#oh well at least its not meth

[zoropookie]

WHAT YOU WON'T DO FOR LOVE (WYWDFL) — TWO

YOU couldn't be having a worse halloween night. choose your fate with your fellow readers and see if it gets better!

chapter one

soulmate!wanderer x gn!reader

Yeah, let’s do it. At least the debt collectors won’t call anymore. That's only if you do actually die, though.

"I love you, mom," You muttered to yourself begrudgingly, the oppressive tons of the night and your earlier agitation whisked away in the wind by a sudden anxiety. You found yourself moving to the alleyway.

It was a narrow area, littered with debris from front to back. There were discarded newspaper, broken bottles, the occasional piece of unidentifiable trash and...syringes you were too apprehensive to even walk near. You walked through the cracked and uneven pavement to follow the sound of two people speaking from a distance.

You carefully made your way, and as you did, the voice you were hearing became clearer. It wasn’t a dying dog, or a man who was suffering the severe after effects of meth and paying for it. No…it sounded like just a regular guy who was panicking (which admittedly, pissed you off. this was clearly a waste of time). The muffled voices of the conversation were partnered by the irrefutable rustling of movement.

The alley’s walls loomed high above you, making long and distorted outlines in the shadows. They were mingling with the dim light. The steps you took were tentative, each one seeming louder with how quiet the night was.

There was a bend in the alley— the voices becoming clearer. You strained to hear them still, catching snippets of what they were saying that made your heart race even stronger

"You said…this would be easy," a voice hissed with a thicker sound to it, sharp and tense. It was a man's voice. “You said I’d gain a lot doing this.”

"Yeaaah," another voice replied, smoother and more evasive. “That was until I heard you were thinking of ratting me to the cops. Now I have no choice. Makes me look bad.” This voice carried an air of authority, as if its owner was accustomed to being in charge.

“Huh?” You sounded in brief confusion, pressing yourself against the gritty brick texture, trying to steady your breaths. The low glow of a flickering streetlight barely illuminated them as they spoke in the crevice carved out. You peeked expectantly.

“I would never! I swear, I swear.” The man spluttered out, groveling on the floor pathetically. The panic he felt was clearly highlighted by the street lights, his throat sounded completely dry. He wasn’t able to salivate from how high the stress he felt. “Finding out that guy was my soulmate…it clouded my judgement. I’m sorry!”

The silence that followed was long and arduous. The tension thick enough that it lingered around them until the other lips curled a little bit. “I’m kidding.” His smooth voice admitted.

“Wh…what?”

“Yeah. Just wanted to josh you. Happy Pride.” He snickered, shaking his own head in a personal amusement. His lips curved in a leer before he began to laugh softly, some huffs, some chuckles.

“Uh…yeah, thanks.” The other man tensed, looking uneasy as he forced himself to laugh along for the time that he was. You found this encounter really odd, amongst everything, but you couldn’t help but sit there and watch.

“Oh, but seriously,” The chuckles died down in an instant, as he straightened out. The atmosphere plummeted so hard that even you could feel how ominous it was. “You really only have one use to me as of now, and well… you don’t need to be alive for that.”

Without warning, he grabbed the hilt before it fell and plunged his knife deep into his chest. He reeled his arm back at such a high speed that the other couldn’t whine, cry out for help, or protest in time. The blade, a steely glint still remained despite it bloodied.

Your stomach dropped immediately, mouth opened wide. You’re listening to a man gargle blood, struggling to even keep himself alive right now. With each stab he did pierce into the man, you flinched harder every time as the sound reverberated. You were watching someone die, and couldn’t feel your legs.

It was like you couldn’t do anything to keep yourself from watching, either. If that guy was capable of killing a man, then he was capable of killing you too once he figured out that you were watching him like you were watching the fucking Garfield movie.

His eyes were still shielded by the cap he wore, but you knew that his hair was dark from the unruly way it stuck out in the back. He cocked his head to the side, a simple and effortless jolt of his arm twisted the blade in his hand. A last high pitched wheeze escaped his lips before he truly fell limp.

You finally realized the severity of the situation. This wasn’t no Garfield shit, and with that, you slapped a hand to your mouth once the fight or flight kicked in. Oh my god.

You cringed at the slight thump that came afterward, the sight of the man lying on the floor, the other man retching at the sight of the blood after a few seconds. He looked like he had done it multiple times, but even so, the gagging came around like whiplash.

It echoed through the empty streets, an ugly recoil as his gloved hands covered his mouth. He gingerly tried to pull the knife out of the man, simultaneously keeping his food content in his stomach.

Your heart was beating like drums in your ears; you knew you had to do something before he decided to put you on his hit-list next. Taking in deep, juttered breaths you glanced around the small alcove you were in.

Maybe if you hide here, he wouldn’t really notice anything—?

“Enjoy the show?” A piercing, stiff and chilling voice called out. “I know you’re there. Protip; if you don’t want to be heard, maybe don’t gasp on command when you see a little blood.”

You wanted to point him out on his hypocrisy, considering he was the one who almost blew out chunks over it, but you were too scared to even say anything back. Nor did you want to. Your best bet was making it seem like you left, but the longer time you waited, the nearer his footsteps got.

“Come out.”

#zoropookie #wywdfl #scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #genshin scaramouche #genshin #genshin impact #genshin smau #genshin x reader #genshin fanfic #genshin x you #genshin x yn #scaramouche x yn #scaramouche x you #self insert #kunikuzushi #kunikuzushi x reader #wanderer x reader #wanderer x you

[animentality]

I once saw a bsg fan bemoan the lack of a bsg fandom on Tumblr but I can tell you why that fandom is dead in the water.

it's because Battlestar Galactica utterly failed at creating a world you'd want to return to.

look at deep space nine, a 25 year old TV show that still has a wildly active fandom here and even on Twitter.

and why is that?

because ds9 was edgy too, but underneath that, there was a world that you could miss. there were characters who grew and changed like real people. they felt like your family, they were each other's family, and who doesn't visit their found family/friends at least occasionally?

re watching ds9 is like seeing old friends you haven't spoken to in a while, but when you hang out, it's like no time has passed. it's like returning to the house you grew up in, and smiling as you see the old photographs and the lines where your parents scratched your height into the wall.

but bsg? christ.

it's like returning to an abandoned meth lab.

it spent literally its entire run trying to SHOCK you.

