#which i heard were cajon | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

legolaslovely · 5 years ago

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A/N: Hello friends! Happy happy Fili Friday! I am very excited to share this story based on this ask that took on an insane life of its own! Thank you to the anon for sending the lovely idea in and for giving me permission to run with it! The Fili heart wants what the Fili heart wants. This is based on this video = the dance scene from Tangled! I listened to this while writing if anyone wants to know! It’s fun! Listen guys, my impatient ass is counting this as a slow burn because the end is just so comfortinggggggg and fluffffyyyyyy so I hope you guys enjoy! Thanks for reading!

Pairing: Fili x Reader

Word Count: 4,270

Warnings: ... none?

Summary: Based on an ask! I’m not telling any more!

Link to the photoset below

It was only after months of rough traveling that Thorin decided to stop and spend a full day and night in a village along the route of the quest to Erebor. This much needed break came just in time for you, and more specifically your pack, which had continued to wear with every step you took and at this point, started to look as though a warg’s teeth had got a hold of it. You had been waddling around with its one serviceable strap slung over your shoulder for days and if you didn’t buy at least a replacement strap soon, you were sure you’d end up shrinking- hunched to half your size by the journey’s end.

Luckily, though this village was quite small, it did have a rather extensive market. As soon as Thorin made clear the details of the company’s overnight plans, you set out to comb through the many tents in the square. Most of the crafters fawned over the princes and king, leaving you free to browse without distractions. It didn’t take long for you to find a leather shop that boasted gorgeous weaponry, armor and tools.

You were running your fingers over a strong leather strap, enjoying the geometric designs so common in classic dwarvish craftsmanship, when Fíli spoke from just over your shoulder.

“Will this do? I know it’s a bit larger than the one you have, but I think it will serve you well.”

The pack he was holding was extremely fashionable and even from the outside, it was clearly quite handy. Though it was currently empty, the sturdy leather still held it’s strong boxy shape. From the top and sides fell straps and hooks for your bedroll, canteens, weapons, and tools and what’s more, the design almost perfectly matched the strap you’d been admiring. The leather was tastefully embroidered and stamped with sharp triangles that weaved and folded into one another to wrap all around the body of the pack. Such a commendable creation was overwhelming and left you silent.

“I should have asked first,” he said. “I’m sure I can return this one and we-you can pick out one you’d like. I shouldn’t have-”

“Fíli,” you said, taking the pack from him. Despite its size, it was light in your hand. “It’s beautiful. But I’m sure it was expensive- I mean, not that you don’t have the... I just... you didn’t have to- oh! I’ll pay you back. Here.”

You wanted to crawl into a whole. Who were you to talk money with the prince of Durin’s Folk? All the same, you were sure he expected you to pay for it. Maybe he’d merely grabbed the best pack for you before it was gone, bought by someone else. He was simply doing you a favor, watching out for you as company members do. You dug into your ripped pack for your coin purse, though you knew you wouldn’t have enough money. Mortification was rolling through you and if you allowed it, tears could have gathered in your eyes.

Then a hand covered yours.

“No, (Y/N). I don’t want anything from you. This is a gift. Come over here, we’ll transfer your things.” He led you over to a bench on the edge of the square.

“I can’t accept such a thing,” you said, sputtering. “I- really, this is too much-”

He took your torn pack from your shoulder and set it open on the ground before he moved to the new, pristine one, holding it still for you. “(Y/N), you need a good pack. We still have a long journey ahead of us.”

“I can go buy one. Actually, I was just going to buy a new strap to mend this one-”

“(Y/N),” he said, lifting your fallen chin with gentle fingers. “Please accept my gift, hm? I want to do this for you.”

“Thank you,” you nodded, accidentally shaking away his touch.

He hummed and gave you the soft smile he so often sent your way. As you transferred your belongings into your new pack, you marveled at the many pockets and layers you found inside. There was a place for everything you’d brought with you- food, bathing and eating utensils, blade sharpening and repair tools. Apparently, Fíli was entertained by your ogling and when you looked up to the sound of his low chuckle, he was shaking his head at you. But you knew it was fond.

“I suppose I’ll see you at the inn then,” he said. “I have a few more things to look for in the market, so-”

“May I come with you?” you asked. “Everyone else is driving me mad. Even your brother is haggling with the archery merchant! I can’t bear it.”

“Of course,” he said, holding a hand out to you and lifting you to your feet. “Did you hear Dwalin at the ax vendor earlier?”

“ ‘What am I meant to do with this blade? Do they think I have time to hack through a warg’s leg?’ ” you mocked.

“I said it would be a good challenge for him,” Fíli said, leading the way back to the tents.

“What did he say to that?”

He leaned to your ear. “You don’t want to know.”

As Fíli studied the tables of the shops, running hardened fingers over knitted scarves, lifting bars of soap to his nose for a sniff, taking in the shine of intricately decorated blades, your attention was pulled to the other end of the market. A fiddle in the corner slowly creaked into tune before erupting into a jig that was wealthily accompanied by a lute, a whistle, and a cajon drum. The shoppers barely paid the musicians any attention, but your feet couldn’t help but tap to the deep thumping of the hand drum.

The music reminded you of home, but instead of sending you into a bout of homesick blues, the tune lifted your spirits and brought back fond memories of dancing around a crackling fire during crisp summer nights. Even the dance steps that you hadn’t performed in years came flooding back to your mind and soon, your feet. Heel, toe, hop ‘n turn. Kick, ball change, circle round. Not a soul in the small village’s plaza around you seemed at all moved by the music and though you itched to dance, you turned your bopping head back to the tables.

It seemed your yearning to enjoy the music hadn’t gone unnoticed.

You let out a surprised noise when an arm wrapped around your waist and a hand yanked you to spin around. Only when the tents stopped revolving around you were you able to focus on a bright grin and messy, brown hair.

“Kíli!”

“I know you want to dance, lass. Come on.”

He led you, hopping in time with the speeding fiddle, to the center of the square. Together you circled through the gathering crowd with precision and speed like a pair of bumblebees through a lush garden.

“Kíli!” You heard Fíli’s voice. “Not so fast!”

But Kíli spun you around him, yelling, “She doesn’t need your protection all the time, brother!”

You laughed- even now the brothers bickered! But it added to your amusement. However, as Kíli lost himself in the fun, he also led you too close to the market tables and captivated audience members and you soon wished Kíli would heed his brother’s advice.

You squeaked his name in fear as the fabric of your trousers caught on the corner of a display table of glass trinkets. It was clear he paid your worries no mind. Instead of slowing his lead, he chuckled lowly in return and tightened his grip on you, balling your tunic in his fist before he whirled you around him once more.

“I gotcha, (Y/N),” he said.

Then the music shifted. You raced out of his arms into the open, unobstructed space where he could stand across from you like an opponent ready to lunge.

“I love this song!” you cried as the fiddle weaved into a familiar tune- one that filled your heart with melodies and memories of adolescence. Your nerves seemed to disappear, as did the years since you’d learned the traditional dance of the dwarvish culture, and every nuance of the jig came flooding back to your memory.

“Kíli! Remember the steps?” you asked as you hopped around him, hands on your hips and head turning side to side.

“Not a bit!” he said, attempting to keep up with you anyway.

Your sight grew blurry with laughter as you watched his stuttering feet, but when you looked up, you saw you weren’t alone in the dance. Others from the village had joined in. You were now surrounded by a hive of hoofers, some forming graceful and evolving formations, others giggling and stepping on unsuspecting toes. All was just as it used to be when you celebrated feast days in your own home town.

The musicians played louder and faster, encouraged by the participation and indulgence they saw before them. The sound of echoing claps brought your attention to the edge of the crowd while you continued your dance with the well known steps. There, Gandalf was grinning at you, lifting his hands to applaud you. Beneath him stood Bilbo, hairy feet tapping, hopping, and stepping in place so as not to get trampled by the sturdy, and quite passionate dwarves. Even Thorin and Dwalin seemed a bit beguiled, but as your head swiveled round you couldn’t find the dwarf you were looking for.

You leapt on top of the large stone fountain in the center of the square, skittering around its edge and looking for a golden head of hair. But it was nowhere to be found. Even your frolicing heart sank a bit at the thought of Fíli missing this fun.

“Kíli!” you cried as he bounced past. “Where’s your brother?”

He gave no answer and instead knocked at the back of your knees, plucking your legs out from under you. You fell from the high fountain, too startled to scream, but not too surprised to give Kíli a good smack on the shoulder when he caught you. Through the village plaza he raced, carrying you in his arms like a dangerous bird through the whirlpool of bees. You hid your face in his vest as he narrowly missed a few of the villagers, only opening your eyes when he set you safely on the ground. Before you, Thorin and Dwalin shook their heads, sporting deep smirks and cocked brows.

Lucky for Kíli, by the time you turned around to catch him, he had vanished, safely hidden in the crowd of dancing dwarves. A bright pat pat came to your ears, sounding just over the music and when realization of its origin dawned over you, you grinned. “Are those… tapping toes I see, Mister Dwalin?”

Dwalin shared a look with Thorin. “I see no such thing, little lass.”

“Come and dance,” you said. You took his hand, finding it before it could disappear behind his back, and pulled. He didn’t budge.

“Find yourself a different dance partner, (Y/N). There are many here,” he said, sliding his hand from your grasp.

“Come now, Mister Dwalin,” you said. There was a twinkle in your eye that he recognized. It seemed you had learned a few things from Kíli in your weeks of traveling together at the company’s caboose. “Don’t be boring.”

“Oh, I’m boring, am I?”

“Yes!”

You had no time to run from him. One moment you were standing firm on the ground, the next you were in his arms being spun like the wheel of a wagon. The sky reeled, puffy clouds blurring into long white circles and dancing dwarves into blears and blobs of color. You screwed your eyes shut to save your frenzied mind, but it plainly made the dizzying effect worse.

“Dwalin!”

You screamed over the music, but the sound seemed to evaporate into the swirling air around you. Even when your feet eventually touched the flat ground, you were still twirled by your hands, shoulders, and waist. Just when the tormentor had finally relented, a familiar, smooth voice distracted you just enough for one foot to trip over the other and send you hurdling to the ground. Luckily, someone caught you.

“Are you all right?”

You opened your eyes to a blur of gold. It was Fíli who had caught you and you now lay in his able arms, helpless to stand.

“I called Dwalin boring.”

“Oh, not your smartest idea, lass,” Fíli said, slowly moving you upright.

You held his shoulders as your head continued to spin. “I think I may need a moment,” you said.

Fíli chuckled. “Let’s go sit, hm?” He led you to the fountain, watching just one of your wobbly steps before deciding to lift you in his arms once more and carry you to the stone seat. It was a smooth wave of movement you didn’t at all mind enduring. Once sat, he smoothed your hair behind your ear, marveling at your lips that were still grinning, even as you rocked back and forth in the aftermath of Dwalin’s “dancing.”

“Where were you?” you asked him.

“Why? Did you want a better dance partner than Kíli?” he asked. You just saw his wink.

“Your brother is a good dancer!” you said with a slap to his shoulder. “He just dances to his own beat.”

Presently, Kíli was arm in arm with Bofur, skipping and hopping through the other dancers with precious little grace. You waved as they passed. Bofur barely made it past the fountain with Kíli’s dangerous lead. You couldn’t help but laugh.

“If you can call that dancing,” Fíli chuckled. His form had finally stopped swaying in your vision. “When you can stand on your own again, I’ll have to show you how it’s really done.”

You nudged his shoulder with yours. “Why do you think I was looking for you in the first place?”

As the afternoon passed, other members of the company shopped through the market with notably lifted spirits. However, as the sun slid through the sky, it stretched gangly shadows of the pair who still made their perch on the fountain in the middle of the village plaza. Though you protested, sure Fíli had many other things to do rather than sit and listen to the music with you, he remained by your side, clapping to the beat as his feet collided with your swaying boots every once in a while.

It wasn’t until the sun had completely disappeared behind the horizon that Kíli ran back into the square calling for his brother.

“Fíli! Have either of you moved all afternoon? We’ve been waiting for you at the inn.”

Fíli sputtered and stood, pulling you to your feet. “No, I lost track of time.” He sandwiched you between him and his brother as you followed Kíli through the small streets to the inn. A heavy hand on your new pack kept you close when dwarves filled some especially crowded pathways.

