#revealing itself to be . it RIDES its horse in and tell us how u doing

[sbnkalny]

Revealing

[poguesofthebau]

Okay thank you! well i'm 5'5 blonde, wavy hair, i am a Pisces, i'm bi, i like riding horses and taking care of all the new and baby animals that are either given or born to our farm. I am way too clumsy i do water a sport i wish i could surf but I've just never learnt. i'm very impulsive but kind and always looking out for my friends i would even say that some are my family or one practically being my other half. And i am the queen of simp like i don't care what people say i will care always! x

i ship you with kie!! (side note: self-identifying as the queen of simp. i love u. such a powerful moment we stan)

two things that your relationship with kie would be built on: her determination to learn how to ride a horse, and your determination to learn how to surf. you guys would probably meet at the kook academy (do u think we’ll ever learn the school’s real name? do even the kooks call it the kook academy??), right after sarah screwed kie. the minute you heard about the drama between the two girls, you would feel so guilty for going to sarah’s party, even though you didn’t know kie too well. all you knew was she was the new girl-- meaning all the prissy rich people were basically out to get her for being new and for being a pogue. you’d see her standing with her head in her locker between classes one day, headphones in, smiling down at her phone somberly and rapidly typing in reply to whoever she was texting every few moments. you assumed she was in contact with her friends, who you’d also heard about through the grapevine.  after a couple more minutes of watching her type and shift books around in her locker, she slammed the door shut and picked her head up to walk to her next class. so, as the impulsive person you are, you’d speedwalk to catch up to her, falling into step beside her with a timid smile as she confusedly pulled out one earbud. “hi?” she’d question, still not completely sure it was her that you wanted to speak to. “hi. kiara, right?” she’d nod then, pulling out the other headphone as she seemed to become a little more interested. you watched her phone blow up in her hand as she received countless texts at a time from what you assumed was the pogue group chat. “yeah. what’s up?” introducing yourself, you soon realized how poorly thought out this plan was. “um, i just-- i just wanted to tell you that if you’re ever looking for an ally on kook territory, i’m always open to making new friends.” kie would look at you suspiciously for a few seconds, receiving an innocent and slightly-amused expression in return. “okay, then. you can call me kie.”

after that day when you approached her in the hallway, you had seen a lot more of kie. once she realized her new friend was in her lunch and her two most hated classes, she was golden. she found recluse in you. she’d almost forgotten after all the drama with sarah, but having you around reminded kie how amazing it was to have one good ass friend. this friendship, though, quickly bloomed to be something more than kie and sarah ever would’ve been. within two months of being friends, you were both absolutely smitten with each other. within two months of being friends, you were in love. it’d start with the horse riding lessons.  the first day you ever took her out for a ride, you’d pull her up on the back of your own horse, and she’d naturally wrap her arms around your waist to secure herself. even with two layers of clothes between you, the feeling of her forearms against your stomach gave you goosebumps. the next day, when you had to give her a little boost so she could jump onto her own horse with a little more ease to start riding alone, a blush crept up on both of your faces that neither of you had been expecting. after the rides every day, you would scurry to get off your animal first, trying to be subtle as you rushed over to help kie down. every time her hand was in yours, there was a warmth spread throughout your body that confirmed everything.

then came the surf lessons. one day, the first time kie brought you out to save baby turtles for an afternoon, you confessed your secret desire to surf when you spotted an older woman tearing waves up from the shore. immediately, kie saw an opportunity. “i’ll teach you to surf,” she’d offer nonchalantly, throwing another seashell toward a seagull to keep it away from the turtles you were now giggling over. “what? really?” “sure. it’s the least i could do-- you help me save turtles, you taught me how to horseback ride. i think it’s probably time for me to repay the favor, right?” you’d scoff, digging your fingers into the sand as you tried to keep your mind from wandering off into its ‘i love my best friend’ area. you hummed in response, not wanting to say yes to the inherently physical activity because you knew the impact the girl had on you, but not wanting to say no because of the opportunity you’d be missing out on. “okay, so we’ll start tomorrow!” the next morning, kie would show up at the ass-crack of dawn with two surfboards on top of her car and a grin on her face. the day-- although dreadfully long and tiring-- would become one of your favorite days of all time.

it would all start before you even got in the water. kie would lay jj’s old board on the sand for you to stand on during a practice run, and as soon as you hopped onto it, her hands would find their way to your hips. her fingertips felt like fire in your skin, and you’d suck in a deep breath and try to ignore the sensation. “you good?” kie would ask, summoning a brief nod from you before she began teaching you the basics. “a lot of surfing is about shifting your body weight the right way. even when you’re actually falling, you always wanna try to do it the right way.” as she spoke, she’d be adjusting your footing on the board, wrapping the velcro strap around your ankle, doing all sorts of technical things that were driving you insane. the sun was barely out, and as it revealed itself more and more, the way it was hitting against kie’s skin was making it harder and harder for you not to reach out and brush back her hair from her face. friends don’t do that, you’d think to yourself. but when she started to say something about bending your knees and using your hips to shift your weight, you were done for. her fingers grazed up the back of your thighs as her hands went from the backs of your knees to your hipbones, and it sent a literal chill down your spine. another deep breath, eyes closed this time, and kie was asking you once again if you were okay. “seriously. are you alright?” your brow would furrow, convinced you could feel her heartbeat through her fingertips right onto your hips. finally, you spun, a desperately frustrated look on your face as you caved. “no, kiara. i’m not alright.” her eyes would widen in surprise, one hand falling from your hips as the other moved up to your side, thumb stroking gently as she tilted her head. “uh, something you need to talk about? because i’m all ears.” you’d look down at her hand on your side, her eyes following yours nervously. when you looked back into her eyes, you could see the fear in them. she’s scared too, you’d realize. kie’s hand began to fall from your body, and all in the same moment, you were stepping off the board, so close your chests were touching and you could feel her breath fanning across your cheeks. “only ears?” you’d question, a hand finally coming up to push back that one piece of hair that had been falling over her face for too long now. as you touched her, kie’s eyes widened a bit more. “i got a mouth, too. if you, um, need... advice?” at this point, you were completely enveloped in her. your hand had tucked the hair behind her ear, eyes scanning her face for any sense of displeasure as you finally let your mind travel to that one, forbidden, ‘i love my best friend’ area. “you have really pretty lips,” you’d breath without thinking it over, panic rushing over your body when you realize what you’d just blurted out. you’d drop your hand, moving to take a step back when she grabbed you by the wrist and yanked. before you could react, your lips were locked onto kie’s, hands in hair, bikini straps falling down, breathing impossibly heavy. when you pulled back from each other, it was like everything had fallen into place. “can we surf tomorrow, instead?” kie would mutter, her forehead pressed against yours as you chuckled. “yeah, we can surf tomorrow. i kinda have something else to put all my energy into right now.” she’d scoff at you, causing you to giggle again. “don’t turn into a fuckboy on me now, sweetheart,” kie would warn sarcastically, placing another peck on your lips. “i would never waste this opportunity by being a fuckboy. trust me. i waited a little too long for this.” and just like that, surfing lessons were rescheduled. you and kie were a little busy, you know, catching up on things like, “how long have you wanted to kiss me?” and “seriously, though, i’ve always thought you had pretty lips. i mean it! i don’t play around about compliments like that.” and “you’re sure you don’t have a crush on any of the pogue guys? just me? really?” and “i think i knew i loved you when...” 

[galadrieljones]

A Funeral: Chapter 8

Fandom: Red Dead Redemption 2 | Pairing: Arthur x Mary Beth | Rating: Mature

Content: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Touch-Starved, Humor, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Angst, Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Fake Marriage, Epiphanies, Backstory, Banter, Deep Emotions, Sharing a Bed, Swimming, Arthur to the Rescue, Forests, Abduction, Angst, Heavy Angst

Summary: To help her process Sean’s death, Mary Beth asks Arthur to take her on a hunting trip, somewhere far away. He agrees, and on their journey, they find quietude and take comfort in their easy bond. In their desperate search for meaning together, they endure a number of trials, some small, some big—all of which bring them closer to one another as well as to the future, and to the unchecked dangers of the natural world.

