#song is: if i were a weapon by suzanne vega | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lookslikechill · 6 years ago

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DW Valentine’s Special

I felt driven to write a little something for Valentine’s Day featuring Alistair Sheep and Miles Crawford, one of the Main couples, or arguably The Main Couple, in my novel-beast wip Daydream Walking. I’m super happy with how it came out, to the point where I have to include it in my first draft, so I hope you enjoy it too! Here is a playlist for them, and the writing is below the cut since it is rather long.

Come On Closer by Jem

You sit back now Just relax now I'll take care of you

Marlene On The Wall by Suzanne Vega

Observe the blood, the rose tattoo Of the fingerprints on me from you

Like Real People Do by Hozier

I had a thought, dear However scary

HOLD ME TIGHT OR DON’T by Fall Out Boy

The distance between us It sharpens me like a knife

Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! by Cher

In my flat all alone How I hate to spend the evening on my own

Say Amen (Saturday Night) by Panic! At The Disco

Swear to God, I ain't ever gonna repent Mama, can I get another amen?

Shiver by Maroon 5

And I shiver when I hear your name I think about you, but it's not the same

Storm Song by Phildel

I'll send a storm to capture your heart and bring you home.

My Moon My Man by Feist

Take it slow Take it easy on me Shed some light Shed some light on things

The Lightning Strike (What If This Storm Ends) by Snow Patrol

I want pinned down I want unsettled Rattle cage after cage Until my blood boils

NFWMB by Hozier

If I was born as a black thorn tree I'd wanna be felt by you, held by you Feel the power of your hand on me

Bonus Couple Song: Your Man by Josh Parker Bonus Alistair Song: Little Pistol by Mother Mother Bonus Miles Song: Baby, You’re A Haunted House by Gerard Way

Content Warnings: Mentions of murder and death, some swearing. Also the presence of a weapon. There is no smut here!! But there is (hopefully) sexual tension, romance, and a good lot of kissing and touching.

Alistair was in the small, well-lit break room at the tail end of a long day, with a lit cigarette in his right hand and a cup of joe in his left. The shape of the room was long and narrow. One long wall hosted a number of square windows through which the harsh, bright afternoon sunlight shone, while the other was taken up by a kitchen stove and one long counter with cabinets below. On the stove sat a steaming percolator, on the counter beside the stove sat a wide, heavy ashtray, leaned against the counter next to the ashtray stood Alistair.

He was tapping ashes off into the ashtray when Miles ambled his way in. He had a way of moving that captured Alistair’s attention instantly; steady and confident, back straight, shoulders relaxed, pace consistent, like a well-trained hounddog at the height of his career. Miles settled in front of the stove and into pouring himself some coffee. “You should come home with me tonight,” he muttered, and jostled Alistair out of his thoughts. He took a drag off his cigarette as anxiety crawled up his spine.

They had never existed together, intimately, outside of Alistair’s apartment, except for the smallest of hints or touches that could not possibly be seen or heard by another human being. His apartment was safety, he knew every corner like he knew his own body, he knew the exits, he knew where he kept the knives, and he knew where every single dangerous creak, squeak, or groan existed in the furniture and in the floorboards and in the walls. “No,” he said on an exhale.

“Please,” Miles said without looking at him. The clacking of the spoon against Miles’ cup as he stirred filled the room. Was he being that loud on purpose? Alistair couldn’t help sneaking a look toward the door, wide open to the rest of the department.

“Why?”

“You’ll like it.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Trust me.” Alistair worked his lips around the end of the cigarette, damp yet firm, and took another drag. “I’ll pick you up.”

“No.”

“Fine, you can follow me. Civilian cars, civilian clothes.”

Alistair hesitated. Miles slurped coffee out of his mug. A phone rung somewhere in the building and a car started outside. Trust me. He heaved a sigh and put out his cigarette. “Okay.” He dropped his voice further and looked Miles in the face for the first time since he’d entered the room. “Thirty minutes after we’re off duty. I’ll be parked on Gerard Street.”

Before Miles, with his curls and his staring, seeing eyes, could respond, Sinclair walked his stupid ass into the room, and declared: “Hey, guys! What’s happening?”

“Murder!” Alistair just barely didn’t yell. “Just talking about murder!”

“Happens all the time,” Miles confirmed grimly as he refilled his cup. “It’s really very unfortunate.”

Quickly becoming somber, Sinclair nodded. “It’s true. It’s very unfortunate. Anyway, let me in on that coffee action, Crawford.”

At 6:30pm, Alistair was sitting in his Ford on Gerard Street, in regular, soot-gray trousers and jacket. He’d managed to bathe, mostly to get rid of hat hair, and he hadn’t had a cigarette since dropping into his apartment. He idly chewed on the inside of his cheek and tapped his fingers against the steering wheel as he scanned the street for Miles Crawford’s cream Hudson.

He stopped tapping and sat up a little straighter when he saw the Hudson turn off of Golding Street onto Gerard. His car rumbled and chugged around him as Miles drove right past him without making eye contact or at all acknowledging his existence. When he could see Miles approaching the end of the street in his mirror, he pulled out and around to follow.

His anxiety lessened as he followed Miles through and around city blocks and out into the outer expanses of Port Cassandra. Soon the ocean and the city alike were obscured by trees both tall and numerous with thick underbrush groveling at their feet. Not only did Alistair feel calmer, now he was able to feel a spot of anticipation, a spark of excitement about where Miles was leading him. He had never been to Miles’ home, and he had never heard him speak of it either.

Eventually Miles pulled off the main road onto one both rougher and narrower, and Alistair followed. The road wound through the trees, and in places the branches reached out and scraped against the sides and roof of his car. He flinched only because of the noise, not because of the damage. His car was not one that was in mint condition, nor was it very new.

The trees broke slightly, and through them he could see slivers of ocean, flashes of beach, and, finally, a stout log cabin, all sharp angles and natural grains and colors, yet clearly weathered. The cream Hudson, light and shiny against the backdrop of the forest, the greenery, and the cabin, pulled up close to what was clearly the cabin’s rear before stopping. Alistair pulled up alongside and cut the engine.

He got out of his car with some effort. The slamming of their car doors seemed loud and intrusive out here. He came around to greet Miles between their two vehicles. “This is where you live?” There was a touch of awe to his tone that he did not intentionally put there.

“Yeah,” Miles said. He was holding a rather large paper bag in one arm. He was wearing brown trousers with a blue, casual button-up tucked in. “My father left it to me when he died.”

“Oh.” He was a bit shaken by this. Miles had never spoken of his father before. “I didn’t know your father was dead. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. He wasn’t a good man.”

That made it the opposite of fine! Alistair gingerly, slowly stepped close to Miles and set a hand on his shoulder. Before he could say anything, though, Miles kissed him on the mouth. He gasped and stepped back, quickly taking stock of their surroundings and seeing . . . no one.

He turned back to see Miles wearing a shit-eating grin. “Let’s not talk about that right now. Come home with me, Alistair.”

A shiver ran up his spine and he found himself smiling back at him. “Okay.”

It turned out the bag Miles was carrying contained wine, crackers, cheese, and apples. Alistair hadn’t thought to bring anything aside from himself and the condoms that lived in the pocket of the jacket he was wearing, so he sliced the cheese and apples and displayed them on a plate with the crackers while Miles filled two glasses with wine. Of course, filling glasses with wine didn’t take much time, so after that he stood back and watched Alistair work. And drank wine.

Alistair still wasn’t used to being watched in a good way. He was always so worried about being seen and found out. “What are you looking at?” He asked as he set the dirtied knife and cutting board into the sink in the cabin’s kitchen. The inside of the cabin was small but clean and cozy. In the living room there was a wide, short couch with a matching coffee table.

“You,” Miles said as Alistair walked past and set the plate of crackers, cheese, and fruit next to the open bottle of wine and his own waiting glass. “The look on your face, determined. The way you do things. It’s very . . . “ His voice was breathy, low and loose. “Effective.”

Alistair picked up his glass in one hand and stood up straight, looking Miles in the face. Dark eyes, relaxed and calm, stared back at him. “Yeah?”

Miles pushed off the wall he was laying his weight against and came around the coffee table. He laid a hand against Alistair’s chest and pushed gently. “Yeah. Sit down, relax.”

Alistair obeyed. Miles wiggled himself into the space between him and the arm of the couch, and threw his arm over Alistair’s shoulders. “Drink,” he said into Alistair’s ear, his hot breath ghosting over the side of his face and the smell of wine hitting his nose.

He made physical effort to relax as he took a long sip of red wine. He leaned into Miles and relaxed into the couch. “I feel you have done all the work here,” he admitted, eyes on the wine wobbling in his glass.

