#pink canyon valley

[ilhancanrodoplu]

Run Belgrad Forest Entrance

#digital painting #modern art #digital art #surrealism #pink planet #pink canyon valley #pink canyon valley signboard #Flowers in Canyon #pistacia lake of pink #pink stars #deviantart #artstation #patreon

[sunlightmurdock]

Like This Forever | 0.1 | J. Seresin

masterlist | next chapter

You’re thinking of the past, right as the future is about to change forever.

Warnings: accidental pregnancy, childhood friends to lovers, country singer!Jake, smut, pining, blissful ignorance, other warnings to follow. wc: 3k (18+ minors do not interact)

A U G U S T 1 9 7 4 / F E B R U A R Y 1 9 9 1

Driftwood — small town southwestern Texas, situated in Lockheart County. Springs, stony hills, and steep canyons. It’s good land, occupying a tiny patch of earth in the middle of the Edwards Plateu. That’s what they all say: good land, good soil. Large acreages of wheat for miles around, grown annually for harvest and winter through spring livestock grazing. The remaining two-thirds of the region is rangeland devoted to cattle ranching. Ranches in this region often seem older than the landscape itself. Lockheart County’s livestock industry is nationally appreciated, it was, even back then. Ranches here are huge, they’ve been there for generations. The town of Driftwood, itself, sits in a valley. It holds on to the people who settle there just like it holds onto the weight of that thick, summer heat all through the day. So hot that even the trees bend and furl like they’re seeking shade too.

Back then, Driftwood was even smaller than it is now. Post Office, Church, two schools, a fleet of locally owned stores on Main Street and a few other buildings for the fathers who weren’t ranchers or ranch hands to work.

On that day in early August, most of Driftwood’s thousand person population were nestled amongst the pews of St. Augustine’s Church, just outside of town. It’s a mile and a half from Main Street, and a mile and a half from the furthest fence on the Seresin Ranch. Their house is a sprawling thing that Bill’s grandfather had built — they haven’t got that kind of money now, and they didn’t on that morning in August. They’ve got three boys, who were squirming around the front pew, melting into the aged wood below them in their smart white button ups. They’ve got another boy too, standing behind Pastor James, holding a processional candle.

Jake’s their youngest. He was nine back then. Small for his age, especially when you stood him next to his brothers and their broad shoulders and long legs. His hair was beyond blond, lightened from the sun. His cheeks dusted with brown freckles and his eyes always narrowed into a type of John Wayne kind of squint. Jake loved John Wayne back then. He loved the cowboys on his bed sheets, and the fact he could see the cattle from his bedroom window. All he wanted back then was a pistol on his hip and a one-way ticket to El Dorado.

Mary-Lynn Seresin grew up in Driftwood, just like her husband had. She had known Bill since she was a little girl, and she had always known that she would marry him one day. Her nails were polished pink that day, sitting pretty atop the procession card as she fans herself with it. Two pews behind, you could still see a droplet of sweat bead from her neat blonde hairline and trail into the collar of her blue polka-dotted Sunday dress.

On that particular Sunday, the fans had packed up and stopped working. So, all six hundred of you who could make it out to St. Augustine’s we’re trapped in there — not just with Pastor James’ storytelling, but with the thick heat pressing down on the entire valley feeling like it had all been shut in this one room with the rest of you.

At the front, Jake Seresin’s cheeks were red, his hair was beading with sweat and his scarecrow, twig-like arms were trembling around the cross. He struggled with its weight and you had watched his green eyes flash out towards the crowd, briefly landing on his mother. Mary-Lynn gave him a proud nod. Bill was staring at the stagnant ceiling fans above their heads. You, were staring right at Jake.

Eight years old yourself, just eight weeks younger than Jake is, you have known that little grass-stain your entire life. In fact, Mary-Lynn and your mother found out that they were expecting just days apart. They had been in the same high school grade as girls, had married men who were good friends, and back then your mother had worked in the town’s hair salon five days a week. They grew very close through their pregnancies. Your mother was the first one to send flowers when Mary-Lynn went into labour a month and a half early.

Jake’s John-Wayne-Squint deepened through the heavy air, watching you like you were both about to draw pistols and settle this like men — right in the middle of Pastor James’ final verse. Your pigtails and your white Sunday dress weren’t fooling him. His robes and the heavy cross in his hand weren’t fooling you. Clearly following his brother’s gaze, Daniel Seresin turns and peers at you over his shoulder. He’s the closest in age to Jake, but he’s still five years older. Thirteen then and too grown up for childish squabbles like those, he just turned back to the front and shook his head.

The first three of the Seresin boys were all born within three consecutive years. Matthew, Noah and Daniel. They’re each tall like their mother, blonde like her too, and have inherited their father’s linebacker shoulders. Noah was fourteen and about to be a freshman in high school. After he fixed the chain on your bike at the beginning of summer, you were full-blown head-over-heels in love with him back then. You thought you were anyway.

Jake, however, had been in your class since Kindergarten and you had been forced to share your toys with him for even longer than that.

His arms trembled before you and your mouth had twitched. Neither one of you was listening to the service. It was almost over. Just a few more minutes until Pastor James wrapped up and the people of Driftwood and poured out of this sauna and out into the dry, morning sun.

Quickly, you shot a look at your mother sitting at your side. She was listening intently, staring right ahead with her neatly steamed clothes and her hair-sprayed hair. You’ll always remember the heavy smell of her rose-scented perfume. Every time you inhale it, you’re sitting at the foot of her bed, watching her fix her face in her vanity. Then, you looked to your father on the other side of you. Exactly the same. Pleased, you turn your attention back to the youngest Seresin boy.

Scrunching your nose, you had sat forwards just slightly and stuck your tongue out at him. Quite the diss back then. Jake’s green eyes had widened, sweat beading down his back under his white shirt and his service robes.

Driftwood is a safe place. It’s a fantastic town to raise children. The schools aren’t overcrowded and cars don’t speed through the centre of town. Country roads are a different story. But no one bats an eyelid, especially not back then, when their children are out of sight.

Mary-Lynn was busily detailing the events of her dinner party that coming Saturday to a group of women that are invited. She’s quite the hostess still. Your mother stood amongst them. Neither one of them were concerned about where their children were in the slightest. Until, that is, the sounds of muffled screaming filled their ears. The mothers of Driftwood rush to the commotion in their kitten heels and pretty dresses. Your mother was the first around the corner. She would recognise the sound of her baby’s screaming anywhere. But you weren’t the one in trouble. As usual, you had been causing it.

Your white dress grass-stained and muddy, dirt under your fingernails and covering your formerly white, frilled socks. You were kneeling. You haven’t yet noticed the crowd of women rushing in your direction. You’ve got Mary-Lynn Seresin’s youngest son pressed into the dirt, kneeling on his back and twisting his arm uncomfortably behind him.

“Say Uncle!” You demanded.

“You’re so dead! Get off!” Jake struggled under you, screaming with all the force that his growing lungs would allow. His voice must have been audible across the entire valley with how he was hollering. Freckled cheek pressed into the dirt, his white shirt was destroyed and he was in the middle of ruining his shoes with how he was scrambling for purchase in the dried dirt.

Quickly, your mother had grabbed you under your arms and hauled you off of the boy, spinning you to face her.

“What do you think you’re doing young lady?”

“He started it! — He said my dress was ugly!”

“It is ugly, you look like a girl!” Jake huffed from behind you as he had stumbled onto his feet and taken a look down at his church clothes. Slowly, he had lifted his gaze to look at his mother. Sullen and worried looking, he began to pout. It wasn’t working. Mary-Lynn had raised three boys by then, she knew when they were trying to play innocent.

The thing about growing up so close together, is that approaching double digits was a confusing time. It was around that age that your mother began to put her foot down when it came to all of those tom-boy activities. Girls might roughhouse and come home with holes in their jeans and mud on their faces, but young ladies didn’t. The dress was her idea.

Jake’s comment had been passing, just a whisper as his family had headed into church ahead of yours, but he was right — you did look like a girl. Back then, that wasn’t a compliment coming from him. So, you had cornered him outside and pummeled him into the dirt. Fair is fair.

“Mary-Lynn, I am so sorry about her — send me the dry-cleaning bill. I’m sorry, we should go.” Your mother had sighed in a hurry, frowning down at your ruined clothes, then looking towards Jake’s. You’ll always remember the smile on Mary-Lynn’s face after. Not pity, because she knew you were in a lot of trouble for this. Just fondness. She had gently patted your mother’s forearm and shaken her head.

“Let’s finish our chat. They’re already filthy. Let them play.”

Looking up at her, you hadn’t understood why she was siding with you back then. You had just almost broken her son’s arm for sport. As you grew, Mary-Lynn Seresin was always on your side. In her kitten heels and dresses, she remembered being a dirt-covered little girl once too. No one was telling her son that it was time yet, to be a man. There’s no harm in letting you be young a little longer.

Your mother had looked uncertain, but people in Driftwood always looked to Mary-Lynn for advice. She had somehow managed to keep four boys in line perfectly, her parenting expertise was studied by those around her. Finally, she had given you a brief nod.

You remember spinning on the delicate almost-heel of your church shoes, rounding on Jake, ready to brawl. You have no clue where the stick came from, but he was armed when you had turned around — but Jake always fought fair. He tossed you a stick of your own and took aim. Green eyes narrowed, he was trying to look down his freckled nose at you, but you were taller then.

“She’s gonna marry that boy someday.” Mary-Lynn Seresin had huffed with a wistful smile, watching the mud-caked children tear off through the field once again. This time, with sticks in hands and violent intent plastered across their dirty faces.

You’re not eight anymore. Jake’s not nine. This time of the year, you both happen to be twenty-six. You aren’t trying to kill him with a stick anymore either. You’re sitting at your favourite bar in Driftwood — there are four now — watching your best friend up on stage. He’s always confident. He has been since he hit that growth spurt when he was twelve. Since then, Jake has been unstoppable. But on stage is when he really shines.