Masterpost | AO3

Thanks @bearly-tolerable for the banner!! ^_^

Chapter 8: Veteran Hearts

“It’s okay,” said Arthur in the rain. “It’s all okay now."

More thunder went off overhead, and the sky turned big and white. Somewhere, you could hear the horses, getting frantic, but there was nothing he could do about that now. Arthur felt split down the middle. He did not know what to do.  He was typically a calm man in the face of adversity. He was good at improvising and very good at surviving. He had been in rough predicaments like this many times before. But never with a woman, not like this.

Arthur's anxieties, subtle as they often were, were real and quite mean, and they felt right beneath the surface of his heart that night, pressing in and up until the pressure in his head became almost unbearable. He kept thinking of that dream, that goddam polar bear. Why the hell was it a polar bear? What did that mean? Why was his mind such a series of obstacles these days, so much heavily in his way? If he could just move everything around, make a goddam path. But he wasn't afraid of the storm, and he wasn't afraid of the goddam Murfee Brood. That was true, because it wasn't things like this that scared him. In truth, Arthur rarely understood his fears until they were right up on him. He had spent a long time pushing them down into that barbed wire and that is where he liked to keep them. 

But they were creeping now. He had been afraid, earlier, when he saw Mary Beth being hauled off by that ingrate. That was something he learned about himself that night, something that scared him. Even still, Arthur did not rightly seem to realize just how much he cared about her. He knew he held affection for her, but it had all started to crystallize in new ways these past couple of nights, ways that he had not yet found the guts or means to acknowledge. She had become a fixture in his life, an anchor, and the prospect of her being in danger or sadness terrified him far worse and far more specifically than the simple, generic anxiety he felt over protecting the other members of the gang. He just didn't realize it yet. He didn't know, or else he just could not yet find a way to acknowledge why he was so goddam shook.

But he was not afraid, that is what he told himself. He was in control. Because the ingrates were dead, and a storm was just a storm. He just had to calm Mary Beth. Once he calmed her, then his next choice would reveal itself. He was not one to underestimate Mary Beth. He knew she could handle things. He'd seen her handle things. He'd been robbing and dancing and living with her for many years. He would not have taken her on this trip if he did not know she could handle things. He knew she'd come out of it. She was a strong girl. He just needed to wait.

So he did. The wind settled. Some minutes went by of him waiting and looking around, telling her it was okay, and cradling her wet head. He could no longer hear the horses. There were no more enemies in the forest. At some point, as he was squinting into the darkened rainscape toward their camp, that is when he finally felt her. He looked down and she had stopped crying. She planted her hands on his shoulders and pulled herself up to look at him. She was shaken but alert. It was like she had surfaced from a long, restless sleep, but there she was. She blinked into the rain. She looked full of guilt for some reason. "Oh my god," she said, shaking her head. "Oh my god. I'm so sorry, Arthur. I lost my composure."

"Don't be sorry," he said, removing some of the matted hair from her cheeks, desperately relieved to hear her talking. "That was bad, Mary Beth. Real bad, but it's over now. Are you all right? Are you hurt?"

"No," she said quickly. "I mean maybe a bruise here or there, but I'm okay, Arthur. Are you okay?"

"I'm okay."

“What do we do now?” she said.

“We should go," he said.

“Go where?”

“We should get back to the tent, see if it's held up. We need to take shelter."

"What about the horses?"

"They won't stray far," said Arthur, looking around again. "They're good girls. Don't worry. We'll find them tomorrow."

He heard a branch breaking then, somewhere in the trees behind them. More branches. It was footsteps, loud. Over this shit, he wasted no time. He shielded Mary Beth to his chest, stood and drew his pistol. He pointed it straight into the indecipherable shapes of the trees.

“Show yourself,” he shouted over the storm. “I know you’re there. No use running."

It took a minute of waiting, squinting through the rain. He pulled back the hammer, ready to shoot. But then, someone appeared. It was a man, an old man, stepping out of the brush with both his hands in the air. It was not Murfee Brood. He was wearing a white hat, a big old rifle slung over his shoulder. He looked rightly serious but unafraid. “Don’t shoot,” he shouted, hobbling out into the open with a considerable limp. “I ain’t here to hurt nobody. I live nearby, and I am just passing through.”

"Passing through in the middle of a thunderstorm?" said Arthur.

The man seemed amused by this, but in a good way. He said, "I was out hunting, on my way in on account of the unfortunate weather. I found some horses, wandering the trees. Just through there." He gestured to the trees behind him. "They got saddles. A pretty little Apaloosa and a right expensive-looking Foxtrotter. They are spooked to high hell. They yours?"

Arthur eyeballed him hard. “They might be," he said.

"Well, I wrangled them for you. I'll take you to them. But I would prefer you lower that gun first, son. I promise, I ain't here to hurt you. You can trust me."

Arthur was breathing heavy, unwilling at first. But then Mary Beth tugged at his collar, stood up on her tip-toes to reach his ear. She said, "I think he's telling the truth. Put down the gun, Arthur."

Arthur hesitated, but ultimately, he listened to her. He released the hammer on the pistol and dropped it into his holster. Then he took a step toward the man, keeping Mary Beth a little behind him. "Okay," he said. "I'll trust you. For now."

The old man immediately smiled. He had long white hair and a good white beard. He said, "About time." Then he held out his hand. "I'm Hamish Sinclair. Like I said, I live around here."

"Arthur Morgan," said Arthur, clasping the man's hand with his. They shook once in the rain. "This here's Mary Beth."

"Hi," she said, reaching out her hand. Hamish shook it, albeit gentler than he'd shaken Arthur's.

"Very nice to meet you both," said Hamish, in all earnestness. "Now, tell me. What the hell are you doing out here?"

"We was just camping," said Mary Beth. "And then we was ambushed."

“By what?” said Hamish, looking at Arthur now.

“Murfee Brood,” said Arthur. "Four of them. They're all dead now."

“My god,” said Hamish. He wiped his face with a handkerchief, though it seemed fruitless given the rain. “This far west?”

“Apparently."

"Goddam creeps. Jesus. Well." He looked around, satisfied over something. "At least they're dead," he said. He adjusted the belt around his waist. His clothes were hanging off him, soaked, but he was dressed well for the rain. "What is your plan now?"

"We was just heading back to our camp, to see what's become of our tent," said Arthur. "We need shelter, obviously."

Hamish nodded, squinted up at the dreaded sky. “Your tent won't do in this," he said. "Besides, I seen your camp. Down by the lake? It's torn to pieces."

"Seriously?" said Mary Beth.

"It's okay," said Hamish, determined as he surveyed the flooding terrain. "You two can come with me. I got room in my cabin, a little loft overhead. It ain't much, but it's space enough. You can take shelter till morning.”

Arthur stared at him, a little incredulous. Then he glanced at Mary Beth. "Are you sure?" he said to Hamish. "You don't know us."

"Sure I do," said Hamish, smiling. He was real canny, that was for sure. He didn't seem to miss much. He reminded Arthur a little of Mr. Lawrence Winterson back in Emerald Station. "I know a good buck and his doe when I see one. Come on."

“Thank you,” said Mary Beth, right away.

"Yes, thank you, sir," said Arthur.

"Don't mention it."

