless often have information, but are rarely asked. She gets in touch with Liam, a pastor who runs a shelter. As they start to ask questions, secrets begin to surface. Then homeless people start dying.

Clearly the killer won't stop until all tracks are covered. But what the killer doesn't know is that someone is watching, someone who is used to being ignored and unseen…

[kvetchlandia]

Tony Joe White Rainy Night in Georgia, Live

...

Neon signs flashin' Taxicabs and buses passin' through the night The distant moanin' of a train Seems to play a sad refrain to the night

It' a rainy night in Georgia Rainy night in Georgia Lord, it's rainin' all over the world...

...

The guitar and harp are beautiful but man...what a voice!

[weepingfoxfury]

The man on the radio is on good Thursday form and busy chatting with a guest about traditional Irish music ... there's a whole lot of violin, accordion and harmonica going on. Weatherwise, someone stole the landscape ... foggy and misty with the trees dripping their way through the morning. The traffic lady seems to be saying 'If you don't like traffic jams, just don't go out there!'

Today’s groaner: Which insect is hard to understand? … A mumble-bee ;-D badoom tish … here all week!!

This hooman is hallucinating a wee bit after just 2 hours sleep … I'm beginning to think there are bluebirds in my coffee cup. Some dude is now on the radio singing about the fact that it's still a rainy night in Georgia. Feeling pretty disjointed so heading through one of the garden portals that the lost postman has kindly put up signposts for ... fingers crossed the one I head through lands in slumberland.

Thursday, Thursday, Thursday and I'm about to hit the horizontal ... Mr Snippy has already beaten me to it with his ever cuddled, ever present pillow ...

[minervadashwood]

Hello my friend! I love your work and if I could can I please request:

Daryl Dixon x Plus Size Reader

Reader and Daryl knew each other through high school, dated until senior year when she moved away, pan to the Apocalypse they meet again and the love they had in high school is rekindled! I always picture Daryl with someone who us bubbly and kind, a total optimist and the exact opposite of Daryl!! (like maybe in Merle likes her and not in a gross way??”

If it's too much pleased me know and thank you!!

this isn't proofread, but I hope you enjoy!

540 words

===

You stared at the dirty, unkempt redneck walking your way. The swagger was one you knew well, full of both well-earned bravado and hints of self-consciousness: the walk of a man full grown, yet hidden within a young, abused boy who didn’t know kindness until you came along.

At sixteen, when you’d been impulsive and full of pubescent sexual energy, you’d dragged him behind the bleachers during gym class to show off your new lace bra. You’d been loving Daryl Dixon ever since you moved from the city to his little neck of the woods, and it took you four years of pining and gathering your courage to get to this moment. 

So behind those bleachers, you lifted up your sweater, showing Daryl your pride and joy. You were also showing him your chubby belly, adorned with stretchmarks, also features you did your best to love.

But what did that silly boy do? He turned his head and mumbled. "Can I take ya to the homecoming dance?” Never really looking at all you had to offer him.

(What you learned later was that Daryl did know what you had to offer: kindness, beautiful smiles, a positive outlook on the world that gave him hope, despite everything.  Your other [generous] assets were nice and all, but what he liked most was you.)

After that, high school was full of talk. You, the college-bound honor society member always holding hands “that no-good Dixon boy.�� But neither of you minded much. You only had eyes for each other.

Then you’d won Miss Teen Georgia, with a full ride to GSU as your prize. So one night in August, you’d said goodbye to Daryl Dixon for—what you thought—was for good.

Now, though, you were sitting on a tree stump, urging a fire along as Daryl dropped a string of skinned rabbits at your feet. You never did lose what some used to call “baby fat,” and like before you continued to love your soft belly, thighs, arms, all the things that made up who you were.

As Daryl got closer, you stood up, bouncing with energy, and flung your arms around your high school sweetheart turned apocalyptic savior.

“You were gone too long, Dare-Bear,” you mumbled into the crook of his shoulder.

Daryl kept you tightly against him, his arms going completely around your waist and holding onto you with all he had. Each time he left the farm to go hunting was like that rainy night in August, like you leaving him all over again. He’d let you go once before, and that wasn’t a mistake he would repeat, especially with all the dangers beyond the fences.

Despite his love for you, his voice was rough and dismissive. “Ya rather starve next time? ‘Cause ya can.”

You pulled away so you could look him in the eyes. Your pout was unrelenting. “But Daryl,” you whined, dragging out the last syllable, “I’m hungry."