instead of world building or creating any form of culture aboard the fleet, it upped the ante every week, and never gave you time to breathe.

worse than that, it would zoom through some of its more interesting ideas in favor of trying to get your blood pumping with some new shit immediately.

it never let you dwell on characters, or let them have genuine growth, because the next week, they'd want to do something even CRAZIER, and then that character would have to act a certain way, to make sure the melodrama keeps people engaged.

shows like that never last, because when you re watch them, there's like... nothing.

the world was destroyed- ok, then why don't we see the culture of the surviving humans?

everyone lives on different ships!! you could've shown us those ships developing their own cultures???

but no, we're stuck on the warship, full of officers, except we don't even get episodes dedicated to just, daily life on Battlestar.

it's just, oh baltar gets away with yet another war crime. how interesting.

it's also not remembered that well because...

mass murder and gang rape and endless torture of all the characters- oh it's so exciting... that you don't really want to go back to the stress.

you get tired of it, man. you can't throw high octane plots at people every day for five years... and then expect them to even remember half of that shit when they return to it, years later.

why would you even want to?

it's not like any of it was planned either.

it's not like, a show where it's exciting all the time, yes, but it's worth re watching to pick up on all the hints of the later story.

those kinds of shows last. you know. where the creators knew the ending and the hints were always there and you love the melodrama because you know where it's going, and it's still interesting to consider, years later. to really chew on deep and insightful characters, and think about their entire stories.

but bsg?

nothing was fucking planned.

you re watch bsg and you see just how much of it NEVER PAYS OFF.

they ram so many plots down your throat, and 90% of them get retconned out or totally re written.

And that's also why people don't remember bsg that well.

So much shit happens that they just don't know what the hell happened.

the pacing is awful, the world building is non existent, it's a melodrama so dedicated to melodrama that it totally ignores what it was doing with the characters the week before...

and that's why it's dead in the water.

the characters were the best part about it and they get so butchered by the end, they hardly matter.

#battlestar galactica #star trek #sci fi

[magnoliacharmed]

One of Those Nights

(not my gif!)

18+, Lalo Salamanca x Fem!Reader one shot smut

[Also available on Archive of our Own!] 

Word count: ~3.6k

Tags: Dirty talk, drunk sex, choking, rough sex, older man/younger woman, condomless sex, semi-public sex

Summary:

How does a fun night out with your friends suddenly turn into hooking up with Lalo Salamanca behind the club?

Albuquerque was one of the most boring places you'd had the misfortune of visiting on your cross country trip. Chasing around your friends on their quest to visit every state in the country seemed like a good idea at first. The prospect of the bright lights in New York, sandy beaches in Miami, and lush forests of Seattle were very enticing. As your travels began though, you realized that the U.S. had an unfortunate amount of painfully boring locales within itself. For every fun-soaked big city was a rinky-dink place with little to offer besides a mediocre local history and relatively decent restaurant.

You could concede that New Mexico had its share of gorgeous deserts. The sunsets were to die for, beautiful mishmashed paintings of lavender, pink, and orange. The first one you saw took your breath away, which happened to elicit laughter from your friends. Growing up in a concrete jungle for most of your 23 years didn't give you the opportunity to see the beauty of nature so often. Despite those sunsets, the rest of the state was quickly making its way to the top of your "Least favorite places (so far)" mental list. Oh well, at least your friends were having fun. Even in the locations that had little to do, they managed to find a party.

That night they decided to hit up a local club. The seedy uncurrent of ABQ revealed themselves quickly to the group of partygoers when your down-for-anything best friend Tawny discovered how easy it was to acquire drugs. Tawny and the other three girls in the group were shocked about the accessibility of meth and cocaine, but you weren't in the slightest. What else was there to do besides get high? You weren't much of a smoker or snorter. Alcohol was your enhancement of choice. The meth your friends showed you was a light blue color while the cocaine had a pearlescence to it. From the excitement in their voices it seemed like they got a lot of bang for their buck. If the alcohol hit you right, you considered taking a bump of the coke later on in the night.

Tawny grabbed your hand as you all walked into the club. Her shiny and strappy dress was forest green. It hugged at her cleavage, pressing lines into the soft flesh. She was a different person when she went out, transforming from the laid-back sporty tomboy of the day into queen of the night. She looked at you with a feverish excitement. The pupils in her eyes were saucer-big. It always freaked you out to see the change in people's eyes when they were high. You squirmed a little, causing Tawny to let go of your hand and run to the other two girls. They gestured to you to come to them on the dance floor. You waved at them with a soft smile on your face and hurried off to the bar so you could have some fun too.

Squeezing through the people yelling orders at the black-clad bartender, you managed to order a screwdriver. The sugar and liquor would get your night started soon enough. Especially on a relatively empty stomach. You hadn't eaten since much earlier in the day, preparing for the night ahead of you. You wanted the vodka to hit you hard , hard enough to be able to blame it for any bad choices you might make that night. Soon enough the cold, sweating glass with an orange slice was placed before you. The pink and purple lights of the club also flashed through the slightly hazed glass of the bar's surface. Your napkin stuck the bottom of the glass and the large gold bangle on your right wrist clinked against it while you gulped it down in seconds. The bartender returned from the other end of the bar, shaking his head playfully as you motioned for another round. 

"Hey, I'd like to keep a tab open for tonight!" You yelled over the bass of the music. The bartender leaned into you and you repeated yourself a little more loudly. 

"Don't worry about it, someone's covering your drinks for the night."

Already feeling buzzy, you shifted your body around to look for your mysterious benefactor. Too many people surrounded the area and they all looked preoccupied with their own parties. "Who is it?"

He laughed and shook his head again. "Sorry babe, can't tell you. You and your friends enjoy yourselves tonight." Two more drinks were placed before you, this time filled with a cloudy light yellowish liquid. You took one into each hand and downed them in a flash, the burn almost making you choke. Tequila! With a little lime juice. It was your least favorite spirit. Hey, it's free though. Who am I to turn down a drink? You thought to yourself. Within a few minutes you managed to shimmy back on the dance floor with your friends. You all threw your hands up in the air when the beat dropped in a pulsing fast-paced R&B song. The girls moved all around each other, playfully dancing on each other while throwing their heads back. You joined in on the fun, feeling the warmth in your belly that signified that you were the perfect level of drunk. The blur in your vision made the lights drag around you and the dizziness in your high heels added to the absolute blast you were having. Maybe ABQ wasn't so bad after all.

