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garrettwattsaesthetics · 7 years ago

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Queen Mary

Chapter 3/?

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Section Title: “Jeep Ride”

Pairings: Garrett/Reader, Shane/Ryland

Warning: mild swearing

Word Count: 1,044

Prompt: Garrett/Reader in the entire Queen Mary series

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Last time in “Queen Mary”:

“I love you more,” You mumbled into his shirt.

Clapping broke your moment and you heard Shane announce, “Alright squad!”

You sighed into Garrett’s shoulder and reluctantly you both stood to join them in the kitchen.

Now:

Ryland added that Shane’s mother could luckily take care of the animals and figured that you would all take the new G-Wagon to get there. Garrett gasped, “We get to ride in the G?”

He was such a small child sometimes, but you loved that about him.

Shane proceeded to express how they went about the purchase of the new G while everyone else prepared to leave. Upon the announcement and per Shane’s request everyone left the house and headed towards the cars.

“I really don’t like how it looks next to my Jeep,” Shane sighed and everyone joined in admiring it.

“I wonder what it would look like next to my car,” Garrett chuckled and just imagining it made you feel bad.

To you, Garrett deserved the absolute best. Maybe one day you would get him a G wagon, but for now the car worked just fine, most of the time.

“Wait— There’s only five seats,” you stated, feeling a sudden dread of being unwelcome wash over you.

“Oh-!” Shane started recounting the amount of people here, “We’ll take both vehicles and meet up?”

“Sure,” Garrett shrugged, “Who’s going where?”

“You and Y/N can have the Jeep,” Morgan suggested, desperate to ride in the G wagon.

Garrett rolled his eyes as Shane handed him the keys. Everyone proceeded to file into their respective vehicles, albeit with Shane struggling to keep Cheeto calm. You sat in the passenger seat next to Garrett. He smiled sympathetically at you, “Sorry that we got the smelly car.”

“As long as we’re in the same car, it’s fine,” You returned the smile with sweeter overtones, “But the G would’ve been nice.”

He appreciated the honesty and acknowledged it with a chuckle before placing a hand on your thigh. You flushed at first, but soon he moved his hand to the head rest in order to back out.

Following the others, you soon caught yourself deep in thought staring out of the window. It was a nice day and everything was going great so far. You read a sign and realized that you had nearly arrived, so you decided to break the peaceful silence, “Sorry for spacing out.”

He shrugged with a gentle laugh, “It’s no big deal. You’re cute when you’re deep in thought.”

You couldn’t help but smile and he returned it. Normally, you spent your trips staring into nothing, but looking at Garrett when he is driving made you wish you had faced the other way. As much as you wanted to make a comment and fluster him, you couldn’t seeing as you had all arrived at Shane’s mother’s house.

He leaned over and quickly pecked your lips before opening his door and meeting up with the others. You took a deep breath and then followed him.

Shane was shouting something about Cheeto by the time you made it over. Garrett had already gone inside so you stayed out here for a while.

“He scratched the seats,” Shane muttered to the camera. You gasped and checked the scratches out, “Ryland is going to kill you.”

He paused and then smiled mischievously, “Then I’ll get to haunt the G!”

You and Andrew laughed before being cut off by the racket inside. “What is going on in there?” Shane asked to no one in particular, before leading the small group inside.

You knew it was Garrett, but walking inside and seeing him giggling while surrounded by dogs made your heart soar.

The small corgi had been standing on the table to reach him was the only one that hadn’t left to greet you upon your entrance.

“Let me drink my coffee,” he laughed, trying to take a drink. It was only a moment before the dog slobbered on him, “Oh, ew!”

Andrew walked away to film Shane talking about a balloon while you helped Garrett with his drinking and wiping up the slobber.

You both joined them shortly after and Garrett immediately headed for the balloon, “How many of these do you think it would take to get to outer space?”

Shane rolled his eyes and you laughed as he attempted to place the balloon underneath himself and float away.

“So where are you guys off to? Is there a haunted hotel near where we live?” His mother prompted, interrupting the shenanigans.

“We’re going to get dragged by demons,” Morgan answered, to which everyone besides his mom had accepted.

“We’re going to the Queen Mary,” Shane clarified.