The man reached then to help Arthur forward and down the bluff. Arthur released Mary Beth and took her hand instead, their fingers laced tightly. Once they got down past the trees, Arthur could see what had become of their camp. The tent was still standing, but only just. Anything else they had laying about was strewn to the trees with the wind and some of it was blowing still. Mary Beth looked at it in mild disbelief. They would come back tomorrow, he thought, salvage what they could. Hamish had the horses tethered together, idling by the water where they looked cold and wet but no longer distressed or fearful. Beside them was one more horse—a pretty Dutch Warmblood in a pale champagne. Arthur took this for Hamish’s horse and admired its clean cut beauty. It was only a good man to keep a horse like that.

“Let’s go,” said Hamish. “It's about a mile or so, around the lake. It’ll be faster to ride.”

“You good to ride?” said Arthur to Mary Beth.

She nodded. He helped her onto her horse. She hugged Watson and patted her dearly on the cheeks and forehead. Arthur mounted up and told Mary Beth to trot out in front of him. He would pull up the rear. They went in a humble trot north then, eventually east around the top bend of O’Creagh’s Run, ducking their heads against the rain. The wind had since eased up, but the thunder was still rolling strong in the distance. Arthur reckoned it would be another several hours before the storm ran its full course through the sky.

“Boy, I bet you're glad you ran into me!” said Hamish, laughing and jovial. He was way up front. "This storm ain't kidding."

“We sure is," said Mary Beth.

"No doubt."

Mary Beth glanced back at Arthur then, like she was just reminding herself that he was there. He nodded, and she turned back facing front, shielding her face with her freckled forearm.

“What was you doing when they struck?" said Hamish now. His horse spooked a little. Another bolt of lightning flashed through the sky. "If you don't mind me asking."

"Arthur was just fishing," said Mary Beth. "I was picking carrots for our dinner when that disgusting man grabbed me and the whole thing started. Lost my damn basket in this hellstorm.”

Hamish chuckled. “Well, luckily, I don’t think those ingrates travel in packs bigger than three or four.”

“Too stupid for anything else,” called Arthur. "But it allows them to be quiet."

"Indeed," said Hamish.

They got to Hamish's cabin very soon after that. It was a modest structure, right near the edge of the lake, but very upright. He had a small stable where they were all able to tie up their horses out of the rain, and a couple stacks of dry hay for them to feed on. They made a run for it to the door, as if they were not already each soaked to the bone, and Hamish let them in first, followed behind and then closed the door and bolted it tight. Arthur and Mary Beth both stopped to look around and notice the humble scenery of the cabin. The kitchen was tidy, with a small display of Civil War paraphernalia hung up by the entrance, and there was a low fire in the hearth. They saw the loft, too, that Hamish had mentioned out in the woods. Right tucked up in the bent of the roof with a small ladder leading down, just past the kitchen. The air was dry and warm and a welcome commodity. Arthur and Mary Beth both looked at each other, each of them nodding, acknowledging their mutual sense of reassurance.

Hamish entered the room and immediately removed his hat and jacket. He wore chaps that looked impervious to the rain, and he removed those as well. Arthur and Mary Beth were waiting for instructions. After giving them a long one-over, Hamish nodded his head as if having an internal conversation with himself, and then went to what appeared to be his bedroom, a small space cordoned off to the side, hidden behind a heavy curtain. “Looks like you two might need some new clothes, eh?” he said. He went to the armoire first, opened the cabinet doors and searched a bit until he landed upon a pair of linen slacks and a large blue shirt—also linen—with a button-up style in the front. He came back to the kitchen and handed the clothing to Arthur. “Now, I’m not as big as you, young man, but these is…pretty comfy on me. I reckon they might fit you yet.”

“Thank you,” said Arthur. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Sure I do,” said the man, nonchalant. He waved Arthur off and went back to the bedroom. At that point, he seemed to have a thought, and then he stiffly got down to his knees. It seemed to take him a great deal of effort to do so. He picked up the lid on a great big hope chest. Inside were some books and photographs and folded stacks of pretty white clothing. From it, he drew what appeared to be a woman’s nightgown. He admired it for a second and then staggered to his feet, and he came back and gave the nightgown to Mary Beth.

She touched the fabric, smiled kindly up at the man. “This is lovely,” she said.

“Well, I had a wife once,” he said, scratching at his old, white beard. “Like every man should. She was about your size. She liked white. That should do, I reckon.”

“Thank you,” said Mary Beth, like she was taking in the story—the terrible romance of it all. This old man who kept his dead wife’s beautiful nightgowns, folded neatly into a memory box by the foot of his bed. “You’re very kind, sir. I’m sure it’ll fit just fine.”

He smiled, charmed by her as many tended to be—politely of course. He went past them then to the kitchen where he lit the stove and put a kettle on. “Please feel free to use the curtain, miss," he said to Mary Beth.

She nodded, looked at Arthur.

“Go on,” he said.

So she did. She went into the little room and pulled the curtain closed behind her. Arthur sighed, deeply, surveying the little pile of clean clothing in his hand. “Thank you again, sir,” he said, “for your generosity.”

“Oh, enough thanking for one evening,” said Hamish. “I just done what any decent man would do. And besides, I am glad for the company. This storm is a right bitch."

Arthur smiled to himself. “It sure is.”

Hamish continued putting together that pot of tea then, and so Arthur began to undress in front of the fire. His clothes were truly stuck to his skin. The old man was right, in that the pants were a little short, but for the most part, the clothes fit just fine. The linen was worn and very soft. Arthur stacked his boots by the fire and Hamish showed him how he could hang his wet clothes on a little line strung up in front of the locked window. Arthur hung them all up and then joined Hamish back in the kitchen, where Hamish had taken to removing the prosthetic from his upper eg. Arthur had guessed that it was so—based on his gait and his difficulty with bending at the knees. Removing that prosthetic seemed to give the old man a considerable amount of relief. He watched him massage the carefully wrapped stump above where his knee had ought to be for a while and then lean back in the chair to close his eyes and breathe. He seemed tired by the night’s fateful wanderings, but also refreshed. Arthur waited patiently to see what would happen next.

When Mary Beth finally came out, Arthur showed her where she could hang up her skirts and her blouse and how she could dry her boots by the fire. They went to the kitchen and Hamish welcomed them to his table. The kettle on the stove was getting hotter and starting to hiss. Mary Beth offered to pour the tea as Hamish had settled in. Hamish was happy to oblige her and even directed her to top off all their cups with a healthy shot of Kentucky bourbon, which he kept bottled in a little cupboard by the floor. She poured the tea, and then she poured the booze. She served them each a cup and then sat down at the table with the men. Arthur watched as she held her face over the hot steam and breathed it in through her nose. Her hair was still very wet but she had taken it out of the braid, and it was drying now to long, scrunchy waves around her face and on her shoulders. He sipped his tea, looked at Hamish who was nursing his cup and very content.

“So,” he said, eventually, now that the night seemed settled. You could still hear the rain, pounding overhead. “What brings the two of you fine young people all the way out here to my neck of the woods?” he went on. "Just fishing and camping?"

Arthur glanced up toward the roof. “Hunting,” he said, and then he sipped his whiskey tea. “We was looking to hunt moose.”

“Well you come to the right spot, though farther north would be better. Where you hailing from?”

"South,” he said. “Near St. Denis, but that ain’t where we hail from originally.”

“Wanderers?” said Hamish, looking at Mary Beth.

She smiled. “Something like that.”

This satisfied him. He looked at Arthur, took a drink, and continued. “How long the two of you been married?” he said.

Arthur was confused at first, but then he glanced down at his hand. He had never taken the ring off. He closed his hand into a fist, opened it again. “Not long,” he said.

“Newlyweds?” said Hamish.

“Yes sir,” said Mary Beth, drinking. “This is our first time hunting together. Our first time in the woods.”

“Well you seem capable,” he said to her, and to Arthur. “To survive an ambush by the Murfee Brood. One of you must be a sharpshootin son of a bitch.”