The cokehead amongst you all, Melissa, prepared a bump on the back of her hand. You and her stopped dancing for just a second while she poured the powder. She held it out to you and you sniffed, feeling a sense of clearheadedness cut through the daze of alcohol. Melissa took a snort too and smiled wildly. You all began to separate out from each other either to talk to other groups of girls or dance with a guy. You felt a man press himself against your ass, his hands tightly gripping your hips. From the bulge in his pants there wasn't much to grind against. Despite his lack of action downstairs, you returned the press and moved against him to the rhythm. Your head dipped down and rose back up, flipping your long dark hair behind you and into his face. He laughed into your ear. 

The DJ was on a roll, hit after hit mixing into each other with perfect timing. The man had turned you around several times throughout each song. You faced him a few times and weren't impressed with what you saw. He seemed to be average in every way, from appearance to height to size. If you were any less drunk or not on coke, you'd have pushed him away to find a new partner. Tonight you didn't feel like being picky though. He was adequate and that was good enough to work your energy out with. Dancing in the club always made you feel like a sex goddess. All eyes in the club certainly weren't on you but you felt at least one pair from just off the dance floor.

The deep brown eyes of an older man were staring a hole into you. He had a small and jovial smile on his face, watching you like you were performing on stage for him. His hands moved up and down his legs while he sat at a table just off to the side of the floor. You made eye contact with him and suddenly forgot about the man dancing behind you. A smirk formed on your own face while your dance partner moved his hands up your hips, past your stomach, and onto your breasts. His lips moved to your neck, planting kisses along the smooth expanse of skin. Sure it felt good. It was nothing compared to the feeling the mystery man's stare gave you. Your panties, a barely there piece of white lace, began to flood. Did you like being watched?

You decide that you don't like it, you love it. The older man cocked his head to the side just slightly, the smile still playing on his face. Even from the distance away from each other you can feel the sinister yet sexual energy emanating from his person. He looked like he could be mean when he wasn't having so much fun. Your body was on fire now. The bottom of the short, sheer lavender dress you wore rode up every time you grinded into your partner's crotch. For a quick second, with the motion of you and the movement of your partner's hands, it rode up so far part of your panties were exposed. When you bent over to really push into him, the mystery man got a direct view of your full tits. His hand began to move over his cock, rubbing over the fabric of his pants. The playful expression was gone now and replaced by a look of pure and unadulterated lust. 

With a swift motion he pushed himself up from his table and strode towards you. His walk was incredibly confident, as was his general demeanor. A large golden watch surrounded his left wrist with a tattoo on his forearm just above it. An exquisitely patterned burgundy shirt was with a few buttons open at the top. If he told you he owned the club you wouldn't be surprised in the least. Your partner looked up from your neck to get ready to claim you as his own, when he almost immediately backed away from you when he met the stranger's eyes. The sudden air behind you was a relief since your own body was so hot.

"Liking what you see?" You ask him, hoping you aren't slurring your words too badly. The cocaine has given you an extra boost of confidence. 

"I am." Was his smile mocking, or did he find your liquor soaked attitude cute? "You seem to be having a lot of fun."

"Even more when I saw you looking at me."

A purr escaped from the man. You shivered at the sound, feeling like prey under his gaze. You were playing right into his hand. "Have you been enjoying your drinks?"

"Very much so. Are you the one who bought me the tequila?"

His smile widened. "That was me. I'm Lalo, Lalo Salamanca.

His name was smooth on your ears. You told him yours and began to repeat his, liking the sound of it on your lips. He was becoming more intoxicating than the drugs were. You giggled the last time you said it, your clit twitching as he grabbed your arm roughly to sit you down at a stool at the end of the bar. The bartender from earlier stopped what he was doing and rushed over to the two of you, taking an order from Lalo in Spanish. You didn't know any besides a few conversational words.

The same cloudy yellow drink handed to you from before was once again placed in your hand, twice as much as before. Looking at it woozily, you thought twice while raising it up to your lips. You began to take a sip, the burning not quite as bad as it was the first time. Moving too slowly for his liking, Lalo tipped your glass the smallest bit. Some of the tequila dribbled off your lips and ran down your neck. The thin stripe of liquid made Lalo's eyes drag down to your heaving, sweat sheened chest. He looked hungry. 

"I'm not too old for you, am I?" Lalo was all jokes. 

"Not at all. I like older guys," You were definitely slurring now. "Not that you're old! Just older."

He laughed. You couldn't tell if it was condescending or if he was genuinely amused by you. "You're cute, mamita. I like the way you were dancing. Was that all for me?" 

You nodded, feeling a little self-conscious. Flashing your panties to a grown man in a club just because you'll never see him again?  

You crossed one leg over the other, feeling off balance on the tiny stool. You felt the blood rush to your clit, an undeniable sense of pleasure with every pulse of your heartbeat. Watching him finish his drink off and order another was a simple gesture that sent you wild. Something about this older man watching you dance provocatively on another man got you hotter than you'd ever been. The grip he gave your arm to lead you hurt, hurt more than you expected. That turned you on too. The thought of his large hands caressing your body, roughly moving you into any position he wanted, or around your neck made your cheeks get warm. Lost in your thoughts, he waved his hand in front of your face.

"You doing okay?" There was a little concern in  his voice. He mostly sounded like he had the hint of a joke you weren't in on. He liked how undone you looked, how open you were to him.

"I'm-- I'm good. Great, actually." Lalo stood beside you, looking down into your eyes. He could sense how wet you were, how much you wanted him inside you. That sinister look returned to him. You so badly wanted him to make you his plaything. Reaching your hand out to him, you curled a finger into his belt loop. Your well manicured hand began to rub over his dick, happy to find out he was much, much��bigger than your dance partner. His own hand moved under your dress, rubbing the pads of his fingers against the seat of your panties.  

Lalo said something in Spanish again while pulling you off the stool of the bar. It sounded almost like was making fun of the situation, probably saying something disparaging about your slut behavior. That tight grip on your arm returned as he dragged you behind him. Soon enough you two were outside of the club, under the dim blinking lights of the back entrance. Your back was pressed against the rough concrete of the building. It scraped against your skin and provided some kind of relief from the tingles of pleasure rippling through you. Lalo took a deep breath of the warm winds blowing past to collect himself. His hand moved through your hair.