His mother let out a prolonged gasp and everyone in the room burst into laughter, “I’ve heard, like, crazy stuff.”

“Woah, is this a Nickelodeon movie?” Garrett said, snaking an arm around your waist.

Other jokes were exchanged, but soon you all prepared to leave in order to make it to the boat in a timely fashion.

“Morgan is demoted to the Jeep for spilling coffee,” Shane announced, brushing her off to the side and sitting in the front of the G wagon. He then gestured to you and Garrett and continued his thought, “Unless you guys had something else planned.” With a wink he shut the door.

You looked at Garrett, who had already shrugged it off and was walking to the Jeep. Morgan followed you and you took your previous seats.

“Hey, honey, can you text Shane for me, really quickly?” He asked, pulling his seatbelt down swiftly.

Morgan scoffed at his choice of pet names and you simply replied, “Yeah, sure. What about?”

“Snacks,” was all he needed to say, which he did without hesitation.

“Ooh, yes,” Morgan agreed passionately before adjusting in her seat to be leaning forward more.

“Cheez-its,” Garrett suggested.

Morgan was again in total agreement and they continued to converse about snacks and snack-based stories.

“Shane said we’d pull over sometime soon for snacks,” You announced.

“I’m the whole snack,” Morgan joked, and after a fit of laughter she added, “Not really, I’m the whole damn meal.”

“Shit, Morgan,” Garrett fake gasped.

Tag List:

@your-not-invisible-to-me

#garrett watts #the queen mary #queen mary #the queen mary | chapter 3 #chapter 3 #writing #garrett x reader #garrett watts x reader #shyland #shane dawson x ryland adams #shane x ryland #shane dawson #ryland adams #morgan adams #teresa yaw #andrew siwicki #may 2018 #spooky boys

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blindrapture · 5 years ago

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The Mookse and the Gripes.

Let’s read a story, shall we? I’ll put it under a Read More, because I don’t know if I want to drive everyone crazy.

But all those who click the Read More? You’re gonna read a story from Finnegans Wake. This story is but one of two that Shaun includes in his multi-part answer to the eleventh question he heard on the radio, the quiz as a whole constituting the sixth chapter in the first main division of the Wake. The question, as best as I can tell, asks Shaun whether he would care to give money to a beggar. His reply, unlike the replies to literally any of the other questions in the quiz, is extremely defensive. He composes dozens of paragraphs of academic language, qualifying his position again and again, talking down on those who pose the question to him, and then is like “because I don’t think you’ll understand my answer so far, let me really dumb this down, I’ll tell you a fable.” (Then after the fable, he has several more paragraphs talking about the way society works and telling another story altogether before just kinda ending his answer.)

This is that fable. It summarizes Shaun’s perspective on society as a privileged bothsider very well, while also covering some real religious history. And it is one of the easiest parts of the Wake to follow.

Good luck. :D

The Mookse and The Gripes.

Gentes and laitymen, fullstoppers and semicolonials, hybreds and lubberds!

Eins within a space and a wearywide space it wast ere wohned a Mookse. The onesomeness wast alltolonely, archunsitslike, broady oval, and a Mookse he would a walking go (My hood! cries Antony Romeo), so one grandsumer evening, after a great morning and his good supper of gammon and spittish, having flabelled his eyes, pilleoled his nostrils, vacticanated his ears and palliumed his throats, he put on his impermeable, seized his impugnable, harped on his crown and stepped out of his immobile De Rure Albo (socolled becauld it was chalkfull of masterplasters and had borgeously letout gardens strown with cascadas, pintacostecas, horthoducts and currycombs) and set off from Ludstown a spasso to see how badness was badness in the weirdest of all pensible ways.

As he set off with his father’s sword, his lancia spezzata, he was girded on, and with that between his legs and his tarkeels, our once in only Bragspear, he clanked, to my clinking, from veetoes to threetop, every inch of an immortal.

He had not walked over a pentiadpair of parsecs from his azylium when at the turning of the Shinshone Lanteran near Saint Bowery’s-without-his-Walls he came (secunding to the one one oneth of the propecies, Amnis Limina Permanent) upon the most unconsciously boggylooking stream he ever locked his eyes with. Out of the colliens it took a rise by daubing itself Ninon. It looked little and it smelt of brown and it thought in narrows and it talked showshallow. And as it rinn it dribbled like any lively purliteasy: My, my, my! Me and me! Little down dream don’t I love thee!