Both Arthur and Mary Beth smiled at this. Mary Beth leaned forward and placed her hand on Hamish’s wrist, but only for a second. “That would be Arthur,” she said, real quiet, like a secret. “The truth is I’m no good with a gun.”

“Aw, don’t sell yourself short,” Arthur said. He took a long drink. “Mary Beth shot a turtle once. Dented it and everything.”

“Arthur!” she reached across the table and shoved him good. Arthur was amused by this and felt himself smirking. It was a smirk of the likes he had not smirked in some years. He was surprising himself.

They all sat, drinking after that, like they were waiting for a bell to ring or something.

“So you is a veteran of the war, I see?” said Arthur after a little while. He finished his tea, got up to pour himself a bit more. It was quite satisfying. “Is that how you lost your leg there?” He brought the kettle and the whiskey back around to top off the rest of them. Mary Beth declined the whiskey, but she took more tea. Hamish wanted a lot of whiskey in his.

Hamish nodded, scrubbing a hand through his beard. “Yes sir,” he said. "That old war. It took its toll, that's for sure."

“You seen battle,” said Mary Beth, eager, warming her hands to the mug. “That must’ve been something. Very dark times.”

“It was,” said Hamish. “But I ain’t complaining. You know how lucky I am, to get to live out here, in this—this preserved place of wide open wilderness? Pretty damn lucky. It’s all power lines now, everything I seen. Civilization. The corruption of man sticking it to nature with his…disease. I seen enough horrors for one lifetime. I ain’t buying in. No, ma'am."

“Nor should you,” said Mary Beth.

“We know the feeling,” said Arthur, “of being chased.”

“What do you do?” said Hamish to Arthur, straight up.

“I’m just a wanderer.” Arthur made no attempt at fooling. He took a drink. “Like you said, sir.”

Hamish smiled, turned to Mary Beth, full of humor. “You wander with this fool?”

Mary Beth blushed and laughed and drank from her cup as well. “Of course,” she said. “What else would I be doing? Working a sweatshop? Marrying a banker with a monocle? Ain’t really my style, Mr. Sinclair.”

Hamish was laughing now but seemed to understand this. “That there’s a good answer,” he said.

After a little while, and some more talking, the tea ran out, and the old man became sleepy and a little worse for the booze. It was getting late. The rain still fell outside in big whooshes against the rooftop. Arthur helped him up and back to his bed. Rubbing his eyes, the old man seemed weary but grateful. He seemed to have very much enjoyed their company, and their conversation. “Thank you, son,” he said, clapping a hand to Arthur's shoulder. “Promise you’ll stay through the morning. Have breakfast. You'll need your strength if you're going after moose.”

“Of course,” said Arthur.

“There’s a soft mat up in the loft,” he said, hauling onto his back and closing his eyes. “It ain’t much, like I said, but there’s a lamp, and room enough for two, I reckon.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Arthur.

“You’re very welcome.” He was drifting, slow but hard. “Oh, and watch your head,” he said. “Low ceilings.”

Arthur smiled. “I will.”

“Very good.”

He was asleep after that, Hamish Sinclair, their humble savior. Passed out cold, breathing heavy and even with his head on the pillow.

When Arthur closed the curtain and returned to the kitchen, Mary Beth was cleaning up, rinsing their mugs in the basin. “Mary Beth let me do that,” he said.

“I don’t mind,” she said. “Plus it’s sort of like habit at this point.”

Arthur sighed. He placed his hands in his linen pockets. He was not tired. He was still wide awake from the encounter on the bluff. He felt terrible for all that had happened to them that night. “I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head at the floor. “What happened back there, Mary Beth. On that bluff. I messed up good. I shoulda seen them coming.”

She stopped what she was doing, turned around to look at him. “You saved us,” she said, disbelieving of his somber tone. “You couldn’t have prevented that from happening, Arthur.”

“Maybe not,” he said, scrubbing at the advancing scruff on his chin. He was looking right into her now, fixing her with his focus. “I still feel responsible.”

“You always feel responsible, Arthur,” she said. She wiped her hands off on a towel and went to him. “I know you. But you ain’t always responsible. It wasn’t your fault, and we’re okay now. Like you said before. A million times. While I was crying my damn eyes out like a total girl on that bluff.”

Arthur blushed a little. “Well, you are a girl, Mary Beth. To be fair of course.”

She socked him again, like before. He flinched and laughed. “Watch your tone, Arthur Morgan,” she said.

“I’m only kidding.”

“I know.”

“You done a good job on this trip," he went on. "Seriously. You saved my life that first night. We would both be plain dead by now if it weren't for you and that frying pan.”

“And don’t you forget it,” she said, smirking.

She finished up the dishes while Arthur stoked the fire. She washed their mugs and all the rest of the dirty dishes in the sink. She said it was the least she could do for such a kind man of the war.

“He seems a little lonely,” said Mary Beth, folding his kitchen linens into little squares. “But spritely. Anyway, I’m probably just reading too much into things. I tend to do that. I don't like men who is missing their wives.”

“He might be lonely,” said Arthur. "But it ain't too bad. I seen lonelier men living in the thick of the city." He truly meant this. "Don't worry."

"I'll try."

They went up the ladder after that. Mary Beth went first. Arthur followed. When he got up there and into that little loft, he could see what Hamish had been saying—it really was low ceilings. He could barely scoot on his knees. But the mat was big and soft, maybe stuffed with down feathers. There was an oil lamp and a stack of blankets, a couple pillows, and the roof over head was sealed very well with good craftsmanship. It felt a little like a nest of sorts. Arthur lit the lamp so that the space looked as warm as it felt.

“I don’t feel much like sleeping,” said Mary Beth after a minute. They were sitting on either side of the lamp, their legs folded up, facing each other. “I can’t seem to calm down.”

“Same here,” said Arthur, studying his hands. There was still mud caked into the crevices of his palms, in his fingernails.

“Wanna read?” she said. She had that little blue book again, in the big front pocket of her nightgown. It seemed she never parted with it.

“Sure,” said Arthur. “What is that book anyway?”

“It was Sean’s,” said Mary Beth.

“Sean’s?” said Arthur. “I didn’t think Sean could read.”

They heard a snore then, coming from Hamish, down below, behind the curtain. They both smiled.

“He couldn’t read," continued Mary Beth, smiling to herself. "Not really. But I was teaching him, a little, here and there. He wanted to keep it a secret. On account of his reputation as the gang’s cocky Irishman.”

Arthur laughed at this. “He was a good kid.”

“Yeah, he was," she said. She slid the book open, turned to a page marked with a pretty gold ribbon. “It’s not the easiest reading material for a beginner. Apparently though, it’s quite new. He said he picked it up in Blackwater.”

“Is it a novel?”

“Poetry,” she said. “W.B. Yeats.”

“I ain’t read no Yeats,” said Arthur, watching her turn through the delicate pages. “Keats maybe. I always liked him.”

“Keats?” she said, looking, real bright. “Why, you are a romantic, aren’t you?”

He smiled, a little giddy. “Maybe,” he said. “I like the odes. It was like…he was thankful for something. You don’t run into too many thankful men these days, it seems.”

“Don’t I know it,” said Mary Beth. "Who gave you the Keats?"

"Hosea," said Arthur. "When I was pretty young. Maybe twenty or so."

"Well, this is much different," she said.

“Can I see it?" he said, holding out his hand.

"Sure." She gave him the book. It was small in his hands, real small. It had looked so much bigger in hers. He opened it to a random page, to a poem called Into the Twilight. He began to read silently, but then Mary Beth asked which poem he was on and urged him to read it aloud.

“Aloud?” he said, a little nervous all of a sudden.

“Yeah,” she said. She grabbed both his wrists, encouraged him, and then hid her hands back in her lap. “Go on, Arthur. I want to hear.”