The Dark Star feels like an old bar. It’s packed every Friday night. It smells like malt and smoke and Jake’s been playing here every Saturday since he was seventeen. This is the last time that it will ever be like this, and you don’t even know it yet. Jake’s in the middle of an original. People around here know him, they know his music. They might not get all the words right, but he always gets people singing.

Jake isn’t small for his age now. He grew into his nose, and he inherited those big shoulders, his skin’s tanned from his days out at the ranch. He’s strong and funny and kind. Sometimes it catches you off guard, when you turn your head and find a man in place of the little boy you once knew.

You’re in a booth, talking numbers. It turns out that you had inherited your mother’s knack for business strategy, and Jake’s way with words had rubbed off on you long ago.

You don’t look like the little girl Jake had once known either. If he was concerned about you looking like a girl before, then you can only imagine how dismayed he must be when he looks at you now. Breasts and everything.

“It’s more than potential, Stu — you saw how crazy people were for him when he was opening for The Ashford Band.” You tell him, fingers curled around a brown glass bottle. This is already settled, the deal is already done. You knew from the second that he walked in that you had Stu Adler suckered.

This is a deal that you’ve been mulling over for a couple of months now. Getting Jake on his first headline tour. His debut album came out last week and it’s doing well, but the record label is tiny and the publicity deal is even smaller. Jake’s making pennies compared to other people in his genre, but you’re about to change all of that.

“Six months is a long time on the road. It’s a different lifestyle,” Stu’s dishwater grey eyes flicker briefly up from the plunging neckline of your top to meet your gaze. He’s an older man, with a once successful career in Los Angeles. Now, he spends his time scrounging small towns for talent. He’s just a stepping stone in your plans for Jake. “You’re sure he can handle it?”

Stretching your legs out, you scoff incredulously at the accusation as Jake’s last song dwindles behind you. The beer bottle is cool against your lips. Stu swallows, watching your lips purse around the rim to drink. You know he’d die for the chance to get his wrinkly, old dick in your mouth — it’s why Jake’s about to get the best deal of his life.

“Jake? — Of course.”

“Can you?” Stu asks. The light on you for once makes you cringe. Even so, your poker face doesn’t falter. Calmly staring across the table at him, a small smile on your face. “Y’know, he’s going to need a manager that I can rely on. I.e. — one that he won’t dump, sweetheart.”

This only makes your smile grow. “Jake is like a brother to me. You don’t have to worry about a thing.”

It’s that lie that secures the deal. Six months, a hundred and sixty dates across the US. Mostly small venues, but it’s his first headline tour — and it’s all because of you. Because of that one little white lie. Letting Stu think that he’s got a chance with you. Letting him think that you’ve never fucked Jake.

You have. Twice, already by this point. Once, after senior prom. Your date was an asshole and his was cruel. You’d parked his truck out in the west pasture of the Seresin ranch and got a little too drunk under the stars, and wound up with your legs hiked up over his shoulders. The second time was Thanksgiving two years ago. Your family joined his. All of his brothers have fiancés or wives now. Sharing Jake’s bed in his childhood home that night, neither one of you was drunk. You were just lonely, and maybe bored.

Tonight, there are a couple of different factors at play. Sure, by the time that you and Jake collapse down onto that red, velvet couch in the Dark Star’s ‘dressing room’, you’ve had plenty to drink. You’re not quite as lonely as you were that thanksgiving, though.

You turn your head and he’s grinning at the ceiling, chest heaving from the energetic final song. His arms stretch along the backs of the couch, his eyes closed for a moment. You watch him silently.

“You’re incredible.” Jake’s half-cut on an unhealthy mix of tequila and vodka, but smiling, eyes still shut, chin still pointed towards the sky. He gives his head a small shake. “A hundred and sixty dates.”

A smile plasters itself across your lips. As drunk as you are, it’s nice to be complimented for your hard work. “Yeah, we’ll see if you still think I’m so incredible when you’re living off of burgers and beer and still have eighty shows to go.”

The smell of cigarettes lives within the fibre of this room. Part of the furniture, nestled amongst the cracks in the red painted walls. There’s the couch that you’re sitting on, and an illuminated vanity against the far wall, and then a coat stand. It’s not much of a dressing room, but it’s fine.

You just wish it would stop spinning.

“I mean it.” His fingers rest atop your denim clad thigh, patting platonically. You hear him sigh from beside you. He squeezes at the supple skin under his hand. “Thank you.”

“Jake… since when do you have manners?” You ask him. Both of you are sitting with your eyes shut on this old, probably dirty, velvet couch. It’s five in the morning. The two of you might have gone a little overboard with celebrating. Wayne Mayhew, the owner of the Dark Star might have threatened to kick you both out of his bar if you didn’t finally get off of his damn stage ten minutes ago.

But there’s a high buzzing between the two of you that feels electric. Wordlessly, you know Jake feels it too. That this is the last night. Here, in this shitty hometown bar. Everything is about to change. After this tour, nothing will ever be the same again — for either of you.

Jake’s thumb trails back and forth in just one small pattern, reminding you that it’s there on your thigh.

It’s been on your mind all day, for no reason at all. That Sunday in August in 1974. Your ruined church dress and the fat bruise on Jake’s cheek the next day when you had seen him at the market. The start of it all.

Those late night drives and all the evenings you studied together. Jake’s football games and his band practices — back when he had thought he wanted to be in a band. Him drying your tears and making you laugh. Growing up together, talking for hours and hours about all of the possibilities. This was everything Jake had ever wanted, and he’s thanking you.

Your eyelids weigh double what they normally do — heavy as you blink open your eyes and turn your head. This time, he’s looking across at you. The tips of his fingers brush the inseam of your blue, low-rise jeans. His face is calm, he isn’t saying anything and he’s far from doing anything either.

Scrunching your nose, you poke your tongue out at him. Across the couch, Jake lifts his brows. The corner of his mouth twitches. He’s got stubble now. Stubble, and chest hair and an Adam’s apple. But that look, that glint in his eye that’s just daring you to try him has always been the same.

Jake’s fingers twitch, pressing into the soft flesh of your inner thigh. Dim lighting, fifteen year old red paint on each of the four walls, and that perpetual cigarette smell — it’s hardly a romantic fantasy. And this is far from a good idea.

But it’s Jake. Confident, loud Jake who gets shy when he’s around someone he really likes. Funny, smart-mouthed Jake who under it all is a great listener. Goofy, habitual Jake who has the nighttime routines of a fifty year old housewife.

Strong-willed, handsome, Jake, your best friend — who’s looking at you like you’re his next meal.

…

@fia-thefirst @daggerspare-standingby @dempy @v0id-chaos @moonlight-addisyn @grxcisxhy-wp @shakespeareanwannabe @coconut152 @330bpm-whiplash @takemetooneverlanddd @princess76179 @loveofvernonslife @averyhotchner @trickphotography2 @sushiwriterhere @the-romanian-is-bae @atarmychick007 @talktomegooseman @xoxabs88xox @thedroneranger @roostersforevergirl @buckysdollforlife @abaker74 @blackwidownat2814 @kmc1989 @whatislovevavy @lonelywriter10 @s-u-t @topguncortez @callsign-joyride @rosedurin @86laura11 @theenorthstar @mygyn @growup-thatbeautiful @percysaidnever @katiedid-3 @its-the-pilot

#jake smut #Jake Seresin #Jake Seresin x reader #Jake Seresin x you #jake seresin x y/n #Jake Seresin fic #jake seresin #Glen powell #Jake hangman Seresin #top gun: maverick

[heavenlybackside]

Pink Canyon At Valley of Fire

Variation of a small but beautiful canyon in the Valley of Fire State Park/Nevada, 🇺🇸

[thatbanditqueen]

Smash!

An Elvis Presley fan fic one-shot

Summary: Eadie is walking up the canyon to her uncle's house when a beautiful stranger almost runs her over, out on a car ride to clear his mind. Inspired by a memo from the amazing Hal Wallis before Easy Come, Easy Go, complaining that fans and movie theater owners think Elvis looks bad, his hair is too fluffy and black, and he "doesn't look like a Navy frogman...."

A response to the writing prompt to write a scenario involving Elvis and a car/

WC: 2.7 K

Warnings: None, a non-deadly car crash, and probably typos. I tend to leave these writing prompts to work on during the day Sunday, and I am not sure this one turned out very well... but oh well I said I was posting it.

Tagging my compatriots @vintageshanny @be-my-ally @arrolyn1114 @from-memphis-with-love @missmaywemeetagain @whositmcwhatsit @ellie-24 @shakerattlescroll @peskybedtime

Friday, September 9, 1966

Countyline Beach, the very edge of Malibu

It was getting harder to read in the evening light, and Eadie decided to give up, placing Valley of the Dolls down on her blanket. Setting back, she lingered on the beach, watching the orange and pink hues follow the sun and dance across the water in a rainbow of reflections just for her. It was lonely back at the empty house, but also a welcome reprieve from the hustle and bustle of Jakarta, which had been home for the last three years. Los Angeles was its own foreign terrain, a fact she had discovered after stepping off the plane last week, and she had yet to learn the rhythms and practices of its natives.

Looking out at the water, she stood, and wiped the sand off the bottom of her thighs, readying herself to walk back across the highway to canyon where her uncle lived. Eadie covered her eyes and looked over at Neptune’s Net, the run down, biker bar on the other side of the highway, and considered going for a beer and maybe some human contact. But she still didn’t yet feel confident using US money, and the line of Harley Davidsons out front gave her pause.

So, instead, Eadie slipped her sandals back on, threw everything in her bag, and walked leisurely across the empty two lane highway that stretched between the burnt, brown  foothill of the Santa Monica mountains to the beach. Looking over her shoulder as she started up the hill, she mused at how lucky she was to be here in the first place, housesitting on the beach in America, and made a mental note to ask how she could help out more when Uncle Ian returned from New York.  She wanted to be the kind of useful, grateful, houseguest he would invite to stay as long as she liked.

The sun was almost completely gone as she trekked up the hill, and Eadie startled when, lost in her own thoughts, she saw a large, chocolate poodle running down along the other side of the road. She walked to the middle of the lane, slapping her thighs and whistling, then slowly taking another step. Her stomach was a ball of nerves thinking of the highway 30 yards down the canyon, and what could happen to the dog if she didn’t catch it.