"So pretty, mamita. Such a pretty girl…" His cooing soothed you, made you feel like he was going to take care of you.

All you could manage was a small nod. His lips pressed to your forehead in a gentle kiss. It surprised you. The anticipation and slight dread of something much rougher coming along suddenly built in the deepest pit of your stomach. Would he get too rough? Was there anything too rough for you at this moment?

"I bet your pussy is pretty too," Lalo whispered. His hands hiked your dress up in a lightning fast motion. You were completely pressed against the wall now, the texture of the building pressing unbearably. "White lace butterfly panties? How sweet," The cruel laugh that came from Lalo's lips made you scared.

His lips were now against your neck, sucking on the skin there. He ripped them off and let them fall to the ground. You were exposed to the world now, no choice but to let him continue. Lalo's fingers moved up your thighs to your sopping wet entrance, exploring the slickness of your lips. Your hips bucked against him, the sensation overwhelming you. His teeth nipped at your neck as he sucked harder. It hurt, a lot, but you were afraid that if you told him to stop, he'd take his finger off your clit too. You wanted to prove that you could handle him. The moans that squeaked from you spurred him on.

Lalo placed even more pressure on your swollen clit. He moved at a punishing pace, whispering rapid Spanish in your ear. The hickey he left on your neck would show for days after.

Inserting two fingers inside you with an abruptness, your moans turned into a breathy gasp. His free hand came down on your neck to apply pressure. It felt so good, the lack of air freaking you out in the best way. You could barely breathe as he stared into your eyes while pumping his fingers into your g-spot. Your neck angled up to look at him, feeling dizzy at the air being cut off. A dumb and dazed look formed on your face at the way he glared into you, his look a mixture of care and disgust and pleasure. You began to drool while your core clenched around his fingers. Lalo's tongue stuck out as he moved you by your neck up to him, your own tongue swirling around his before he pushed you into a kiss. 

"I'm gonna-- gonna come, Lalo," You whispered hoarsely.

"No you aren't."

Your moan was loud as he pressed one last time on your neck, cutting the air off completely. You thought you might pass out. His smile was mean. He knew exactly how much you liked the control he had on your pleasure.

"Don't be a selfish girl. Are you always such a whore after a few drinks?" Lalo's voice was sickeningly sweet as he choked you hard. His cock hurt with how hard he was. He could tell that you were relatively innocent in day to day life when you weren't feeling over-confident from alcohol. The whiplash of his tone compared to his words sent you reeling.

Your nod was barely visible as he let go of your neck. The air had never tasted so good. Those bruises from his fingers would be even harder to hide than the hickey. 

Suddenly, your legs were in the air by his sides. While you recovered he placed his hands on your bare ass and hoisted you up around his waist. You could feel the marks his fingernails were leaving in the soft flesh of your skin and you bit down on your bottom lip. Lalo shushed you when you whined about not being able to see his cock. Your reach for it was futile as it was just inches from your grip.

"You can see it when I'm done with you." The hot flesh of his member jutted inside you. The scream that was waiting to leave your lungs finally echoed through the empty backlot of the club. God, he was huge. Even with how wet you were it still hurt when he impaled you with his cock. Lalo's grip on your waist pushed you down as far as you could take him in you. The pain made you wiggle around on him. He waited for a few seconds before beginning to thrust inside you with reckless abandon. With a panic, you realize that he didn't put on a condom. The little voice in the back of your brain piped in to through rational thought. You don't really care. You want him to come inside you. You want him to fill you up with his seed, forget the consequences. You feel like a ragdoll with every slap of his skin against yours.

Little gasping moans come out with each thrust. He's smiling again, that same mischievously evil smile that makes your eyes roll back in your head. Your fingers were scratching at the wall but moved up to push flat against his strong chest. His lips returned to the other, unbruised side of your neck. Lalo didn't even bother to start off easy. He immediately sucked on the skin hard, latching on like he'd never go. Your mind was a blank slate of nothingness, only thinking about his come painting your insides. Although he was more confident than the average man, the ego boost of this girl half his age wanting him to fill her up was invigorating. 

"Lalo, Lalo, Lalo," You chanted. "Laaaa-loooo." Your voice raised a pitch at the quickening pace of his cock inside you. You were close to coming again, wetness gushing onto your legs and his pants. His breath was so warm against your ear. "Please let me come, please," you begged him. He liked how needy you sounded for him. 

His own breath began to become ragged. The moment was soon arriving. He purred again and pressed his body all the way into you, your back now bleeding slightly from the texture. That was enough to make your legs start shaking. You began to babble incoherently as he filled you with his come. Your walls spasmed around him while you panted heavily, stars filling your eyes. The orgasm made you shake even harder and he chuckled at your movements. Your arms flew around his neck and your lips crashed into his, frantically kissing him. Lalo stayed inside you until he softened. He pulled his dick out in the most painfully slow motion you could imagine. Even while partially soft the glisten of his come and your slickness on the thick shaft was beautiful. 

Your thighs were wet with the mixture of juices. The oozing of his come out of you felt better than any drug or drink. The alcohol was now making you feel dizzy more than anything. Your back was scratched up, your neck bruised, your panties gone. You looked at him with big eyes. Your youthful look combined with the obscenity of your raised up dress and slippery thighs was beginning to make him hard again.

"'Lalo, Lalo, Lalo,'" he playfully mocked your coital whining. "You're a lot of fun. Do you usually let strange older men come inside you?" Deep within him, he hoped the answer was no. A strange relief consumed him when you shook your head.

"You're the only one." You were embarrassed and tired now. The coke comedown was wearing you out and the liquor was starting to make your stomach hurt. Even with your aching body you wanted him inside you again. 

"We're gonna do this again tomorrow tonight, okay?" He planted that same gentle kiss on your forehead. 

How were you gonna tell your friends you wanted to stay in Albuquerque for just a couple more days?