He gathered his courage. It was funny. He could shoot four men dead on a bluff in the middle of a wild thunderstorm inside a minute, but when it came to reading out loud, in front of Mary Beth, he became a boy again. Anyway, he rose to the challenge. He cleared his throat, squinted down at the words to make sure he got the rhythm right. Then, he began to read, going slow, his voice sounding deep and dusty in his own ears:  

OUT-WORN heart, in a time out-worn,

Come clear of the nets of wrong and right;

Laugh heart again in the gray twilight,

Sigh, heart, again in the dew of the morn.

Your mother Eire is always young,

Dew ever shining and twilight gray;

Though hope fall from you and love decay,

Burning in fires of a slanderous tongue.

Come, heart, where hill is heaped upon hill:

For there the mystical brotherhood

Of sun and moon and hollow and wood

And river and stream work out their will;

And God stands winding His lonely horn,

And time and the world are ever in flight;

And love is less kind than the gray twilight,

And hope is less dear than the dew of the morn.

When he finished, he sat to contemplate for a moment. He turned the page, and then he turned it back to examine the poem one more time. Then he closed the book, and he set it down on the blanket between them.

He looked up, and Mary Beth had grown solemn, staring at him, her face lit by the yellow lamp light. “That was real nice, Arthur,” she said.

“Thank you,” he said. “Ain't like I wrote it. Seems weary though.”

“How do you mean?”

He took a deep breath and opened the book again, right to the same poem, studying. “Seems like it’s about…morals, forcing in. Times changing, mixing everything up. It takes everything,” he said. “But it don’t take nature. That’s the brotherhood, I reckon. See? That’s the dew of the morn.”

He took one last look at the words, thought hard on it for a second. Then he closed the book again and gave it back to Mary Beth. She held it in her small hands, with the freckled knuckles. She seemed contemplative as she set it down once more. Then she smiled like she was embarrassed.

“What’s the matter?” he said, trying to catch her eyes.

“Nothing,” she said, sighing. “Only that I wish I did not feel and look so much like a wet rat right now—a pretty moment like this.”

Arthur was surprised, even confused by this. He sort of laughed at the sentiment. It was strange.

“What's funny?” she said. She looked up, finally.

He smiled. “You are."

"Why?"

"You couldn’t look like a wet rat if you tried,” he said. He just shrugged. He was being real. “Come on, Mary Beth. You know you’re a beautiful woman. Don’t lie about yourself that way.”

The rain was coming and coming still, a regular rhythm now, part of the scenery. Mary Beth did not know what to say. She was amused but also her heart was beating very hard in her chest, right out its delicate cage. Looking at him, he did not seem keyed up or like he was fooling around or even putting on a show. He just grinned his easy Arthur Morgan grin, like he was just telling truth.

So she reached for him. That’s just what her instincts told her to do. Mary Beth tended to trust her instincts. They seemed to be all she had sometimes. She placed one of her palms on each of his weathered cheeks, feeling the scruff, the soft of his beard starting grow in, so many days in the wild. He had high cheekbones, Arthur. His bones were a little feathery on the whole, delicate, she thought, which was not apparent unless you studied him close. Because he was otherwise a big man and he seemed it in every way. But not in his bones. At first, she didn’t know if he would pull away from her or remove her touch. But he just seemed to be searching her eyes with his, trying to figure out what was going to happen next, same as she was.

He had saved her life how many times and yet it didn’t feel desperate, or unruly, she thought. It didn’t feel strange. It just felt normal. She touched her forehead to his, softly, felt him give a little, then she closed her eyes. He was hesitant. She could sense it. But then she felt his eyelashes glancing off her cheek as he closed his eyes, too. They breathed like that, just for a little while, taking comfort in one another. But soon, their faces hovered closer together, by nature, and she felt him then—responding. His hands, lightly at first, planted softly just above each one of her knees. They were not smooth. They were big, sure of themselves. She felt him exhale.

"Mary Beth," he said.

The gravel in his voice emboldened her. She made the move. She kissed him.

Waiting, seeing. It was everything. She didn't know what would happen. She felt his breath catch, just a little, his mouth soft on hers, but he was not caught off guard, and when she thought he might pull away, because he was Arthur Morgan, and that seemed so often to be his conservative nature—to pull away—she then felt one of his hands on her neck instead, a surprise, grazing her ear, pushing into her hair. It was sending a whole lot of electricity into her, his hand. This good knight. She was kissing him after all. He was still hesitant at first, but then he was very smooth, and she waited, patient, still tense, their mouths touching but only just until finally, he kissed her back, real slow, like he meant it, and then all of their muscles seemed to release at the exact same time. She felt herself moving into him. The kiss deepened naturally, but only just. It was not a reckless abandon type kiss. It was not the end of the world. It was just the two of them, tucked away in yet another kind stranger's home, existing.

When it all came to a close, they parted, looked at each other. Arthur felt warm and good, clear as windows all of a sudden. She tasted like whiskey. He lingered, his breathing shallow, his heart beating rapidly. He had made a choice, he realized, and now there he was, before he even knew what hit him, staring at this person who he did not want to leave. It was that simple. It was the truth he could not previously acknowledge, which is that it was fun, being with her, and easy, and terrifying all at once. And it hit him hard, what this meant, took hold of him in ways he could not have foreseen or designed. All it took was her heat, her skin, her safety, something good, not a fantasy or a fool's errand, just something real, pulling him downward by the chest until he felt like doing nothing but lying in the cool earth, peaceful, becoming a part of its roots and growing.

Together, they could hear the crackling of the fire still from down below and the rain on the roof overhead. Arthur had tucked the damp hair behind her ear. Mary Beth's hands had fallen from his cheeks and to his wide, warm chest. All these things going on inside them, but between them, it was just quiet. They just studied one another, in the lamp light, beneath the fateful call of the storm, because that is just who they were when they were together. When times got safe. Studying. Whatever else there was or wasn't, whatever still remained to be seen, that is just what they did.

[shakespesre]

things i did not like about beauty and the beast (2017)

oh man am i in the minority in this situation (also this list is comically long) spoilers, obviously

honestly

most of it

during the opening sequence with the enchantress as she was narrating the prince’s actions didn’t match with what she was saying (like he didn’t dismiss her again or beg forgiveness even though the enchantress is saying he did) details like that irk me

also the whole “guys who wear makeup are somehow morally destitute” trope needs to die

the staging of belle made the town feel like its a half an acre big which made for some awful blocking

it just looked really repetitive in terms of staging like there was nowhere to go because the set wasn’t big enough

belle talking to the minister about the books was short and dispassionate

emma watson can’t sing to save her life

the little robot following her around fixing her voice the entire movie should be paid good money

ok i get that making belle the inventor is supposed to be “empowering” but it goes nowhere??

the hill she runs up during the belle reprise is cgi af and it doesn’t feel right??

honestly you couldn’t have found an actual hill

also the fact that maurice being captured was happening concurrently w the number and the sky being all dark made the wonder and longing of it all weaker

i know it’s in the original fairy tale but honestly why did they bring back the rose stealing as the inciting incident for the beast to punish maurice

it makes very little sense

especially given that maurice took A Rose from what he assumed was an abandoned castle

how did maurice get back to the village? like we see at the end that belle has the horse

BIG ONE RIGHT HERE

why did lumiere and cogsworth show belle to her room instead of the beast???

why would you cut the first interactions between your main characters that actually establishes a connection between them?!!?

the west wing loses some of its gravitas bc of this too

and like????? the beast never even considered that belle would be the one to break the spell?????? WHY NOT????? DUDE???????? YOU MORON even the original beast considered that!!! he’s actually lampshading you all the way back from 1991

but the “this way to the east wing. or as i like to call it the Only Wing!” line was funny i laughed at that

audra mcdonald deserved more to do and to sing

mrs potts looked creepy As Fuck

idk the “come down to dinner” scene was played kind of seriously this time and i get why but i think cutting to inside the room changes the dynamic a bit like in the original you never even see belle and she holds all the power but this is a nitpick

why did they cut to black after be our guest??? did the editor lose a bet or something??