“Come here, boy, come here.” Eadie whispered in a slow, friendly voice.

The dog paused and quirked its ears up at her, and the recognition in its big brown eyes made her smile.

“That’s a goooood boy.”

Confident she was gaining its trust, Eadie slowly stepped towards the animal, and was just about to take another when the sudden loud roar of a car engine bounding down the canyon startled the dog into the brush. Eadie jumped back and fell down in the wake of the black convertible that swerved into the big rock on the other side of the road.

Eadie opened her eyes. The sounds of metal crashing and tires squeaking, followed by a stream of steady expletives, filled her ears. The swearing got closer as she heard a rush of footsteps that brought a tall, dark-haired man into view above her. She rubbed her eyes again, trying to focus. His blue eyes were terrified, and his face was pale, drained of blood, as he leaned down to prop her up from the dirt.

“Hey, hey hey hey hey, now, baby. You’re ok, you’re ok.”

Eadie put her arms around him, instinctively, before looking over at the crunched, smoking engine. Still in shock, she slapped his chest several times before realizing her palm was skinned and she was smudging blood all over his blue shirt.

“What the devil! Do you have any idea how reckless you are? You bloody fool, you could have died, or killed someone, driving down the canyon like that.”

The man shook his head, wiping her hair out of her face.

“And I s’pose where you come from, standing in the middle of the street is considered safe, huh?"

Then she remembered why she had been in the middle of the road.

“Wait, wait, I was in the- it - was - there was - oh no, there was a dog, there was a dog, put me down, we have to go save it.”

Eadie tried to stand, but stumbled, leaning on the man as she tried to walk another step, turning and looking around for the poodle. She almost went down completely on her next step, and so she didn’t protest when he scooped her up into his arms, but she continued to look around anxiously. Her stomach was tight again as she imagined the dog running out into one of the roads nearby.

“He was just here, please, I cannot bear to think of him running around loose, he’ll get run over, please. go see if you can catch him.”

The man shifted, his arms fixed around Eadie as he swung around in a circle, unable to ignore the intense urgency in her voice.

“Honey, there ain’t no dog here, wouldn't know which way to go.”

“Please, you’ve got to go look for him, I’ll never forgive myself, just set me down on your boot. There. He went off that way.”

The man looked deep into her eyes as he set her down on the trunk of his car, and walked over to grab her missing sandal and her other things laying in the middle of the road. He knelt down, wiped off her foot and slid her shoe on, in an almost maternal manner, then rubbed her calf before he standing all the way back up. He stared at her expectantly, as if he was waiting for her to say something. So she did, gesturing toward the brush

"Please."

“Listen, I can’t go chasing after some dog, lil girl, but I bet you dollars to donuts he's gone on home. Dogs are smarter than we give 'em credit. But I can't go a wild goose chase, baby, I gotta  figure out what I’m gonna do about this goddamn mess.” He kicked the front wheel of his car.

Eadie frowned, a wave of guilt washed over her. The dog, his car, the evening had turned into a fiasco in the blink of an eye. She bobbed her head in agreement, the guy was right, and she felt even worse noticing the smoke that was still coming out of his smashed hood.

“Oh, and your car. Think it will run?

“Oh sure, it'll run, alright. Run right into the junk yard. Ya not a mechanic, are you? The engine's gone, but also once a car gets all smashed up, it ain't never drive right again. Needs to be put out to pasture. Gonesville."

She watched as he looked past her, out the ocean, and his eyes got a sort of far away look, as if he were no longer talking about the car, but something deeper. His voice was so melancholy, Eadie's face crumpled in sympathy and a whimper escaped her throat. She wiped her eyes.

"Ugh, I think I'm in shock, still. But I'm sorry about your car, I really am. I feel so horrible."

The guy forced a half smile. "Aw, don't cry ,baby, I hardly had a chance to get attached.”

As if on cue, one of the gaskets popped and another furl of smoke went up from the engine.

“Oh it was new, that's even worse. And such a lovely car, though the steering wheel still seems like it’s on the wrong side, to me.”

“English?”

“Mhmmm, I’m Ian’s niece, I just got into town. You one of his neighbors?”

The man put his hands at his waist, or rather right below, and tapped his fingers over the top of his thighs as he leaned forward. He paused, lip hanging open, as he looked up from under his eyebrows at the road he had just come down and the handful of houses jutting out from the hills.

“Am I one of Ian’s neighbors?” He repeated back, the hint of an indignant smile curled at the side of his mouth. As if she had asked the set up to a joke.

“I haven’t met all of you, just Sarah and Mack, across from him. I’m Ian’s, niece, Eadie.”

She stuck out her hand, waiting as he hesitated, shifting and clicking his tongue before he shook it.

“Huh. Yeah, I think you might still be in shock honey, maybe you hit your head. How many fingers am I holding up?”

He passed his forefinger in front of her eyes, watching as she tracked it.

“Two. Look, I , I  - I think I’m ok to walk back to the house. How far up are you?”

The man shifted, mumbling something to himself under his breath that she couldn't make out. “Well, that sonofabitch mus really be right, people ain’t even recognizing me.”

He met her questioning eyes, and spoke up.

“Ugh, nah, I don’t live up there, jus took a turn off Mulholland to go for a drive along the coast, blow off some steam. It’s been a rough week, boy, been a rough week.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, what line of work are you in?”

Eadie pushed off the car as she spoke, testing her balance and pulling her sun dress down over her scraped knees. She was just beginning to really feel the sore twinge running through her back from the fall. Looking over at him, it struck her that the stranger was standing in a way that almost suggested he was posing for her, and it made her giggle inwardly. He coughed again, running his hand through the tuft of black hair hanging over his forehead.

“I - I’m an actor.”

Eadie patted his shoulder, apologetically.

“Ah, right, well, that it explains your rough week, doesn’t it. I imagine it can be very hard going out here for you.” She looked up the hill, then back at his car. “Listen I’m not really in the habit of inviting strange men over. But, I, well, I feel somewhat responsible for your car. Is there someone you can call for help? Maybe a garage you can hire to come tow your car?”

“Huh, yeah, I reckon I know a guy or two I can get to come help me.”

“Promise you’re not an insane killer. Or rapist. Or burglar?”

The man grinned, looking down. “Whoo boy, no, no, no ma’am. You know women have asked me a lot of weird questions over my lifetime, but that one takes the cake. How do I know you ain’t the one trying to get me alone, so you can pounce on me, huh?” He winked at Eadie, grabbing his black satin sports coat from the back seat before setting out to follow her cautious gait.

“Is that something American women do? Go about attacking men?”

“Uh, well, lil girl, you’d be surprised. ”

**********************************

Eadie had her misgivings as she led him into her uncle’s house, but there was something about his eyes, and the quiet way he mumbled inaudibly into his shoes that made her trust him. She changed into a nice pair of grey linen capri pans and a silk blouse, fixed her blonde hair neatly back with a headband, then looked around her uncle’s closet for some clean clothes for her guest.

Coming back downstairs, she stood for a moment at the landing, watching his tall, lanky silhouette shift back and forth in front of the large, open windows overlooking the Pacific Ocean. He held the phone cord in his hand, twisting it, before he turned, at the sound of her footsteps, and grinned, still speaking into the mouth piece.

“Yeah, I know it’s a new one. Nothing doin’.  Better get someone to come tow it, and then you come and pick me up too, huh? I’m on - where are we, honey?”

Eadie put the clothes down on the bar in front of him.

“Decker Canyon, just above the Pacific Coast Highway.”

“Got that Joe? We’re 'bout a mile off the PCH, street is Decker Canyon, right below Mulholland Drive. S' a ways out - anything round here?”

She gave him the only landmarks she new, the bar and a gas station a few miles before it, then bounced over to  see what she had in the fridge.  At the click of the phone, she turned back to her guest.

“Hungry? I can make us some omelets? Or bacon and egg sandwiches?”

“Sho, whatever’s clever, baby.”

Her eyes shifted over his body, noting the dirt all over the knees of his tight, white pants, and motioned to the clothes.

“I think you might be more trim than my uncle, and more stylish. But I brought you some clean clothes, if you want them. Your belt will probably do the trick.”

“Trim, huh?”

Eadie paused as she cracked some eggs, frowning at the wounded look on his face.

“Look, you don’t need me to tell you you’re handsome, I’m sure you know it or you wouldn’t be out here in Hollywood, trying to break in to your field. Right?”

He shook his head, and laughed as he strode over to her. Suddenly Eadie’s knees felt weak and it wasn’t from the crash. She dropped the egg shells she was holding.

“So you think I’m handsome, huh?”

“Well, from an objective view point.”

“Don’t think I look too fat?”

She shook her head, unable to speak, because she was too overwhelmed by the proximity of his body, his smell, the mix of sweat and spice and burnt rubber from the car crash.

“Or that my hair is too fluffy?”

Eadie forget all of the etiquette she had learned from the foreign finishing schools she had been to in India, Ceylon, Indonesia. She confidently ran her fingers through his hair, as if they were old friends or lovers, and not strangers who had just met.

“Whoever told you that is crackers. It’s just perfect.”

He grinned, and stepped back, walking off to change.

“You’re sweet, baby, know that?”

He hardly spoke when he came back in Ian’s clothes, mainly asking her about herself and what it was like to grow up as the child of an ambassador. Eadie answered his questions as they ate simple cheese omelets and drank the very sweet screwdrivers he had mixed for them.

“Ever get to the movies?”

There was a sly edge to the way he looked at her as they spoke, and she kept getting this eerie feeling of deja vu. As though they had met, perhaps he had been sitting in front of her on the plane and in the midst of jet lag, she had completely forgot about some small conversation they had. Something about his blue eyes poked at the back her mind. But she shook it off, and tried to summon all the charm she could muster.

“Sometimes they bring things in English for the Embassy, but it’s often drek. Or out cheap, British stuff. Everything from here, it takes a year of more to make its way around the world, and the dub it into Mandarin, Hindu, French, Jawa. I just saw West Side Story for the first time last month! Boy, that was a good one, dontcha think."