And, I declare, what was there on the yonder bank of the stream that would be a river, parched on a limb of the olum, bolt downright, but the Gripes? And no doubt he was fit to be dried for why had he not been having the juice of his times?

His pips had been neatly all drowned on him; his polps were charging odours every older minute; he was quickly for getting the dresser’s desdaign on the flyleaf of his frons; and he was quietly for giving the bailiff’s distrain on to the bulkside of his cul de Pompe. In all his specious heavings, as be lived by Optimus Maximus, the Mookse had never seen his Dubville brooder-on-low so nigh to a pickle.

Adrian (that was the Mookse now’s assumptinome) stuccstill phiz-à-phiz to the Gripes in an accessit of aurignacian. But Allmookse must to Moodend much as Allrouts, austereways or wastersways, in roaming run through Room. Hic sor a stone, singularly illud, and on hoc stone Seter satt huc sate which it filled quite poposterously and by acclammitation to its fullest justotoryum and whereopum with his unfallable encyclicling upom his alloilable, diupetriark of the wouest, and the athemystsprinkled pederect he always walked with, Deusdedit, cheek by jowel with his frisherman’s blague? Bellua Triumphanes, his everyway addedto wallat’s collectium, for yea longer he lieved yea broader he betaught of it, the fetter, the summe and the haul it cost, he looked the first and last micahlike laicness of Quartus the Fifth and Quintus the Sixth and Sixtus the Seventh giving allnight sitting to Lio the Faultyfindth.

—Good appetite us, sir Mookse! How do you do it? cheeped the Gripes in a wherry whiggy maudelenian woice and the jackasses all within bawl laughed and brayed for his intentions for they knew their sly toad lowry now. I am rarumominum blessed to see you, my dear mouster. Will you not perhopes tell me everything if you are pleased, sanity? All about aulne and lithial and allsall allinall about awn and liseias? Ney?

Think of it! O miserendissimest retempter! A Gripes!

—Rats! bullowed the Mookse most telesphorously, the concionator, and the sissymusses and the zozzymusses in their robenhauses quailed to hear his tardeynois at all for you cannot wake a silken nouse out of a hoarse oar. Blast yourself and your anathomy infairioriboos! No, hang you for an animal rurale! I am superbly in my supremest poncif! Abase you, baldyqueens! Gather behind me, satraps! Rots!

—I am till infinity obliged with you, bowed the Gripes, his whine having gone to his palpruy head. I am still always having a wish on all my extremities. By the watch, what is the time, pace?

Figure it! The pining peever! To a Mookse!

—Ask my index, mund my achilles, swell my obolum, woshup my nase serene, answered the Mookse, rapidly by turning clement, urban, eugenious and celestian in the formose of good grogory humours. Quote awhore? That is quite about what I came on my missions with my intentions laudibiliter to settle with you, barbarousse. Let thor be orlog. Let Pauline be Irene. Let you be Beeton. And let me be Los Angeles. Now measure your length. Now estimate my capacity. Well, sour? Is this space of our couple of hours too dimensional for you, temporiser? Will you give you up? Como? Fuert it?

Sancta Patientia! You should have heard the voice that answered him! Culla vosellina.

—I was just thinkling upon that, swees Mooksey, but, for all the rime on my raisins, if I connow make my submission, I cannos give you up, the Gripes whimpered from nethermost of his wanhope. Ishallassoboundbewilsothoutoosezit. My tumble, loudy bullocker, is my own. My velicity is too fit in one stockend. And my spetial inexshellsis the belowing things ab ove. But I will never be abler to tell Your Honoriousness (here he near lost his limb) though my corked father was bott a pseudowaiter, whose o’cloak you ware.

Incredible! Well, hear the inevitable.