gaston was a fun number but the cuts were absolutely nonsensical

like

you could barely get a feel for the space it took up

they don’t cut to any kind of demonstration of gaston using “antlers in all of his DECoratING” which kind of tells you all you need to know about how bad this movie was at visual storytelling

so many composers and lyricists write music to visuals and there aren’t sufficient visuals to bolster the gaston number

and it felt kind of overcrowded? maybe that one’s just me

the plot just seriously drags

the fact that we spent so much time with kevin kline and gaston out “searching” for belle kind of slowed the movie down a lot

as did the whole “attempted murder” thing

so gaston blows up and tells maurice he’s only helping look for belle bc he wants to marry her

and maurice is like “my daughter is never gonna marry someone like you you’re an asshole!!”

and then gaston punches him in the face and leaves him to die in the woods tied to a tree

and then this miserly old beggar lady comes and saves him and has him accuse gaston of attempted murder

the entire thing is completely unnecessary

back to the enchanted castle

was it just me or did belle not even get that close to the rose? like the animated belle took the case off and was literally about to touch the actual plant and in this one she like brushed the table with her hand

the wolf scene was fine

they lifted the dialogue from the patch up scene directly from the 1991 film except without any of the energy or emotion

also the prince’s backstory is like?? really thin???

the fact that it was literally just inserted into the plot so he and belle could have a “dead moms” connection is so flimsy

they take this random subplot and roll with it instead of actually taking more time to develop belle and the beast as romantic interests

ANOTHER PROBLEM

ok so like the beast was somehow really hurt by the wolf attack right?

so he kind of drifts in and out of sleep for a while and one time he wakes up and belle is reading to him

AND THEN OHHHH AND THEN

HE MANSPLAINS ROMEO AND JULIET TO HER

AND HE GIVES HER THE LIBRARY BECAUSE HE THINKS THAT ANYTHING IN THERE IS BETTER THAN WHAT SHE LIKES

COME ON

WHAT THE FUCK

THATS SO CONDESCENDING

WAY TO UNDERMINE A SWEET MOMENT THAT SHOWS EMOTIONAL DEVELOPMENT BETWEEN YOUR TWO ROMANTIC LEADS

the new song days in the sun is pretty but combining the servants desires with belle’s make for some conflicting messages

they actually sing something there?

like move their mouths sing

this is another nitpick but like i always thought something there was their internal monologue and it feels weird to see them actually sing them idk

THE BOOK

OOOOOHHHHH THE BOOK

belle and the beast are talking and he’s like “LETS RUN AWAY TOGETHER!!!”

what

ok movie i’ll bite where are we running away to

so the enchantress for some damn reason decides to give the beast a magic book that can take him anywhere he wishes to go

why??? who knows????? certainly not the movie!!!

and he’s like to belle “think of where ever you want to go and we’ll go there just 4 u!!!!!” despite the fact that he literally just said that the world wouldn’t accept him as a beast

so they go to this little house in a Goddamn windmill on the outskirts of bohemian paris

it’s cramped and dark and drenched in a blue filter so you can’t actually see anything

and it’s this useless detour about how belle’s mom died

and it connects to nothing it’s not a plot twist or some big reveal it’s just that she died of the plague

there wasn’t even any emotional backing to it because belle didn’t know anything about her mother because maurice never told her

like if belle had thought maurice just walked out on her mother and resented him for it this twist would have some emotional significance

but that’s not the case

the ballroom scene looks really awkward

like the beast looks especially computer generated here and that doesn’t help the fact that emma watson expresses almost nothing during the entire dance

the whole “you must go to him” scene goes way too fucking fast and there’s no time for the emotions of that scene to actually breathe and release

she rides off in the (ugly) yellow dress which is another nitpick but looks weird

WHY IS SHE IN SUCH A RUSH YOU COULD JUST USE THE BOOK

evermore grinds the momentum of the narrative to a fucking halt

and i swear to god if this wins an oscar for best song while how far i’ll go lost i will dissolve the entire academy of motion picture arts and sciences myself

just love yourself and listen to if i can’t love her it’s honestly a much better song

the part where gaston is hyping up the crowd to go kill the beast progresses in a similar way to the “you must go to him” scene

gaston decides that the beast is a threat to them before he realizes belle has feelings for him which again undercuts the original emotion of the scene

the gaston vs the beast fight feels a whole lot less personal

like

in such a way that gaston is a good 40 feet from belle and the beast when he shoots him

there is no intimacy no emotion in how gaston mortally wounds the beast because he’s literally a Chasm away from them

the beast yelling "I AM NOT A BEAST" to gaston was the hammiest thing in the movie

they just really hate subtext don't they

AND ANOTHER THING

HOOOOOHHH BOY

the enchantress is the old lady who helped maurice when he was left to die in the woods

and yes she’s still dicking around in the forest for???? some reason?????

the beast dies

straight up dies

and the servants have this tragic goodbye sequence where they all turn inanimate it’s the most emotional scene in the film

belle’s love didn’t save them

she doesn’t say “i love you” and the last petal of the rose falls and they all either die/become inanimate

THE ENCHANTRESS JUST COMES IN AND FIXES EVERYTHING?????

DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT DOES?

THAT MAKES THE ROSE TIMELINE COMPLETELY SUPERFLUOUS

THE ENCHANTRESS HAS BEEN IN!! THE!! VILLAGE!! THE ENTIRETY OF THE CURSE

SHE COULD CHANGE HIM BACK WHENEVER SHE WANTED

in the original there was this finality to it and this hopelessness of being cursed by magic that isn’t understandable but permanent and that there is only One Way To Break It

the fact that the enchantress is the one to break the spell and not The Power Of Love undercuts the entire intended parable of the original fairy tale, animated movie, and WHAT THE BEGINNING OF THE MOVIE WAS SAYING

also the fact that she’s there makes the entire transformation less intimate???

like there’s this third old woman creeping up in the background watching them when belle and the beast are supposed to be at the height of their emotional connection

also the transformation itself was kind of hard to follow visually like i don’t even think there was a clear shot of his face

the growl wasn’t hot

i didn’t even notice it when i saw it in the theatre

you all need to get laid

why didn’t they just let audra fucking mcdonald sing the final end version of beauty and the beast

also the actual timeline the movie took place over was strange?

someone can clarify this with me if they want i’m genuinely curious

the prince when he’s cursed is played by dan stevens so like it couldn’t have been more than? five years that he was a beast?

and then when the plot with belle starts, the opening number happens, maurice leaving, belle rejecting gaston, the belle reprise, maurice’s wolf chase scene, the prisoner switch, and the gaston number all seem to take place within a 48 hour timespan

^^^ this is all pretty much the same for the animated movie there’s no problem with that

be our guest and all new added numbers (along with the come down to dinner scene and belle’s wolf chase scene) all happen sometime around here too

but my issue is at the end of gaston where maurice asks if someone would help him look for belle

generously, the time spent searching for her is a day

then maurice is left to die in the woods and is rescued by agatha

he couldn’t have been out there more than two days without dying of dehydration

then, at most, five days from the opening belle sequence, maurice accuses gaston of murder and is about to be locked in an insane asylum when belle rides back to save him

if you’re following correctly, this gave belle and the beast a maximum of four and a half days to fall in love with one another

what?????

i know in the original there’s the whole issue of maurice out in the woods searching for belle but that was addressed by the directors and producers as an oversight and they meant to show that belle was in the castle for at least autumn through winter

so the remake’s timeline is completely unrealistic and goddamnit movie

like at VERY MOST the main plot takes place over six days

TL;DR

most of my issues were story problems, they changed fundamentally so little from the original animated movie and what they did change dragged the plot along or straight up undercut what the narrative was actually trying to impart

the rest of the bullets were either self-described nitpick and trying to work out the timeline

to be clear it’s not wrong for you to like the movie go see it again another three times

this list is for humor

and i didn’t comment at all on le fou for one thing because i was neutral on him but also because it’s not my place to say whether this is good rep or not

[junker-town]

Here are the internet's suggestions for which coaches Tennessee should turn to next

Turnover trash can, Buddy Stephens, Stone Cold Steve Austin, and more!