#bcs #better call saul #bcs fanfic #lalo salamanca #lalo salamanca x reader #bcs smut #magnoliafanfic

[altosys]

random tpc headcanons

-spheer has a treenut allergy. idk, they just look like they would lol -ajaceare has a love-hate relationship with the harry potter franchise. like you bet your ass she'd know every single fact about it. -pentellow is pansexual. pantellow. -circubit cut his hair in his corrupted form. -iris is convinced via pentellow's cooking that al dente pasta is undercooked -pyrare would own a van if he had any type of vehicle -cubic would blast eminem in their headspace. just to piss cube off. -once circubit unmasks (if he even does mask at all) he becomes the most autistic motherfucker you'll ever meet. like once you accidentally bring up his spinterest there's no going back -circubit has chromesthesia (i once brought this up to brittany - the tpc creator brittany, not my headmate brittany - she probably saw it as a request so it might not end up as canon. oh well) -pentellow would abso-fucking-lutely be voiced by athena karkanis. ok maybe its because her nickname is a baking item, or because of her general personality, but yeah. (ok maybe she reminds me of sheree, so what) -ajaceare owns a bunch of potted plants. not just any potted plants, though. the specific gay ones. like the ones that lesbian witch cat-owners have. so in other words ajaceare is the epitome of lesbian. -dub has never tried tiger tiger ice cream (the orange and licorice one) and refuses to try it solely because "what kind of ice cream is orange" -cyanide has probably spent at least $150 from dub's bank account on claire's stuff. and 85% of it is pusheen merch. -iris grew up with watching salad fingers and jacksepticeye. -purpex is an esfp. -cintagon is autistic. idk they just dont seem allistic to me -pentellow's favourite total drama island character would be lindsay. -circubit's favourite total drama island character is chris mclean; he probably said "alright campers, todays challenge is..." every 3 seconds in his tdi phase. -cyanide enjoys murder drones -dub has tried to use corruption to make his hair fluffier -cube and cubic are literally just yin-yang from inanimate insanity. (aight brittany, where's the episode where the two find a vending machine and cubic wants dr fizz but cube wants water-) -circubit listens to lostwave -pyrare once caught barracuda and dub trying to make meth in his kitchen (it failed miserably, if pyrare wasnt there the house would've burned down) -circusic hates eminem; circubit knows all the lyrics to the real slim shady, without me, stan, lose yourself, and a shit ton of other classics. -if the tpc universe had plurality as a known concept, "corruption-genic" would be one of the most researched pages on their pluralpedia. -dub dies a little inside every time someone makes a mitosis joke about his eyes -you could easily lose ajaceare in a hot topic. like next thing you know she's on the top rack of the goth dress-shirts looking down like a fucking bat -circubit has spent an hour in spencer's just browsing, wondering "would i actually look good in this or do i think it just looks good on its own". he has also been to the back just for shits n' giggles. -ajaceare would only go to spencer's for the lava lamps and mystic stuff -iris' favourite lego ninjago character is kai -cube has never seen inanimate insanity, for some fucking reason -cyanide can play river flows in you on piano -cyanide's singing range is mezzo-soprano to soprano; her voice would be similar to vocaloid sonika -pyrare's favourite vocaloids are kaito and yowane haku -cubic recommended that cube should listen to otone peke, saying they were "the best vocaloid fr fr" -pentellow watches ouran highschool host club

#tpc ajaceare #jsab tpc #tpc iris #tpc pentellow #tpc circubit #tpc #brittcorruption #the pink corruption #pink corruption #jsab #circubit tpc #tpc cyanide #tpc dub #tpc pyrare #tpc spheer #tpc purpex #tpc cintagon #tpc cube #tpc cubic #jsab au #jsab headcanon #tpc headcanons #headcanon

[dispatchvampire]

Close Encounters of the Preferred Kind - (MCU/Justified Crossover)

Part 2 in my wholly unintentional Two Snipers series.

Rating: PG-13

Fandom: Justified/The Avengers (MCU) Crossover (kinda)

Pairing: Clint Barton/Tim Gutterson

Word Count: 2066

Warnings: Fluff (kinda sorta, if you squint), canon level violence, aliens, cussing, a lot of cussing.

Summary: Set after the events of 'Bad Mistakes (I've Made A Few)', this is the second meeting of our fateful couple, with aliens invading, families meeting, and, of course, Tim's long-suffering boss, Chief Deputy Marshal Art Mullen. Life gets messy when worlds collide.

Author’s Notes: 100% did not intend to write a follow-up to BM, but these two don't really do things on my timeline or my schedule. Anyway, the idea of this made me laugh, this is what happens when you introduce your Boo to your people, and everybody had issues. Oh, and the mood board was all me, with picture credit going to their varying photographers.

Eastern Kentucky is not where one expects Armageddon to start, but there it is and there they are. 

“What the fuck am I looking at, Art?” the sniper asked his superior officer as he stared unflinchingly down his rifle scope. When he’d gotten the call that all hell had broken loose in Noble’s Holler, Tim figured it was more methed up psychopaths who were unclear on the local mayor’s penchant for pig sticking. Purple creatures falling out of a hole in the sky with more tentacles than a jellyfish was not on his bingo card. 

“I got no idea,” the older man answered, never once looking up from his binoculars, “but my suggestion is nothing but headshots.” He paused as he loaded his own rifle and stretched out on a bluff overlooking the mayhem next to Tim. To look at the Chief Deputy in his tie and button down shirt, he didn’t seem the type to get down on the ground and dirty, but most folks underestimated him to their peril. The man taught at Glynco and was a badass well before Tim got proficient with a slingshot, much less a rifle.  “Assuming that those are actually their heads.”

“Copy that.” There was nothing quite as satisfying as brass ejecting from the port and watching his target become iridescent green mist. 

Alien invasions were not generally the purview of the United States Marshals Service,  but occasionally, needs must. 

The giant millipedes had massive tentacles and leathery purple skin which was impervious to conventional small arms fire; the only thing that seemed to fell the murderous, marauding bastards was a shot through he presumed was the eye, a target approximate the size of a navel orange, or through the mouth, an open maw about the size of a peach. Luckily, the produce section had never been an issue for Tim. 

He’d been shooting and reloading for the better part of an hour after the damn portal opened up, doing his best to defend Ellstin Limehouse’s normally quiet enclave as best he could. It was the least he could do, even if he didn’t exactly trust the guy. Their interpersonal issues had nothing to do with the welfare of the innocents being set upon by these nightmare fuel monstrosities. 

Correction: “By comparison, my nightmares are a breeze.”

When the first creature fell without his intervention, Tim was startled enough to jerk back from the ledge and take his eyes off the scope, just in time to see the honest-to-God Captain America shield go flying past the end of his rifle, taking out a creature coming up on his flank that he’d missed before bouncing back to its owner with disturbing accuracy. 