When the inn came into view on the far end of the lane Kíli turned over his shoulder and said, “There are taverns full of beer and food all over this village and you two spend the entire day sitting on a rock in the sun!”

You shook your head. “I would much rather spend the day outside in the sunshine than in a dark bar, getting a sore belly from too much ale and smelly dwarves.”

Kíli, of course, had something to say about your reaction but you didn’t hear his reply. You were too distracted by Fíli leaning to your ear and running his fingers past your hand.

“And I’d much rather spend the day with you than anyone else,” Fíli said.

Before you could discern his exact meaning, his hand found your back and led you through the door to the tavern. The moment you stepped through the threshold of the bar, he seemed to disappear, joining his uncle and helping to make the arrangements for the company’s overnight stay.

He stood tall next to Thorin- shoulders back, hands on his belt before one rose to shake that of the inn owner as Thorin dropped a few coins on the counter. Despite the months of travel, his clothes and hair were neat, even shining in the low light of the dark tavern. He turned over his shoulder and immediately found you watching him, giving you a high browed look as if he caught you stealing a treat from the kitchens.

“That’s a nice pack, (Y/N).” Kíli’s voice interrupted your long distance facial feature conversation with Fíli.

You hummed. “Thank you.”

The first thing you did when you reached your private room was bathe. You were given a large tub full of steaming water and fresh soap- no fish, plants, sharp rocks or sweating dwarves in sight. It should have been the most soothing event to occur in the past weeks. However, instead of relaxing and sinking deep into warmth and peace, your mind whirred and your body remained tense. Before the water had even run cool, you leapt out of the tub and dressed to run across the hall.

The hair by your neck was still damp and curling by the time you knocked on Fíli’s door. But it was Kíli who answered. You should have known they’d be sharing a room.

“Is Fíli in here?”

“Yeah, he’s in the bath. You want him?”

“No,” you said, jealousy rising and peaking above even your frustration at your endless jitters. “Will you just tell him I wanted to speak with him?”

“It’s not about the pack, is it?” Kíli asked.

“What? No-”

“Because he just wanted to give you something he knew you needed. It doesn’t even really count! He’s told me how badly he wants to make your gift, but there aren’t exactly any forges he can take advantage of while-”

Fíli’s voice stopped him. “Kíli! Who are you talking to, brother?”

“(Y/N)!” Kíli answered.

“(Y/N), our (Y/N)?” On the other side of the open door, you could hear water slosh onto the floor accompanied by Fíli’s incomprehensible grumbling. Then he peeked around the door with a sheepish smile. You could just see the soaked ends of his hair sending streams of water down his bare chest. “What were you two talking about?”

“The pack-”

“I just wanted to speak with you,” you said over Kíli. “Not right now. Later. When you’re… ready. I’m across the hall.”

Fíli nodded, forcing a smile that looked more like a wince. It didn’t reach his now stormy eyes. “I’ll be over in a minute.”

“Take your time,” you got out as he slammed the door shut.

Before you stepped back into your own room you heard Kíli cry out, “What! What did I do?”

You closed your own door quickly, not wanting to eavesdrop any more. But it didn’t stop you from thinking about what Kíli had said. Had Fíli wanted to make you a pack once Erebor was reclaimed? Why would you need it then? Maybe Thorin was planning to ask you to travel back to Ered Luin once it was safe to lead the people back to the mountain. Imagine a trip free of wargs and orcs, you thought.

You jumped when the door vibrated with his knock.

“Come in, Fíli.”

You had never seen his hair loose and untied before. Its waves fell around his face like sweet rays of sun and the dripping ends left sheer wet clouds on the chest of his tunic. Did Kíli usually braid his hair? Had their mother taught them the traditional styles? Or did Fíli do it himself, never needing to ask for help with something so trivial? You were sure you could manage it. The braids weren’t so intricate and they were similar to yours if you thought about it. Which you often did.

He was looking at you with that “caught ya” grin again. “What did you want to talk about, lass?”

You turned, digging through your pack that was laid out on the bed. “Not so much talk,” you said. “I wanted you to have these.” In your hands sat the strap you had been admiring from the market. While you were alone in the morning, you’d paid to have it fashioned into a scabbard and a matching pair of bracers. It was simply coincidence that the pattern on your new pack happened to match these gifts you’d picked for Fíli. “I saw the engraving and immediately thought you’d like it. I know your bracers were torn by the trolls a few weeks back.”

He looked at you before he took the gifts. You couldn’t quite place his expression, you were sure that even after months of traveling together you’d never seen it before. He flipped the bracers over and could have seen his reflection in the shine of the buckles. They were immaculate and new- obviously made this morning- however they seemed comfortably broken in as if they’d been worn for days previously. He could imagine what custom gifts like these would have cost you.

“I can’t take these.”

You waved his hands away. “Fíli, please accept my gift,” you said, repeating his words from earlier in the day.

He ran his rounded fingertips over the familiar triangular etchings and hummed. “Thank you, (Y/N). They’re perfect.”

“You like them?” you asked. Your nerves were starting to build again, as you took one of the bracers from him. “Are you sure? I was wondering if these straps were long enough. I can go back to the seller in the morning and get them adjusted-”

His hand covered yours. “They’ll fit fine.”

“And you like them? They’ll be of use?”

“I love them.” He set the leather pieces in the seat of a chair by the door. “However, I believe there is still one thing you owe me.” His eyes shined. Mischievous. He too had learned a few things from his little brother.

“Oh?”

You let him lace his fingers in yours and wrap an arm around you. “I never got my dance.”

“Ah,” you said, melting into his embrace. “And I suppose you’ll tell me we don’t need music?”

“You read my mind.” You could just feel his thumb waving back and forth against your tunic as he seemed to tuck you into the crook of his elbow. “And just for you, I’ll go very slow. Can’t have you getting dizzy again.”

“My hero.”

He hummed and held his cheek to yours. His skin was so warm- not from the bath, not from his soft, thick beard blanketing the side of your face, but just from Fíli. He glowed. Finally, you were close enough to feel the beams radiating from him and you couldn’t stop yourself from burrowing into the heat, eyelashes tickling his skin, nose nestling into silky, clean hair. You bathed in his sunlight, blinded to anything other than his arms around you and chest supporting you, his lips caressing the side of your head.

“Dizzy?” he asked.

“A little.”

“Me too.”

He only just rocked you back and forth, barely swaying as if to merely keep up the pretence of dancing. Safe in his arms, he led you along to the melodies of your beating hearts, steady breaths and unspoken confessions. You leaned your head on his shoulder and that tiny movement seemed to break a spell. Fíli’s voice, however, brought a new kind of magic.

“Aren’t you going to ask me what Kíli meant?”

You breathed out a laugh, sending cool air over his neck that made him shiver around you. “I was going to let you tell me when you were ready.”

“(Y/N), I’ve been ready.” You lifted your head, but he tightened his grip on you, keeping you close to him. “The pack was meant to be a courting gift- a proposal. But you deserve much more than that. I want to make something for you with my own hands. Something grand and gorgeous that you could love forever and would possibly begin the greatest adventure of our lives.” He swept tender fingers through your hair and held your cheek, feeling his own warmth still radiating from your skin. “But I don’t know how long it will be before I can do that for you and I don’t want to wait that long. I don’t want to wait another moment, so I’m asking you now. Will you allow me to court you?”

“Yes.” You nodded. “Yes.” You turned your face into his hand and kissed his palm. “But Fíli, of course I want to treasure something you’ve made for me and have it with me always, but what matters to me is being with you. I don’t need gifts. Only you.”

You saw his radiant smile before he pulled you close, pressing his forehead to yours. The tip of his nose nuzzled yours and then settled. The two of you shared the same air for long, peaceful moments, before he went digging into his trouser pocket.

“Wait,” he said, drawing away. He pulled out a hair piece, the one he wore on the bottom of his backmost braid, and held it flat in his palm. “I have this. I can secure a courting braid with it, though it’s a tad unusual.” He took your chin in his fingers, running his thumb back and forth. “It can be a placeholder.”

Pride bubbled in your chest. You kissed him. “A placeholder.”

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#fili friday #fili x reader #fili x dwarf!reader #the hobbit #the hobbit fanfic #the hobbit fanfiction #the hobbit fic #dean o'gorman x reader

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chronic-ghost · 4 years ago

Note

TELL ME ABOUT THE SETHKATE tell me tell me tell me

Remember like 5ever ago when we wrote out all of season 4? So I went ahead and wrote some of it down. This is a portion of the scene where Theresa Roberts, the FBI agent, reveals herself to be Seth and Richie’s long lost mother:

*~*~*

“Who the hell are you? Or maybe, what the hell are you?”

Roberts made a face, her tan skin cracking around the corners of her mouth. She slid her glasses up through her bangs and rubbed her eyes, as if they grew tired of straining so often. “Look, I ain’t a culebra if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“The fucking FBI knows about culebras?” Richie began, but Roberts only waved him silent.

“No, shit for brains, or else every cantina from here to the Yucatan would be shut down and crime-scene-ed the fuck up.”

“So then who are you?” Seth found his voice and leaned forward. He knew in his bones he had come across this woman before, and it was rare Seth Gecko ever forgot a face. But in his memory, this one was blurred, marred, as though it was a picture that had been dropped in a house fire. And yet it was there, blackened on the edges of his conscious.

“And no tricks, goddamn it. You be straight with us.” Richie pushed the barrel even closer.

But still, the agent remained unphased. She only sighed, staring into the bottom of her now empty beer glass, and the dark lines of her eyes stood out in sharp relief. “You’re not going to like it.”

“How ‘bout you leave that up for us to decide?” Seth hissed.

As though his words had shaken her from a distant reality, the woman’s eyes rose up and fell on Richie. Delicately, she reached forward and put two hands around his, the one holding the gun. He jerked once, but froze when the two made eye contact.

“Lady— I swear—,” Seth cocked his gun.

“Oh, hush, you big bad wolf.” Roberts chuckled and squeezed Richie’s hand. His twisted mouth denounced horror, but his eyes— he was being led again. She then looked at Seth and the familiarity in her smile caught his next string of threatening vulgarity in his throat. “There’s no easy way to say this, so I’m just gonna. Richie. Seth. I’m your mama, and some bad shit is on its way, and you need my help.”

Seth blinked twice before something resembling a coherent sentence tumbled its way into his mouth. “Well, that’s a first, I’ll give it to you . . .”

Roberts frowned. “I’m not lying, Seth. It’s true. I know I haven’t been what you boys need, but I promise, I’m here to fix things.”

What was rapidly replacing the fuzzy white space in his brain resembled the sound of bones cracking, teeth grinding, a painful snap somewhere in your chest. He chuckled, humorless. “Wow. Whoever sent you must have some giant cajones. I’ve heard of a long con, but this—,”

“I am not lying.” The edge to her gaze returned and she turned more towards him than Richie. “Eddie always said you were more stubborn than rough side of jack ass—,”

“Oh, you’re talking to Uncle Eddie now?” Rage was bubbling up through his chest. Something black and hot, tasting of hatred, curdled in him. “Hate to break it to you, but good ol’ Uncle Ed’s been dead for quite a while now. Shoulda done your homework on that one.”

“Seth—,”

“I know this is hard to get through that thick skull of yours— which you got from my side of the family— but you have to trust me. I left for a good reason and now I’m trying to help you.”

Seth heard his teeth grind together. “And what reason was that? To join the fucking FBI?”

“Seth—,”

A lance of pain flashed behind her light eyes. “I left to protect you both from what’s coming.”

“Yeah, hell’s coming, and it looks a lot like my bullet and his five little friends—,”

“SETH!”

“What is it, Richard?” He snarled, still not looking away. When his brother didn’t respond, he tore his gaze from the light eyes across from him.

Richard Gecko was at peace. It was a though someone had cracked his chest open and a light so fragile was pouring out of him, it could have turned blood into water. He was still clutching her hand. “Seth, it’s her. It’s really her.”

Theresa Roberts watched Richie with a tender smile. Every ounce of hardness was gone and what was left was a radiance so inviting, it called to a different time, a different place, a different reality than the shreds of memory of a childhood in Kansas City with Ray Gecko as a father.

“That’s it, baby,” she crooned. “Remember who I am.”

They were evaporating. Melting into some effervescent place Seth could not see or reach. His blood pounded in his ears and the finger on the trigger twitched.