—Your temple, sus in cribro! Semperexcommunicambiambisumers. Tugurios-in-Newrobe or Tukurias-in-Ashies. Novarome, my creature, blievend bleives. My building space in lyonine city is always to let to leonlike Men, the Mookse in a most consistorous allocution pompifically with immediate jurisdiction constantinently concludded (what a crammer for the shapewrucked Gripes!). And I regret to proclaim that it is out of my temporal to help you from being killed by inchies, (what a thrust!), as we first met each other newwhere so airly. (Poor little sowsieved subsquashed Gripes! I begin to feel contemption for him!). My side, thank decretals, is as safe as motherour’s houses, he continued, and I can seen from my holeydome what it is to be wholly sane. Unionjok and be joined to yok! Parysis, tu sais, crucycrooks, belongs to him who parises himself. And there I must leave you subject for the pressing. I can prove that against you, weight a momentum, mein goot enemy! or Cospol’s not our star. I bet you this dozen odd. This foluminous dozen odd. Quas primas—but ’tis bitter to compote my knowledge’s fructos of. Tomes.

Elevating, to give peint to his blick, his jewelled pederect to the allmysty cielung, he luckystruck blueild out of a few shouldbe santillants, a cloister of starabouts over Maples, a lucciolys in Teresa street and a stopsign before Sophy Barratt’s, he gaddered togodder the odds docence of his vellumes, gresk, letton and russicruxian, onto the lapse of his prolegs, into umfullth onescuppered, and sat about his widerproof He proved it well whoonearth dry and drysick times, and vremiament, tu cesses, to the extinction of Niklaus altogether (Niklaus Alopysius having been the once Gripes’s popwilled nimbum) by Neuclidius and Inexagoras and Mumfsen and Thumpsem, by Orasmus and by Amenius, by Anacletus the Jew and by Malachy the Augurer and by the Cappon’s collection and after that, with Cheekee’s gelatine and Alldaybrandy’s formolon, he reproved it ehrltogether when not in that order sundering in some different order, alter three thirty and a hundred times by the binomial dioram and the penic walls and the ind, the Inklespill legends and the rure, the rule of the hoop and the blessons of expedience and the jus, the jugicants of Pontius Pilax and all the mummyscrips in Sick Bokes’ Juncroom and the Chapters for the Cunning of the Chapters of the Conning Fox by Tail.

While that Mooksius with preprocession and with proprecession, duplicitly and diplussedly, was promulgating ipsofacts and sadcontras this raskolly Gripos he had allbust seceded in monophysicking his illsobordunates. But asawfulas he had caught his base semenoyous sarchnaktiers to combuccinate upon the silipses of his aspillouts and the acheporeoozers of his haggyown pneumax to synerethetise with the breadchestviousness of his sweeatovular ducose sofarfully the loggerthuds of his sakellaries were fond at variance with the synodals of his somepooliom and his babskissed nepogreasymost got the hoof from his philioquus.

—Efter thousand yaws, O Gripes con my sheepskins, yow will be belined to the world, enscayed Mookse the pius.

—Ofter thousand yores, amsered Gripes the gregary, be the goat of MacHammud’s, yours may be still, O Mookse, more botheared.

—Us shall be chosen as the first of the last by the electress of Vale Hollow, obselved the Mookse nobily, for par the unicum of Elelijiacks, Us am in Our stabulary and that is what Ruby and Roby fall for, blissim.

The Pills, the Nasal Wash (Yardly’s), the Army Man Cut, as british as bondstrict and as straightcut as when that brokenarched traveller from Nuzuland . . .

—Wee, cumfused the Gripes limply, shall not even be the last of the first, wee hope, when oust are visitated by the Veiled Horror. And, he added: Mee are relying entirely, see the fortethurd of Elissabed, on the weightiness of mear’s breath. Puffut!

Unsightbared embouscher, relentless foe to social and business succes! (Hourihaleine) It might have been a happy evening but . . .

And they viterberated each other, canis et coluber with the wildest ever wielded since Tarriestinus lashed Pissasphaltium.

—Unuchorn!

—Ungulant!

—Uvuloid!

—Uskybeak!

And bullfolly answered volleyball.