“I am entirely too old for this shit,” Art grumbled as he rolled away from the edge to reload his rifle with all the annoyance and irritation of a deluge of Friday afternoon paperwork. 

“I will be goddamned,” Tim murmured reverently as his brain processed what was happening. Creatures began falling left, right, and center as a roaring overhead signaled the arrival of Iron Man while the roaring on the ground was the giant green menace known as the Hulk ripping through these things like they were made of tissue paper. But that wasn’t what held his interest. 

There, big as life and dressed in form-fitting purple and black kevlar, was the luscious not-so-little secret he’d been keeping since his detail in DC. What should have been a routine job a couple months ago turned into a three-night-stand for the duration of the operation, and then some flirty texts back and forth and more than the occasional round of phone sex in the time intervening. None of that could have prepared him for seeing Clint in action up close and personal. 

The armless black suit emphasized every unreasonably pretty inch of the man, from his ridiculous arms that wielded a bow as ably as he hefted his own rifle, shot after unerring shot bounding and leaping nimbly from cover to cover, down to the perfect cupcake ass that fit in his hands just so. Goddamn the man was so pretty he could be considered a potentially lethal distraction. 

“You gonna watch or are you gonna shoot?” Raylan demanded from his right as he stretched out on the ground with a rifle to join the party. The cowboy had been late to the party since he and Rachel had been left to man the office in Lexington, but once gunplay became the order of the day, Tim knew it was only a matter of time before the man in the infamous tan hat showed up. That he was able to convince Rachel, their normally by-the-book and most level-headed colleague, to come out on an alien invasion spoke to the man’s ability to charm the devil himself out of his seat in Hell. 

“Fuck you,” Tim snarled, but without any heat behind it as he took up his position again and began firing once more at the few remaining creatures on the ground below them. 

From start to finish was just under three hours of sustained fire, and when Tim finally rose to his feet to survey the area, the story was told in the sea of expended brass cartridges and rivers of green blood running through the streets of the valley below. Black trucks were rolling in from both sides of the holler with SHIELD logos on them, signaling the cleanup crew. 

“You know what time it is now, right?” Raylan asked with a devilish grin as he doffed his hat to shrug out of his ballistic vest. He’d stripped down to a form-fitting white t-shirt and looked more like he’d been called in from a day off than from a day at the office. 

“What’s that?” Art demanded as the guys helped him to his feet, brushing an annoyed hand over the wrinkles and streaks of dirt that his wife Leslie would likely fuss over later. After she yelled at him about going out on an alien invasion not two months out of a stint at the heart hospital. 

With a shiteating grin and the pop of a peppermint Altoid in his mouth, Raylan nodded toward the collection of superheroes at the edge of the fray, watching the cleanup proceedings begin and talking amongst themselves. “The interagency debrief, of course!” He was off before anyone had a chance to contradict him, leaving Tim, Rachel, and Art to chase after the cocksure cowboy. 

“Can’t get him to even look at paperwork any other time,” Rachel grumbled as they slowly approached the other group. 

“This ain’t paperwork,” Tim replied, though his eyes were on one thing and one thing only. 

Like they had a mind of their own, his feet carried him right up until he was close enough to tap Clint on the shoulder. “How do, stranger.”

The pure joy on the man’s face when he turned around did funny, fizzy things to his insides that he was loath to examine, and were dangerously close to giddy. The man smelled like sweat and looked like heaven, and fuck if all he wanted to do was run his hands over those arms that had held him up against a wall more than once. As it was, he was standing closer than was strictly necessary and well beyond the bounds of ‘just friends reuniting’. The desire to wrap his arms around the man was damn difficult to quell. 

“I wondered if I’d get to see you,” the archer replied with a shy smile and flushed cheeks. “I mean, I’d hoped,” he rambled on, “but then—” he gestured at the carnage behind him. 

For a moment, it was like the world had winnowed down to just the two of them. “I get it. I’m glad you’re here now, though.” 

“Me too.”

And then the moment was broken by the diminutive redhead standing next to them elbowing Clint in the ribs. “Who’s your friend, Barton?” She was equally clad in black, the kevlar skating over and highlighting every single curve and hollow, highlighting both the beauty and the danger that she embodied. 

Rolling his eyes, Clint took half a step back to face her more fully. “Nat, this is Tim Gutterson of the Marshals.” 

Her green eyes lit up as her lips curved into a mischievous smirk. “The hottie you told me about from a couple months ago in DC?” 

The blond’s eyes widened comically as his face shifted from flushed to pale to tomato red with alarming speed. “Real subtle, Nat.” 

If his face felt hot before, now it felt like the skin was melting off of him. The idea of Clint talking about him, to Black Widow of all people, combined with the adrenaline dump of the situation only added to the feeling of surreal dissociation. Feeling a bit cheeky, he grinned slyly as he looked Clint up and down. “Talking about me, Clint? My heart’s a-flutter with curiosity.” 

“Deputy Gutterson, you gonna introduce your friends?” Art’s voice was a bucket of cold water down his back as he suddenly remembered both his location and his audience. 

From Raylan’s grin, he knew he would never EVER live this down, no matter how many terrible situations the cowboy’s penchant for prohibited pussy landed them in, and Rachel? Well, she was the office master interrogator for a reason and he knew damn sure that he would be spilling everything he knew to her before they made it to the Lexington city limits. 

“Chief Deputy Art Mullen, this is Clint Barton of the Avengers and …” he trailed off, uncertain how to introduce the Black Frickin’ Widow. 

She stepped up and shook Art’s hand like a practiced politician. “Natasha Romanov. Lovely to meet you.” 

The older man smiled and, while Tim couldn’t swear to it, appeared to blush like a schoolboy. “Likewise.” 

Not to be outdone, Raylan smoothly inserted himself between them with his hand out and his 1000 megawatt gunslinger charm turned to ‘thermonuclear’. “Raylan Givens, Miss Romanov. Longtime admirer of your work.” 

She giggled. The assassin actually fucking giggled and her nose wrinkled. “You can call me Natasha.” 

Art watched this scene, the four of them talking amongst themselves, with apocalyptic levels of horror dawning on his face. The sheer amount of paperwork Raylan and Tim, hell Raylan by himself most days, generate was enough to fell a small forest. These folks together were an environmental crime waiting to happen. The potential bodycount of a Raylan and Romanoff team-up was nothing short of an imminent violation of the Geneva Convention. “Oh absolutely fucking not.” 