“This can’t be you,” he muttered as much to himself as anyone else. “You’re dead—,”

Theresa grinned and her gaze slid across to the other brother, this time her eyes gentle, almost playful. “No, baby boy, I ain’t dead. I ain’t been dead for—,”

CLICK

“You might not be dead right now, but in about two seconds, you could be.” Kate, dressed in dark jeans and a black long sleeve, held the extra pistol in her hands, the barrel pressed sharply into side of Theresa Roberts’ head.

A fourth presence broke the spell, and Seth let out a heavy breath in his chest. “Jesus Christ, Kate, it’s you.”

“Why is the FBI extorting the Gecko brothers?” Kate snapped. “I saw you arrest them. What could you possibly want?”

Roberts only grinned. “And who is this little spitfire you’ve dragged into your illicit operations?”

Kate jabbed the gun forward. “That’s no concern of yours. You guys okay?”

Richie nodded dumbly, still staring at Roberts.

“Kate, it’s not what you think.” Seth’s voice sounded weak, even to his own ears.

“Why are we discussing this? Let’s get out of here.”

Roberts eyebrows raised, her mouth twisting. “Mhmm, your girl means business. I like her.”

Seth was suddenly exhausted. Kate’s arm was straight and sturdy, just like he had shown her. Her dark red hair glowed purple in the dim lights. “This woman isn’t FBI. She isn’t extorting us.”

“She’s our mother.”

Kate blanched. Her eyes flickered between Richie and Seth. Her fingers adjusted and readjusted their grip around the gun.

“What?”

Roberts leaned back, out of the line of the barrel and glanced up at her would-be attacker. “You’re very pretty to be living a life like this. With these two knuckleheads. What, did you lose a bet?”

Her arm tightened again. “You’re going to lose a lot more if you don’t shut the hell up.”

Seth hissed impatiently and stood. He grabbed Kate’s hand and shoved it to the ground, his fingers interlocking with hers around the gun, but he wouldn’t look at her in the eyes. He was already raw. He didn’t want to know what she would find in them. He ignored the rush of heat he felt once again being this close to her, touching her again, unprompted but necessary.

“Richie’s right. This is our mother.”

He had already been standing too close to her for too long. He stepped back, hand extended in mock-welcome. “Kate Fuller, meet Theresa Roberts. FBI agent. Maybe.”

*~*~*

So that was the very end of the snippet that I have. Maybe you write the next part? ;)

#sethkate #fdtd #from dusk til dawn: the series #seth gecko #kate fuller #richie gecko

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pcttrailsidereader · 5 years ago

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By Rees Hughes

I spent a little time thinking about where I was on the PCT 11 years ago . . . that would have been Wednesday, June 3, 2009. I was near the end of a 300-mile long section hike with my nephew, Taylor. The day began at Sulphur Springs Campground and ended some 24 miles away at Messenger Flats Campground, nestled on a forested saddle at some 5,500′. It was an unusual day of Southern California rain with some adrenalin-pumping periods of lightning until the late afternoon when the sun emerged triumphant and the skies cleared. The top photo is from the end of that day. Both my notes and my memory remember this stretch of the PCT as one blessed by a blanket of stately trees.

In late August of that year the Station Fire ignited and over nearly two months incinerated some 160,000 acres much of which was located in the area I walked on June 3rd.

I returned in 2018 and walked from Cajon Pass to Agua Dulce with my long-time hiking partner and co-editor of this website, Howard Shapiro. I was shocked by the devastation we encountered descending to the new Mill Creek Summit Fire Station and off and on to Messenger Flats and beyond. I spoke with an employee at the fire station who reinforced the rumor I had heard that the fire had been started by “witches” who came to the backcountry to perform rituals.

Despite efforts to replant trees across the firescape, the climate had changed such that temperatures had increased enough and precipitation had decreased enough that the seedlings were generally unable to survive. The reality is that this once beautiful stretch of forest will convert to chaparral. The photo below stands in stark contrast to what I had encountered in 2009.

So these days, I treat June 3rd as a second Earth Day each year. It is a time for me to renew my own commitment to treat the Earth with respect and care and to walk gently as I go . . .

#Station Fire #Messenger Flats Campground #Sulphur Springs Campground #fire

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prorevenge · 6 years ago

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Revenge old school Cowboy & Hells Angels team up.

1980ish I was living in California in a town called Muscoy on a horse ranch. It was on a dead end road that if you did keep going would go into a riverbed. On a horse you could ride to Rancho Cucamonga going West or Cajon pass going North . I was in high school an had to wait for a school bus to pick me up in the morning.

Half way through the school year a new family moves into the duplex next to our house. I started talking to the new kid that started riding the bus to school.

I made the mistake one day of telling him that my parents were going out town and at the same time I was going to a high school event.

Half way through the school event a sheriff shows up the school to take me home because our house got broken into . The neighbors had called the sheriff when they seen activity at our house when no one was suppose to be there.

There were 4 houses across the street from our house that went from the riverbed to the stop sign heading away from our house.The house directly across the street an people there were pretty quite. They were all adults /family and had a band. Only time we knew they were there was when they practiced with their band.

The 3 houses East of them were occupied by Hells Angels and not just any Hells Angels but one house was occupied by the leader of the Hells Angels at that particular area at that time.

But again they were quite neighbors the only time I really saw any of them was about once a year at Christmas. They would come down to our house and my stepfather would give them all the alcohol that was left over from his work Christmas party. My stepfather was supervisor of a maintenance for a school district and a bit player in old western movies and shows like Bonanza and or Audi Murphy films.

We had about 10 horses at any given time an other live stock. We use to make a little extra money breeding,racing horses . He had a license to raise wild birds an people were always coming and going from all walks of life.

Well come to find out this kid an his uncle who moved into the duplex next to us also stole all the pot plants from the houses across the street.

When I rode my horse out in the riverbed i had to ride past the duplex were the thief lived up to the stop sign back around the Hells Angels houses to get past the barriers to the riverbed.

One of the days I did this the kid thief an his uncle were standing out in the road when I was going by on my horse and let me know they were the ones who broke into our house. They were drunk an laughing. They just thought that was hilarious.I

Turned around went home an told my stepdad what happened. My stepdad always wore these black shiny cowboy boots which came in handy this day. He grabbed a chain about 3/8x 3 feet long an took off after those two. Well the Hells Angels came out to see what the commotion was all about. I confirmed to everyone what they said to me and the shit storm started because those two dumb asses did not realize what they had walked into.

My stepdad went after the Uncle first. Kicked him so hard he broke his toe in his cowboy boots and the Hells Angels by this time deduced that these two also had their pot plants. So they start wailing on the other guy. Somewhere at sometime the sheriff was called and it was the same sheriff who picked me up at school originally. By the time he got there I will admit that there was ample amounts of blood on the two thieves faces. All you could here when the sheriff got out of his vehicle was everyone needed to be arrested because the thieves got jumped.

You have to admit the sheriff was kinda in a delicate situation if you think about it and he knew it.

It was explained to the sheriff what happened and why . The sheriff by now knew those two had a criminal record on top of breaking into our house not to mention it must of been intimidating the whole situation.

The sheriff looked right at those two and said I do not see no fight here and I am pretty sure that because you are drunk you fell down and that is where all the blood came from and he got in his car and drove off.

I thought that was the end of it.

The next morning I got up an left to catch the bus to school. As I was walking past the duplex next door i had to stop because I could not believe what I was looking at. The duplex that the thieves lived in was completely empty. No furniture,no curtains . Zelch, nada , nothing AND the whole front of the duplex was riddled with bullet holes.

I lived right next door an heard nothing during the night.

Basically bad guys come to town badder guys made them leave.

(source) (story by NadaSaltyPretzel2)

#prorevenge #by NadaSaltyPretzel2 #pro revenge #revenge stories #pro revenge stories #pro #revenge #revenge story #last10

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ashtontomyirwin-blog · 6 years ago

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Ashton Irwin || The Outcasts || Part 3

Previous parts: Part 1 - Part 2

Full title: The Extraordinary Story of The Outcasts

Wordcount: 2970

Author’s note: I hope you enjoy this part as much as I did when writing it. Please let me know!

Masterlist - Requests

Soft tunes filled my ears as Jessica was strumming the acoustic guitar, not playing a song in particular. Everyone had taken a place around the brazier in the grass. Kyra’s parents didn’t like the brazier to be around the lounge set as the pillows would start to smell burned.

As I looked around the group I couldn’t help but to smile. Calum and Ashton were happily chatting along with the group. If I didn’t know any better, these two could’ve been part of the group for years. Jessica was always a bit hesitant with new people, so she mainly focussed on the guitar. Jesse and Kyra casually chatted along with the other musicians.

I realized that these moments were precious and probably would never occur again. Be honest, when would you have the chance to not only meet your idols, but also have them hang out with you. So I quickly got up from my spot to go inside.

“Where is she going?” I heard Calum interrupting the conversation. By the time someone responded to that, I was already out of earshot. Though, I knew what they would say. It wasn’t uncommon for me run off without a word. Where Jessica had once called me a ‘flight risk’ I had called it ‘not necessary to explain as you would know what I mean in a minute.’ Nonetheless, I always came back.

And so I also came back this time with my familiar vlogging camera in my hand. Upon entering the garden I had already started filming the group. The sound of Jessica’s guitar increased as I walked closer. The rest of the group seemed to be laughing at some story that Kyra had shared. She was always the most social of the group.

“I think we’re being filmed,” Calum casually mentioned as he saw me sitting down with the camera, still filming. As soon as Jesse caught sight of me an overdone groan came from him.

“Oh God, Dani, I swear. Put that damned thing away!” I smiled at Jesse’s comment and aimed the camera at him. He wasn’t fond of me constantly trying to film things, but he knew why I did it. And no matter how many protests he gave about my behavior, he always let me film him.

“I got the feeling that this isn’t the first time,” Ashton chuckled. I aimed the camera at him to which he responded with a smile and a wink. For a moment I looked up from the screen to meet Ashton’s eyes. Did he really just wink at me? Before I could even do something with it, Jesse caught my attention.

“Yeah, she’s got this annoying habit of filming everything. Says it’s for the ‘fans,” Jesse said, using air quotes for ‘fans’.

“Hey, we do have fans!” I protested.

“Yeah, we have seventeen followers on Youtube and most of them are family.”

“And I want to share this journey with all seventeen of them,” I proudly said. I jokingly stuck out my tongue towards Jesse, to which he responded with an eye roll and a slight grin. I did want to capture a lot of moments with the band like rehearsals and such and I did share them online, but it was mostly so I could look back at the good memories we have made and how far we had come as a band.

“Well, I think it’s adorable,” Kyra added to the conversation, although her reaction was a bit dramatic. This caused a series of laughter throughout the group. I didn’t mind them laughing at me as I joined just as well.

After the battery of my camera had died, to Jesse’s joy, the focus of the conversation had shifted.

“You know,” I said as I put the camera in my pocket. “Now you’ve seen us play, it’s only fair that you play something for us as well.”

Calum cocked his eyebrow and had a smug grin on his face. “Or you can come to our show tomorrow.” His sassy side was showing.

“Yeah, no can do. It was sold out before we had enough money to buy tickets,” Kyra chimed in. It was true. When we heard that 5 Seconds of Summer gave a concert in the city, we really wanted to go. Going to concerts has always given us inspiration to improve our own music and performance. But by the time we all had enough money to buy tickets, it was already sold out.

“Oh, too bad,” Calum said. The disappointment was evident on their faces, though it made me wonder what they had to me disappointed about. They were the one standing in a sold out venue, which has always been a dream to us.

“But hey, if you play a song for us, we’d feel a lot better about not going tomorrow,” I tried to lighten the mood and put on my best pouting face. Besides getting laughter from the entire group, it also seemed to work.

“Alright, alright. C’mere with that thing,” Calum said and held out his hand to receive the guitar from Jessica.

“Oh, wait, wait, wait,” Kyra quickly said. She stood up and ran towards the shed.

“You guys do have an affinity for running off,” Ashton said thoughtfully, to which I simply shrugged, not confirming nor denying anything.

Kyra soon came back with her cajon and handed it to Ashton. “I assume you’re gonna take good care of her,” she warned. Ashton laughed and nodded.