“Not all of it,” Miles said, so close to him. “Just most of it. But don’t worry about it, I chose to do the work. I just wanted to get you out here, I thought you would like it.”

He sighed, trying to expel the shreds of tension that fought so valiantly to cling to the inside of his chest. He took another sip of wine and turned his face to Miles’. “I do like it.” He leaned more heavily into Miles, practically laying all the weight he could on him, and looked him in the eye before downing the entire glass of wine. He set the glass gently on the table, beside the bottle, with a small ‘clink’. “I just need you to fuckin’ kiss me before I have to go smoke a cigarette.”

Miles cradled his face with one hand and kissed him. It was a gentle, soft, close-lipped kiss. It was the sort of kiss Alistair remembered giving and receiving for the first time as a teenager. Then, it was an experiment. Now, it was a taunt.

Alistair turned his head, opened his mouth, and Miles pulled back.

“Wait,” Miles said.

“What?”

“I love you.”

For a long moment, he was thrown speechless. He probably looked like a deer in the headlights, or like an idiot, or maybe both. He wasn’t expecting it- although, if he were to think about it, it wasn’t surprising from Miles. And it wasn’t like he had never thought about how he felt about Miles, sex aside. There was a lot to their interactions now that could not be discounted as just . . . buddies helping each other out.

Like the wine and the cheese on the table, and the way Alistair had made sure he didn’t have disgusting cigarette mouth before he got here, and how Miles had practically negotiated him out here because he thought he would like it. Thought he would like it- no, Miles thought he could relax here. And he was right.

He leaned forward and pressed one more chaste kiss to Miles’ lips, and then another to his cheek. “I love you too,” he whispered against his skin, and shivered, but he wasn’t cold.

He felt Miles exhale, heavy and fast, like he was relieved, and then he was laughing a bit under his breath and his arms were tight around Alistair and he was kissing up his neck and nibbling his beard.

“Oh, my God,” Alistair managed, and he wasn’t unhappy. He was smiling again. He looked out at the darkening sky through the cabin windows, and he saw the trees, and he heard the night distantly. He could not deny that this felt nice.

“I thought you’d freak out,” Miles admitted with his face pressed into Alistair’s shoulder. There was humor in his voice, though it was a legitimate concern.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t,” he muttered.

Miles lifted his head and kissed him, and this time his mouth was open. He tasted like wine. His tongue was clever and his teeth were careful. Alistair’s mouth was his for the taking.

Alistair surged out of his grasp, but only to throw himself into his lap. He tossed his bad leg over Miles and shoved his right foot against the floor to push himself into position. They only ceased kissing for the moment it took him to reposition.

He ran his hands up Miles’ neck and into his short, curly hair, cradling the back of his neck. He felt Miles’ hands on his waist, massaging their way down through his clothes. He bit gently at his lower lip, and Miles gasped.

“Alistair!” He exclaimed, and pulled his gun out of its holster at his hip. “Really?”

#writing #romance #gay romance #gay writing #gay men #mlm #fictional cops in the 40's being gay #historical illegal homosexuality #wip:dw #dw #daydream walking #alistair sheep #miles crawford #valentine's day #valentine's day special

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oneweekoneband · 7 years ago

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IF I WERE A WEAPON // NEEDLE AND THREAD AND THE FEMME FATALE

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Suzanne Vega readily admits to her obsession with the femme fatale, that razor-edged, red-lipsticked archetype who slinks into the spotlight at least once in every one of her albums –– but (aside from her first appearance in “Marlene on the Wall”) none of those appearances interest me as much as “If I Were A Weapon.”

This song offers something beyond reiterated fascination with the glossy, lacquered, impervious shell that is, ugh, sorry, weaponized femininity. Nor does it fall back against the flimsy false dichotomy offered above, tough witty Marlene versus soft innocent Marilyn. Instead, this is a song about how exhausting it is to act invulnerable. How, where everyone sees a gun, there is really only a needle –– always pulling on the thread / always making the same point again / and wondering if you heard what I just said. Suzanne Vega half-whispers her way through the words, mic picking up every syllable sighed against the croon and groove of the melody like smoke in a crowded room, but there’s a resignation present even when she brandishes I’ve concealed a weapon like a pocket-knife attack / all folded up inside until you see the shine and then you want it back.

The key phrase from the above quote (taken from this incredibly comprehensive 2011 interview with The A.V. Club) is if I could’ve achieved that. The truth is, no one can. Marlene is a role, onscreen or off, and even a perfect performance of her, whip-smart and diamond-hard, protects no one from the possibility of victimhood. The flash of pocket-knife charm offers no guarantee in a world of hammers and handsome fists. This song ends in a standoff: If I am a weapon / I am pointing now at you / so just put down the hostage / and we’ll talk it down until we see this through. Returning to pull the thread, once again, into the fine and tiring needlework of conversation.

#suzanne vega #if i were a weapon

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quinzelade · 8 years ago

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By No Constraint (chpt 70)

SS x Danse

Chapter List

Thanks to my amazing beta, @waiting4morning, for her wonderful work!

Tumblr has apparently changed its linking rules, meaning I can no longer externally link my FFnet or Ao3 accounts if I want my story to show up in the tag search on tumblr. If you want update alerts, please search ‘quinzelade’ on either of these sites and follow me there.

This week’s chapter title is inspired off my favourite Suzanne Vega song, The Queen and the Soldier. I highly recommend you give it a listen and pay close attention to the lyrics. Absolutely wonderful.

Major Brotherhood/Danse spoilers.

The King and the Soldier

Quinn felt her insides freeze.

“I don’t believe you,” Cade repeated, “but I can’t prove otherwise. Not if Knight Carson is defending your story.”

“I—” she began, panic-stricken, but Cade smoothly cut across her.

“Did Rachel finally snap?” Both Carson and Quinn locked eyes, and Cade gave a grunt of confirmation. “I told Rachel that concerns had been raised about her conduct and general health since Paladin Danse’s execution.”

“Concerns?” Carson spoke this time, his eyes wide and confused.

“Yes, concerns.” Cade frowned. “You must have noticed how erratic she’d been over the last few months. You were there when she drank that alcohol on the edge of the ship’s railings. How could you not be concerned?”

“I was, but...I didn’t think anyone else noticed.”

“If that’s the case, why didn’t you bring it up with me?”

“I...I didn’t want to get her into trouble.”

Cade shook his head in disbelief. “Well, other people did notice, and they did tell me. I decided it couldn’t be put off any longer. I informed Rachel she would be confined to the Prydwen and assessed by myself so that we could help her. The following morning, she was gone...and Carson with her.”

Carson paled, but Quinn felt positively nauseous. If Rachel had been on the run, did that mean she was followed to Sanctuary?

Cade answered Quinn’s unspoken question. “It was decided not to pursue her. We’re already stretched thin after the fight with the Railroad and the Institute, on top of our recent patrols in the Boston ruins.” He sighed. “That doesn’t explain your injuries, Carson. I can see you’re trying to protect Rachel’s reputation, but I need to know the truth.”

“Sir,” whispered Carson, trying and failing to sit up straight. “She didn’t tell me she was supposed to stay on the ship. She said we had to go find Quinn.”

Cade held up a hand to stop Carson. He tapped on his terminal, and then suddenly a speaker above the door came to life, filling the hall outside with music. At once, Quinn realised what he was doing, and didn’t need Cade’s explanation of, “To stop eavesdroppers.” He turned his head to her. “What happened then?”

“She…” Quinn let out a long breath, readying herself. The music was a little distracting, but if she was careful with her lies now, built upon the truth, with a few tweaks... “She caught up with me. Called me a traitor for leaving the Prydwen without saying anything. That I was obviously hiding something. I tried to tell Rachel why I left, but she didn’t believe me.”

“I’d gotten out of my armour at her command,” added Carson, mercifully quick to the uptake, “and used a stealth boy, like I said. She told me it was so we could assess the situation and see what was wrong with Quinn. But then she revealed herself and started threatening Quinn instead. I...I tried to step in. Hit her to try to get her weapon away from her. But…”

Cade let out a hiss of breath. “You hit her? She’s one of the best on the ship in hand-to-hand combat. You had a gun!”

“I didn’t want to kill her!” Carson fired up at once, glancing from Cade to Quinn. Quinn wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince. “I just...I...I don’t know!”

It seemed Cade noticed Carson’s plea to Quinn as well, because his expression cleared a little.

Carson bit his lip. “I know it was stupid. And I paid for it. Rachel got my gun off me and...and shot me. I don’t know what happened after that.”

Cade looked back at Quinn expectantly.