Daryl roughly shoved his hand in your auburn curls, “So am I, woman.” He angled your head just so, and kissed you, powerfully, passionately, hungrily.

He held on to you and kissed you all the way to the tent you both shared.

Dinner was cooked, much much later.

[horror-dot-png]

Mangroves

CASE # 019010008-004

SUBJECT: PYRRHA E. REYES

CONTENTS: SUSPECTED MURDER/DEATH OF CLAIRE P. LEWIS

THE FOLLOWING IS AN EXCERPT OF THE INTERROGATION OF MS. REYES.

DONATED BY AN ANONYMOUS MARIETTA DETECTIVE TO THE RICHMOND UNIVERSITY OF THE ABNORMAL.

TRANSCRIPT IS AS FOLLOWS:

She’s gone, right? I’m so stupid, this is all my fault. It should’ve been me. I should’ve been the one to – fuck. It’s so unfair. I never wanted it to come to this and now I’m… alone. I’m sorry, let me start from the beginning. My name is Pyrrha, I’m a librarian in Marietta, Georgia. I met Claire, my fiancée – ex-fiancee now I suppose – in college. We first met in our American history class, and I wanna say we hit it off pretty well then. We would talk for hours on end about history, sharing facts and talking about our political interpretations of certain events. Do you ever stop to think how weird Manifest Destiny was as a concept? Like, sure, expansion was inevitable, but saying it was your God-given right as a white guy to steal land from natives? Of course it went much deeper than that now, and we grew as people from these conversations. Eventually, we grew for each other. She asked me out, and lucky for her I was a lesbian. The next few years of college came and went, and at our graduation I popped the question – though we weren’t to be married for a few years as we eventually settled down and devoted our daily life to work and research. It was amazing. Spending every last moment you have with the woman you love. The nights cuddled on the couch watching TV, the rainy days spent reading, the more-than-daily walks with our Saint Bernard – cleverly named Saint. 

After another three years – wow, it really has been three – we began to grow a little bored. We were both still madly in love, don’t get me wrong, but there was something missing. Like looking into the same room over and over and over, expecting to see something remotely different. It could’ve been a bird at the window, or maybe Claire moved the coffee table away from the sofa a little. Regardless, we needed something new. Not a vacation necessarily as we had been on plenty since moving in together – though with Saint we did ease up on how frequent they were. We decided to find a mutual hobby to keep the closeness knit. Claire didn’t think we were growing apart, but I insisted it might be healthy for the long-term. She agreed and we got to looking. We went through a few options. Rock climbing was not an option since she was desperately afraid of heights. Can’t do gardening because of how high our third floor apartment was – and, yes, it didn’t help the fear of heights at times. Then we figured it out. What about diving? Claire was so thrilled with the idea, having been formerly on our college’s swim team. As for me? I’m glad we could’ve decided on something – I really wish we hadn’t. 

It was settled, and we found a few days to go train and get certified. It was so relaxing. The water against our skin – or what wasn’t covered by our suits. Oddly, I found having to swap from our snorkel to our oxygen regulator the most thrilling. Exposing ourselves to the elements for even a slight moment, knowing the sheer amount of water that could fill our mouth and throat and lungs if we just chose to let it be that way. Of course, I hid these intrusive thoughts from Claire. After a few days of learning and practice, we were certified and immediately booked a plane to Cancún, Mexico, and reserved ourselves some spots for a personal diving trip out off the coast. It was beautiful. I won’t see it as such any more. To be honest, anything deeper than a kiddie pool irks me – pathetic, I know. 

We arrived and toured for a bit. Went around, ate some local cuisine. Claire found a fondness for cooked cacti, and I took a liking to Piña Coladas. Saw some shows, and had a genuinely good time. It was like an early honeymoon. It didn’t stay this way for long. We had decided earlier on we wanted to dive by some mangroves off the coast. And so our day started early. We were given the clear to dive and got a ride out to one of the less popular dive spots. We were excited, but a little hungover honestly, yet we refused to let that get in the way of our newfound passion. It was during the ride over that I had the chance to reflect on my relationship with Claire. It was almost as though my mind was forcing me to ruminate. It had known something I didn’t. Of course, I hadn’t realized it at the moment but perhaps it was an omen. I mean, it just sounds too coincidental, right? Makes me think of all the skipped classes, all the dinner and movie dates, all the small mundane fights we resolved within a matter of minutes because we realized how stupid they were. I thought of us getting Saint as a pup and how happy Claire was to finally have a pet after a childhood without one. I remembered meeting her parents, and how much I thought they hated me at first, only to realize they were the kindest people in my life – aside from Claire that is.