“I’ll be careful with her,” he responded. Ashton took a seat on the cajon and Calum positioned the guitar in his lap. He strung the guitar a few times to warm up.

“Alright, so what do ya wanna hear?” Calum then said. There was a moment’s silence before Jessica suddenly spoke.

“How about a song you haven’t played in a long time,” she said. Jessica might not speak as much, but she had some damn good ideas. Ashton and Calum seemed to agree as they both looked at her thoughtfully before looking at each other.

“Oh, I know one,” Calum said and began playing the chords on the guitar. It took a few chords for Ashton to recognize the song, but once he did, he started with the percussion.

Only when Calum sang the first two lines, I started to recognize the song as well. Hearing an acoustic version of Tomorrow Never Dies was strange but incredibly satisfying. It felt like I really understood the story the song tried to convey. Plus the harmonies of Calum and Ashton together was something I hadn’t heard much as Luke usually did most of the vocals. Hearing the two anticipating to which parts they would sing made it seen like they practiced this beforehand, but that seemed unlikely.

I must’ve been so caught up into the song that my face turned funny, because as soon as I caught Ashton’s eyes he started to grin. I didn’t mind though. I was enchanted by him them and so I grinned back.

The entire night felt like a cheap chick-flick movie, which I shamelessly enjoyed. We sat around the fire, being slightly intoxicated with beer, and jamming around. I had just finished an intense and dramatic duo with Ashton. Dramatic because it was My Heart Will Go On by Céline Dion, a song I hated with an intense passion but could never get out of my head. Intense because Ashton wouldn’t stop looking at me. And being the stubborn person I was, I didn’t want to let him know that I was slightly intimidated by his staring, so I stared back at him. Though the longer I did so, the harder it was to look away.

“Well, I think we should be getting back to the hotel, Ash,” Calum said. I didn’t know how long ago the song had ended, but when I looked back to the group, I saw every pair of eyes on Ashton and me. While most looks were a mix between abiding and suspicion, I saw Kyra having a massive grin on her face and her head nodding.

“Uhm, well.” I cleared my throat. “I should be going as well.”

“You can stay over,” Kyra immediately offered.

“Can’t. I have to feed the cat,” I said as I was already standing up.

“You don’t have a cat,” she confronted without emotion.

“I know,” I replied in the same tone. I was never good at declining offers as I didn’t want to disappoint people, so through the years I’ve acquainted several go-to excuses to decline offers. None of them worked on Kyra though; she knew me best of all. We both knew that, but she let me be whenever I used one of the excuses, knowing how I felt.

“Wait, let me walk you home,” Ashton said as I was already making my way inside the house to get my guitar case and backpack. I turned around with a frown on my face, not expecting this offer.

“I mean, can I walk you home?” he corrected himself. For some reason I found it adorable that he felt the need to correct himself.

“Sure, why not,” I grinned at him. I put my backpack on my back and just as I was reached for my guitar cae, Ashton jumped in and grabbed it for me.

“Here, let me get that for you,” he said. I looked at him for a moment and wondered if he was being this nice to everyone he met.

“So what was that all about?” Ashton asked as we stepped into the streets.

“What was what about?” I asked in return.

“The cat-thing. Your friend knew you didn’t have one.”

I just shrugged my shoulders. “I didn’t want to overstay my welcome there,” I simple said. It was the truth. I had stayed with the Martins’ family for so long and I knew that I was welcome at any time. But as I grew older it more and more felt like taking advantage of their hospitality as I could now take care of my own. I didn’t want to bother them too much anymore.

“Anyway,” I diverted the conversation. “You excited to play tomorrow?”

“Oh God yes, always,” Ashton said with the biggest grin on his face. I automatically smiled with him. It was evident that he not only showed his excitement on stage, but that he truly loved what he did.

“You know what,” he said. “You should come tomorrow. I mean, you and the band.”

“But it’s sold out, remember?”

“I don’t think four more people will make much of a difference,” Ashton simply shrugged. “Plus, see it as a birthday gift.”

I looked at him sideways and was silent for a second. I never cared much for my birthday and in the past I rarely ever did something about it. But today I’ve already received an incredible gift from the band and Jack. So to have access to sold out concert of a band that I liked was way more than I could ask for.

“Are you serious?” I asked, making sure he wasn’t joking.

Ashton chuckled. “No, I would like you to be there. I also would like to introduce your guys to the rest of the band,” he said.

We had almost reached my house as I lived in the same street as Kyra did, only at the end of the road, but I didn’t want this walk to be over yet. I enjoyed Ashton’s company. So without further thinking I rounded a corner with him to take a detour through a nearby park.

“Why?” I asked, genuinely curious. This seemed to take him aback. He then did something I would’ve never expected from such a confident person. He stuttered a bit as he was looking for an answer.

“Uhm … well … You know … the guys always love to meet new bands and their music, you know.”

I looked at him for a moment. He had no reason to be nervous or anything around me, but he still was. And I loved it.

“They love to ‘meet’ new music?” I asked teasingly, to which Ashton sighed with a lighthearted chuckle.

“You know what I mean,” he said. And I did.

“I would love to meet the rest and see you perform, though I doubt if it could ever tip our My Heart Will Go On.”

“Nothing can ever tip our My Heart Will Go On.” Ashton went along with my joke. It was nice being around him. He was easy going and sharp tongued at times. Even though I have only known him from this evening and online videos, being with him made it feel like we’ve known each other for ages. Even this silent that was between us right now felt pleasant and somehow familiar.

“So what’s it like being famous?” I asked as we were walking through the park. No one was there except us and the occasional squirrel or pidgeon. It was silent as Ashton was clearly thinking about his answer.

“It is everything and nothing you can ever imagine,” he finally said.

“How so?” I asked.

“Well, I get to do what I love most every day of the week. To make people happy with our music. But it’s also so much more than that. It’s so much more than interviews and fans screaming out your name, although that one is still weird,” he ended with a laugh.

I laughed with him. “Man, that’s all I ever want. To have people scream my name,” I said wistfully. I felt Ashton looking at me so I continued talking. “You know, do what you love most. I want to make people happy with my music and be the support for other people like I had with my idols.”

“And who are your idols then?” The curiosity in Ashton’s voice was clearly there.

“Lots of musicians. Alannah Myles, The Offspring, Freddie Mercury … you,” I ended with a grin. I got the reaction I was hoping for.

“Me?” he asked astonished.

“Yeah, I love the band and how you guys stay true to yourself with the music,” I said.

Ashton’s face dropped a little. “Oh, yeah, the band, of course,” he mumbled a little. He was clearly expecting a different answer. That made me wonder about Ashton. I’ve never looked at him as an idol, just the band, but of course the band itself had individuals as well. For years I had known Ashton Irwin from the band, but right now he was Ashton the individual. It suited him.

It took a little while longer before we finally reached my place.

“Damn, this is your house?” Ashton asked as we walked through the gate to my front door. It was a ridiculously big house. Too ridiculous if you ask me. This was purely one of my parents’ ways to let everyone around them know how much money they had. They were barely even present inside the thing and it’s way too big for just myself.

“It’s not my house. It’s my parents’. I just use it until I can move out,” I said while I was fishing my keys out of my backpack.

Ashton didn’t ask any further, which I was glad about. I never liked talking about my parents or the absence of them. Instead he placed my guitar case next to me and looked at me.

“So I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asked carefully. I smiled at him and nodded.

“Awesome. If you and the rest just come to the back entrance of the venue and they’ll let you in,” he said.

I crossed my arms with a suspicious look. “How will they even know who I am. I could just be another crazy fangirl,” I teased.

Ashton laughed in response. “Alright, then I’ll have to take a picture of you to show it to the guard,” he then said. He fished his phone out of his pocket and aimed the camera at me. I couldn’t help it but to make a silly face as he snapped the picture, causing a laugh from both of us.

“Now he’ll know,” Ashton said as we both had stopped laughing. For moment none of us said anything and that comfortable silence returned. Now that he was standing so close in front of me I noticed how we were both the same height. I knew I was taller than the average female. I was even the tallest of the band.

“Alright, now I only need to figure out how to get back to the harbor,” he broke the silence.

“Oh, if you just go straight on you end up at Kyra’s house and from there it’s only a ten minute walk to the harbor,” I simply said. Then I saw Ashton’s face go from confusion to realization when he knew how much of a detour I took from Kyra’s place to here.

“Did you just-”

“-take the long way home?” I asked innocently, meanwhile making what might’ve been my most amazing pun ever. Ashton understood the reference as well and laughed.

“That was really bad,” he laughed.

“Thank you,” I said pleased.

As Ashton started to smile, his dimples appeared, which made me smile as well. His dimples gave him something playful. And before I even realized what was going on, his lips were already planted on mine. It was a soft and tender kiss, hesitant even. I liked this individual slightly shy Ashton.

He looked back at me when he pulled back. While his eyes were a bit hooded, mine shone just as bright as my smile.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” I said cheekily before I turned around to open my front door. I saw him wave one last time as I closed the door.

Taglist: @tirednotflirting @babylon-corgis @drummerboy794 @arimissescalum @babylon-cal @lashtonsdimples

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lifeofnickripley · 6 years ago

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Game of Thrones: Fav characters and characters I dislike