“I picked up her pistol off the floor while she was wrestling with Carson,” Quinn said, staring at her knees. She couldn’t meet Cade’s eye anymore. “I shot her. Killed her.” Quinn reached into her pocket and produced Rachel’s holotags, setting them on Cade’s desk. “There was nothing else I could do.”

Cade said nothing for a moment, though Quinn could sense him staring hard at her. Then finally he said, “Now that I believe.”

Quinn glanced up and saw his features had softened considerably.

“Where is your son now?” he asked, his tone gentle.

“Safe,” she replied. “With friends. I don’t want to say much more than that. I understand the Brotherhood would try to protect me and my family, but I meant what I said about the ship. He’s safer out of the spotlight.”

Cade sighed and leaned back wearily in his chair, staring past Quinn. “I’ll have to give a full report to Elder Maxson, but that doesn’t mean this will become common knowledge.” He tapped slowly through his terminal, and the music cut off.

“I liked Rachel. I really did. But...I can’t say I didn’t see this coming.” Cade met Quinn’s eye. “I failed her. I thought...well, when her family died, I confined her to the Citadel, but she only seemed to improve when she eventually returned to active duty. After Paladin Danse...I wanted to try a different tack, a different treatment. So I kept her on the field, even though I could see her struggling.” He gestured to Carson. “My fault.”

“Maybe she was beyond…” Quinn started, but a cold anger rose up in Cade’s face.

“No one is beyond helping,” Cade snapped, sitting up straight again. He glanced at Carson’s wary expression, met Quinn’s eye, and then slumped in his seat. “It’s completely illogical. Detrimental almost, but I have to believe it. There’s too much pointless death to deal with, otherwise.”

Quinn stared at Cade. The only time she had seen him this morose was when Stephen Cooper died. She frowned. “If you keep telling yourself you could have done something, even when you couldn’t, you’re only going to bring yourself more grief.”

Cade shrugged and stood up, walking over to Carson and checking over him, though without apparently doing much. Quinn suspected it was just an excuse to move away from the topic, as he said, “Anyway, you’re going to be fine, Carson. This NCR doctor, whoever he was, at least knew his stuff. No infection, and the worst effects of the burns have been staved off.”

Quinn felt a pang of relief as some of the colour returned to Carson’s cheeks. She nodded and smiled at her friend. As did so, she suddenly remembered something. Or at least, someone. “Casey,” she said, her stomach clenching. “What happened to Casey?”

Cade looked over his shoulder and smiled. “Still under my care, in the long term beds on the upper deck. But she’s awake, which is a wonder in itself. Strong girl, that one.”

Quinn rose from her chair at once. “Can I go see her?”

“Of course. She’s struggling to speak at the moment, but she’ll be glad for your company, I’m sure.”

“Quinn,” Carson said as she made for the door, “if you bump into Tom—”

“I’ll send lover boy on his way, don’t worry,” Quinn replied, smirking when Carson flushed.

Quinn made it only halfway through the ship, though, when Kapraski came barrelling towards her. His speed was startling, considering he was still using a crutch to support himself.

“Liam?” he gasped, his eyes wide.

“Sick bay. He’s going to be f—” she began, but Kapraski rushed past her without another word, the uneven clunks of his crutch quickly fading away. Quinn watched him go, and then headed up the stairs to the makeshift sick bay. The screens were still in place, scribes flitting to and fro between shielded beds. Near the back corner, propped up with what looked like all the pillows in the Prydwen, was Casey. She didn’t notice Quinn approach until Quinn was standing at the foot of Casey’s bed.

“Ma’am?” she croaked, her remaining eye lighting up with recognition. As Haylen had said, Casey’s left eye was completely gone, the surrounding skin badly warped and scarred, giving one side of her face a melted appearance. Her lopsided mouth broke out into a tremulous smile. “How are you doing, ma’am?”

“Good,” Quinn replied, trying to hide her shock at Casey’s appearance. What with Cade’s medical skill, she had expected something less...severe.

Casey’s smile turned into a grin. “Doing better than me, at least.”

“Are you alright?” Quinn carefully sat on the edge of the bed, biting her lip. “Because you look like shit.”

Casey laughed, though it quickly turned into a groan of pain. Her smile remained, though, and when she spoke again, her voice was a little stronger. “I’ll get there. Just...long recovery.” She suddenly looked exhausted, and Quinn remembered what Cade said about speech being a struggle.

“I’ll go,” Quinn said, beginning to stand. “You need to rest—”

“No!” Casey said, wincing as she did. “I...people don’t stay long. Say I need rest. Talking is...nice.” She scrunched her bedsheets up in her right hand. “Can you...read to me?”

Quinn blinked. But when Casey started to blush, Quinn smiled and nodded. “Sure.”

Casey beamed for a split second, before groaning and shutting her eye again. She waved her right hand to the floor. “Under my bed…”

Quinn looked and saw, with a pang, a stack of comic books. Charlie instantly dominated her thoughts.

“Quinlan brought…” Casey mumbled, but didn’t finish. She took in a slow, deep breath and said, “Can’t hold them.”

Quinn picked up the comics and knelt down next to Casey, selecting the topmost issue. “This one okay?” When Casey gave the tiniest of nods, Quinn set the others down and held the chosen issue aloft, propping her elbow on the bed. “Hmm, good taste. ‘Grognak and the Legend of Ice Maiden Cove.’ Saucy.”

Casey didn’t reply, but Quinn felt her fingers rest gently on Quinn’s arm, giving her a grateful squeeze.

Quinn began to read, trying her best to give different voices to each character, the way she would have done with Charlie. Other passing soldiers stared, while the bedridden ones turned their heads to listen, and when she finished, there was a chorus of demand for the next issue.

‘Grognak and the Battle for the Golden Loincloth,’ seemed worth a read.

“You took your time in fetching me,” Maxson grumbled, striding irritably beside Quinn. Quinn ignored him. Gone were the days of Maxson’s ire dictating her moves—though admittedly, such days had always been fleeting. Her patience with him was at an all-time low.

Maxson was apparently unsure what to do with her silence, because he settled for muttering ‘disappearing without notice’ and ‘awkward explanations’ as they walked across the Prydwen, the clangs of their footsteps echoing through the ship. His complaints abruptly stopped, though, when Quinn rapped sharply on Li’s door, and it swung open at once.

“Come in,” Li said, gesturing stiffly with her hand, and stepped back to allow Quinn and Maxson inside.

The room was a lot smaller than Quinn’s, with just enough space for a desk and a bed. Scientific equipment was spread out across the solitary table, none of which Quinn could name. Something was bubbling and smoking in a glass flask next to a rack of test tubes filled with brightly coloured liquids, and the air smelled faintly of sea salt. Quinn wondered if all this equipment had been taken from the Institute by Li before she’d fled, or if the Brotherhood provided it for her on arrival.

Virgil was sat on the bed, his face clean and covered in gauze, staring at his knees. Maxson’s eyes narrowed as he looked at the newcomer, clearly recognising the tattered remains of Virgil’s uniform. “Institute?” he hissed.

“Yes, Institute. Just like the scientists you were quite happy to integrate into the Prydwen,” Quinn said curtly, earning a raised eyebrow from Li.

“Under my supervision,” Maxson shot back, giving her one of his famous glares. Quinn remained coolly unimpressed, and he blinked, confused, before hurriedly scowling again. “Why have you brought him onto my ship?”

“Because—”

“Because,” Virgil said, finally meeting Maxson’s eye. “I am here to undo all the damage I’ve caused.”

“Damage?”

“I was in a specific branch of the Bioscience division.” Virgil’s gaze dropped, and when he’d finished telling Maxson about the super mutant experiments, he didn’t look up again. Quinn suspected if he had, Virgil would have quailed under the disgust rolling off Maxson in waves. Even Li was wearing a pained expression.

“Why,” Maxson said in a low rumble, “would I permit you to stay here after everything you’ve just told me? I should shoot you where you stand, you piece of filth.”

Madison Li stepped in front of Virgil, glaring defiantly up at Maxson, her arms folded tight across her chest.

Try it, her eyes said. Maxson didn’t move.

“I deserve to be shot,” came Virgil’s voice from behind the posturing Li. “But I think I can give you something better than my death. Something more useful.”

Maxson snorted dismissively.

“A cure for super mutancy,” Virgil said, louder this time. “But I need a place to develop—”

“A cure?” Maxson repeated, his eyes widening. He glanced at Quinn and repeated, “A cure?”

“Well, a cure for one particular strain of the virus. But my research has laid the groundwork for a much wider scope. I think, with enough time and dedication…”

Maxson still looked as if he disbelieved, so Quinn nodded. “I’ve seen it happen.” She explained the condition she’d found Virgil in, the way she’d stolen his work from the Institute, and the state she had found him in since.