He pursed his lips, nodding as he ate.

"Everything in Tanzania was in French, but I that was always my worst class at school. They haven’t even got television in most of Africa yet. They set up the first station in Jakarta.”

He slid his hand over hers, and she stilled, feeling a swarm of butterflies take flight in her tummy as his thumb rubbed over her knuckles.

“American's liable to bore you, after all that.”

“Oh no, everything in America is so beautiful.” Eadie blurted out, then blushed at the smirk that grew on his face. “I - I mean the ocean, the landscape. It’s all so.” She inhaled, trying to give herself time to think of something more clever than just the same word over and over again. But she couldn’t. “Beautiful.”

His knee had just grazed hers, causing a whole other swarm of butterflies to flitter across her chest, when the doorbell rang, and Eadie jumped up to find a short, balding stout man with a wide grin, a big fancy car behind him in the drive. And before she had the chance to say beautiful ten more times, the stranger was kissing her on her cheek, his fingers linger on her neck for a beat, before bidding her farewell.

Eadie did the dishes, and wandered through the house, watching the lights of what must have been the tow truck take the black convertible away.  As she made her way upstairs to bed, Eadie noticed that he’d left his dirty, tight white trousers in the downstairs bathroom. Unsure what to do, she picked them up, and realized his wallet was in the back pocket. You could hear her shriek echo through the canyon when she looked at the driver’s license. His name was as well known in Asia as it was back in England.

“Elvis bloody Presley. I asked Elvis blinking bloody Presley if he was a rapist.” She let her head crash against the glass shower door. “Ughhh, Edith Elizabeth Isaacs, you are the idiot to end all idiots.”

She went to bed wondering if she should try to return his wallet for a chance to see him again. Or keep it as a memento to remember how Elvis Presley almost ran her over one time.

***************************************************************

thanks for reading,

xoxox

norah

tagging as always @literally-just-elvis-fics

#elvis presley #elvis fanfiction #elvis x oc #elvis presley fanfiction #smash! #thatbanditqueen

[jmpphoto]

Pink Glow by James Marvin Phelps Via Flickr: Pink Glow Fire Canyon Valley of Fire State Park Nevada October 2023

#nevada #valley of fire #red rocks #aztec sandstone #geology #mojave desert #landscape photography #nature #outdoors #sandstone #clouds #sky #sunset #sunrise #golden hour #fire canyon #landscape #photography #james marvin phelps photography #flickr

[hyperannotation]

SCANNER SPATTER by David John Roden

aer0oil de-couple/ I

n/sertion

cellulase under polysaccharide gliderpuff compost4est floor from tValley’s side survey dime-through-quiet Boschian Incongruity [ConSec intel designation] blistered sward sens buffer 

traumupload chameleonweave 

takpatina decay 

twigs/n leaves 

sensate synchyell0 loamthread rhizome w/streaks on white foam  

upload2ConSec SatWatchers SCAN4protosentience 

4 salient hypersurfacez 

oculars saccaded 4est heat-signatures inert @adjacent bush 

they fell1thru scorpion addict’s ominous limbic glam rending/consuming wentw/fast impact/n chamo-weave/n deep thighmeat rolling aside on the slope 2C it launch2last/fast 

cani4m weaponmount harnessed/n tawny flanks 

so boned 

4conjoint netweaking 4 hyper cerebral electrolysis bald jowled headgrowl lips pulled over Rottweiler Dents neckfur collar studded w/Disney/Vd+ logo crackd like melonspray shit skull shards gut blowout dents land@ cranberry file 2 points 1 buffered moved/n tagged on visual ConSec HR quaint butt 0 jaundiced quips  

airwasp shimmer-dents bury bark canilubed through undergrowth [guessing her aim from phase shifts/n parietal lobe]  pigface has human chassis crusted w/gristle gats dildo plug/n musclethigh breasts contused w/greasy gatlings caged fli-dent munitions on collagen [empty after the precipitate assault] SCAN fear-spiked amygdala sequalae 0 

cortisolnadrenal 

string-maskedw/leather redball 

gag unFKed beyond patchwork dolls2halts 

aneurysms bloom 

nosebleed wrought FKurge2remove gag 

strappo plug squirt militant flukes w/bioport emulation place 4 venereal wormz/n a sample tooth thighmeat/n 

analgesic cools secret cham-weave’s 

AGI-text1 whistled 2 security lodge [battle elated] the HR tag resolved head-on-dog as Greg Chimes [long 0 Brand’s Security] 

4me@lodge

other sentinels quiesce over the Valley awaiting guidance/missiv from their Mistress 0 movement yet Chimes’ colleague some ‘gardener’ or remote loiterer squinting into cocoid sun his denature smiles @agony/n the Bosch-IGY derangement lent fey beauty dance among sedentary inmates though hard latitudinal summers bare under grey sere scrutiny rude crosses/n infected slashes flesh red/n pink 

1images duly buffered/n uploaded 1 downloaded annals from ConSecHR & jitter presence in veiled sentinels bought haughty black smile from fem-physique flaunted fur by jacket  

taking down 1or2 @a time was easy 

1 does not relish an inhuman wave 

the Guard waved me gate C beyond 0fice door 2 compact prints 0 celeb suicides 

porn uneaten @popular diseases 0 social media influencers 1 asked him how he liked here 

‘your personnel stat you’re up on Freud & Sade’ cough/n deprecate

Bosch Incongruity stakes hammered turf 50M circle on each/a racoon upper body or other had glad maggots twitching w/fuzz feardesiccated heads looked on reproachful Guard took post2post intro each john cute crucial/or stray dog-envelope transmuting 2 species machine 

the ur-4m-shell or yello interrupt vacant anus wounds cascading dense meat prick impingements amid mass spikes 0 spiritus animalis beneathuz pruning synaps whose chaotic/sporadic weights teach the dead how2feel

scraped filmy gristle from the racoon bag specimen while Guard laughs/n queasies a power ballad 

Brand’s windowless N-face cantilevered over exhibited dead Glow concrete canyon 

skydrone Incongruity/n 4est edge

within monitoring evaluating & updating 

Ye? asked 1 moved from eviscerated poodle2brush hand w/itz paw 2blindsheep nailed by legs/n unresponsive 2caresses sum corrodedmind all steeped in black Ressentiment 

doubtless Guard’s prized animal ethicist 

‘1 never get im saccharine & overproduced’‘it wasn’t upabout rap…’‘what = you?’

1 wears thick insoles 2increase height compensations include the funerary black 1habitually sport @ConSec 

don’t look physical but sovereinkillboi \LOL suiting my distressed hypersurface 

ur brain needles 

Guard experiencing such intrusion as system-UCS cocks stroked all his wound labias 

tell me ’= ‘a commendable 4mal suicide pool @his Mal home w/ex-wife & children ’ Guard stammedlove gut shot well  entitled 2 pornexotica …‘1’m a ConSec Assayer’

he but warbled then shot him n the skull & turned the gun on herself 

beautiful day his handz shy caress thin corporate issue trousers complete

ground zero 4Videodrome+prominent celeb 2Thanatropian Kult but not last contagion elaborazione gibson’s aut0ixion kidman’s immaculate defenestration slp immolation would have sed little 2ConSec Illuminati 

another clickbait PSYOP leaves them free 2 explore unpalatable options 4 flourishing 

your servant2facts made Retro valley0death hav socioeconomic utility n minor PSYOP but celebkult deathnegative not objective negation 0 Thanatos accomplishing/n secret @ConSec BirthGrave but dirempted political affect

Kapital debars death as impossibile psych excised 2hetrotopic grave & ICU but if embraces death the irrational product grinds 2zero2disconnectthis is apparent – as 2ConSec/n all sufficiently advanced financed AGIs 

however riding it out requires The Herd4 pr0itz extraction

1 scribing layers 0delire buffering fruits 0 Hippocampus/nPFC sandboxed 0 abreaction malware 

oralter SCANs 2detonate if 1 violates CsexWarranty or confirms assumptionSoSec records internal sex aggression project on2manifolds 

0 Guardlimbo-deep scar subsequent from exposure2Incongruity/n Brand NeuroSemiosis 

1 overstimulates PKA enzyme synapses transient assembly2PFC then fuk gold AAA! 

bellisimo torso-cock curtained & engorged w/ blud n the belly w/ arched bak/n neez bent yo ego dreams hiz private MalBlue 

the Guard reached 4 hiz gat/n smiling up @1 pumped a dizzy shot 2 the umbilicuslayer him among the frenzied pulsions 0 growth factors present 0 skin deathcatalysed alternate murmur eros delire slow pain wound trickle soak tesicles/n nice thick cock [this gun camera capture] 

1 open more knife inchoate screamgod 0 a slit secured w/speculum intended 4 fem pelvic examz hope might excite himwhore protestations but Guard was groomed 2 zero blud layers & muscle 1 saw cables 0 yello adhere 2 intestinal 

‘want you 2 open up’ brushhair gentle 4eheading probing emptyverse

fingerelicit gagcables/n belly met@lipoid affixed2

intestinedamaged puckering wantonly 

sensate mat from the undead jizz 

electric bonespurt milk factor surge conjoined/n deathgasm 

boned4catastrophe/ 

undamped cascades rein4cing 1 

saw him die n the centre 0 Bosch Incongruity/ pale / slim & nubil4 St. Sebastian longago body aglow/

nsoul devo spiritus animalis 

1feltwaiting tense scribbled a hard roll-on grass assumed a foetal pos/n interrupted the phasing tween Limbo & Cortical

[induced coma-reboot]  

Ahistorical Irony 

Videodrome+ was a ConSec/Disney2 trans-individual phenomena4polities flourish4scorched post-Earth doms [soon2bloommaxviolent Solar rebirth!] 