(Long post) Kay so, today is the premiere of the final season, guess I'll do my top Ten favorite characters(it is pretty much my favorite show of all time). Show only since I have yet to read the books. If you wonder my opinion on any character not mentioned I either forgot to mention them or I didn't think they really earned a spot on the lists. Yes I do censor things in this a bit buuut I want my web comic to have a wider audience so yea, deal with it. (SPOILER WARNING, at this point, if ur not caught up tho, you have only yourself to blame) Liked Honorable mentions: - Melisandre - before I found out bout the necklace, I had the HUGEST crush on her. She's evil, yes, but she adds a sense of wonder and magic to the show, so I still like her character (other than that necklace scene obviously). Plus Jon wouldn't be back if it weren't for her so haters gonna hate. - Bronn- if he doesn't get his damn castle...lol I doubt I need to say why this wise cracking sword for hire is a favorite, I think most people love him. - Yara Greyjoy - Badass pirate/Viking chick on the high seas? Hell yeah! Plus I love Greyjoy armor, I don't doubt Euron will probably kill her though. - Oberyn Martell - Awesome character, the Red Viper was fierce with a spear and even moreso with his attitude. Unfortunately his pride wound up being his undoing in the end, arguably one of the most effective deaths in the series. - Tormund Giantsbane - How can you not love this absolute bro? I don't even like Brienne and I ship them. Geniune badass. - Jorah Mormont - Lord of the Friend zone, his loyalty makes him one of my favs, not top ten tier though - Petyr Baelish: The events of Game of Thrones wouldn't have happened without this slimy bastard. He was smart and cunning (which made him fun to watch) and though his death was cool, the build up was kind of weak (weird Sansa/Arya storyline) Favorite characters: 10.) Ned Stark - Everyone's original favorite character, his death cemented that GOT wasn't f*ckin around. I mean, damn, still a brutal death scene to watch to this day. Props to Sean Bean for making his so awesome. He was honorable to a fault in a dishonorable world. 9.) Ramsey Bolton - Kay, so I might get some flack for this one, but he was a great bad guy. I mean he was legit terrifying and despicable! Made the Battle of the Bastards have an entirely different level of intensity than most of the battle scenes. Dude was an absolute monster, but unlike another widely disliked villain, this psycho got his own hands dirty instead of beckoning others to. His death scene was poetic but I kinda wanted it to be gorier. (I'm an edgelord though) 8.)Jon Snow - Awesome character, obviously I dig him, so why so low on the list? Honestly, there's characters I like more. But he's still really cool, definitely has the best fight scenes of any of the characters. WE BETTER SEE GHOST THIS SEASON THOUGH!! Lol things are gonna be hella awkward when he finds out Dany is his aunt, yet we still root for them as a couple...that's wincest for you hurr hurr hurr hurr (sorry) I could see him living in the end cus tbh killing him again would be repetitive BS. 7.)Tywin Lannister - Kay...so he died on the sh*tter (imo probably the worst place to die) AND he was an absolute d*ck to Tyrion...but dude, he was awesome. He literally has a song about him in the world of GOT that is used as a warning to others to not f*ck with him!! He took a house that was laughed at and turned it into one of the most feared houses in all of Westeros. That is pretty frickin cool. 6.) Cersei Lannister - Another one I'll get flack for but whatever lol She's cool! So what she shags her brother and is an awful human being? She's a badass! Did you SEE how she blew up all of her enemies in the court and solidified her queen status in one fell swoop? That was dope!! She's vile but very entertaining to watch. RIP the Tyrells. Probably gonna get choked out though by her brother like Maggie the frog predicted. (By my second favorite character no less) 5.) Daenerys Targaryen - Dany! One of my cats is named after her! I love this character. The dragons are amazing, she's cute, she's powerful, maybe a little insane cus of Targaryen madness, and she's overcome some amazing odds. Her storylines could be a little meh in the grand scheme of things but Emilia Clarke's portrayal has made a character that we really root for. I suspect she'll die personally by the Night King buuuuut we'll see. 4.)Tyrion Lannister -Tyrion's writing has gone down a bit in recent seasons but still, most people's favorite Lannister. His quick wit and resilience make him a solidified favorite. Still seems like the person you'd most wanna drink with. I'd be pretty damn surprised if he bit the dust. 3.) Arya Stark - My other cat is named after her and there's a good reason why, SHE'S BASICALLY BECOME A FREAKING FACE STEALING NINJA!!! She was always likeable and I think I've enjoyed almost every storyline she's been a part of (excluding her main one last season) Maisie Williams is a great actress and I hope to see more of her in the future. I doubt Arya will die, but based on that one trailer, things do seem rather bleak for her. Who knows...maybe GRRM wants a divorce... 2.) Jaime Lannister - Yes. This dude is my favorite Lannister. In case you couldn't tell, Lannister is my favorite house. He's really had the best redemption arc in the series. He went from a character I disliked to my second favorite. I predict he will be the one to kill his sister, what happens to him after that, idk. It'll be awkward when he meets Bran again though... 1.) The Hound (Sandor Clegane) - CLEGANEBOWL BETTER HAPPEN!! Kay so... admittedly I screamed like a little freaking girl when this character came back. He... HE'S JUST SO FREAKING COOL!! Admittedly being a 6 footer and a rather grumpy individual, I probably relate to him more than I'd like to admit. Probably will die, but as long as he fights his brother, I'll be a very happy edgelord. Characters I dislike: 10.) Sansa Stark - Kay so I just...I dislike her, I never liked her. I feel sorry for her, sure. She's gotten better over time, sure. I still see her as very entitled and kinda whiny/bratty. She'll probably die. If not I won't be disappointed, still though, not a fan of Sansa. It was cool how she killed Ramsey, tho again, do wish the scene was gorier. 9.) Robb Stark - Ned Stark 2.0 but way less cool. Nuff said. I was okay with his death in the Red Wedding. Shouldn't have made a promise you weren't gonna commit to. Even if Walder Frey is a d*ck. 8.) Catelyn Stark - She was just such a jerk to Jon Snow and Tyrion, seriously. Even moreso in the books from what I have read of them. She got on my nerves. Honestly, I don't feel like Lady Stoneheart would've added much in terms of storyline. 7.) Brienne of Tarth: I find her annoying. Sure, her fight with the hound was FREAKING COOL, but she's kinda too self righteous for her own good. Duty is her thing and all but she is really not good at holding up to her vows. Still ship her and Tormund though. 6.) Theon Greyjoy - hated this dude, then felt sorry for him, now I roll my eyes at him. Honestly, Greyjoys other than Yara are pretty meh characters. Good for him finally regaining figurative cajones. Doubt he'll save his sister though, or survive the White Walkers for that matter. 5.) Euron Greyjoy - this one is a shame cus I hear the book character is amazing. Feels like a pretty generic bad guy of the week type for a show with outstanding villains. Funny like here or there, but kinda a weak character overall. Theon will probably kill him, though I'd love to see a twist where he kills Theon. 4.) Walder Frey - Old dude that got what was coming to him, props to the guy who plays Filch, portrayed two characters who were absolutely despicable. I doubt I really have to list the ways this cowardly character was despicable. Awesome death scene though. Winter came for House Frey. 3.) Shae - Grrrr. The actual actress I feel very sorry for cus I've heard her story, but man this character. Dumb but smart enough to screw over Tyrion. For personal reasons, I really hate this character, reminds me of people I've known. 2.) Tommen and Myrcella Baratheon - Most. Useless. Lannisters. Ever. I'm a Lannister fan so you could see why I roll my eyes so hard with these two. Tommen rolled over so hard you might as well have called him a wheel. And Myrcella was just kinda there, admittedly sad to watch her death scene though (pretty much moreso because it was the only time Jaime was really able to connect with his daughter) 1.) Joffrey Baratheon - Everyone probably saw this coming. Joffrey is that kid on the playground that'd hit you, you'd hit back, they'd start crying and get you in trouble. Everybody knew that kid, I think that's why everyone hates this character so. But man, his death scene was soooo satisfying. Props to the Jack Gleason for making him so horrible. There ya have it. My opinions on GOT characters. Freaking excited for tonight's premiere!! WINTER IS HERE!!

#Game of thrones #favorite #characters #Arya #the hound #Jon Snow #Daenerys #Cersei #Lannister #Jaime #Tyrion #Stark #Targaryen #Winterfell #Ramsey Bolton #Sansa #Robb

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blissfulseptember · 4 years ago

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I was going to hide this all in the tags but it was turning into an essay.

My dad collected, played, built, and sold bizzare off the wall obscure as shit musical instruments.

When my brother turned 8 my dad bought him a harmonica, but my brother had no interest in it and so my dad picked it up and taught himself. He played the harmonica note for note instead of all bluesy-like no one I've ever heard. he was so good. Yes i know the harmonica is not that obscure. This was just the beginning.

Then came the hand drums - still, not all that obscure, but his love of percussion led to other drum-like things. He had SO MANY drums. My favorite was a massive and loud gathering drum that I would sometimes get inside during a game of hide & seek. It was that big.

Then the digeridoos. Those loud ass long Australian pipes? Yep. Dad bought one after playing it in a music store. Then another. Then he figured out how to make them at home with PVC pipe and wax. He made different widths and lengths to create different tones. After he got them just right he would paint them and off we were to the farmers markets!!! He probably made and sold 100ish.

Then the tounge drum. Its a little wooden thing with a similar concept as those little kalimba thumb pianos except instead of using your thumb, you bang on the wooden tongs with a bouncy-ball on the end of a stick to make different tones. He tried to make one but it was a flop, and he didn't like the original enough to try again. I still think they're cool though.

So many maracas. (I know they're common but I hafta include them because we had an abundance. Way more than any one family should ever have.) Most of the maracas he picked up in different countries. I know there were some from Chile, the Dominican Republic, and Mexico, but I'm not sure which came from where. Again, I think he tried making some at some point, but he was never happy with the end result. He had a huge collection of other small percussion instruments but after questioning mom and all the siblings, no one really knows where they came from.

Then the cajon!!!! A Cajon is a box drum you often see street musicians sit on and play. It has a snare inside. Way cool. Dad made one on a whim, without having a real one to look at and compare it to. Considering the fact that all the pieces of wood (and LAMINATE?!) were just scrap that came from one of his construction jobs, it turned out pretty awesome. Two years ago he finally bought a "real" Cajon, only one small adjustment- ITS ELECTRIC! I didn't even know they made electric cajons but they are AWESOME. (When dad passed it was the first thing mom sent home with me. I have only taken it out once. Someday when I'm ready I will give it a purpose and I look forward to that day.)

Shofars. Here we go. This was the instrument I was the most involved with in the process of making. A shofar is literally just a hollow animal horn with the end cut off. It's the "trumpet" that was played in Bible times. There are many different traditional/historical trumpet sounds that have significant meaning to Jewish and early Christian cultures. Dad would buy long Kudu (like an African antelope sorta??) horns off ebay and have them shipped completely intact. They would come in really rough shape because, well, they were cheapest that way. And dad had more time than money. So he would take those neon pebbles you put in fishtanks and he'd pour a bunch of them into the horn and put a rag at the end secured with a rubber band and then he'd hand it to me to shake the hell out of it. This was to smooth out the inside and chip away all the gunk. It took like, hours of shaking each one to clean them out. Then he'd take oil (I cannot remember what kind of oil right now but I know it smelled strong, maybe honestly incense??) And rub it all along and inside the kudu horn because they STINK. Like death. Because they're dead. He'd sand the hell out of the outside and rub this oil on it to get it all nice and smooth and shiny. Then he'd cut the very tip of the horn off, but he had to be careful not to make the hole inside too big. The opening had to be like the width of a pinky or smaller. We'd play around on them, blowing them and sanding down around the mouth until either of us could get a good clean bellow out of it. Dad was a spiritual man, so after each one was finished, we would play several different ancient calls on them to bless them before they were given away or sold. Dad gifted these to a few different couples on their wedding days. After the ceremony was said and done dad would take them away to a more private area and tell them about the history and cultural/spiritual meaning and then, with with thier consent he would play a few blessing calls over them. If you feel inclined, you can Google "calls of the shofar." There's a lot there and I think its so feckin cool. There was actually a larger market for this than we thought. Dad made and gifted/sold maybe 50-70 of these. This was all during Dad's ebay phase. It was a weird time. They were labor intensive and time consuming so when I moved out dad pretty much quit making these alltogether.

The gut bucket. Also known as a bucket bass. This is another favorite of mine. Dad and I would go to hillbilly mountain music festivals and one time he showed up with a plastic 5 gallon bucket turned upside down with a string attached to the middle of the top of the bucket and the other end of the string was attached to a really big stick. The idea here was that you move the stick to tighten or loosen the string and then pluck it. The tighter the string, the higher the tone. The looser the string, the lower the tone. This was mainly a backup rhythm instrument to be played with a bluegrass kind of band. It was super freaking cool, but the way dad designed it, it looked like a toilet. I will never unsee "toilet instrument"

There's probably a bunch I'm forgetting, but our house was filled to the brim with wacky sounds and I loved it. Mom hated it but loved dad more than she hated it. My dad was cool as shit.

What is your dad’s weird hyperfixation??? They all have one

#sorry for long ass post but i miss my dad and needed to write

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deerblossoms · 3 years ago

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heyyyyy it's my last day in san gabriel and i am feeling bittersweet as always. i never really process endings until they've happened EXCEPT before luna moved. was emotionally wrecked for like a week and then he moved and i was fine. unusual. actually this reminds me i haven't heard from him in like a week. #girl.... get back to me. what's wrong with you. anyways. things that happened with jo: we kissed twice, he got me into playing animal crossing religiously again, he bought me a pair of converse with monstera leaves on them and took me to long beach at night (we walked on the sand and stepped on a bunch of sand crabs and i peed in front of a few random ass guys) for my birthday, started learning german again and honestly it's not hard to pick up, i baked brownies last night and they turned out good (secret ingredients were cinnamon and a little skrewball whiskey) i dyed my hair purple and recently he hooked me on the walking dead. i'm on season one and glenn is my girlfriend. kissing him with tongue.

i have a little eensy weensy problem which is that i am a teeny bit in love with jo and i always have been and i think i always will be. oopsie!

tomorrow i hop on a train to san diego where lainey and nile will pick me up and i'll stay with them in el cajon for a few days. sidebar, a small wrench in my plans: i've been non-committally checking my facebook housing groups every once in a while to see if there's any good deals, and recently i messaged an apartment for shits and giggles and apparently they really think i'd be a good fit and want me to come see the place immediately to give me the best chance. now a) i'd already told them i wouldn't be available till the next week and b) i won't be available until the next week. this is a problem. jo thinks i should cancel on lainey and fly up to new york asap. i cannot do this because lainey is moving to fuckin london and i'll miss her too much! this has been planned for a while and i want to see her. jo is right though. also, i have to give my current apartment a month's notice if i want to move out or i assume i won't get my security back. maybe this is better compared to the costs of paying rent to multiple apartments. i'm not sure. it's a dick move but like...do i care? do i care.... anyways. very exciting to see lainey, i hope the facebook lady responds to me and gives me some latitude here. like if you think i'm sooooo sexy.....

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luciddreamer326 · 7 years ago

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Update on writing: I’ve got seven (yes, seven!) mapped out and in progress concepts so far. Thought I’d update everyone on the statuses of each:

1) Working title: Coming Out for @lilbexi- the title is shite and won’t stick but your prompt is probably 90% written and should go up by the weekend. I’m taking a gamble with it and playing with style and POV, so it’s got some heat and laughter and everything I would want out of a decent Grace/Frankie narrative.