“You knew there was a cure, and you didn’t hand it straight to us?” Maxson said, his familiar frown creeping back into place as his tone grew more irate.

“I knew he was claiming for there to be a cure,” Quinn shot back, “and he had limited time before he changed. His need was greater.” She paused, as a memory surfaced, and a great sadness washed over her. “Danse insisted I bring the cure back here too. Seemed to think using it on Virgil was a waste.”

“And he was right,” snapped Maxson. He stopped, momentarily perplexed, and then shook his head. “It was right, whatever its intentions. That cure should have been delivered to our scribes immediately, not thrown away so carelessly.”

“Carelessly? Look at him! It worked! And now he’s here offering to help! For God’s sake, realise what you are being given! If he can develop the cure for the FEV with Brotherhood scribes, think what else he’s capable of!”

Maxson glared, and Quinn could practically hear the gears of his brain grinding as he weighed his opinions. Finally, he nodded, though he appeared impassive. When he spoke, his voice was cold and indifferent. “Very well. You may stay.” He turned to Li. “When you’ve patched him up, take him to Quinlan and get him assigned. He can start his work tomorrow once he’s been examined by Cade.” Maxson turned his icy gaze back to Virgil. “From this moment on, you’re being watched. If we suspect so much as a hint of treachery, we’ll kill you.”

Li went red with anger at this statement, but Virgil nodded calmly. “I need to atone.”

“Damn right you do,” Maxson spat. He wrenched open the door and strode from the room, barking over his shoulder, “Sentinel, follow. I’m not done with you yet.”

Quinn loathed being spoken to like a disobedient dog, but decided it was in her best interests to do as she was told for now. She nodded to Li, who gave her a lukewarm smile—a vast improvement from the frostiness of their last meeting—and then Quinn trotted off after Maxson.

He didn’t speak to her as they walked, and Quinn had no intention of striking up a conversation. The man was clearly pissed. She expected to go back up to his open office, but instead he turned left onto the main walkway, which ran through the heart of the Prydwen.

Where the hell are we going? she thought as she ran to keep up with his long, purposeful strides.

Quinn got her answer almost at once. At the far end of the ship, next to the door leading to the corridor lined with the rooms of the officers, was Maxson’s private quarters. She knew it was there by whispers alone, though she had never seen the interior. Maxson pushed open the door and disappeared into the dark. Moments later, a light flickered on, illuminating the doorway, which appeared to have been left open as an invitation.

Quinn hesitated. Maxson’s private quarters? She didn’t know anyone who had been allowed in. All meetings were held upstairs in the main office, and Maxson had a habit of taking tours of the ship to speak to people directly when he wasn’t summoning them into his presence.

People would talk if she crossed the threshold, a concept that revolted her. But curiosity quickly got the better of Quinn, and she wondered how bad of a reprimand she was about to receive. Steeling herself, she walked inside, and immediately noticed a bookshelf filled with things she wouldn’t have expected from such a fearless war leader.

Toys. Toys, books, and other odd trinkets and mementos. She even saw Danse’s book there, with what she suspected were Cutler’s holotags next to it. There was a fleeting second where she considered stealing them to take back to Danse, when a clang of the door made her jerk her head up instinctively. Maxson stood in front of her, and Quinn felt herself slip into a state of shock. The moment the door swung shut behind her, he did something she had never seen him do before.

He smiled at her.

Not bitter or fleeting or forced, but a broad, genuine smile. Maxson seemed to radiate delight, the years of burden sliding off his broad shoulders as his sharp eyes softened and crinkled at the corners. The effect was rather unnerving, and Quinn found herself wishing for the old, grumpy Maxson to return.

“Well done,” he said, still grinning. “Well done.”

“Well done?” she blinked.

Maxson nodded. “For bringing Virgil to us. I don’t think you realise how many lives you’ve just saved. How much future misery you’ve prevented. A cure for the FEV.” He shook his head, still grinning bemusedly. “I never thought I’d live to see the day...a cure.”

He stared past Quinn, lost in jubilation, and then snapped his eyes back to her. The more Quinn looked at him, the more he appeared to be a completely different person. His posture was relaxed, every trace of his awkward, stiff-backed stance absent. His stern expression was a distant memory, and even his voice sounded like it belonged to someone else, the gruff edge gone.

Quinn wondered if—away from the demands of the Brotherhood—this was the real Elder Maxson. He was definitely more like the twenty year old he was supposed to be, at any rate. She felt a faint stab of pity.

“Drink?” he said, pulling her back to reality. She blinked stupidly and he laughed, a low, pleasant chuckle that intensified her bewilderment.

“I, uh...no thanks,” Quinn said, her cheeks going hot. He was obviously trying for a nice gesture. Would he be offended?

“Ah, yes. I forgot. Cade sent me his report after your little...incident.” Maxson gave a knowing nod and poured himself out a generous measure into a well-used glass. As he did so, Quinn noticed a slight tremor of his hand. He set the bottle down without replacing the cap, picked up his drink, and drained it in one go.

“You...you know about that?” Quinn said, horrified. Cade said he wouldn’t tell anyone else.

“Of course I know,” Maxson replied, pouring himself another drink and dropping down into a chair. He leaned precariously on its back legs and propped his booted feet up onto his desk, raising his glass to her. “I know everything that happens on this ship.” He took a sip. “How else could I care for my men and women otherwise?”

“But Cade said—”

“Cade said it wouldn’t go on your official record. He did not say he wouldn’t tell me.” Maxson raised an eyebrow. “You’ll often find your harshest critics aren’t the officers, but the very soldiers you work with. I feel I am more lenient than people give me credit for.”

Maxson drained his glass again with ease, and Quinn narrowed her eyes. “You keep drinking like that you’ll end like Danse...or me.”

He considered this for a moment and shrugged. “Becoming the type of soldier Danse was wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing...even if the price is alcoholism.”

“Bullshit.” She didn’t like the way he was talking at all. As if he’d accepted some sort of fate, or hoped for it.

He gave another chuckle, this one drier than the last, and shook his head. “That’s what I always liked about you. As though you consider sugarcoating for weaker men. Even when you try to be diplomatic, your face gives you away.” He met her eye as he set down his glass. “You’re a constant pain in my ass, but I always know where I stand.”

Quinn didn’t know what to say to that, and after a few beats of silence, the mood in the room shifted. Maxson began to look uncomfortable. He let his chair fall onto all four legs with an echoing clunk, and he took his feet off the desk and placed them back on the floor. His features set into their usual stern arrangement, and his posture stiffened as he tensed. The years piled back onto him, and he was suddenly worn and weary again. Old before his time.

Even in this most private of sanctuaries, Maxson couldn’t fend off the professional front drilled into him, and Quinn remembered what she had accused him of when he tried to execute Danse.

Child soldier.

There was that pity again.

“In a lot of ways, you remind me of Sarah Lyons,” Maxson said, his voice heavy as his eyes flicked longingly to his empty glass. “She was a strong woman too. Exceptional in every regard. Had a lot of burden on her shoulders after her father died, but she always found time for me.” His fingers twitched as if he was going to pick up the glass, but he stopped himself. “My only childhood friend, really.”

“Besides Danse?”

Maxson didn’t answer.

“I’ve been told you’re keeping the Institute scientists,” Quinn said, more for a change of topic than anything else. “That you’re planning to bring the water purifying technology from D.C. to the rest of the country. Or at least the East Coast.”

Maxson nodded, apparently happy for the new subject. He ran his hand through his beard and said, “I still remember Owyn Lyons’ lessons...what he tried to teach me before he died. The greatest failing of the Brotherhood is the perception of self sufficiency, while relying on people we so readily disregard. The common man is not our other, but an equal.”

“I don’t understand.”

His face twisted into a grim expression. “Then Proctor Teagan clearly never recruited you into his food drives. We’re soldiers, not farmers. When we can’t feed ourselves, we strike deals with traders and settlers, or remove their food by force. Most of us—particularly our veteran officers—see it as our right. We are preserving technology, they say, saving mankind from itself. We don’t need common wastelanders in our ranks, we won’t defend them from threats, and we won’t allow them the technology we hoard...but we’ll take their food.”

Quinn frowned. “But...we do defend them. The Brotherhood patrols…”

“All Elder Lyons’ design,” Maxson said, tilting his head up in her direction. “He caused a civil war in the East Coast branch by allowing outsiders to join us. By demanding we patrol the Capital Wasteland and protect the civilians there. By working with scientists to bring clean water to the people.