All four heads turned in his direction, Raylan’s mouth already open and ready to rock, but he was having none of the bullshit. 

“You,” Art pointed to the cowboy, “get in the car.” 

“Bu—”

“Nope,” he held up the finger of doom, the finger of ‘unpaid time off if he kept on,’ it 3was one they were all exceptionally familiar with. “Car. Now.” Turning to Tim, he softened a bit. “Say your goodbyes, we have paperwork.” 

Rather than argue, Tim merely nodded, cringing when he turned to face Clint. “Dad says I gotta go.” 

Clint’s smirk was nothing short of wicked and it was suddenly a billion degrees around Tim. “I’ll be around tonight if you wanna meet up.” 

“I’d like that just fine.” Anything else he wanted to say was cut off at a sound he rarely heard outside of the comforts of her mother’s house. A sound that stripped away the years and the edge to reveal a girl much more carefree. Deputy Marshal Rachel ‘I make suspects cry for funsies’ Brooks was standing off to the side and making googoo eyes at none other than the Brooklyn Boys. Captain Frickin America and the Winter Goddamn Soldier were flirting with his best friend and putting their numbers in her phone. 

“See what you did?” Art demanded from behind him as he leaned against the closed passenger door of the sedan that sealed Raylan inside.

“Me?” Tim demanded in affront. “How is this my fault?”

Art’s face was a mask of vaguely amused sarcasm. “You’re a bad influence.”

“Well, now that’s just hurtful. Besides,” he threw his rifle bag in the trunk before slinking into the back seat on the driver’s side and meeting his friend’s eyes in the rearview mirror, “I thought that was Raylan.” 

#avengers fan fiction #justified fanfiction #justified #justified fic #tim gutterson #tim gutterson fic #clint barton x tim gutterson #clint barton fanfiction #clint barton #avengers crossover fic #avengers and justified crossover #justified crossover fic #my writing

[slashingdisneypasta]

Jim Bickerman x Reader || Oneshot

Plot: You pick up a stray, much to your roommate Reba’s frustrations.

Warnings: Mentions of a dead crocodile, post-crocodile dinner Jim (alive, though, obviously), mention of hospitals, drinking, some sexual references and- once again, unknown character from a movie no one cares about 😅

You’re exhausted. The day’s events, at what you can only describe as crystal lake on meth, had totally taken it out of you and all you can do as Reba drives you both away from the mess finally, is rest your forehead on the car window and stare outside. It’s a few good, peaceful minutes, before either of you attempt to make conversation.

“… I hate that place.” Reba speaks up, shaking her head when you lift yours off the glass for a moment to see her. “But- at least I got somethin’ out of it this time, eh?” She grins, gesturing with a thumb to the back of the truck- which is not taking the weight of the giant fucking dead croc she took as a souvenir and lulls heavily on the back wheels and dangerously close to the road. Its also why the truck is moving far slower, then usual.

You smirk, too tired to create an actual smile, before shaking your head back at her and returning your temple to the cool glass of the window. “Classy,”

“You know it.”

For a few more miles you drive silently, just putting yourselves back together after the hell-day almost getting eaten by giant motherfucker crocodiles. But then you catch sight of something on the side of the road ahead of you both. Lifting your head off the glass, you narrow your eyes and squint at it. What is that?? A pile of trash??

But… no… its moving.

When you get close enough to realise it’s a person, a terrible injured person, you jump fully off the truck door and hit the handle. “Reba! Stop!”

“What?!”

“Stop the truck! Right here!”

“Alright, alright, but what the hell are yo- … “When Reba catches sight of the lump on the side of the road that you’re freaking out about after stopping the vehicle, she freezes immediately. She focuses on it. Then narrows her eyes for a moment.

… then groans, dropping her head back on the back of her seat. “Bickerman.”

“What?” You whip your head around and squint at the, now much closer, lump. Bickerman? Jim Bickerman? That crazy guy from earlier?? You wondered what had happened to him…

“Jimmy. Yah. He musta gotten a little close to one a’ those monsters… “She presses her lips firmly together and shakes her head, almost sympathetic. But then- “Well, sucks to be him. Can we go?- “

“Wha- No, Reba! Come on, help me.” You exclaim, throwing the truck open on your side and hopping out- while she hangs back a moment longer in order to lament about having a bath.

Its not long before you have his more obvious wounds tied up tight and have got him semi-standing, leading - or more like carrying, seeing as he’s barely conscious, -  the old man to the truck. When Reba notices you’re heading to the seats, she gives a groan.

“I just got this truck… he’s gonna stain the seats!”

“Would you prefer to unload the croc in the back?” You ask, knowing the answer as you quickly assess the gaping hole in Jim’s face where one of his eyes used to be, wince and look away.

… Reba gives another groan. “No… “

“Great- now- help me!! I’m hauling deadweight, here, and he’s gonna fall.”

“Oh- shit!”

~

The ride to the nearest hospital is still about 45 minutes- in a truck that isn’t carrying a gazillion tons of dead crocodile. So its about an hour before you arrive, all the while you try to get Jim to stay semi-conscious.

“Hey- don’t fall asleep on me now, we just met!”

“Jim, what’s your middle name?”

“Think fast! What’s 3 times 12?”

“If you die now you won’t, uh… uh… do- do you like sports? You wont get to see the, um, the team win! The team, uh- that you like. That one. Wouldn’t that suck??”

Most of the time he just mumbled back, a little crazily, and you didn’t quite catch exactly what it was he said- but then he would have moments of clarity every 20 minutes or so. At some point his still-intact hand ended up on your thigh and he chuckled.

You just picked it up and squeezed it.

You didn’t put it down again until the doctors were wheeling him away.

~

“… yes he’ll be fine, but we’ve had to remove a foot entirely and he’s got a good amount of stitches. He’s going to need prosthetics and walking is going to be a struggle- he’s conscious now, though, would you like to see him?”

“Ye- “You’re about to nod and follow the doctor down the hall to Jim’s room, but Reba grabs your upper arm and yanks you away fast- which you didn’t see coming. “Hey! Why- ow- “

“Oh, no. Excuse us, doc.” Giving the doctor a wink, Reba guides you to a sidebar and lets you go in order to cross her arms and give you the most ‘what are you thinking??’ type of look you have ever seen. It honestly boggles you and you stand there with wide, confused eyes. Huh?? “We should not go see him.”