Rosa Brands sacrific body variants bornmaverick work Cephalopod Sexology/n 

legacy dats babooned from original mothballed 80’s Cablesnuffmeat w/self-financed holdings@ ConSec board/n active shareholder factions

incendiary PSYOP2excise personal-from-political bugged by distributed ConSec AGIarms spawning the SCANner agon 

dark w/crazed natural telepathy/n not2suffer the lamentable Toronto bloodpie 

but 1z persist as Illuminati attack dogz 

if the governance failed ConSec sent 4 1z… 

After the Psi-Bombfishtimber stench Incongruityblacked phosphor-stained burnanimal Guard slim & crisped sexprostrate @ heart ‘that 1’s 4 Ye ya shite’ [@ run2 S-facing Reception] 

these were the ded or entr'acte 

gristlestiff hybridz upend grass or concrete pistonmuscleBerserkers dead convuls w/biomorph canons or keratin strapplux hips fracked by grist-boned arachnids ribocrotalx from a living bugger2dislo lolaswarm 0 FKbots down a cani4m rip itz bowl pity itz mother confounded by psisplosion 2threat much/n1discourages the venturesome nuking/n a wrist gat 

1recalled the drone @the treeline CTRL somewhere/somehow w/ neat MASER 

considered a grenade in2the door but1ConSec implant open/d as@ Londn Munsk or Nuyk 

a succession 0 muffled airbursts while ConSec Orbital-prune Brand’s drone fleet w/x-raylas

[prayz2 undead who wired 1 soul] processed the lobby walkway/n CentreSpine w/glass perm opaque dark/faint contoured by redgreenyello chevrons 

reek 2 each side black sphere bubbles 0 emptyversetouched oblate semio-neuroghost drifts inslim pale Fetgirl/n tartan bale hentai toon/ @intersection by leering CatBoi 

had time2note be4 the Monad shat pixel oil foam around/n multiquale tubules foldedroaring deepest world shatterer respect 

1 fell 

1 flew

dissembles blue black yello tar

a vast Bild on vapd bones 0 present Amurk 

Cyclotowers cratered Xenogothic idols 0 the Myrrhim 

each cavernator venting black Posit Priests castrate under the lidless gristle-whipped Flagellants 

Cancer Stylites saggin w/incessant self-abuse swarminorgy-nuked celebrants & Xstasy all flud in bearing torches black death promises … 

1feel the roaring deepest humiliation since1 ordeals @ConSecAcademia as1 am SCANned flayed tasted by an Ancientopaque Beyond dissembled n1 turn eye from the Abyss City 2the Enormity touch undulatingplanetoid straited w/liana eyetends reachdown greedy 2t towers & the souls 0fered 2 [Unnameable] …   

dragged through a yello hell by gynoids & catboi / gynoids w/ pointy breasts and lush black hair on no-face geysers 0 eyes & a gyres 0 infected mouth parts [the CatBoizn little maid outfit unmouthed intubated] 1 tried SCAN/ feeling naught byond crackd emo fuzz / 

1 wriggled bitches stole my wrist gat & knife! 

1had specimensfreed hand from Cisey Hentai enough 2 release 3venereal shitzflukes batten on2 naked perf mmms0thigh and innerwet mump to nanowombthe Hentaiz spazzed cum in pure w/blud wee from pussy/analCatBoi bludding claw nipples as the Fluks massed hiz prostate 

[LOLs] 2 snap necks as they squirm-cum in nauseaflex [1 had seen a vista 0 posthuman degradation@oddsw/noble aspirations 0 Solar conquest 0fed by ConSec yet 1 must concede a terrible beauty!]

https://twitter.com/turingcop

#David John Roden

[deltaruinedcoco37]

SplatoonMG4 CHAPTER 2: I Am Afraid Of Spamming If I Post All My Completed Chapters At Once

(3rd person POV)

Miserable was the best word to describe SMG3 right now. Well, not really, it was more like miserable-looking.

SMG3's two back tentacles were tied in a crooked ponytail, barely keeping its shape and dripping ink. The larger, split one that hung in front of Three's left eye was more annoying, though, because it kept blocking his vision no matter how many times he pushed it aside. Cod, how the fuck did the soldiers fight like this? It didn't help that the Octoling also had no real gear aside from his one Octobrush.

He weakly splattered the ground with an attack and melted into the puddle to refill his ink. He almost didn't want to go back to his Octoling form and just stay here, but he had a journey to complete.

If only he'd been able to figure out how to change the NSS's Superjump spots...then maybe he wouldn't be trudging through an ugly fake plastic forest. Why did this place even exist?! No one cares about the random-ass things Octavio put around here to mimic the surface...

SMG3 sighed and rubbed the ink-splotch wounds on his arms. He was a fucking idiot to think that once he was free, none of the soldiers would notice. He could just walk through Suction-Cup Lookout like nothing happened.

Well, nothing he could do about it now.

He just wished...they didn't use that stolen Low-Tide ink, the kind that stains you. So you can't just heal by submerging in ink.

What do I do now?

Nothing mattered anymore. Why did he ever leave?... No...he couldn't go back, he could never go back... why was he thinking like the Hypnoshades were still poisoning his mind? He wondered if he was broken. Would he have been fixed right if he heard the 'heavenly melody' everyone was talking about?

No. There wasn't any time to think about shit. He just had to run and keep going and not stop until he was at the surface before the Low-Tide ink seeped in-

There- there it was, he found it! Cephalon HQ was his last hope. They had a way for him to get to Tentakeel Outpost, right?! He didn't know if it was true, but he had to believe...there it was, a Superjump launchpad...

He...he had to reach it before...

No-

He collapsed to the ground and cried out in pain as the Low-Tide ink, having finally taken effect, twisted his body. Melting, melting, melting into something- something small and purple and so helpless without access to an Octobrush, or any allies...

The last thing SMG3 saw before he passed out was a group of Octolings headed toward him...

And...behind them all, faintly, a rush of blue ink...

~~~

"<He came from, uh, Octoling Strike, I think...but I found him in Cephalon HQ...>"

An Inkling voice.

It all sounded like gibberish to SMG3, who only understood Runic. But there was something about this Round that sounded...familiar.

Oh shit it's Agent Four-

The Octoling started to panic, quickly sitting up before the pain all over his body came back to him. "Fuck!" he hissed, squeezing his eyes shut.

"[Oh, he's awake!]" said another Agent. SMG3 didn't recognize her, but she had long orange tentacles and a Splattershot. Unarmed and not knowing how to defend himself against an armed opponent like this, he didn't move. He just sat there in fear, but it looked more like defiance because of his resting bitch face.

And then...wait, how many people were here? A...another Octoling(?!) was here, this one had long pink tentacles pulled up in pigtails. She didn't look like she had any weapons, which was unusual for an Octarian, but maybe she wasn't from the Canyon. Maybe the Valley? No, not that either... she was walking up to him now.

"Hey, you," she said. Huh. She was. Very tall. And intimidating. Like she didn't even need a weapon to splat someone. "Do you speak Runic? I'm assuming you do, right?"

SMG3 was glad to finally be able to understand someone here! "U-uh, yeah, I do! What's going on? What are they saying?" he asked, his eyes darting from person to person, trying to make sense of whatever the fuck was going on.

"Calm down, we're not your enemies. I'm Saiko." Saiko. That was definitely not a normal Octarian name. "And those people over there are Mario, Luigi, Meggy, and Four. His name wasn't originally Four, but he changed it because apparently he was named after a fucking meme so when he joined the Splatoon-" She stopped herself mid-sentence. "Well, that's for another time. Anyway, you can chill out."

Saiko, Mario, Luigi, Meggy, and Four. Had they saved him? They weren't out to kill him? SMG3 heard the NSS talking in a mix of different Inkling scripts. Everything about this was unfamiliar and wrong, but what could he do?

After a moment, Saiko turned back to Three. "What's your name?" she asked.

"It's-" SMG3 just now realized how weird his name must sound to these people. "It's...SMG3. Short for 'Strike Map Guardian 3', I guess. But that must sound weird to you, right?"

Saiko snorted. "You must not know a thing about the Splatlands. Ever since they gave us the option to use a fake name in battles instead of your legal name, people have been naming themselves really weird things. With any luck, people will just think it's some kind of reference to a fandom they couldn't care less about."

Oh. Well, that would make life easier...wait, what? They were just going to let him through? To Inkopolis? "Wait, you're just...letting me through?"

"Uh, yeah. You're not gonna murder anyone, are you?"

"No...?"

Saiko turned to Four and said something in Halfmoon. I took a moment to look around at my surroundings, and I saw that Tentakeel Outpost wasn't as horrible as all the other sectors. I was sitting on a green blanket right now, leaning against...some kind of wooden shack, Inkling in design. There was blue ink everywhere and I spotted three training dummies to my right. No enemies in sight, since this sector was nearly empty except for a few people left in the Kettles, but no one aboveground.

Mario's loud voice snapped me out of my thoughts, and Saiko came back to me. "Well, there is one thing. You've probably already realized that you won't be able to fit in right away, with just Runic script and no money." That was true...

"Well," I began, "what are you saying I should do?"

Saiko didn't say anything for a moment, thinking about how to respond. But then Four spoke up, in Round of course, but Saiko's face lit up. "{Really}?" She grinned. "Well, Four just volunteered to help you. He has more free time on his hands than any of us, so I guess it makes sense. Anyway, I have a life, and more importantly, a job so I'm gonna go back to the rest of Deep Cut-"

"Wait, wait, wait-" I pointed to Four. "-THAT guy? Is gonna take me to the surface? Not that I don't like him, but...I watched him splat my fucking coworkers, like...a million times!"

I waited for Saiko to translate, but then she said "Well, that's too bad. He's the only taker here." God dammit, I... I guess I should be thankful for this situation. I guess...

Still glaring at Four, I stood up. "Well, I don't really have a choice. I'll be fucking killed if I go back and fucking killed if I aimlessly wander around Inkopolis (not really, that's just what he thinks since he grew up in Octarian cities), so FINE. I'll go with you...SMG4."  