“When I took charge, I struck a compromise. Return to the old ways, and use the patrols as a way to gain trust and cooperation. But this is not sustainable for anyone. We have so much technology at our hands, and yet we stagnate. We need clean water. We need clean food. The Institute scientists can help make this a reality.”

“For the Brotherhood?”

“No. For everyone.” He leaned back in his chair, though his posture was still stiff. “Owyn Lyons was a good man, and he had the right idea, but his approach was too heavy handed. I am young. I have the time he did not to slowly bring about change. To make a worthy impact. He taught me as much. But first, we need to earn the trust of the people. Cleansing the Commonwealth of its filth is only the beginning.”

At his words, a series of faces flashed through Quinn’s head: Danse, Hancock, Sarah, Rachel.

“I’m leaving the Brotherhood,” she said.

Maxson sat up so suddenly he nearly fell off his chair. “What?” He looked stunned, as if she had just proclaimed she’d murdered Owyn Lyons herself. “Why?”

“Because your world only accepts the people you think are desirable. I want a world with a place for everyone.”

“I thought you wanted to help the Commonwealth!”

“You know nothing about helping the Commonwealth,” Quinn snapped, and Maxson seemed so surprised he merely stared at her, unable to speak. She loomed over him, feeling like a parent about to scold an unruly child. “How could you know? You’ve spent your entire life paraded around by soldiers, sheltered from the reality of the wasteland. Kept on a pedestal where your only friends still had to call you ‘sir.’”

“I never wanted it,” Maxson hissed, his pale face burning scarlet as his eyes crackled with malice. “Any of it! I had to make do with what I was given!”

“And it shows,” Quinn fired back. “You’ve never been out there. Not on some mission, but day to day life, struggling to survive, wondering when you’re next meal is or whether your crops will keep this year. If your roof will hold or the raiders will come and kill your family. Sure, you have the time Owyn didn’t, but you lack his wisdom and experience with the real world. You don’t know. You have no idea what the Commonwealth needs, and you’re in no position to decide it.”

Maxson rose to his feet, towering over her, face ravaged with fury. But he still seemed unable to argue back, and despite his size, he felt so much smaller than Quinn.

“Cleansing the Commonwealth,” she said, looking up coolly at him. “What does that even mean, Maxson? Where do you draw the line?”

“It means we protect the people from the unnatural scum that plagues the wasteland,” Maxson snarled, apparently finding his voice. “Something I’ve received no complaints about, so far.”

“Ghouls? Super mutants? Synths?” she asked, and when he nodded, she said, “And what about non-feral ghouls? What about Danse? Are they a plague as well?”

“We don’t target non-ferals,” Maxson replied, scowling, ignoring the mention of Danse completely.

“You still treat them like crap.” Quinn smiled bitterly, though her eyes remained fixed on his. “I saw Danse’s behaviour towards them. Rachel’s too.”

“Rachel?”

“Knight-Sergeant Marguerie,” Quinn said. “Cade might have sent that report to you already.”

“He did.” Maxson’s momentary confusion disappeared, his glare returning. “Was that bullshit as well?”

The swearword threw her, and she blinked at him, her mouth hanging open. It would have been the perfect opportunity for Maxson to seize control of the argument, but he appeared equally surprised at his fierce utterance, and didn’t speak.

“Yes, it was,” Quinn admitted after a few seconds.

“You continue to be honest with me, to your detriment. Why? You’ve never taken issue with hiding your motives before.”

“Because Danse always valued honesty as much as he valued your opinion,” she replied curtly. “I guess his habits are rubbing off on me.”

Maxson frowned at this, looking uncomfortable, before shaking his head. “What happened?”

Quinn hesitated. She risked putting Carson in a dangerous position, but something told her Maxson needed the truth. He needed to see the self-destructive path he was leading the Brotherhood down.

Quinn told Maxson everything, from the real fate of Rachel’s family, to the reaction she’d had when she’d learned Danse was a synth. Quinn told him of the paranoia that gripped Rachel, the despair, the grief, and slow downward spiral no one seemed willing to pull her from. Quinn felt ashamed as she said this, remembering how Danse sent her to Cade, against her wishes. She’d been too afraid to do the same for Rachel—to help Rachel. But this was unnecessary for Maxson to know, and so Quinn continued on.

She revealed the suspicions Rachel had about Quinn’s son—though Quinn took care to frame this as further evidence of Rachel’s wavering sanity—to the pursuit all the way to Quinn’s home. And finally, the attack, and the threats that Rachel would bring Maxson to Brotherhood justice, even at the cost of the Prydwen and her crew.

“She said she was going to murder me, Danse, my son...and everyone in my settlement,” Quinn finished. “She was out of control. And if I hadn’t killed her, it would have been a bloodbath.”

Maxson hadn’t spoken a word throughout Quinn’s tale, but now his eyes narrowed. “You mentioned the synth—”

“Danse.”

“—as if you’re living with it.” He didn’t bother to conceal the disgust in his tone.

“I am,” Quinn said, deciding she wasn’t bickering over pronouns. “I love him.”

“Love?” Maxson looked as if he wanted to vomit.

“Don’t give me that shit,” Quinn snapped. “You cared about Danse. Enough to try and make sure he lived while pretending you wanted him executed.”

Maxson snorted. “There was no pretence in my orders. You were the one who refused to cooperate, and I needed you more than I needed his death.”

“Liar.”

Maxson bristled with indignation. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. You’re a liar. You could have sent anyone to deal with Danse. Anyone. Rachel Marguerie practically begged you for the ‘honour.’ Instead, you sent me.”

“I had to test your loyalty.”

“You sent the one person least likely to kill him. The one person who had bets being taken about whether they would become an item with Danse. It was no secret we had feelings for each other. You weren’t testing me. You knew damn well I wouldn’t do it.” Quinn’s eyes narrowed. “Only you panicked, didn’t you? Began to regret letting me go. What if you were found out? So you followed me to the bunker and tried to make sure the job was done after all.”

Maxson stared at her. For a second, she thought he might admit it. Then he shook his head and said, “You’re deviating from the matter at hand—the consequences of your continued associations with the syn—”

“For fuck’s sake!” Quinn yelled, slamming her fist against the wall. How dare he blame her? “You still don’t get it, do you? This is your fucking fault!”

“My fault?” Maxson raged back, and Quinn wondered if their words would carry into the corridors. Maxson seemed to be thinking the same thing because he paused. When he continued, his voice was low and threatening. “I wasn’t there, and nor did I provoke one of my sisters by fornicating with a machine.”

Blind rage engulfed Quinn. With a piercing shriek, she lashed out at Maxson. He dodged smoothly out of the way, gripped her outstretched arm by the wrist, and flung her backwards into his bookcase. Toys and other pieces of sentimental crap rained down around her, but Quinn struggled on, kicking and scratching with every free limb she had. Maxson grunted as her foot connected with his shin, but he was far bigger and stronger than her. With almost no effort, he pinned her in place, their faces inches apart.

“Rachel clung to the Brotherhood’s doctrine at the cost of everything and everyone she loved,” Quinn spat, feeling as incensed as Maxson looked. He had turned bright red, his eyes taking on the same silent fury as when Quinn challenged Danse’s execution. “As far as I can tell, the Brotherhood had no issue with synths until you made it an issue. You stoked the fires of hatred against non-humans. You caused the paranoia and the fear in the ranks, making people turn against their own for no goddamn reason. You forced Danse to be an outcast. You caused Rachel to abandon her child!”

“People are free to make their own decisions,” Maxson retorted, though he appeared troubled. “No one told her to—”

“What options do you think she had?” Quinn said, and she felt Maxson’s grip loosen. She didn’t try to fight him again, though. “Ostracization? Maybe even risking her daughter’s life, if the attitude towards ghouls soured further?”

He didn’t answer. Slowly but surely, he let go and stepped back. Quinn rubbed her wrist and glanced down. Bruises were already beginning to form in the shape of Maxson’s fingers. He stared at the imprints he’d left behind, a guilty expression on his face, and when Quinn tried to catch his eye, he looked away.

“If you really want what’s best for the people, then you need to distance yourself from the Prydwen and see the world for what it really is.” Quinn gestured to the ship. “You aren’t fit to make decisions for anyone until you do.”

“You can’t leave,” Maxson said, blatantly not listening to her. “I...you have been an asset to the Brotherhood. I can still reveal Danse is alive. I can make him...it a marked man. I mean, machine.”

Quinn snorted, and Maxson finally glanced up again, frowning. She shrugged, her tone cold. “No, you won’t. You stand to lose as much as me if word got out. Danse told me so.”

“Danse…?”