Preview line: Only it isn’t that easy, the weightiness of it a burden to carry. It’s soul consuming and aches to hold on to. Now? I understand Robert. I understand Sol. I am regretful where they are concerned, but thankful too. They both ransacked our lives and flung Frankie and I together. That makes it worth everything. That makes it harder to share with the world.

2) Working title: Rip Out My Heart-Another shite title that won’t stick, this one is about the spoiler photos and my wanting to play with a storyline I feel we will be looking at to end next season. I wanted to make it mine before they tear it all apart.

Preview line: When Grace leans over late into the night, and rests her head against Frankie’s shoulder, she fights not to weep openly. She finds Grace’s hand under the table and wills it not to shake in pain. She wishes she could be happy, but it’s hard when half of her heart is sitting in another chest.

3) No title prompt fic for @negativeoedipus: I’m still blank on a title but I’d say this is 75% written. The premise is that the ladies go on a retreat only to find out it wasn’t what they expected. Confusion and hilarity ensue, with the events of their trip changing them both. Sorry it’s taken so long to write but the little mini ficlet I intended to write kept unraveling and now sits at 14k word count and 35 pages.

Preview lines: I want to do something,” she spits out one night over a Pinot Grigio and a piece baked chicken, vision blurring a little at the mundaneness of it all. Frankie looks up from her own meal and squints, confused. “You mean, like a Say Yes night?” Grace can already feel her head start moving, shaking it. “By my standards four years ago, our Say Yes night was fairly bizarre. I’d never danced on a bar before.” She can’t but smile at the memory of it all, but that is soon erased by other thoughts bombarding. “No, I want something crazy, out there. I want to grab life and make the most of it.”

4) Navigating Limbo: the idea isn’t originally mine and I owe that to another in this wonderful fandom. I took the concept and ran with it though. It’s set post season 4 and picks up right where the series left off. I’m leaving the specific parameters for this one out (for now) since they’re pretty risqué. I’ve managed to bang out 6k on this one so far and am very dedicated to its finish, but it’s just not at the top of my list.

Preview lines: “So, you’re the alcoholic drug addict my sister has been living with the last four years that I’ve heard so much about,” Teddie snottily says, grasping Grace’s hand. Yeah, Frankie can totally understand Grace’s protestations at this option. She watches as shock flits across her face and then is masked by the oh-so-perfect facade that Grace always goes to in social situations where she is on the defense.

5) The Agreement: I’ve got two chapters left and mostly written. While the whole piece has been rather…wild, I want to end on a more toned down/heartfelt note. The preview is from chapter 9 and I’ll probably have it uploaded sometime next week. Preview lines:

Grace’s insecurities start to run rampant and she finds it harder to breathe, like her lungs are collapsing on her. She’s never really sat and pondered how important all of this has become to her and suddenly, the prospect of losing it seems life altering in the worst kind of way. Worse than losing Robert. Worse than losing the house. Worse than anything she can possibly imagine. Frankie must sense her uneasiness because she stops their walk along the beach and turns to face Grace squarely. She makes a move for both of Grace’s hands and all Grace can think is this is it. Tears start to form and she wants to run away, to not be here for this even though it’s directly involving her.

6) Working title: Elements- I usually name my writing before I really flesh it out, which could be a bad thing but I don’t know. It seems to give it a life I otherwise might not assign it were I to brainstorm, write, then name. Doing that aspect first helps it become a priority to me. Anyway, it’s going to be a short piece, hopefully between the 1k-3k mark. It’s based on the elements (obviously) and will focus on that particular substance within the context of the show.

Really rough preview: With the changing of seasons, if one could say Southern California weather deviates much, comes the flames. Things scorch and burn and they watch as it unfolds on the screen. El Cajon smolders and if they walk out and gaze to the east, they can smell the soot mixing with the salty sea air.

7) Tumblr dialogue prompts fic: I saved a post and picked out some of the lines I felt I could create a story with. It’s another take on how a relationship could develop through uncertainty and loss. I tend to go back to that theme a lot because while I about die when I read fic with any angst, it really does create a poignant tale most of the time. That being said, there are so many variations of it to play with, so I try. Preview lines:

The summer starts and she’s still waking up, staring out across the small man-made river that has a row of condo-like living spaces that mirror their own on the other side. Her sleep is restless, a mixture of nothingness and a reel that constantly repeats various versions of looking at the sign by the beach house that reads “sold.”

In addition, I’ve got some choppy sentences I really like but haven’t formed into bulk yet that I’d like to eventually see go somewhere. I find that when I’m working on one concept, something else might come to me that doesn’t fit within the confines of what I’m working on that second, but might find a home elsewhere. Hence the 7 WIP’s. I also have what I’m calling a B-side scene I wrote for The Agreement, and I had to cut it for flow reasons. It will probably get shared as an additional “collection” piece some day. I don’t know. We will see. If you’ve read this far, bless. I am so grateful to each of you who have read, commented, and taken to the time to give me a little love. You make it worthwhile and I love writing for this fandom.

#grace and frankie #writing prompts #fanfiction #i need to finish them

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blog-brett-matthew-west-gazette · 4 years ago

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Done Deal

(Over the years, I have created some popular characters in my stories. One of them is Detective John Dutton. I have written several tales featuring him. This is one in that series. I wrote this piece on April 26, 2020 in response to a prose challenge.)

A curtain of thick tension descended over the packed courtroom. Defense Attorney Marshall Hatterfield sauntered to the witness stand. He smiled like a feral dog in the heat of manipulation and asked, "Detective Dutton, isn't it true you are well known throughout the hierarchy of the Marion County Police Department to be a, how shall I put this? A lone wolf."

An uneasy stir arose among the spectators. Many shifted in their seats. Hushed murmurs were heard as the confrontation brewed.

Hatterfiel wrung his hands together and continued, "Isn't it also true you like to bend the rules as the situation fits your needs?" Like a vulture circled overhead, with discredit an allegation away, he tightened the screws, "Most importantly, would you not agree minus your shoddy investigative tactics, this insane charge of capitol murder against my esteemed client would it have been launched?"

Detective John Dutton calmly responded, "As you know, Mr. Hatterfield, from our previous encounters, I am not a Johnny One-Time, nor is this my first rodeo." What Dutton ached to do was knock some manners into the barrister. Instead, he maintained his compunction, rose tall in the saddle, and said, "All the evidence the Marion County Police Department collected was gathered in the utmost legal way possible."

"Or so you claim, Detective. Care to enlighten us about what so-called evidence you have to offer this court?" Hatterfield pondered. He walked to his table and picked up a manila folder.

State Attorney Debra Anderson bolted to her feet and complained, "Your Honor, Mr. Hatterfield is deliberately badgering our witness."

Judge Albert Stancil glared down from the bench. He twirled the tips of his handlebar moustache and admonished the Defense Attorney, "Mr. Hatterfield, cease and desist. This court will not tolerate any such theatrics."

"Yes, Your Honor," Hatterfield replied. He raised his eyes, looked at Dutton, and rephrased the tone of his inquiry, "Detective, can you inform the court what evidence you collected during your investigation?"

Dutton spoke into the microphone, "A puddle of bleach, approximately two feet in diameter, stained the garage floor. And, a variety of aerosols and cleaning agents were boxed together on the Formica-topped island in the kitchen of the Deals' house."

"Did you locate anything else, Detective? Perhaps something of value," Hatterfield questioned.

"Yes we did," Dutton responded, "we found six towels in the washing machine with a reddish substance on them. Forensics determined this was blood that matched the deceased."

"Deceased, Detective? Really?" Hatterfield scoffed. "That is quite an interesting perspective considering there is no body. My question would be how can there possibly be a deceased without one? In addition, a blood match would hardly prove my client murdered Vanessa Deal or anyone else, for that matter."

"No it would not," Dutton agreed, "but,when Gretchen, our cadaver dog, discovered a positive indication on the driveway underneath the carport an arrest warrant was secured. That led us to bring Virgil Deal in for questioning."

"I see," Hatterfield started. He flipped open the cover of his manila folder and ran his forefinger halfway down the top paper contained inside. He approached Dutton, showed him the document, and asked, "Detective, were you not quoted as saying "We still don't have the skank's missing body, but we've got Virgil Deal by the cajones. Now's the time to ratchet up the squeeze real tight and see if we can crack a coconut?" Those comments sound like you were hell-bent to nail the innocent philanthropist Virgil Deal to the wall regardless. Detective, I strongly remind you that you are under oath."

Taking ownership, Dutton admitted, "Yes I said those words and I stand by them. You see, Mr. Hatterfield, aggression is easily aroused in lovebirds, and the Deals were in the middle of toxic divorce proceedings. But, the odd text messages Vanessa Deal's friends received were what I wanted to know about. The beginning always sounded like a stimulating environment for me."

"Clueless!" Hatterfield muttered under his breath. He asked Dutton, "Does testifying in a death penalty trial sound like a stimulating environment to you, Detective?"

"Your Honor!" Debra Anderson vehemently protested.

"I retract my question," Hatterfield smiled at the attentive jury.

Dutton explained, "Following the date Vanessa Deal was reported missing, signals from her cell phone bounced off the tower in Laramie, two-hundred-and-twenty-six miles north of Marion County." Then, he asked his own question, "Riddle me this, Mr. Hatterfield, how can a missing person text her dear, sweet, mama and tell her she is on a ventilator?"

"I'm not the one providing testimony, Detective," Hatterfield responded.

Dutton continued, "Once Maryanne Dungston received this text, we scoured all the local hospitals. Vanessa Deal did not surface. That gave us probable cause. Who else would retain access to Vanessa Deal's cell phone to send that text to her mother after she was reported missing except Virgil Deal?"

"As I recollect, the last time Vanessa Deal was seen alive was on February 14, 2019," Hatterfield began.

"Sweethearts Day," Dutton cut in. He elaborated, "Larry Courtney, her supervisor at Thurston Interiors, reported his favorite office clerk was in very good health at that time."

In an attempt to cast suspicion off his client, Hatterfield paced in front of the witness stand and stated, "It is my understanding that Larry Courtney and Vanessa Deal were having an affair."

"I will remind the court Larry Courtney has been cleared of any possible involvement in Vanessa Deal's death," Debra Anderson quickly responded.

Hatterfield stared at the news hounds clustered together in the far corner of the courtroom and warned, "Detective Dutton, while this text message you mentioned may have aroused your curiosity, it certainly did not establish a murder was committed. Unless you can produce any real substantiating evidence implicating my client in a crime, I am going to petition the court to drop all charges against Virgil Deal."

Poised, Dutton presented, "On February 21, 2019, Vanessa Deal's silver Hyundai Tucson was discovered in the North Annex of the Marion County Parking Garage. Security video showed Virgil Deal drove the vehicle into Parking Slip 618 and edited out the driver's door. Why, Mr. Hatterfield, would your client be inclined to do such a thing?" Dutton paused, look accussingly at Deal, and stated,"Unless it was a desperate act intended to cover something up."

He focused his attention on Hatterfield and continued, "Three days prior to Vanessa Deal's car being found, her next door neighbor, Marjorie Stoneman, provided a deposition stating she heard the victim plead, "No! No! No! You're hurting me! Why would Vanessa Deal make that comment if she wasn't under duress?"

Silence filled the courtroom.

"And, Mr Hatterfield, why would Vanessa Deal's neighbor from across the street, Riley Johannson, provide a sword statement in which he recalled seeing a black F150 pickup truck at her residence with a license plate that matched the one owned by Virgil Deal on the day she was reported missing?" Dutton wanted to know.

The mousey Maurice Witherspoon slipped into the courtroom seemingly unnoticed. He slid into an empty chair next to Debra Anderson and spoke softly in her ear.

"If I may approach the bench, Your Honor. My associate has informed me workers just excavated Vanessa Deal's half-naked remains from a ravine in Rock Smasher Canyon," Debra Anderson enlightened Judge Stancil.

Anguished, Virgil Dea,l a bookworm with wire-rimmed spectacles, cried out, "Stop it! I didn't mean to kill Vanessa. That was the last thing I wanted to do. I went to her house to discuss the settlement of our finances. At first, she was warm. You know, the way we used to be before all our disagreements started.