~~~

Well chapter 2 is here!... or I guess I should say, it's here for all the people exclusively on Tumblr. More chapters are completed here in the Wattpad version, but I'll continue to slowly post them on Tumblr without spam until you guys are all caught up :>

- Coco

~~~

Previous (Ch. 1)

Next (Ch. 3)

#smg4 #smg3 #smg34 #splatoon #splatoonmg4 #smg43 #fanfic

[herosplatling-replica]

📝 scarlet !

A/N: i actually had a similar thing written for sidestory octavio... i haven't gotten to work on it since i'm still working on sidestory beryl but i think this would be fun to preview :) spoilers for chapter 7+8 of tea and gladiolus 🐙

“What?” 

Octavio snaps out of the haze he let Agent Three rile him up into, eyes scanning Tentakeel Outpost. Not far from them, at the doorway of Cuttlefish Cabin, stands the very girl he was talking about just a few seconds ago. 

My daughter. 

The Octoling girl doesn’t say anything for a moment, silent as her eyes widen, tinged with crimson tears. One of her tentacles is dyed a bioluminescent blue-green, marring the trademark Takowase clan ink color. 

That’s… that’s her. 

I don’t even know her name, but she… definitely knows me, from the looks of things.

Before he can say anything like ‘hey kid, I’m your dad, mind helping me out of this snow globe maybe,’ his daughter turns on her heel and makes a break for it, the whites of her eyes flashing a striking emerald green. 

Ohhh, she’s pissed.

“Jeanne, wait!” Freya shouts, rocketing to her feet as the silhouette of the Octoling girl disappears over the canyon in the direction of Octo Valley. Her legs nearly give out as she reels from the motion, clearly not in good enough shape to be running around like this. 

The Inkling looks in his direction for a split second when her head clears, almost asking if there’s anything else he has to say. The words die in Octavio’s throat as Freya grits her teeth and heads for the edge of the platform. Octavio barely hears someone else interrupting as the squid Super Jumps off in the direction of the valley, not sparing him a second glance. 

Well, if she had that visceral of a reaction, I think it’s safe to say she’s not going to help me out of here. So much for blood being thicker than water… 

Though, now that he’s thinking about it, can Octavio really blame the girl? He was never really present in her life, clearly has some form of romantic interest in Agent Three, his sworn enemy and biggest rival, and also never gave her any form of clues to her heritage aside from the Golden Toothpick he ships out with every tentacle clipping that manages to grow eyes. 

The Squid Sister he kidnapped two months ago, the pink one, marches up to Octavio’s snow globe with murderous intent clear in her eyes. “What. The hell. Did you say to Jeanne, you piece of shit?”

#my writing #splatoon #dj octavio #agent 8 #agent 3 #tea and gladiolus spoilers #tea and gladiolus #coffee and bouquets of flowers #i actually found a wip that had a red color in it hehe... i did look through sidestory jules too though #freya #jeanne #octavio #callie

[ominouspuff]

Loosely Totk-inspired -- Great Fairy of Gerudo-valley, possibly. Image ID: A vaguely human being with pink hair and a peacock-green gown arcs, weightless, through the air in a chaotic spiral upward -- hair and gown trailing implausibly far below. Petals drift in pink dabs on the wind, landing on the water of an enclosed canyon lake. at the top of the image, blue skies are smeared with fluffy white clouds. In the foreground, the viewer is given the impression of viewing the scene through a crack in the rock wall with a split waterfall rushing past on either side. The atmosphere is whimsical and a bit bleak at the same time, in keeping with the Loz: Totk vibe.

#Fan Art #Legend of Zelda Fanart #LoZ #ToTK #LoZ Adjacent art #Gerudo Desert #Imagine running across this while scampering around the desert #Knowing ToTK boss music would start immediately and leave the player baffled #Only for the Great Fairy to be a Trial of Overcoming Great Panic or something #idk I haven't finished the game yet #artists on tumblr

[mechwarrior-rose]

HOWLING VALLEY VINTON CLAN HOMEWORLDS 8 NOVEMBER 3047

The night sky of Vinton's northern continent was exceptionally clear. Stars were not only visible, but appeared to fill the heavens like iridescent grains of sand. Rose's Shadow Cat was nestled into a crack in the canyon's sloped wall, its upper body nosed out just enough to let her sensors scan the area. And enough to give her an incredible view.

MechWarrior Rose had never seen a sky like this. She was used to the nearly opaque clouds of Bearclaw, where she had spent her whole life before this tour of duty began. Even on Paxon, Rose had only seen pink daytime skies. The Ghost Bear 68th Striker Cluster had been engaged in training exercises prior to their departure for Vinton; Rose had spent nights on Paxon in the barracks or carousing with her starmates in the covered promenade in Thermopolis.

A soft blip in her ear and a faint point on her tactical display alerted Rose that her active probe was picking up a fusion engine beginning its warm-up cycle. She activated her radio to send a tightbeamed message to her Star's commanding officer, Star Captain Stunner Tseng, in his Mad Dog tucked away in another niche just a few dozen meters up the canyon. "Star Captain, the Smoke Jaguars are readying to move. I see one, now two units firing up."

"Affirmative." Tseng offered no further acknowledgment. He had always been taciturn in the field. Rose knew that he was now sending a low-power confirmation signal to Bravo Striker Star. Star Commander Noelle would meet the Jaguars on the field, but well ahead of the Jaguars' anticipated site for the conflict, giving the second-line 'Mechs of Bravo Striker the advantage. Once the Jaguars' second star began nearing the fight, Alpha Ranger Star would power up, sweep up the canyon to a washout that granted access to the ridgeline road, and strike the Jaguars from the rear.

In the night sky, a beacon was suddenly lit. Was it a DropShip's engines? No, it was unmoving. Rose realized it was the Theta Phyxidis nova beginning its flare period. An eager merchant on Paxon had told her about the event, only visible every seventeen years or so, which was celebrated locally with a week-long festival. At the time, Rose had dismissed it as lower-caste foolishness. Now, alone in her powered-down cockpit, she could see how one might get caught up in the romanticism of it. It would be even more brilliant on Paxon than on the more distant Vinton.

The Jaguar Star had fully powered up. It took several moments for her probe to sort out their models and configurations, cycling through multiple possibilities before settling on a final determination: Lynx C, Stormcrow A, Nova B, Griffin IIC, and Ebon Jaguar Prime. The 'Mechs made good speed up the ridgeline road, approaching Alpha Ranger's hiding spot none the wiser. Rose sent the data to Tseng and waited for the second Star of 'Mechs to appear on her display, but the screen continued to show no further units. Only when the Jaguar Star passed directly overhead did Rose understand: the second Star was a full Star of Elementals, each Point hitching a ride on a 'Mech. That had been what had briefly confused her sensors.

"Star Captain, every one of those 'Mechs is loaded with Elementals," she tightbeamed. "Bravo Striker will be overwhelmed while they wait for us to arrive."

Tseng's reply was immediate. "Just the data, Warrior; leave the tactical analysis to your commanders."

"Aff, Star Captain."

"But I agree with your assessment." Tseng switched to the regular radio on the Star's frequency. "Alpha Ranger, we are moving early. Form up on me. We will intercept the Jaguars on the ridge. Bravo Striker will reinforce us. Sending tactical data now."

Rose recognized her cue and instructed her tactical computer to share its information with the rest of the Star. Then she engaged the engine power-up sequence and watched her HUD cycle go through its boot cycle.

Tseng's Mad Dog finished coming to full power at the same time as Rose's Shadow Cat. She stepped into place beside him and a little back, echelon right formation. Aster's Crossbow A, Deman's Conjurer, and Susan's Ice Ferret B followed suit. Rose loved the Shadow Cat's low-slung lope, its hunter's stride, weapons high and ready. She loved seeing her starmates to either side, loved the beauty of the formation before battle broke its measured lines.

The engines' signals had caught the Jaguars' attention. They were beginning to turn about to face Alpha Striker. Tseng's voice crackled through the radio. "Susan, Aster, make for that washout. I will be right behind you. Rose, Deman, bring up the rear and keep an eye on those Elementals. If they begin hopping off their rides, jump to the ridge and hold them in place as best you can. Let us keep their attention until Bravo Striker arrives."

"Aff, Star Captain," Rose said in chorus with her starmates.

Susan spoke up. "I wager the next round of drinks that I will take two points by myself before Bravo Star gets here."

"Keep it down, cubs," Tseng said, affably.

Rose settled her fingers on her triggers and grinned in anticipation.

++++++++++

The Shadow Cat wasn't heavy enough to completely crush the final Elemental warrior under its foot. Two squeezes of the laser interlock finished the job. HarJel poured in vain over the empty space where the warrior's upper torso had been. Sparks fell from a short in the Cat's active probe, showering through its rent cowling to sizzle in the black mess below.

Deman's Conjurer lay peeled open, a victim of the powered infantry's quick work; four Elemental corpses lay in the wreckage of the second-line 'Mech. Though given just how tough Elemental warriors were, perhaps dismissing them as dead was a foolish conclusion. Deman himself had been dragged out of his cockpit and torn apart. Rose didn't let herself think about it. File it as an honorable death and move on.

Next target. The Nova and Griffin IIC had leaped down into the canyon and were harassing Tseng. As was expected from combined-arms combat (and from Jaguars in general), zellbrigen had been a formality that had been quietly and hastily ushered off the field. Both 'Mechs peppered the Mad Dog with fire, trying to keep Tseng pincered between them. But he was wily and knew how to use the terrain to his advantage.

A shriek of anger snapped Rose's attention to the remainder of her Star. The Stormcrow and Ebon Jaguar were both focusing their fire on Aster's Crossbow; it was already missing both arms. Susan loped her Ice Ferret into the fray, SRMs firing as fast as they would cycle, blind to the enemy Lynx closing on her flank.