“You don’t think I’ve been cooperative all this time out of the goodness of my heart, do you? Danse was the one who would have laid down his life for your cause, not me. And look how you repaid him.” She laughed mirthlessly, and Maxson winced. “Well I’m through. Your bigotry will hurt more people than it will help. Rachel was just the first.”

Maxson didn’t respond to this, so Quinn went on.

“Elder Lyons left you a mantle of goodwill and the foundations to build bridges with all people of the wasteland.” She fished into her pocket and pulled out Rachel’s tags. They gleamed dully in the lighting of the room, before Quinn threw them at Maxson’s feet. “That’s your legacy.”

She turned on her heel and stormed towards the door. As her fingers seized the handle, though, she stopped. As much as Quinn had shouted at him, Maxson hadn’t chosen this life. No, his Brotherhood carers chose for him. Groomed to be a ruthless general, Maxson had no context to balance the ideals forced into his head. Elder Lyons might have offered talk of a better wasteland, with aspirations to help the people, but what good was that, with no one to tell Maxson how?

Quinn glanced over her shoulder at him. He was standing rigid on the spot, caught between rage and confusion. She could tell he was furious with her, but the way his eyebrows knotted together suggested he wasn’t entirely sure why. Never had he looked so young and uncertain.

“Tell the others I’m staying here to further the Brotherhood’s interests on your orders. Top secret. I am not to be sought after. I am not to be disturbed.” Quinn gave him her best glare. “And then leave the Commonwealth and never come back. You’ve done enough damage.”

Would he listen? She didn’t know. He blinked at her like she’d slapped him across the face, but Quinn didn’t wait for a retort. She wrenched open the door and strode from the room.

A/N: There is a lot of meta discussion on tumblr surrounding Maxson and his upbringing, and I wanted to introduce my take on it. Maxson makes a lot of horrendous decisions, but I don't feel they are necessarily his fault. He is sheltered. He has zero context for the world around him. And boy does it show.

I honestly just feel sorry for the man.

What are your thoughts?

#Fallout 4 #Paladin Danse #ss x danse #sole survivor x danse #fallout 4 fanfic #by no constraint #story #writing

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networkingdefinition · 5 years ago

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Pumpkin Quotes

Official Website: Pumpkin Quotes

“Only write what you know” is very good advice. I do my best to stick to it. I wrote about gods and dreams and America because I knew about them. And I wrote about what it’s like to wander into Faerie because I knew about that. I wrote about living underneath London because I knew about that too. And I put people into the stories because I knew them: the ones with pumpkins for heads, and the serial killers with eyes for teeth, and the little chocolate people filled with raspberry cream and the rest of them. – Neil Gaiman

In a clutch or a corner, I tend to make a weapon out of what is near at hand. That can be anything from a crowbar to a cat, though if I had a choice, I would prefer an angry cat, which I have found to be more effective than a crowbar. Although weaponless, I left the house by the back door, with two chocolate-pumpkin cookies. It’s a tough world out there, and a man has to armor himself against it however he can. ~Odd Thomas – Dean Koontz

Ah! on Thanksgiving day, when from East and from West, From North and South, come the pilgrim and guest, When the gray-haired New Englander sees round his board The old broken links of affection restored, When the care-wearied man seeks his mother once more, And the worn matron smiles where the girl smiled before. What moistens the lips and what brightens the eye? What calls back the past, like the rich pumpkin pie? – John Greenleaf Whittier

And all Halloween candy pales next to candy corn, if only because candy corn used to appear, like the Great Pumpkin, solely on Halloween. – Rosecrans Baldwin

And I Jack, the Pumpkin King, have grown so tired of the same old thing. – Tim Burton

And so, Thanksgiving. Its the most amazing holiday. Just think about it — it’s a miracle that once a year so many millions of Americans sit down to exactly the same meal as one another, exactly the same meal they grew up eating, and exactly the same meal they ate a year earlier. The turkey. The sweet potatoes. The stuffing. The pumpkin pie. Is there anything else we all can agree so vehemently about? I don’t think so. – Nora Ephron

Asleep by the Smiths Vapour Trail by Ride Scarborough Fair by Simon & Garfunkel A Whiter Shade of Pale by Procol Harum Dear Prudence by the Beatles Gypsy by Suzanne Vega Nights in White Satin by the Moody Blues Daydream by Smashing Pumpkins Dusk by Genesis (before Phil Collins was even in the band!) MLK by U2 Blackbird by the Beatles Landslide by Fleetwood Mac Asleep by the Smiths (again!) -Charlie’s mixtape – Stephen Chbosky

At last, small witches, goblins, hags, And pirates armed with paper bags Their costumes hinged on safety pins, Go haunt a night of pumpkin grins. – John Updike

Autumn. Pretty leaves, pumpkin pie and sweaters. Perfect weather for reading. Winter is great but I hate shoveling. – Eden Robinson

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Boston: Their hotels are bad. Their pumpkin pies are delicious. Their poetry is not so good. Edgar Allan Poe

But see, in our open clearings, how golden the melons lie; Enrich them with sweets and spices, and give us the pumpkin-pie! – Margaret Junkin Preston

Dark furrow lines grid the snow, punctuated by orange abacus beads of pumpkins – now the crows own the field. – John J. Geddes

Dear Great Pumpkin, Halloween is now only a few days away. Children all over the world await you coming. When you rise out of the pumpkin patch that night, please remember I am your most loyal follower. Have a nice trip. Don’t forget to take out flight insurance. – Charles M. Schulz

Do not be small minded. Do not pray for gourds and pumpkins from God, when you should be asking for pure love and pure knowledge to dawn within every heart.- Ramakrishna

Each year, the Great Pumpkin rises out of the pumpkin patch that he thinks is the most sincere. He’s gotta pick this one. He’s got to. I don’t see how a pumpkin patch can be more sincere than this one. You can look around and there’s not a sign of hypocrisy. Nothing but sincerity as far as the eye can see.- Charles M. Schulz

Eighteen luscuios scrumpitous flavors, Chocolate,Lime and Cherry Coffee,Pumpkin, Fudge-Banana, Caramel Cream and boysenberry. Rocky Road and Toasted Almond, Butterscotch,Vanilla Dip, Butter Brinkle, Apple Ripple,Coconut,and Mocha Chip, Brandy Peach and Lemon Custard. Each scoop lovely.smooth and round. Tallest cream cone in town lying there on the ground. – Shel Silverstein

Eric followed Vlad Tepes’s stubby finger, identifying me as the future Happy Meal. Then he stared at Dracula, looking up from his kneeling position. I couldn’t read his face at all, and I felt a stirring of fear. What would Charlie Brown have done if the Great Pumpkin wanted to eat the little red-haired girl? – Charlaine Harris

Even the weather seemed to be celebrating; as June approached, the days became cloudless and sultry, and all anybody felt like doing was strolling onto the grounds and flopping down on the grass with several pints of iced pumpkin juice, perhaps playing a casual game of Gobstones or watching the giant squid propel itself dreamily across the surface of the lake. – J. K. Rowling

Even where the land was more receptive, settlers soon learned to take some precautions before planting their vegetables. Maize and pumpkin seeds were soaked in water for several days and then blackened with tar before planting – the most effective way to deter rats, mice and birds. Bee Dawson

Every woman needs secrets,’ her mother said with a smile then, her eyes meeting Sally’s in the rearview mirror. ‘Remember that when you’re old like me, pumpkin, because the world has a way of making a woman’s life everyone else’s business–you have to dig out a little place that’s only yours. – J. Courtney Sullivan

‘Good Morning America’ exploited Joan Lunden’s pregnancy, but you won’t see me bringing my babies on the air. The only reason I’m talking about the babies at all is that they’ve been with me on the show since I became pregnant. After a while, I had to acknowledge this pumpkin tummy. – Jane Pauley

He gave me a look sure to put frost on anyone’s pumpkin.- Charlaine Harris

I don’t believe pumpkin pie is even made from pumpkin. I mean, how can something that smells that shitty make a pie so sweet? There’s not enough sugar in the universe. – Lewis Black

I feel like Cinderella sitting in the middle of the road with a pumpkin and a couple of mice, while Prince Charming charges off to rescue some other chick. – Cynthia Hand

I get more out of life just being myself, by just being a human being. Not by being a rock star, not by being whatever. Sometimes I act like a jerk, but I think people respect me for being myself. That’s the ultimate thing about the Smashing Pumpkins. – Billy Corgan

I grew up in the ’80s and ’90s listening to Public Enemy and Mobb Deep and the Smashing Pumpkins. I don’t even know what it was like in the ’60s – I wasn’t alive then – so the Mayer Hawthorne sound is taking what I can learn from the classics, and blending it with my hip-hop DJ and producer background and punk-rock bands that I played in as a kid. – Mayer Hawthorne