The notion brought a fond remembrance to Deal's face. He returned back to the gravity of the situation at hand and said, "Then, Vanessa told me she wanted eighty percent of all my assets. Eighty percent! I'm no fool. I couldn't do that. I tried to convince her she would ruin me and everything I've spent my life building. She didn't care."

A collective gasped emitted from the gallery as the brash Hatterfield grumbled to his client, "Shut up, Virgil! You've already confessed too much you pathetic weakling! I could have gotten you off."

Deal fiddled with the top button of his blazer and finished his confession "Do you know what she did? Do you? She laughed in my face. I lost control and slapped the taste out of her mouth. All of a sudden Vanessa wasn't so demanding. Then, I-I picked up a knife from off the tool counter and I," as if the memory was too strong to overcome, Deal hesitated, "I stabbed her again! And again! And again!" Each time the word became more venomous. Deal concluded, "There was blood all over the floor of the garage. I tried to clean it up." Collapsing into his chair, Deal moaned, "I couldn't allow Vanessa to destroy me. Don't you see? I couldn't."

Judge Stencil instructed, "Bailiff, remand the defendant. This court stands adjourned until one o'clock."

Steel bracelets flashed, then clicked.

Outside the courthouse, Dutton told his young partner, "I may not be as good as I once was, but make no mistakes about this simple fact, Mark, I'm still as good once as I ever was." He paused, collected his thoughts and stated, "I see the electric chair in Virgil Deal's future. His sand castle in the sky is gonna crash down on top of his head, and I have no sympathy for him. The greedy bastard Oh well, duty calls."

"Your timing is impeccable," Mark Ballister complimented Dutton They bounded down the courthouse stairs. Ballister stopped and asked, "But, how did you know where to send Witherspoon in search of Vanessa Deal's corpse in Rock Smasher Canyon?"

Dutton flashed a toothy grin and replied, "All in a day's labor, kiddo. Witherspoon turned that dagger just right to force Deal's confession. Helps to have snitches in low places. Let's roll."

#court #thriller #action #fiction #short story

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elliepensom · 4 years ago

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Songwriting and Performance Session 6:

Song Structures

https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1upz1auW4CWXyh8SINfhBgs5WYmMNz1DK?usp=sharing

These audio files are snippets taken from each rehearsal session going from the start of the project to the final piece before the performance.

1) The original structure:

Verse (A, G, D, Em)

Chorus (Bm, Bbm, A, F)

Instrumental (C, Dm, C, D, G)

A, B, C, A, B, C structure

2) Playing with sound:

In this rehearsal we decided to try out different sounds, mainly on the keyboard , in order to see what would fit the feel of our piece. As the keys are a prominent part we thought by trying out different sound we could give our song a completley different feel. For example, as heard in this audio excerpt, the harpsichord sound makes the song seem more upbeat. Eventually we settled with a classic soul e.piano sound as we felt it kept the laid back feel we desired.

3) Improv playing:

When coming up with a fiddle part, I like to use a few sessions to purely improvise and record everything I do. I can then listen back and write up parts suitable for the song. Playing with the ideas from the last rehearsal session, everyone found this particular fiddle part to be really catchy. This is where I came up with the complete idea for the hook. You can also hear this basic idea in the earlier recordings.

4) First Verse:

This session was the one where we hit a creative block. After coming back with the first verse lyrics, we found that we struggled to fit anything to our would-be chorus section (Bm, Bbm, A, F). After trying to figure out for ages how we could resolve this problem, we realised the only solution would be to change our structure around. The audio clip here was our first attempt at playing around with this structure.

5) Alternative structure:

In the next session we looked at this problem in more detail. We switched around the B and C sections in the hope that this would then allow our song and practical sessions to flow better.

As you can see here by using our C section as a chorus, it allowed our lyrics to fit the song better. It also meant we could then use the B section as an instrumental, giving the piece further contrast, like we learnt in our second lecture.

6) Finalising the lyrics:

Sacha, Caitlin and Lucy used the time (whilst myself, Ed and Tyler were finalising the structure and making sure all our parts fitted well) to figure out harmonies in the chorus sections. We found this part relatively easy as we had now sorted everything out to fit smoothly.

Our roles and responsibilities:

Being a single instrumentalist in the group meant that I could easily jump in from role to role and provide help if anyone needed it. My main roles within the song were to come up with a hook for the violin and collaborate with both Tyler and Ed to lay down a backing that would fit the lyrics and melody Lucy, Sacha and Felicity came up with.

Ed - Keys

Ed’s roles included working on the chord progression with myself and making sure we were working in a key which suited the singers. He also worked on the structure with Tyler and me, helping to come up with solutions on how we could resolve our creative block. Ed’s other duties involved both setting up and packing down the piano and sanitising keys at the start and end of each session. Ed also managed to keep everyone in high spirits when we all were a bit tired or in a creative slump.

Ellie - Violin

I also worked on creating the song structure and chord progression. I used my theory knowledge to come up with different ideas that would work for different sections, giving us a range of different ideas to work from if chosen. Applying my theory knowledge again, I also created our lead sheet from listening to our peformance and rehearsal sessions, noting down the main vocal line, chords and my hook line. Whenever needed I would try to make myself useful by standing in and helping the others with their roles, for example, if someone was held up and couldnt get in on time, I would help set up so everything would be ready to go as soon as they arrived.

Felicity - Vocalist

Felicity was tasked with writing the chorus sections and also provided help with overall lyrical writing. She also led the way when creating the harmonies for the final choruses. Felicity didnt mind staying on til the very end each time to make sure everything had been fully sanitised, packed down properly and put back in the right places.

Lucy- Vocalist

Lucy worked on the lyrics for verse 2, conversing and collaborating with Sacha about the themes each verse would require. Lucy was great at sorting out the tech in the studio. She always made sure our space was booked and everything equipment-wise was working as it should be. She also controlled the mic levels as we soundchecked and rehearsed so we could clearly hear the girls sing. Lucy also made sure we were all up to date and in contact by setting up the WhatsApp groupchat.

Sacha - Vocalist

Sacha was in charge of the lyrics for verse 1. Kicking off the song, she came up with the main melody line for the verses, utilising everything we had learnt from our melody making lecture. Sacha also booked rooms alongside Lucy, recorded all of our rehearsal evidence and worked collaboratively with Felicity on the harmonies.

Tyler - Bass

Tyler, alongside me and Ed, worked on the structure suggesting different changes to make the piece more interesting. Along with Ed he also worked on different instrumental tones for the bass and keys, helping us decide on what would fit. For any timing issues we encountered, Tyler sometimes backed us up on the cajon, which really helped bring us together. He came up with a great bassline and wrote out the tab too.

#md4316

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skyfullofstarss-42 · 7 years ago

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Royal Romance (Visual Novel) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Drake Walker X MC Evelyn Fallon Additional Tags: Choices Summary:

Story takes place before the Coronation Ball. Drake Walker X MC Evelyn Fallon. Bit of Fluff.

Evelyn turned over in bed so she was staring at the dark ceiling, heaving a frustrated sigh for what must have been the hundredth time that night. She couldn’t sleep. Every time she tried to relax, another thought would come racing to the forefront of her mind. What would happen at the Coronation Ball tomorrow? Would Olivia stop being such a bitch? Would Drake be there?

“I need a drink,” she thought suddenly rising from the bed. Ignoring the fact that she was only wearing a pair of shorts and an oversized New York Knicks T-Shirt, she headed for the door and stepped out into the corridor. All was quiet as she silently padded in bare feet across the hallway, vaguely heading in the direction of the Library. She was almost positive she’d seen a bottle of Jack Daniels in there a couple of days ago; hopefully it would still be there. At the end of the corridor was a large wooden door, and as she reached for the handle, she was shocked as the door suddenly opened and a shadowy form loomed over her in the doorway. She gasped and stepped back quickly, placing a defensive arm over her chest.

“Fallon, what the hell?” Said the figure, stepping out from the shadows.

“Drake? Jesus you scared me half to death!” She cried

“You want to say that a little louder and wake up the whole palace?” He smirked “What are you doing roaming around at this time of night?”

“Well I was…” she paused suddenly noticing the bottle in Drakes hand. “Looking for that actually…” and pointed to the Whiskey “I see you’ve beaten me to it.”

“Oh really?” he said with a small smile “I don’t normally say this but…care to share?” he nodded to the door behind her. She turned her head and quickly realised where they were standing. “In your bedroom?” She said turning to face him again. “Is that a problem?” He said quietly. “No…Not at all.” She smiled back. “Well OK then.” He reached a hand over her head and pushed open the door. “After you…”

She walked into the centre of the dimly lit room, hearing a small click as Drake closed the door behind them. This sound alone send a sudden ripple of nerves to cascade down her body, like being touched by the wings of thousand butterflies.

“Wow, you let me into the inner sanctum?” She said, walking over to the bed, absentmindedly running her hand over the royal blue covers. “Should I be flattered or is this a regular thing?”

“Is what a regular thing?” Drake said pouring a large measure of whiskey into a glass. “What exactly are you implying Fallon?”

“I’m just wondering if you have many female visitors that’s all.” Evelyn said walking back to where he was standing by the window and took the glass from his hand, taking a sip of the fiery liquid. “I didn’t mean to imply anything, I’m just a little curious.” She studied his eyes intently as she spoke “I don’t know that much about you Drake”. She took another sip “You’re an enigma”.

He smiled in spite of himself “Hardly. There’s not much to know Fallon. I’m a pretty simply guy.” He poured himself a glass of Jack and took a long sip.

“Well I don’t agree with that.” Evelyn said, sitting down on the bed. “And I’d like to get to know you better.”

Drake walked over to an antique looking leather chair facing her on the bed, and sat down. He swirled the brown liquid in the glass, listening to the gently clink of the ice cubes.

“Are you asking as a friend, or because you think it would get you somewhere with Liam?”

“Drake, how can you…?” She left the sentence hanging, as she suddenly caught a glimpse of the guarded look behind his soft brown eyes.

“I’m asking because I care about you. It’s as simple as that.”

He hung his head in his hands for a while not speaking before he looked up suddenly, his expression unreadable. “OK, you’ve got three questions Fallon. Fire away, ask me anything you want and I’ll answer you.”

She smiled quickly. “Oooh really? This could be interesting. But I only get three?”

“Yes, and that’s it.” He took another big gulp of Whisky “What have I done?”

Evelyn laughed at this and got up to pace around the room. She walked over to the dresser, which had a single photograph mounted in a silver frame. She looked at the picture closely. It was of a young girl, aged around twelve years old. She was very pretty, with flowing chestnut brown hair and exquisite hazel eyes. “Is this your sister?” She asked.

Drake looked over and nodded softly, “Yes. She would have been about nine then. I remember that day so clearly. We were down on the beach, playing in the sea with mom and dad.” He stood up from the chair and went to the window, staring out into the night. He smiled wistfully. “Then Dad got a crab attached to his…” he paused and looked at Evelyn with a grin “To his family jewels…”

“His what?” She replied puzzled.

“You know his…nads,” he said again, suddenly looking uncomfortable.

“Huh?”

“Damn it Fallon, do I have to spell it out for you?” He gestured down towards his crotch. “His nutsack, cajones, plums….”

He looked up, suddenly startled when he heard Evelyn let out a snort of laughter. “Fallon, you son of a bitch.”

“I’m sorry….” She said, wiping a tear from her eye. “Oh dear.” She stopped laughing finally and sauntered over to him. “I think hearing you say the word nutsack, has been my personal highlight of this entire trip.”

“Yeah well…” he looked down at his shoes, and then smiled at her warmly “Don’t expect to hear it ever again.

“Aww” Evelyn mewed, and punched his shoulder playfully “That’s a shame.” She returned his smile before turning to sit on the bed once more. “So you were saying about your dads…bits”

“Yes as I was saying…my dad got a crab attached to his….bits, and my mom had to take him behind a tree to try and prize its claws apart. To this day, I still remember those anguished screams, while Savannah and I stood on the beach, laughing our heads off….”

“Sounds…painful actually” Evelyn chuckled.

“Yeah I guess so.” Drake agreed, “Good times though.” He took another sip of his Whiskey.

They spent a few moments in companionable silence, before Evelyn chimed “OK Walker, next question…”

“Lay it on me.” He answered giving her a sly sideways glance.