Tennessee is still in the heat of its coaching search, and over the last week we’ve seen the Greg Schiano deal get nixed after fan backlash, Mike Gundy turn it down, and going after, then moving on from, Purdue’s Jeff Brohm and NC State’s Dave Doeren.

Aside from the Vols’ athletic department, there is another strong-willed, and fired up group of people with a wealth of candidates on their minds -- the fine folks of #VolTwitter. I took the liberty of rounding up all of these candidates that they have thoughtfully put out on Twitter for you:

First, we’ll start with the more plausible ones, that you’ve probably heard already.

Former Tennessee and current FAU head coach Lane Kiffin has been mentioned a good bit -- even the famous rock outside of Neyland Stadium which once read “F*uck you Kiffin” is calling for his return.

The Rock on campus today, prodigal son returning home? @Lane_Kiffin http://pic.twitter.com/kqMfeKZx37

— Joey Wallace (@JoeyWallace03) November 28, 2017

On Thursday, former Vol and NFL receiver Donte Stallworth floated a rumor that Kiffin was returning, with some big names as his coordinators:

Soooo...I can confirm reports of a Lane Kiffin head coach, Tee Martin as OC, Kevin Steele as DC package deal was turned down. What a shit show. And we’re gonna hire who? We may as well hire Kim Jong-un for real.

— Donté Stallworth (@DonteStallworth) November 30, 2017

It was quickly denied outright by Kiffin himself.

We just heard back from @Lane_Kiffin and asked if this report is true: "Hell no. Tennessee AD has never contacted me. You can say I totally denied that and the AD still has never reached out." @dpshow @Vol_Football https://t.co/oBhwS1vYpB

— Paul Pabst (@PaulPabst) November 30, 2017

He even added this follow-up from his Twitter account:

Love u Donte but #samsonite #Iwaswayoff!!!!!@DonteStallworth @espn https://t.co/EfhHg42n3A

— Lane Kiffin (@Lane_Kiffin) November 30, 2017

That didn’t stop Tennessee fans from tweeting about Kiffin for the job, which they’ve been doing for awhile:

LANE WANTS IT. DO IT VOLS

— Outside Clutter (@OutsideClutter) November 30, 2017

@John_Currie trust and hire lane kiffin he will lead us to where we need to go. - rocky top rambo

— rambo (@rockytoprambo) December 1, 2017

@John_Currie listen to the fans because with an empty stadium you have a empty wallet. Hire @Lane_Kiffin now

— Buddy Rollins (@b_rollins31) November 30, 2017

How bout former Vol QB and current USC offensive coordinator/receivers coach Tee Martin?

His name has been circulating on Vol Twitter for a good bit.

Come on Tennessee, just hire Tee Martin. #Huskers are hiring a former QB, you should too! #GoVols

— Vaughn Toller (@vaughntoller) November 30, 2017

Call Him! Call Him! http://pic.twitter.com/cRcJheO1mt

— Aaron Hayden (@Ran4UT) November 29, 2017

Once Jeff Brohm said no, Tennessee should have reached the "Ok, just hire Tee Martin threshold." Now that Dave Doeren said no, they ought to be in Martin's living room by lunchtime.

— Mike Piellucci (@mikelikessports) November 30, 2017

It’s funny that these other coaches are hearing the Vols fans, yet our own administration won’t call the coach we want. What’re y’all gonna do when the stadium is empty? Call @Lane_Kiffin. Call @coachtee17 this isn’t difficult.

— The Lane Train (@JacobDFarmer) November 30, 2017

The Answer is @coachtee17 #VOLS DO IT http://pic.twitter.com/niFLDsAG6m

— Rocky Top (@AllVol76) November 30, 2017

Actually would be a good hire, but probably won’t happen: Mike Leach.

God Bless former Florida and South Carolina head coach Steve Spurrier for suggesting him, but calling him “The Leacher.”

Who does the Head Ball Coach think should get the job at Tennessee? "I like the Leacher up at Washington State" - @SteveSpurrierUF http://pic.twitter.com/HMCf0MoQc5

— Paul Finebaum (@finebaum) November 30, 2017

That’s all I’m going to call Leach now, tbh.

Another name that’s been gaining traction: Former LSU head coach Les Miles.

The former LSU head coach hasn’t gotten a job since he was fired last season, but with a 114-34 over record as the Tigers’ head coach and a BCS National Title in 2007, it;s not too surprising his name came up.

One of the more interesting parts about this rumor is that even WWE wrestler Kane even made his case for Miles-to-Knoxville:

Glenn Jacobs is a mayoral candidate in Knox County, Tenn. He’s also a professional wrestler in the WWE, who dresses up like a big red demon and is The Undertaker's burned-alive brother. And now, he’s a purveyor of Tennessee coaching rumors.

Good friend who works with @CoachLesMiles just told me that Les is extremely interested in UT position. He'd look great in Orange. #CallLes

— Glenn Jacobs (@GlennJacobsTN) November 30, 2017

To recap: Professional wrestler Kane, who is also candidate for Knox County mayor Glenn Jacobs, is reporting that ex-LSU coach Les Miles is “extremely interested” in taking over the woebegone football program at the state’s flagship university.

Here is Jacobs at work in his capacity as Kane:

WWE

Another Kane-related grand idea:

Tennessee should just hire Kane, for if the Gospel of The Program taught us anything, it's Kane is Able: http://pic.twitter.com/vTiLxVTapK

— RedditCFB (@RedditCFB) November 30, 2017

http://pic.twitter.com/ZOpRlS8KlE

— Will McBride (@willmcbride_) November 29, 2017

If you don't call Les Miles @John_Currie you are worse off than I thought. How do you make it all day without soiling your pants? I need to see your IQ test results ASAP

— FireJohnCurrie (@PredVols) November 30, 2017

How about some Miles mixed with some other candidates as coordinators?

Tennessee should just hire @Coach_Leach and Les Miles as Co- head coaches and let's ride. Can you imagine how good the press conferences would be?

— Matthew Morris (@Matthew102583) November 30, 2017

HC - Les Miles OC - Tee Martin (Coach In Waiting) DC - Kevin Steele Do it. #Vols

— Rᴏʙ Bᴇᴛᴛɪs (@robbettis) November 30, 2017

Speaking of some recently-fired coaches!

On Thursday morning, former Texas A&M head coach Kevin Sumlin, who was just fired on Sunday, was reportedly on UT’s list:

With Doeren staying at NC State, Tennessee plans to talk to former Texas A&M coach Kevin Sumlin, sources tell ESPN.

#Tennessee may now try and hustle to get a deal done with Kevin Sumlin who is likely to be in play for some potential vacancies.

— Bruce Feldman (@BruceFeldmanCFB) November 30, 2017

Someone suggested former Arizona State head coach Todd Graham, who was also fired Sunday.

Yo Tennessee, make the call. http://pic.twitter.com/dHMgL772Oz

— Tim Ring (@timringTV) November 30, 2017

Former Ole Miss head coach Hugh Freeze, who was asked to resign in July after the university came across phone records that revealed a call to an escort service, was also suggested:

.@John_Currie http://pic.twitter.com/okjLd8a3ck

— Zach Berry (@Zach_Berry) November 30, 2017

Former Nebraska coach Mike Riley also got a bid:

Tennessee should hire Mike Riley. Just let the man keep failing upwards.