We arrived. It was hot. Really hot. So we took no time changing into our gear with the anticipation of dipping in as soon as possible. And so we did. We held hands and slipped into that cool, familiar feel of water. No. No. No, that’s not right. It wasn’t that at all, it felt more like wading through a sludge, like we had just dunked ourselves into a tank of syrup. It didn’t feel right at all. Claire didn’t seem to notice it but I did. I should’ve brought her to the surface to say something, but that look in her eyes. The beautiful green eyes that spoke with determination. So I let her be happy. I brushed off the feeling, but then I looked down. It went further and further, deeper and deeper. This wasn’t right. We were just off the coast, right? It shouldn’t have been possible – why was the water so… green? Were there supposed to be fish or anything else alive here? I could see the shoreline just fine and the mangroves up ahead. Was this right? Was I imagining things? Are… are those bodies? I think I chalked it up to pareidolia at the moment, but now I’m not too sure. My breathing picked up but I knew this was not the time nor place for a panic attack. I looked back up at Claire and remembered the times she helped me control my breathing. So I did. Deep breath in. Hold. Deep breath out. The breathing helped, but I still felt dizzy. Everything was telling me to go back up. To grab my future wife and call it a day. We’ve seen enough right? I wouldn’t have to explain myself. I wanted to vomit. I hate myself for not trusting that feeling. 

We got closer to the mangroves. I wanted to say it was beautiful, but it was so unsettling. How they wrapped and contorted made them seem like bodies trapped underneath the water, doomed to an eternity of drowning and staring either down into an endless abyss, or up onto a surface they could never reach. It was only then I realized what lay ahead of these… corpses. There was more ocean. More of that murky green sludge that held my life partner and I trapped. How had Claire not noticed? Or perhaps she did, and being the most curious person I knew, she was intrigued. I was not. I wanted to get the hell out, but I wasn’t sure how. I had made my decision. I was gonna grab her and leave, but then I looked up. The surface was much, much further away than it should have been. We were only going to be a few feet from the surface right? Why was it so far away? I could begin to feel the pressure of deep water popping my ears, clenching my body. My heart pounded as though it was gripped by the unknown force of the sea. My lungs were being crushed by the weight of… the weight of what? Water? It all seemed so ridiculous to me, but it was no time to question the laws of something that was actively breaking them. I looked at Claire. She had gotten closer to the mangroves, at which point I – we, I’m certain of – heard what sounded like screams. No, that wasn’t right. It was gurgling, and it felt as though it was coming from all around us. I heard the screams of these drowning people trapped beneath the water like Claire and me. I wanted to join them. I wanted to scream and let the water – sludge, whatever – force its way into my body so that I could become one with it. I felt like I was going to die, I wish I did. I went to empty the water from my mask as we learned to in training, and as I put them back on, Claire had become entangled, no, embedded within the mangrove. She was becoming one of them, a corpse, a drowned. I swam to her, panicked and as quickly as my body could whilst being crushed by the progressively increasing pressure of the deep. I swam and I swam and I swam and I swam, but the corpses carried her further away. No, it wasn’t the corpses, it was the ocean that took her. I screamed, the water began filling my lungs, and Claire. I watched her. The abyss swallowed her whole. I don’t think she reached back out to me. She accepted the cold dark as much as she accepted the ring on her finger. 

I was found a day later, washed up ashore miles away from where I thought the mangrove was. Claire was reported missing, and for a while I was suspected for murder. Fortunately, the charges were dropped due to lack of evidence. I wish they had taken me though. I wish I could suffer for letting her die. I mean, she is dead right? Her parents offered their support, but I knew they knew. I knew they knew I killed their daughter. I haven’t talked to them since her funeral. Of course no body was found. I didn’t bother trying to explain what happened. Told authorities that we were inexperienced, amateur divers, and that seemed to be enough for them. I hated having to lie, but what was I to do? Now that I think of it, it’s so fucking useless of me. I let her die and now I lied about it? I’m a pathetic mess of a human being. Claire would… she would’ve handled this so much better were it me that drowned and not her. I wish I drowned. I wish I was the one to die. I wish Claire was still alive and I wish that it was I who was eaten by the deep. I still have Saint, though he got along better with Claire. And, after all this time, I didn’t realize how empty a bed could be. 

END TRANSCRIPT