I haven’t taken my Christmas lights down. They look so nice on the pumpkin. – Winston Spear

I idolised bands like Pearl Jam and Smashing Pumpkins, who wanted to reach as many people as they could. Nate Ruess

I kept as still as I could. Nothing happened. I did not expect anything to happen. I was something that lay under the sun and felt it, like the pumpkins, and I did not want to be anything more. I was entirely happy. Perhaps we feel like that when we die and become a part of something entire, whether it is sun and air, or goodness and knowledge. At any rate, that is happiness; to be dissolved into something complete and great. When it comes to one, it comes as naturally as sleep. – Willa Cather

I like to make pies. Thats kind of my new obsession – peach, blueberry, apple, strawberry. I make a really good pumpkin pie with real pumpkin. – Morgan Saylor

I lost my virginity to a pumpkin when I was 23. Back then I was convinced I was actually a Vegetable, hell, that’s what the song is about. – Thom Yorke

I love the scents of winter! For me, it’s all about the feeling you get when you smell pumpkin spice, cinnamon, nutmeg, gingerbread and spruce. – Taylor Swift

I love the U.S. We came the first time in 2003, and it seems like we haven’t left since. James Iha from The Smashing Pumpkins came to Stockholm to see one of our shows, and he really fell in love with the band. He said, “I’m going to take you to America, I’m going to release you on my label.” When you’re in your early twenties and you get that kind of opportunity, you just gotta roll with it. – Maja Ivarsson

I mean you know at midnight everything is going to turn to pumpkins and mice; right? But if the evening goes along, I mean, you know, the guys look better all the time, the music sounds better, it’s more and more fun, you think why the hell should I leave at quarter of 12. I’ll leave at two minutes to 12. But the trouble is, there are no clocks on the wall. And everybody thinks they’re going to leave at two minutes to 12. – Warren Buffett

I never wanted to leave the Smashing Pumpkins. That was never the plan. – Billy Corgan

I represent the Democratic wing of the Democratic party. – Paul Wellstone

I saw thousands of pumpkins last night come floating in on the tide, bumping up against the rocks and rolling up on the beaches; it must be Halloween in the sea – Richard Brautigan

I see a girl caught in the remains of a holiday gone bad, with her flesh picked off day after day as the carcass dries out. The knife and fork are abviously middle-class sensibilities. The palm tree is a nice touch. A broken dream,perhaps? Plastic honeymoon, deserted island? Oh, If you put in a slice of pumpkin pie, it could be a desserted island! (Pg 64) -Laurie Halse Anderson

I sort of have a dark, twisted, offbeat way of writing, which I see coming up in my kids. It’s funny, on Halloween, one of my daughters said, “Halloween isn’t supposed to be happy, dad, it’s supposed to be dark. ” No smiling pumpkins at the Sixx household! – Nikki Sixx

I suppose I will die never knowing what pumpkin pie tastes like when you have room for it. – Robert Breault

I think people fetishize glasses in general. You could put glasses on a rotting pumpkin and people would think it was sexy. – Tina Fey

I was never able to get through Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness. I’ve never been able to make it through. And I love the Smashing Pumpkins, they’re one of my favorite bands ever, but I’ve never been able to listen to the whole thing all the way through. – John Wozniak

I went to Floridita on Wardour Street when I was 18. All I could afford was pumpkin soup and a glass of champagne, but it was worth it. – Karen Gillan

I would rather sit on a pumpkin and have it all to myself than be crowded on a velvet cushion. I would rather ride on earth in an ox cart, with a free circulation, than go to heaven in the fancy car of an excursion train and breathe a malaria all the way. Henry David Thoreau

I would rather sit on a pumpkin and have it all to myself, than be crowded on a velvet cushion. – Henry David Thoreau

I’m half-Japanese, so I collect toys, like a Yayoi Kusama stuffed pumpkin. – Nicola Formichetti

I’m not sure I would label it a ‘survivor,'” said Iko, her sensor darkening with disgust. “It looks more like a rotting pumpkin. Marissa Meyer

In November, the smell of food is different. It is an orange smell. A squash and pumpkin smell. It tastes like cinnamon and can fill up a house in the morning, can pull everyone from bed in a fog. Food is better in November than any other time of the year. – Cynthia Rylant

In the lives of children, pumpkins turn into coaches, mice and rats turn into men. When we grow up, we realize it is far more common for men to turn into rats.- Gregory Maguire

Instead of doing cinnamon, nutmeg, and all those baking spices I’ll have one spice that’s for sweets, and that’s pumpkin pie spice. – Sandra Lee

Is there a short-eared koobish, then?’ Mmmyes …’ said J.Lo. ‘But it is technically not really a koobish. Is more alike a kind of singing pumpkin.’ We had conversations like these all the time, where I just eventually gave up. – Adam Rex

It looks more like a rotting pumpkin. – Marissa Meyer

It was time to take the pumpkin out of the pot and eat it. In the final analysis, that was what solved these big problems of life. You could think and think and get nowhere, but you still had to eat your pumpkin. That brought you down to earth. That gave you a reason for going on. Pumpkin. – Alexander McCall Smith

It’s midnight Cinderella, but don’t worry none. Cause I’m Peter the Pumpkin Eater and the party’s just begun. – Garth Brooks

Just wait and see, Charlie Brown. I’ll see the Great Pumpkin. I’ll SEE the Great Pumpkin! Just you wait, Charlie Brown. The Great Pumpkin will appear and I’ll be waiting for him. – Charles M. Schulz

Know what it is to be a child? It is to be something very different from the man of today. It is to have a spirit yet streaming from the waters of Baptism; it is to believe in belief; it is to be so little that elves can reach to whisper in your ear; it is to turn pumpkins into coaches, and mice into horses, lowness into loftiness, and nothing into everything, for each child had its fairy godmother in its soul. – Percy Bysshe Shelley

Lakes, June, Games

Like many indelible family memories, carving a pumpkin begins with someone grabbing a really sharp knife. – Dana Gould

Little brats yellin ‘Trick or Treat’ all through my screen door, When y’all should be at home sleep, Instead of at my front porch 15 deep. The jack o’ lantern came in handy… I can turn my porch light out like I ain’t got no candy. But ain’t that somethin? You buy a Halloween costume and a pumpkin, Almost gave your children a heart attack. It’s a tradition, but who the hell started that? Kam

Miraculously, smoke curled out of his own mouth, his nose, his ears, his eyes, as if his soul had been extinguished within his lungs at the very moment the sweet pumpkin gave up its incensed ghost. – Ray Bradbury

My father played guitar, so I always wanted to play for that reason. But I think the biggest reason was just the ’90s in general – growing up listening to the Smashing Pumpkins, Green Day and bands like that, and going to concerts and thinking it was the coolest thing in the world. – Jack Antonoff

My favorite word is ‘pumpkin.’ You can’t take it seriously. But you can’t ignore it, either. It takes ahold of your head and that’s it. You are a pumpkin. Or you are not. I am. – Harrison Salisbury

My kids just brought home a beautiful pumpkin, but you know what? I’m going to return it because it’s a Democratic pumpkin. It has the orange color of John Kerry’s tan, and the roundness of Teddy Kennedy. – Arnold Schwarzenegger

My most memorable meal is every Thanksgiving. I love the food: The turkey and stuffing; the sweet potatoes and rice, which come from my mother’s Southern heritage; the mashed potatoes, which come from my wife’s Midwestern roots; the Campbell’s green bean casserole; and of course, pumpkin pie. – Douglas Conant

October, baptize me with leaves! Swaddle me in corduroy and nurse me with split pea soup. October, tuck tiny candy bars in my pockets and carve my smile into a thousand pumpkins. O autumn! O teakettle! O grace! – Rainbow Rowell

Of the first achievements of the legislature was to institute a ten-thousand-dollar agricultural fair to show off forty dollars’ worth of pumpkins in – however, the territorial legislature was usually spoken of as the “asylum”. Mark Twain

On the moon we have everything. Lettuce, and pumpkin pie and Amanita phalloides. We have cat-furred plants and horses dancing with their wings. All the locks are solid and tight, and there are no ghosts. Shirley Jackson

Once a pumpkin, Always a pumpkin. – Billy Corgan

Pumpkin pie is a living symbol of mediocrity. The best pumpkin pie you ever ate wasn’t all that much different from the worst pumpkin pie you ever ate. – Garrison Keillor