Nuvoletta in her lightdress, spunn of sisteen shimmers, was looking down on them, leaning over the bannistars and listening all she childishly could. How she was brightened when Shouldrups in his glaubering hochskied his welkinstuck and how she was overclused when Kneesknobs on his zwivvel was makeacting such a paulse of himshelp! She was alone. All her nubied companions were asleeping with the squirrels. Their mivver, Mrs Moonan, was off in the Fuerst quarter scrubbing the backsteps of Number 28. Fuvver, that Skand, he was up in Norwood’s sokaparlour, eating oceans of Voking’s Blemish. Nuvoletta listened as she reflected herself, though the heavenly one with his constellatria and his emanations stood between, and she tried all she tried to make the Mookse look up at her (but he was fore too adiaptotously farseeing) and to make the Gripes hear how coy she could be (though he was much too schystimatically auricular about his ens to heed her) but it was all mild’s vapour moist. Not even her feignt reflection, Nuvoluccia, could they toke their gnoses off for their minds with intrepifide fate and bungless curiasity, were conclaved with Heliogobbleus and Commodus and Enobarbarus and whatever the coordinal dickens they did as their damprauch of papyrs and buchstubs said. As if that was their spiration! As if theirs could duiparate her queendim! As if she would be third perty to search on search proceedings! She tried all the winsome wonsome ways her four winds had taught her. She tossed her sfumastelliacinous hair like le princesse de la Petite Bretagne and she rounded her mignons arms like Mrs Cornwallis-West and she smiled over herself like the beauty of the image of the pose of the daughter of the queen of the Emperour of Irelande and she sighed after herself as were she born to bride with Tristis Tristior Tristissimus. But, sweet madonine, she might fair as well have carried her daisy’s worth to Florida. For the Mookse, a dogmad Accanite, were not amoosed and the Gripes, a dubliboused Catalick, wis pinefully obliviscent.

I see, she sighed. There are menner.

The siss of the whisp of the sigh of the softzing at the stir of the ver grose O arundo of a long one in midias reeds: and shades began to glidder along the banks, greepsing, greepsing, duusk unto duusk, and it was as glooming as gloaming could be in the waste of all peacable worlds. Metamnisia was allsoonome coloroform brune; citherior spiane an eaulande, innemorous and unnumerose. The Mookse had a sound eyes right but he could not all hear. The Gripes had light ears left yet he could but ill see. He ceased. And he ceased, tung and trit, and it was neversoever so dusk of both of them. But still Moo thought on the deeps of the undths he would profoundth come the morrokse and still Gri feeled of the scripes he would escipe if by grice he had luck enoupes.

Oh, how it was duusk! From Vallee Maraia to Grasyaplaina, dormimust echo! Ah dew! Ah dew! It was so duusk that the tears of night began to fall, first by ones and twos, then by threes and fours, at last by fives and sixes of sevens, for the tired ones were wecking, as we weep now with them. O! O! O! Par la pluie!

Then there came down to the thither bank a woman of no appearance (I believe she was a Black with chills at her feet) and she gathered up his hoariness the Mookse motamourfully where he was spread and carried him away to her invisible dwelling, thats hights, Aquila Rapax, for he was the holy sacred solem and poshup spit of her boshop’s apron. So you see the Mookse he had reason as I knew and you knew and he knew all along. And there came down to the hither bank a woman to all important (though they say that she was comely, spite the cold in her heed) and, for he was as like it as blow it to a hawker’s hank, she plucked down the Gripes, torn panicky autotone, in angeu from his limb and cariad away its beotitubes with her to her unseen shieling, it is, De Rore Coeli. And so the poor Gripes got wrong; for that is always how a Gripes is, always was and always will.be. And it was never so thoughtful of either of them. And there were left now an only elmtree and but a stone. Polled with pietrous, Sierre but saule. O! Yes! And Nuvoletta, a lass.

Then Nuvoletta reflected for the last time in her little long life and she made up all her myriads of drifting minds in one. She cancelled all her engauzements. She climbed over the bannistars; she gave a childy cloudy cry: Nuée! Nuée! A lightdress fluttered. She was gone. And into the river that had been a stream (for a thousand of tears had gone eon her and come on her and she was stout and struck on dancing and her muddied name was Missisliffi) there fell a tear, a singult tear, the loveliest of all tears (I mean for those crylove fables fans who are ‘keen’ on the prettypretty commonface sort of thing you meet by hopeharrods) for it was a leaptear. But the river tripped on her by and by, lapping as though her heart was brook: Why, why, why! Weh, O weh! I’se so silly to be flowing but I no canna stay!

#finnegans wake

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