Tseng could handle himself. Aster and Susan were less seasoned and had fallen into a trap. Not that I am any more battle-hardened than they, Rose thought. They needed Rose's help more than her commander did.

Rose pushed her Shadow Cat to flanking speed and ran for the fracas. She twisted slightly, alpha striking into the Lynx's already damaged right torso without slowing her pace. The superstructure of the entire torso-hip assembly melted away, and the engine flared before engaging emergency shutdown, crumpling the 'Mech into an immobile pile of limbs on the ground. She kept running, turning now to fire another Gauss slug into the Stormcrow, crushing its LRM launcher.

Rose snapped her radio to wide-band. "Pilot of the Ebon Jaguar, I am Warrior Rose of Clan Ghost Bear, and I challenge you to single combat."

All firing stopped. The Ebon Jaguar twisted to face Rose, moving like a living thing. They're good, whoever they are, Rose thought.

"Very well, brave little bear cub," the pilot replied. The Stormcrow began stepping back. After a moment's hesitation, Aster limped her Crossbow to the side, and Susan followed suit. Not quite a Circle of Equals, but good enough.

Rose opened the Shadow Cat's throttle and took off running on a slanted approach vector. The Ebon Jaguar let off a full salvo. An autocannon slug caught her 'Mech's left shoulder, damaging the actuator. Laser fire stitched up one leg, and the Gauss round slammed into the other, but the missiles went wide. Rose fired her lasers, barely aiming; she was counting seconds and tracking the enemy pilot's own tracking of Rose. The torso stayed locked onto Rose's approach, but the arms were a little slower in following. That meant the pilot was focusing on obtaining a missile lock over aiming their direct-fire weapons. Or so Rose was betting. Her life was the ante for that wager.

...two, one, now! The moment Rose figured the heavy weapons had cycled on the Ebon Jaguar, she dug in with one leg, pushed off to the side, punched her jump jets, and streaked into the air on a plume of blue plasma. Her juke worked, and ammunition flew fruitlessly beneath her. She wasn't entirely lucky; half the flight of LRMs and both SRMs connected with her legs as she flew, stripping the remainder of the armor and damaging a foot actuator. Rose's landing was rough, but she wrenched herself upright through sheer will. There was the Ebon Jaguar's untouched rear armor, begging to be attended.

The Gauss round flew first, tearing into the Ebon Jaguar's left torso and setting off the LRM ammunition stored within. The lasers went into the center torso and scored deep gouges in the 'Mech's engine shielding. The enemy pilot tried to turn their right side to face Rose and bring their own Gauss rifle to bear, but the Shadow Cat was inside the rifle's minimum range. Rose easily slid under the shot and went back to work on the enemy 'Mech's exposed rear. Two more pulls of the laser interlock trigger, and the Ebon Jaguar went down.

Riding high on adrenaline, Rose turned to face the Stormcrow. As she activated her mic to issue another challenge, however, another voice came through on the radio. "Bravo Striker is here, Star Captain. Ready to receive target assignations."

Sure enough, there was Bravo Star coming down the ridgeline road, pristine and looking to raise hell. The Stormcrow thought better of taking on seven 'Mechs at once and signaled the power-down of its weapons.

After a few moments, Star Captain Tseng came through on the radio. "Bravo Striker, the enemy has surrendered. The Elemental manufacturing facility is ours." He was out of breath, and static interference from what was likely a damaged engine threatened to overwhelm his radio, but he was still alive.

The lead 'Mech of Bravo Star, a Rifleman IIC, stepped forward to survey the field. Star Commander Noelle let out a low whistle. "You have left nothing for us, Alpha Ranger. What are we supposed to do here? Take potshots at birds?"

Rose finally relaxed her grip on her sticks and let herself slump in her command couch. "You could always indulge in a little stargazing, Star Commander," she said. "Theta Phyxidis is lovely tonight."

#battletech #mechwarrior #oc fiction #ghost bear #bearclaw rose

[ilhancanrodoplu]

Pink Star, me 

#digitaldrawing #digital universe #digital art #surreal #modern artwork #pink canyon valley #pink planet

[uncle-mojave]

Thinking about flying into Vegas (cuz cheap airfare) second week of February and renting a car for 5ish days to sightseeing. Where would the desert wanderer suggest I see? Partner can walk,but would not be able to do miles a day. Any insight is appreciated. Thanks

Go to Goodsprings and have a drink at the Pioneer Saloon. Go to the rainbow rocks between Goodsprings and Vegas. Go to Battlefield Vegas and buy some range time if you have some money to spare. Well worth it. Red Rock Canyon, Lake Mead, Valley of Fire, Zion Canyon, Bryce Canyon, Snow Canyon, Grand Canyon, The Nevada Test Site, The Clown Motel. There are many other places but just a few of those should keep you pretty busy. You don't have to hike in the canyons just drive through or get out and wander. Zion has a kickass pie place in Springdale just outside of the canyon. Oh yeah Moki Cave too, go see that. You do have to walk but it's all inside and pretty dang neat. Also go see Sand Hollow Reservoir for the pink sand dunes or Coral Pink dunes for the... pink sand dunes.

[deadboyfriendd]

Tear You Apart | E.M. 

There was always a push and pull between you two and, to you, it was so fucking frusturating. But you couldn’t help it that he looked so goddamn good like that, on the soapbox stage, in those stupid fucking jeans in this god-awful lighting. It made you physically angry. So angry that you could reach out and choke him, though you couldn’t decide in which context. 

In the same respect, he shredded his anger across strings and frets, hoping to whatever celestial being willed him into this world would at least have the common courtesy to soften his cock ever so slightly. But he couldn’t help it that you looked so fucking good like that, legs twisted around the chrome barstool like a fucking serpent, lips puffed out pouty in that stupid fucking lipgloss in this god-awful lighting. It made him physically angry. So angry that he could pick you up and break you in half, though he couldn’t decide in which context. 

Before the set, he thought tonight could have been the night. He always wanted to up the ante on his little perverse shenanigans. He always wanted to be out-right with it, saying how bad he wanted to fuck you, but settled for glances and stolen, not-completely-accidental touches. But tonight was different, the stars or whatever, he passed it off as. Tonight it felt primal. Maybe it had something to do with the way you leaned up on your toes ever so slightly to whisper a good luck in his ear from the side of the stage, taking a step back before he could muster the courage to be spontaneous and kiss you. It must have been the way you batted your eyelashes at him and giggled at one of his jokes, making it ring and linger in his phonetic loop like a pressurized ear canal. Maybe it was the way you dragged your palms over the ridges of his shoulders and down his chest as you drew away from a hug. He knew you did that shit on purpose. You must have. You must have thought it was so hilarious how he now had to go on stage rock hard. 

You stared up at him during the last few songs on the setlist with a smile, but running through the pink canyons of your brain matter, you were seething. He must have thought it was so cute to brush behind you like that, grabbing your wait as he walked by, sending ice running up and down your vertebra and freezing your cerebrospinal fluid into ice cubes. Maybe it was the intense eye contact he made with you when you laughed with the bartender, like he was trying to stake his claim on you with a simple gaze. Or maybe it was the way his hands dragged up and down on your hips, drawing out your hugs just a few seconds longer, but also drawing you into the dip of his stomach that rested in the valley that his hip bones created. 

He purposefully took his time getting off the stage, stopping and talking to bandmates and bar patrons for a long while before he looked at you in that same possessive way. This time it held a certain hunger, something carnal. You slapped your hand down on the pack of cigarettes and lighter that he left with you, sliding them across the table and off the edge. You slipped out of the bar doors in the same manner- like the hand of God himself was smashing you like a bug against a table and dragging you out over the edge. The pressure both in your stomach and in your heart were heavy, your own carnal urges begging you to just say fuck it, and begged you to just scream fuck me. But your brain always reminded you that there were repercussions to these things. 

You almost didn’t hear the large doors swing open behind you. If you didn’t hear the disturbance in the air, you probably would have screamed when his hand grabbed you hip, dragging sinfully slow and- holy shit- painfully low on your stomach. His fingers dug into your skin over the thin fabric covering you, but you couldn’t concentrate with his denim-covered cock digging into your back like that. He held you tight against him. So tight you could feel his stomach rise and fall, still breathless from his performance. You closed your eyes slightly, feeling his hot breath fill the molding of your ear and dissipate against your neck. You breathed ever so shallowly, not wanting him to know just how turned on you were. He drew his other hand down your shoulder, feeling your soft skin and playing with the tips of your fingers for a long, painful second. He then drew the same hand back over your stomach, leaving it to rest on your sternum, where you both could feel your aorta threatening to explode into a wet mass of pericardial fluid and muscle tissue. 

There was always a push and pull between you two and it was so fucking frusturating. But you couldn’t help it that he sounded so goddamn good when he whispered, 

“I want to fucking tear you apart.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson headcanons #eddie munson smut #eddie x fem!reader #eddie x reader #eddie stranger things #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson oneshot #stranger things 4 #Spotify #flea writes

[rdrmybeloved]

Yeehawgust 2023 - We Ride at Dawn