Pumpkin spice lattes are egg nog for morning people. – John Oliver

Pumpkins are the only living organisms with triangle eyes. – Harland Williams

Raindrops the size of bullets thundered on the castle windows for days on end; the lake rose, the flower beds turned into muddy streams, and Hagrid’s pumpkins swelled to the size of garden sheds. – J. K. Rowling

Severus, please fetch me the strongest truth potion you posess, then go down to the kitchen and bring up the house elf called Winky. Minerva, kindly go down to Hagrids house where you will find a large black dog sitting in the pumpkin patch. Take the dog up to my office, tell him I will be with him shortly, then come back here. J. K. Rowling

She liked anything orange: leaves; some moons; marigolds; chrysanthemums; cheese; pumpkin, both in pie and out; orange juice; marmalade. Orange is bright and demanding. You can’t ignore orange things. She once saw an orange parrot in the pet store and had never wanted anything so much in her life. She would have named it Halloween and fed it butterscotch. Her mother said butterscotch would make a bird sick and, besides, the dog would certainly eat it up. September never spoke to the dog again — on principle. – Catherynne M. Valente

Smashing Pumpkins has never been a band about hit songs. – Billy Corgan

Some people are absolutely funny and you want to wish them Happy Thanksgiving in funniest way possible. Here is the list of Funny Thanksgiving sayings. Just chose the quote you want to wish that person. Vegetables are a must on a diet. I suggest carrot cake, zucchini bread and pumpkin pie. – Jim Davis

Sometimes I think that ideas float through the atmosphere like huge squishy pumpkins, waiting for heads to drop on. – Neil Gaiman

Thanksgiving is a magical time of year when families across the country join together to raise America’s obesity statistics. Personally, I love Thanksgiving traditions: watching football, making pumpkin pie, and saying the magic phrase that sends your aunt storming out of the dining room to sit in her car. – Stephen Colbert

The coach has turned into a pumpkin and the mice have all run away. – Lady Bird Johnson

The first real concert, other than going with my dad to see Three Dog Night, was Smashing Pumpkins and Garbage. I was fourteen or fifteen. I liked Shirley Manson because she reminded me of Annie Lennox. They both have these deep, sexy, powerful alto voices. – Amy Lee

The ideology of the Smashing Pumpkins was ultimately more valuable than the music of the Smashing Pumpkins. That’s what critics can’t put their finger on. – Billy Corgan

The mask can be a limitation, but you just deal with it. You do get superhuman strength and pumpkin bombs and all this other stuff to express yourself with.’ – Willem Dafoe

The mellow sweetness of pumpkin pie off a prison spoon is something you will never forget. – Mitchell Burgess

The near end of the street was rather dark and had mostly vegetable shops. Abundance of vegetables – piles of white and green fennel, like celery, and great sheaves of young, purplish, sea-dust-coloured artichokes . . . long strings of dried figs, mountains of big oranges, scarlet large peppers, a large slice of pumpkin, a great mass of colours and vegetable freshness. . . . D. H. Lawrence

The past was a consumable, subject to the national preference for familiar products. And history, in America, is a dish best served plain. The first course could include a dollop of Italian in 1492, but not Spanish spice or French sauce or too much Indian corn. Nothing too filling or fancy ahead of the turkey and pumpkin pie, just the way Grandma used to cook it. – Tony Horwitz

The Pumpkins love rock-and-roll, we absolutely love it, but we also think it’s a flatulent, ego-serving kiddie playground. You can have your cake and eat it too. – Billy Corgan

The Smashing Pumpkins was never meant to be a small band. It was going to either be a big band, or a no band. – Billy Corgan

The tree of nonsense is watered with error, and from its branches swing the pumpkins of disaster. – Nick Harkaway

The wind outside nested in each tree, prowled the sidewalks in invisible treads like unseen cats. Tom Skelton shivered. Anyone could see that the wind was a special wind this night, and the darkness took on a special feel because it was All Hallows’ Eve. Everything seemed cut from soft black velvet or gold or orange velvet. Smoke panted up out of a thousand chimneys like the plumes of funeral parades. From kitchen windows drifted two pumpkin smells: gourds being cut, pies being baked. – Ray Bradbury

The word ‘vegetable’ has no precise botanical meaning in reference to food plants, and we find that almost all parts of plants have been employed as vegetables – roots (carrot and beet), stems (Irish potato and asparagus), leaves (spinach and lettuce), leaf stalk (celery and Swiss chard), bracts (globe artichoke), flower stalks and buds (broccoli and cauliflower), fruits (tomato and squash), seeds (beans), and even the petals (Yucca and pumpkin).Charles Heiser

There are three things I have learned never to discuss with people…religion, politics and the Great Pumpkin! – Charles M. Schulz

This year I invested in pumpkins. They’ve been going up the whole month of October and I got a feeling they’re going to peak right around January. Then bang! That’s when I’ll cash in. – Homer

To be a textual critic requires aptitude for thinking and willingness to think; and though it also requires other things, those things are supplements and cannot be substitutes. Knowledge is good, method is good, but one thing beyond all others is necessary; and that is to have a head, not a pumpkin, on your shoulders and brains, not pudding, in your head. A. E. Housman

Way out in the country tonight he could smell the pumpkins ripening toward the knife and the triangle eye and the singeing candle. – Ray Bradbury

We fancy men are individuals; so are pumpkins; but every pumpkin in the field goes through every point of pumpkin history. – Ralph Waldo Emerson

Well, there doesn’t seem anything else for an ex-President to do but to go into the country and raise big pumpkins. – Chester A. Arthur

What moistens the lip and what brightens the eye? What calls back the past like the rich pumpkin pie? – John Greenleaf Whittier

What she did have were Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans, Drooble’s Best Blowing Gum, Chocolate Frogs, Pumpkin Pasties, Cauldron Cakes, Licorice Wands, and a number of other strange things Harry had never seen in his life. – J. K. Rowling

When I had a job catering, I catered a wedding for the Smashing Pumpkins bassist in Indiana. And I served Billy Corgan shrimp off a tray. – Amy Poehler

When I lived in New York, there wasn’t as much TV or film around. I got asked to do a couple of indie films, just based on me being from The Smashing Pumpkins and A Perfect Circle. I did a couple of indie movies from Japan and one from Canada, and I thought it was an exciting, fun thing to do. I had a great time doing it, it was just that, in New York, there really wasn’t as much. My studio in New York closed, so I moved out to L.A. and just started looking into composing as another thing to do, as a musician. I like it a lot. It’s fun and it’s a different way of thinking about music. James Iha

When I was a kid, Halloween was strictly a starchy-vegetable-only holiday, with pumpkins and Indian corn on the front stoop; there was nothing electric, nothing inflatable, nothing with latex membranes or strobes. – Susan Orlean

When the Lord starts out to make an oak tree, he takes a hundred years to do it in, but he can make a pumpkin in 90 days. More or less life is like that. We must choose whether we desire to become and oak tree or a pumpkin. – Sterling W Sill

When white men first effect contact with some unspoilt race of savages, they offer them all kinds of benefits, from the light of the gospel to pumpkin pie. These, however, much as we may regret it, most savages receive with indifference. What they really value among the gifts that we bring to them is intoxicating liquor which enables them, for the first time in their lives, to have the illusion for a few brief moments that it is better to be alive than dead. – Bertrand Russell

Who are you writing to, Linus?” “This is the time of year to write to the Great Pumpkin. On Halloween Night, the Great Pumpkin rises out of his pumpkin patch and flies through the air with his bag of toys for all the children!” “You must be crazy! When are you going to stop believing in something that isn’t true?” “When *you* stop believing in that fellow with a red suit and the white beard who goes, ‘Ho, ho, ho!'” “We’re obviously separated by denominational differences. – Charles M. Schulz

Why are terms of endearment always food? Honey, cookie, sugar, pumpkin. Its not like caring about someone is enough to actually sustain you. – Jodi Picoult

With the garden I planted for the Reina Sofia, each plant related to different celebrations along the calendar – Christmas with evergreen trees, Valentine’s Day with roses, Halloween with pumpkins. All these symbols are so culturally loaded, but they are organic living entities – just like the fish in the tanks. They grow on their own. The symbolic ecosystem is growing without a narrative anymore. It’s a physical and mental landscape.- Pierre Huyghe

Women are like pumpkins; you search and search for the perfect one, bring it home, and the next thing you know, you’re looking for a knife. – Dana Gould

You could hollow out a big pumpkin and wear it on your head for the entire week of your birthday. This will allow you to get in touch with your Halloween emotions.- Jade Puget

You will never see the four original Pumpkins on stage ever again, unless it’s a Hall of Fame thing. But you would never see a tour. There’s so much damage, there’s no way. – Billy Corgan

#halloween costume

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equitiesstocks · 5 years ago