— SCRIPT. FLIPPED. (@Crafty_Consumer) November 30, 2017

And as for a couple of coaches who probably aren’t being considered...

I should’ve mentioned this in the beginning, but — nothing and no one is off-limits for #VolTwitter folks. How bout Louisville head coach Bobby Petrino?

Bobby Petrino to Tennessee? #Volunteers #SEC

— Moe Khan (@MoeKhan19) November 30, 2017

Tennessee should hire Bobby Petrino. His style of offense would separate itself in SEC.

— John Anthony (@ElGamblingGuru) November 30, 2017

Or South Carolina’s Will Muschamp, who has a freaking 6-0 record against Tennessee as a head coach?

Can't go 0-7 against him next year if y'all hire him, Vols. http://pic.twitter.com/DMzfv7jPiu

— Violence (@PhilKenSaban) November 30, 2017

I highly doubt Bob Stoops would come out of retirement to inherit Tennessee’s football program, buuut:

What’s Bob Stoops doing maybe he should just go to Tennessee

— James (@Mussallem) November 30, 2017

Some fans have resorted to just hiring back Butch Jones.

I mean, can you blame them after how wild this coach search has been over the last week?

Tennessee should just rehire Butch Jones and be like..... http://pic.twitter.com/id4Z4fE4mP

— Dustin James (@dustinjames) November 30, 2017

maybe Tennessee should just hire Butch Jones? Already paying him.

— doug (@dropstones) November 30, 2017

Tennessee should have just kept Butch Jones. Cause that’s what Dave Doeren is. A glorified Butch Jones

— King T-Time (@Ayo_TTime9) November 30, 2017

Maybe Tennessee should just hire Butch Jones?

— NoleScan (@Skinny_Smalls) November 30, 2017

Or, what about keeping on interim head coach Brady Hoke?

He went 0-2 as the head coach after Jones was fired.

@finebaum hey Paul. Tennessee should just keep Brady Hoke at this point. He has a better record than anyone they are looking at. Thanks Alum '82

— Bonnie Mitchum (@MitchumBonnie) November 30, 2017

Tennessee should just make Brady Hoke the full time coach

— Greg Smith (@GregSmithHV) November 30, 2017

Dark horse candidate: Peyton Manning!

Zero coaching experience — doesn’t matter!!!

At this point Tennessee should just hire Peyton Manning.

— JHutch (@JHutch90) November 30, 2017

Tennessee should just hire Peyton Manning to coach. He’s probably not doing anything. #Omaha http://pic.twitter.com/24yIx4O4ug

— Felix (@FelixRadio) November 30, 2017

As I said yesterday, Tennessee should just hire Peyton Manning and be done with it. https://t.co/x6prllvOUi

— Scott Hood (@ScottHood63) November 30, 2017

I’m not even joking when I say this, but even LaVar Ball’s name has floated around.

Lavar ball should just coach Tennessee at this point .

— Ryan Ticino (@Ticinoville) November 30, 2017

Maybe Tennessee should hire this clown. He seems to know everything there is to know about coaching, regardless of the sport. http://pic.twitter.com/dLVsz5KByR

— John Green (@CoachJGreen) November 30, 2017

One of my favorites — EMCC head coach and star Netflix’s of Last Chance U — Buddy Stephens’ name has been thought of quite a bit, folks.

Tennessee should just go get Buddy Stephens from Last Chance U. @Vol_Football @VolNation

— Brandon Suggs (@VolsUofT) November 30, 2017

At this point Tennessee should hire Buddy Stephens from Last Chance U.

— Jaylon T. Thompson (@jaylonthompson) November 30, 2017

I mean, wouldn’t you wanna see this happening on the sidelines, as Stephens did during Season 2 of the show?

Tennessee should hire Buddy Stephens.

— Aaron Morse (@MorseCode206) November 30, 2017

Tennessee should hire the coach from last chance u. That way instead of not being able to find a head coach they won’t be able to find assistant coaches.

— michigan ken (@bigunc1) November 30, 2017

We’re now going to enter the highly improbable, but potentially possible, portion of these.

Never say never, folks!

Could I interest you in Stone Cold Steve Austin, WWE wrestler, and new Tennessee head coach?

Does anyone say no? I doubt it. http://pic.twitter.com/fkJxE4FHbo

— Zach (@zrau) November 30, 2017

Tennessee should just hire my hubby and be done with it! #muscles #allsmiles

— Mallory Wilson (@the_MAL_Wilson) November 30, 2017

Fire up the #Chesney2Knoxville hashtag:

Tennessee should hire Kenny Chesney.

— bridget (@bridgetgoirish) November 30, 2017

I’LL BE DAMNED IF ERIC TAYLOR FROM FRIDAY NIGHT LIGHTS GETS LEFT OUT OF THIS SEARCH.

It's quite clear who Tennessee should hire. http://pic.twitter.com/AcsA2qAIYj

— Mark Passwaters (@mbpRivals) November 30, 2017

How about inanimate objects? We’ve got plenty:

First, let’s consider hiring Tennessee’s sideline prop -- the turnover trash can.

#TrashCan4TennesseeHeadCoach http://pic.twitter.com/uJjUgDYxwB

— Gray Hardison (@BellyoftheBeast) November 30, 2017

Tennessee should hire the turnover trash can at this point.

— Matthew Musso (@mattman_16) November 30, 2017

Mascots? Rocks? Why not.

At this point, Tennessee should just let that rock be the coach. https://t.co/IfRJkMlixH

— Dooley (@DooleyMcStitch) November 30, 2017

At this point, Tennessee should just name Smokey, their dog mascot, as coach. @ClayTravis would say "still better than Schiano."

— Steve Millar (@Millar_S) November 30, 2017

NASCAR’s mascot, Lugnut, even declined the job on Thursday.

BREAKING Lugnut has decided to turn down the coaching position at #Tennessee and will remain at Charlotte Motor Speedway! http://pic.twitter.com/NGWHK0DFff

— Charlotte Motor Speedway (@CLTMotorSpdwy) November 30, 2017

These are some terrible ideas, but some people just want to watch the world burn.

Pull the trigger Vols......He already has the orange tie. You know you want to do it. What could possibly go wrong? http://pic.twitter.com/v0y2rE3yEJ

— Seth Weitz (@professorweitz) November 30, 2017

Personally I’d love to see former LA Rams coach Jeff Fisher get the job for one reason only.

Tennessee should hire Jeff Fisher.

— Jeffrey Chonko (@Gooner_Chonko) November 30, 2017

And that reason is the following:

Speaking of the NFL, New England Patriots head coach Bill Belichick is a longshot, but you gotta believe in something!

Tennessee should hire bill belichick. He’s good.

— trev (@tjdunn9) November 30, 2017

Some Tennessee fans threw out different methods to find its next coach, and some are intriguing!

At this point, #Tennessee football should just backpack through Europe in 2018 and try to find itself.

— Sean Gallagher (@GallagherRadio) November 30, 2017

Tennessee should just let the fans coach next year via twitter polls

— Big Cat (@BarstoolBigCat) November 30, 2017

Maybe Tennessee should just runa Twitter poll and let social media pick who the next coach will be. They've already done a whale of a job determining who it won't be! http://pic.twitter.com/orKxYxp8V5

— Richard Schumacher (@rwschumacher) November 30, 2017

Tennessee should just hold open auditions for the new coach

— MJA (@MJA773) November 30, 2017

Lastly, I give you this, which is pure gold, and captures this coach search brilliantly:

The Tennessee coaching search has been very difficult to follow so I made a video to simplify things for the masses. http://pic.twitter.com/bgUulJtErt

— Ted Harrison (@tedvid) November 30, 2017

Hopefully you enjoyed this ride through the depths of #VolTwitter as much as I did.