The sun slowly peaked up from above the distant canyon cliffs, and Harper watched it wearily. She had woken in the middle of the night, unable to sleep properly in her lonesome. She wished she could have someone with her right about now, but she needed to do this alone.

Next to her, Golden Gun huffed as he woke up, the large allosaurus standing to stretch himself out. Harper turned to watch him circle around, observing Golden as he woke up. The sunlight that peeked through the early morning showed the truth in Golden’s namesake, his buckskin scales glowing gold in the light. She smiled as he turned to face her, pressing his muzzle into her torso. Harper chuckled, giving him some attention before gently tugging on his reins, urging him to crouch down. He rumbled quietly, but knew the queue to crouch down and did so.

Harper proceeded to mount up smoothly, swinging her leg over the saddle and easily sliding in the stirrups. She sat still for a moment upon Golden, watching the sky as the sun now painted the ever-expanding clouds in brilliant pinks, purples and golds. The dawn was beautiful. The valley below would soon be alive again, and Harper eased Golden to walk from their makeshift camp, down the small trail, and to a road.

#yeehawgust #yeehawgust 2023 #we ride at dawn #oc writing #original character

[redsbrainrot]

An extremely controversial ranking of Mariokart 8’s 95 courses.

I know there’s 96 but I’ve missed one and can’t figure out for the life of me which one it was. Please help.

Wii rainbow road - nostalgic banger, made easier in this game tho

3DS rainbow road - fucking beautiful, was my number 1 but wii just had a special place in my heart

Big blue - a masterpiece

Mount wario - another masterpiece

Coconut mall - let down by its remakes but still a classic

Maple treeway - pumpkin spice latte

Waluigi stadium - it’s fucking waluigi stadium

Daisy circuit - a beautiful and classic course

Sunshine airport - the star cup in 8 is just the best cup

DK’s snowboard cross - prefer Wii’s but I still love it nonetheless

Waluigi pinball - DS had me in a chokehold

Daisy cruiser - mesmerising

Squeaky clean spirit - probably the best new course out the whole pack

Bowser’s castle 3 - simple but fucking amazing

Bowser’s castle - a banger

Mute city - speed

DK mountain - why are the turns harder to pull off in 8

Peach gardens - was my favourite as a 6 year old

Excitebike arena - carnage

DK Jungle - the great banana

Dolphin shoals - George Michael

Electrodrome - boing

Singapore speedway - shiny

Moonview highway - wii nostalgia

Merry mountain - um overhated it’s fucking Xmas themed

Wario stadium - again, loved it on DS and 8 did it justice as a remake

Koopa cape - the most butchered wii remake

Rosalina’s ice world - SUPER OVERHATED IDC I LOVE IT THE MUSIC WAS BEAUTIFUL IN 8 DEFINITELY A STEP UP FROM 3DS SUCK MY DICK

Royal raceway - pretty pink

Yoshi valley - playing this with noobs is the best

Melody motorway - 3DS nostalgia

Grumble volcano - meh

Mushroom gorge - best on wii

64 rainbow road - meh, still fun

Wario’s goldmine - prefer it on 8 cause wii was just rage inducing

SNES rainbow road - shroom high

Shy guy falls - mew woosh

Kalimari desert - meh

Piranha plant cove - ooh pretty :0

Hyrule Circuit - dun duuuun dun dun dun dun dun duuuuun

Cloudtop cruise - meh

Mario circuit - can’t even remember which one this was

Toad harbour - used to love it but now I get bored

Yoshi’s island - never played it so don’t really care

Boo lake - good remake

Tick tock clock - got bored of this one

Cheep cheep beach - loved it on DS

Vancouver velocity - music is alright

Mario kart stadium - boring

Ribbon road - pretty good (would swap rankings but I cba)

Rainbow Road 8 - I wanna like it but it’s just so meh

Moo moo meadows - fight me

Piranha plant pipeway - alright I guess

Baby park - mehhhhhhhh

Mario circuit DS - mehhhhhhhh

Alpine pass - done dirty

Sydney sprint - eh

Toad circuit - get fucked

Sweet sweet canyon - cool aesthetic lame ass gameplay

Paris promenade - alright

Choco mountain - overhyped

Thwomp ruins - not keen

Mario circuit - again I don’t know which one this is

Sherbet land - no

Snow land - no

Koopa city - I like the vibe but I hate it online

Animal crossing - mEh

Riverside park - a let down

Donut plains 3 - heheheheheb 69

Athens dash - alright

Bangkok rush - mEh

New York Minute - eh?

Berlin Byways - music is good but it’s boring

Tokyo blur - for Tokyo this sucks

Toad’s turnpike - womp womp

Water park - water who

Twisted mansion - just put luigi’s mansion in instead and we’ll all be happy

Madrid drive - this comes up like 50 times online and I hate it

Sunset wilds - boring

Dry dry desert - I hate the desert ones

Ice ice outpost - wouldn’t pick it

Super bell subway - liked it at first but it got old quickly

Wild woods - sick of it

Sky High Sunday - an eyesore

LA laps - not enough shit

Shroom bridge - had enough shit

Sky garden - let down

London loop - easy, boring

Rome avanti - the city tracks just flop huh

Ninja hideaway - I HATE IT I HA IT HATE IT

Mario circuit 3 - why is this in every game

Amsterdam drift - I hate the dutch

Dragon driftway - I cant stand it

Bone dry dunes - worst track ever

Cheeseland - wait no, this is. I hate cheese land. It makes me feel sick. I’m lactose intolerant but I love cheese. But I hate cheese land. Whenever anyone picks it I officially hate them as much as I hate this course. Kill it. Burn it. Erase it. Get rid of it.

#super mario #mario bros #mario kart #mario kart 8 #booster course pass #rainbow road #nintendo wii #nintendo 3ds #nintendo #nintendo ds #snes #gba #double dash #mario kart wii #coconut mall #you just got coconut malled #rosalina #princess peach #princess daisy

[louielle]

𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒓 𝒐𝒇 𝑨𝒛𝒌𝒂𝒃𝒂𝒏 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒚𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕

1980s Horror Film - Wallows

Alone in the Woods - Michal Novinski

Always Forever - Cults

Apocalypse - Cigarettes After Sex

Apparition on the Train - John Williams

As The World Falls Down - David Bowie

Aunt Marge's Waltz - John Williams

Autumn Town Leaves - Iron & Wine

Aventine - Agnes Obel

Ballad Of Mr Jones - Jake Bugg

Big Black Car - Gregory Alan Isakov

Black Dog - Led Zeppelin

The Boat of the Fragile Mind - Belle Mare

A Brief History of Time - Jóhann Jóhannsson

Buckbeak's Flight - John Williams

Captain Goddamn - Michal Novinski

Captain Goddamn's Story - Michal Novinski

Cemetry Gates - The Smiths

The Chain - Fleetwood Mac

Chord Left - Agnes Obel

The Curse - Agnes Obel

Cursed - Lord Huron

Damn Right - Mickey Driskill

Dance With The Fish - Bruni Coulais

Dandelion Wine - Gregory Alan Isakov

Dead Man's Hand - Lord Huron

Dirty Paws - Of Monsters and Men

Eleanor Rigby - Cody Fry

Endless Story About Sun and Moon - Kai Engel

Entering - Michal Novinski

Fallingforyou - The 1975

Fellowship - Thomas Newman

Finale - John Williams

Flaws - Bastille

Flood - Michal Novinski

Fortune Teller - Mickey Driskill

Forward to Time Past - John Williams

The French Library - Franz Gordon

Full Moon - The Kinks

Gold Dust Woman - Fleetwood Mac

Good Looking - Suki Waterhouse

Hagrid the Professor - John Williams

Harvest Moon - Lord Huron

Head Credits - Bruno Coulais

Holocene - Bon Iver

Home - Dotan

I'm a WolfWalker - Bruno Coulais

Infinite Love - Emile Mosseri

In The Woods Somewhere - Hozier

It Will Come Back - Hozier

I Wanna Be Yours - Arctic Monkeys

journey in the rain to cry in peace - joiboi

K. - Cigarettes After Sex

The Key In The Sea - Bruno Coulais

Kids - OneRepublic

Kuky Phones Home - Michael Novinski

Kuky's Adventures - Michael Novinski

Landscape With a Fairy - aspidistrafly

Lanterns Lit - Son Lux

Lily Of The Valley - Queen

Little Lion Man - Mumford & Sons

Living Room - Grouper

Lonesome Hunter - Timber Timbre

Love Like Ghosts - Lord Huron

Love Waltz - Marcuzio Pianist

Lumos! (Hedwig's Theme) - John Williams

Me And The Devil - Soap&Skin

The Meetings of the Waters - Fionn Regan

Meet Me In The City - Lord Huron

Meet Me in the Morning - Bob Dylan

Meet Me in the Woods - Lord Huron

Mélancolie - Patric Watson, Safia Nolin

Melody Noir - Patric Watson

Mischief Managaged! - John Williams

Moment's Silence - Hozier

Monster Books and Boggarts - John Williams

My Tunnels Are Long And Dark These Days - Asaf Avidan

Nevermore - Queen

Not Dead Yet - Lord Huron

Nothing's Here - Michael Novinski

Once Upon a Dream - Lana Del Rey

The Patronus Light - John Wiliams

Phantoms and Friends - Old Man Canyon

The Pink Room - Timber Timbre

Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want - The Dream Academy

Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want - The Smiths

Poison Tree - Grouper

Poppy Field - Michael Novinski

The Portrait Gallery - John Williams

Proof - Michael Novinski

Punisher - Phoebe Bridgers

Renegades - X Ambassadors

Rhiannon - Fleetwood Mac

Ribs - Lorde

Riding Into Town - Gun Thunder

rises the moon - Liana Flores

Rosyln - Bon Iver, St. Vincent

Run - Bruno Coulais

Run - Hozier

Run Cried the Crawling - Agnes Obel

Sadness - Bruno Coulais

Saving Buckbeak - John Williams

The Seals - Bruno Coulais

Secrets of the Castle - John Williams

Sedated - Hozier

September Song - Agnes Obel

Setting Sun - Lord Huron

Shortline - RY X

Sit Down Beside Me - Patric Watson

Something French - Devendra Banhart

Something Is Wrong - Bruno Coulais

Some Things Cosmic - Angel Olsen

Somewhere Tonight - Beach House

Squirrel Rescue - Mike Higham

The Storm - Bruno Coulais

Swinging Party - The Replacements

Team - Lorde

Thief - Imagine Dragons

Time Passing II - Mark Isham

Time's Blur - Lord Huron

To Be Alone - Hozier

Trees and Flowers - Strawberry Switchblade

The Trial - Michael Novinski

Under Giant Trees - Agnes Obel

Wait - M83

Way Down We Go - KALEO

We Don't Talk About It - Michael Novinski

The Werewolf Scene - John Williams

West Coast - Imagine Dragons

When the Night is Over - Lord Huron

Whisper of a Thrill - The City of Prague Philharmonic Orchestra

White Teeth Teens - Lorde

Who Are You - Bruno Coulais

The Whomping Willow - John Williams

Who We Are - Imagine Dragons

A Window to the Past - John Williams

Wiser - Old Man Canyon

Words Are Dead - Agnes Obel

A World Alone - Lorde

The World Ender - Lord Huron

The Yawning Grave - Lord Huron

you are welcome to let go - joiboi

#prisoner of azkaban #poa #harry potter #harry potter and the prisoner of azkaban #playlist #harry potter playlist #comfort playlist #aesthetic #dark aesthetic #gloomy