“Okay…tell me a secret.”

“Tell me a secret?” He walked over to the chair opposite her, sat down and stretched out his legs. “I can’t believe you’d be so un-original Fallon.”

“Well that’s what I’m sticking with…so answer the question.” She smirked “And I want something dark…and juicy.”

“Well I don’t have anything dark and juicy. You need to think of another question.” He replied instantly, looking at her over the rim of his glass as he took another sip.

“Goddamn it Drake, why do you have to be such a party pooper!” She cried as she leapt up from the bed.

“Party Pooper…really? How old are you Fallon? What’s next, pass the parcel or pin the tail on the donkey?”

“Hey, remember this was your idea Drake not mine.” She said suddenly feeling annoyed. “Why did you even suggest it if you don’t want to tell me anything?” With that, she saw his expression soften and with a resigned sigh, he walked over to where she was standing beside the dresser.

“You’re right, I’m sorry. It’s not easy to talk about myself that’s all. But I’ve got to say, if we’re talking party games, spin the bottle gets my vote.” He lifted up the now empty bottle of Jack Daniels and waggled his eyebrows at her suggestively.

Evelyn laughed as she watched his comical expressions. “There’s only two of us here Drake…”

“Well I don’t know about you Fallon…” he smiled slowly “But I kinda like those odds…” he stepped closer to her.

“I still have two more questions…” she breathed, barely able to tear he eyes away from his.

“Fire away.” He said softly, brushing an errant strand of hair away from her face and tucking it behind her ear.

“Have you ever been in love?” She said her voice almost a whisper.

“Yes” he said, his eyes dropping to watch her lips. She waited for him to continue, and when he made no moves to speak, she asked again somewhat impatiently, “Who with?”

“You” he said simply.

“Oh.” She uttered, shocked. Inadvertently, she took a step back.

Seeing the surprise in her eyes, he too took a step back. “Fallon, I’m sorry I shouldn’t have said that.” He said quickly, running an agitated hand through his hair. “Jesus what was I thinking?” His panicked voice suddenly snapped her out of her reverie and she turned to grab his wrist as he spun away from her.

“No Drake, I didn’t mean…” she tried to explain weakly as he pulled himself away from her and began to pace around the room like a caged tiger.

“What’s Liam going to say when he finds out I was crushing on his girl like a hormonal teenager!” He crossed over to the window and placed his forehead on the cold glass. “I’m such an idiot.”

“No you’re not,” Evelyn said quietly, as she came up beside him.

“You should leave.” He said his voice racked with anguish.

“No. I’m not going anywhere until you listen to me.” She tried to reach for his hand, but he snatched it away and placed it on the pocket of his dark jeans.

“Goddamn it Drake!” She growled abruptly “Do you want to know something?” He glanced up at her warily. “I don’t want to marry Liam, I don’t think I ever really have….”

It was her turn to pace around the room now, as she felt the frustration welling up inside her threatening to spill over like a tidal wave.

“The truth is…” She stopped pacing and turned back toward him. “All day. Every day. All I can think about is you.”

“Fallon.” Drake said gently, “you don’t have to humour me.”

“I’m not!” She cried, crossing the room to stand beside him once more. “I’m just going to say it Drake. It’s up to you whether you believe it or not….”

He turned to face her then, the words of warning fell from his lips as he caught sight of the look in her eyes. And what he saw took his breath away.

“I love you Drake Walker.” She said softly, sincerely.

“I believe you.” He answered. And smiled.

#the royal romance #drake walker #fanfic #mc x drake #choices #trr drake #trr #royal romance #drake x mc

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pcttrailsidereader · 5 years ago

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PCT Traditions - The Pancake Challenge

By Rees Hughes

Since we are committed to encouraging hikers to stay off the PCT (except for day hikes and section hiking without re-supply), we have not been following existing hikers. Instead we have re-focused our own attention on things like the mountains of Oregon and Washington and PCT traditions.

There are a number of PCT traditions such as detouring to climb Mt. Whitney, stopping at the McDonalds at Cajon Pass, or night hiking the LA Aqueduct. There are others that have come and gone (e.g., ADZPCTKO, Hiker Heaven or Casa de Luna). There may be others that you would add to this list. Perhaps brunch at Timberline Lodge or visiting Stehekin on the shores of Lake Chelan.

I definitely think that the Pancake Challenge belongs. It happens at the Seiad Valley Cafe and Store in Northern California. What follows is a story I wrote some years ago about the experience that is include in the California volume of the Trailside Reader.

Walking north along Grider Creek into the little community of Seiad Valley, one of those wide-spots-in-the-road, don’t-blink-or-you’ll-miss-it towns, I was not totally surprised to see signs confirming our arrival into the rebellious “State of Jefferson”. Descending from the wild beauty of the Marble Mountains with my lifelong trail companions Rocky and Pierre, the final six miles had wound past a curious mix of “Beware of Dog” warnings and weathered homesteads, fecund gardens and satellite dishes, and the rusting detritus of what must have been a once grand civilization. I was not quite sure whether I had arrived in an idyllic trail town or been transported to the set of “Deliverance”.

William Brewer, California’s first geographer, called this area “a delightful spot – it seems an oasis in a desert” as he passed through a century and a half earlier documenting the existence of Chinese gold miners, native peoples, as well as white settlers. But despite the beautiful setting and the fertile bottom land, he reported that the Reeves family whose ranch had filled much of the valley, was eager to sell out as they felt “caged up from the world.” Certainly those hardy souls who made this valley home today must still have a genuine sense of independence and self-reliance and a passion for isolation.

Contemporary Seiad Valley isn’t much more than a collection of houses distributed above the flood plain of the Klamath River with the welcome showers and shade of the RV park and the adjacent cinderblock post office, store, and café. Just as in Brewer’s day, the deep valley with its surrounding peaks remains spectacular. The café, which I had heard about for years, seemed modest and unassuming given its legendary place among PCT walkers. The much heralded “pancake challenge” is anticipated no less than reaching Deep Creek Hot Springs, Forester Pass, Timberline Lodge, or Stehekin.

Five one-pound pancakes eaten in two hours and your breakfast is free. Five eye-popping pancakes as large as a dinner plate. It seemed so simple.

Challenge is to PCT hikers what blood is to sharks. The gauntlet of challenge is why we have PCT speed records, competition to minimize base pack weight, winter hikers in the Sierras, and side trips to ‘bag’ nearby peaks. It follows that food would also be subject to conquest. By the time many PCT hikers reach Seiad Valley, their confidence is high, very high. The body is strong, the diet insufficient, and the hunger insatiable.

I have been hungry since birth and was especially ravenous after the previous ten days on the trail. I am tall and lanky and had survived this long by willingly finishing the uneaten portions from the plates of friends and family over the years. I had always prioritized quantity over quality when it came to calories. This pancake thing seemed the perfect match for my aptitude.

As we dropped our packs and prepared to enter the Seiad Valley Café, I found it inconceivable that my appetite would be bested by anything served at such a small eatery. How could the proprietor know that I had strategically been making preparations for miles. Drinking copious amounts of water to stretch my stomach. Reminding myself to approach the task slowly. Visualizing success. Confident that I was poised to become a name whispered reverently along the length of the trail.

My golden brown pancakes were delivered with a side of syrup. Somehow they looked bigger in life than I had imagined; a little like an ocean swell viewed from the trough. And yet, I had survived lightning storms in Desolation Wilderness and a mid-summer snowstorm on the PCT east of Rainier. This was a mere nothing. I enjoyed the first bites; warm and sweet comfort food. It was a welcome alternative to granola, dried fruit, and powdered milk. I devoured the first layer in but a few minutes. It was difficult to imagine anything standing between me and an empty plate. I may have even been guilty of a boast or two, and casting an eye to the sausages on Rocky’s plate. “Bring it on.”

By the time I began to attack the second layer, my senses had dulled. Instead of savoring bites, appreciating the taste and aroma of breakfast, I became more mechanical in my approach. But my speed was steady. Yet, as I neared the end of ‘El Segundo’ (I thought it might help if I named each pancake) I had become aware of a long forgotten feeling in my stomach – the creeping fog of ‘fullness’.

I decided that this was nothing a short walk around the premises wouldn’t remedy.

I returned to the task at hand, pulling my chair back to the table. However, no longer was I thinking of the remaining stack of three as comfort food. The professionals of food excess at Nathan’s hot dog eating contest use water to soak the buns; I tried water too. It did make the bites go down easier. Conventional wisdom suggests that the moisture compresses the dough so that it requires less space in your stomach. As I finished my third pancake it was unmistakable. I was full.

The only thing on my side was the clock. Seventy-five minutes more, one way or the other, and I would be through. A visit to the toilet helped.

I became aware of a new pressure. In addition to my fellow hikers several patrons lent their support and encouragement. An ancient woodsman, perhaps a prophetic apparition with his suspenders stretched to the breaking point, and his toothless companion nursed along a third round of coffee just to enjoy the spectacle. Rocky cautioned, “Just take your time.”

I flashbacked to Paul Newman’s downing of 50 eggs in an hour as Cool Hand Luke. “Get mad at them damn eggs,” exhorted George Kennedy. The increasingly public nature of my quest propelled me well into the next pancake. I imagined discrete wagering among the assembled although even the most loyal would recognize that the pancakes were a heavy favorite. As I neared the end of the fourth slab of the damn dough, the exhortations of the café patrons had become insufficient incentive.

I started to become aware that my mind was working against me. “Why didn’t I just get the omelet?” “Why did I have to make such a big deal about this.” “I’ve heard about people’s stomach’s exploding from eating too much.” I scanned the walls imagining the prospects of flapjack debris adhering everywhere as I become the first culinary suicide bomber.

My plate had been room temperature for some time and the once supple pancakes seemed to have assumed the consistency of soft pine. I tried eating smaller bites but after ten minutes had trouble detecting any difference in the size of the fifth pancake. Time was proceeding agonizingly slowly.

I felt hands on my shoulders massaging them vigorously. It was my cornerman with his smelling salts, cotton swabs, and an icepack. I was the heavyweight with head down, towel covered, filled with self doubt being prepared for the twelfth round. There is no hope of victory. I knew it and those cheering me on knew it. But the bell rang and I answered the call. I took a few frantic bites stabbing wildly at the plate hoping desperately for a knockout.

“Rees,” Pierre’s voice revived me. I wondered how long I had been staring at the remaining pancake hoping that it would magically vaporize. Or, that I would. I slowly sighed. My valiant effort was over. I paid the bill but declined to take the remnants of “The Terminator” with me in a ‘doggy bag’ and staggered out.

It could have been worse. Someone reminded me of the thru hiker, perhaps apocryphal, who had arranged a joyous rendezvous with his family at the Seiad Valley Store and Café. Part way through the ‘challenge’ this cursed fellow violently regurgitated several pounds of pancake ignominiously across the table before him.

Although the number of individuals reputed to have successfully conquered the pancake challenge varies; there is no disagreement that the number is small.

Unfortunately, the clean tee-shirt I had purchased with the “XX” on the front, the double-cross icon of the State of Jefferson, no longer fit. I hoped that it wouldn’t take more than a day or so for my body to return to its earlier condition. The ache that permeated my belly reminded me of my quixotic journey of the morning. The thought of carrying the extra weight up the daunting climb out of Seiad Valley to Lower Devil’s Peak made a ‘zero’ day very attractive.

But, it was time to get on. I knew my discomfort and my embarrassment were only temporary.

I shouldered my pack. The trail, appropriately, slinks out of town alongside Highway 96 before abruptly turning north and up. I thought about Brewer’s climb up this same ridge long ago. He had been accompanied by two men from Reeves’ ranch one of whom brought a bugle. Brewer commented that “every little while [he] awakened the echoes of the silent mountains with its notes.” As the day waned and I looked down from the abandoned Lower Devil’s Peak lookout on the diminutive settlement, my failure receded into insignificance. I imagined myself sitting like Brewer, with this magical view of the distant ribbon of the Klamath River and the layered ridges of the Klamath Knot before me. I could even imagine the soulful notes of a cornet reverberating off the shoulder of the ridgeline to the north.

#Pancake Challenge #PCT traditions #Mt. Whitney #McDonalds at Cajon Pass #ADZPCTKO #Casa de Luna #Stehekin #Hike Heaven

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