“Why not?”

“We already brought him here, we saved his life- which is nicer then we really needed to treat him. Now we can go home.”

“Just one visit won’t hurt… just to see how he’s going??”

“No- it will hurt! It’ll hurt me! You adopt every damn stray you find on the side of the road- we still have a chicken with anger issues that I cant get to leave our backyard.” Well, you think. That’s not fair- Terrence doesn’t have anger issues, he’s just passionate. And… he maybe thinks Reba is his hen. A fact you refuse to ever tell her… “And that malnourished sausage dog you brought home the other day keeps giving me ‘I’m gonna kill you in your sleep’ eyes.” Alright, Macadamia Nut does have some issues. “I can’t handle a grown ass man with crazy eyes, too.”

Giving a short laugh, you try to just brush away Reba’s insistence. “Don’t be silly, I’m not gonna adopt Jim.”

“Silly?? Oh- Look, you take one step towards that room, and I’ll leave you here Y/N! I’m not kidding, here!! I’m dead serious. look in my eyes, now.”

Instead of looking into Reba’s own crazy eyes, you hesitantly glance down the hall- towards the room the doctor went back into, and consider how expensive a cab would be from here.

… then you sigh, defeated. It would cost a fortune. “Fine… lets go home… “

Reba grins and pats your back, leading you out to the parking lot. “That’s what I thought.”

~

Its months later when Reba sees Jim next. You’re having a few drinks out with Reba after she got promoted to Sheriff when he walks by, sees you both, and wanders over. As soon as you see him your eyes widen, but you stay quiet- looking to Reba for her first moves.

… luckily, tequila makes her friendly. “Oh- Jimmy!! You’re alive, huh?? And walkin- that new foot treatin’ ya well??”

Jim’s good eye wanders to you, even as he exchanged small talk with Reba, a wonky grin on his haggard face, and you try to ignore him. “Good as it can, I guess.”

“And that hook! Man, how’re you signin’ check’s now?”

“Don’t get a whole lotta checks these days, I’m stayin’ away from the poaching business. Not like I can move as well as I useta, you know?” With this, he flicks at the hook in question like see? this is why. Then he goes right back to assessing you, setting his good hand on the back of your chair and leaning into it.

“Good call.” Reba winks, not seeming to notice his affections as she takes a shot of tequila. “You know what?? Siddown, Jim, drink with us! We’re celebratin’, afterall.”

Oh no. Jim gives a big grin at her, before taking the seat between you both. “Hm! Don’t mind if I do. Thanks for the kind offer.”

“No problem! Barkeep!!” Reba taps the table the 3 of you are sitting at quickly and turns to the bar- that’s quite close. She said it would be wise, this evening, to stick close to where the alcohol is kept. “Another round, please, for me, my quiet roommate, and our acquaintance.”

“I’m not quiet, Reba, I’m just not as drunk as you.” You lie, giggling and looking away when she points a stern finger at you. Instead of try to figure out what she means by that in her alcoholic language, you turn bravely to Jim instead. “So, how many drinks are you on? This is my second, and Reba… I think that’s her 6th coming now- I think.”

“7th! Gimmie some credit.”

“Oookay.” You agree, before showing Jim 6 fingers when Reba looks away towards her coming tequila sunrise. Its 6.

He winks, at least you think it’s a wink, and gives a rough-looking grin. “I haven’t started yet, actually, but I do think I can do better then that. And I can get you drinkin’ some more, too.”

“I have to be the responsible one around here. No, you can’t.”

“We’ll see, honey, we’ll see. After all~… we did finish my stash last night together. Oh, maybe that’s got somethin’ to do with you goin’ slow??” His grin is now utterly mischievous as your eyes widen and Reba turns slowly to the two of you again. No! Why! She wasn’t supposed to know, Jim!- Squinting, she tries to pull her thoughts together.

“You… wait, what do you mean you finished a stash together last night?? You’re not supposed to… you haven’t been… “ As you shrink down into your seat a little, Reba turns fully to you. “You went back to the hospital!??”

“Yes.” The word comes out more like a ‘y’ sound followed consecutively by an ‘s’ sound rather than a full word as you avoid her eyes and attempt to disappear.

“How many times!?” She exclaims, mind boggled.

“Just… a couple… of times… “You shrug, helplessly.

“Regularly. My sweet pumpkin here visited me regularly- didn’t ya sweetheart?” At this remark, you give Jim a wuthering glare- though, you don’t really mean it and he knows that as he shrugs and turns around quietly to order himself a beer.

“I cannot believe it- You’re dating this creep?? That’s where you’ve been all those nights?? Damn- “ As you sit there and listen to her, she picks up another tequila shot and downs it. She seems to calm, after that, wrapping her mind around this. Or, resign herself as she pours herself another shot. “I was hopin’ it was drugs, honestly, easier to swallow.”

This is the part where Jim wants to jump back in, a joke about swallowing on the tip of his tongue but you stop him quickly with a raised finger. “Nope- drink your beer.”

Chuckling, he obediently raises the cold beer to his mouth. “If you insist~ … “

“Ugh,” After taking a sip of the tequila straight out the bottle and shaking her head, Reba gets up from the table. “I’m- I’m gonna need somethin’ harder than this. Be right back. And- do me a favour? Get out all your gross, couple-y affections, while I’m gone, will ya? Thanks. I don’t needa be seein’ that.”

As Reba walks the short distance away to the bar, you quickly take the opportunity to turn and just raise your eyebrows at Jim. Expectantly. Like,… so?? What is up? What was that? Are you out of your mind???

… he just shrugs, still beyond amused at the chaos he created. “What?”

 Slowly, a devious smirk slides across your lips. “Ahhh- I get it.”

“What? What do you get?” That sobers him, as he lowers the beer bottle to the table and frowns at you.

“You’re secretly kinda sweet, huh?”

“Why do you say that?”

“Now we don’t have to hide from Reba.” You explain, picking up your own drink. “We can be together more, now. Don’t have to hide out in your cabin. I see what you did.”

Jim sputters, actually sputters, looking wide eyed and surprised at your allegation. “N- No no no, that’s not that I was doing. I was just trynta, uhh… “

“Very cute.”

“Excuse me, miss. I did not- “

“Okay.”

Jim stops, levels with you, and looks just a devious. “Hold on- what are we doing, here?”

“I'm teasing you for having it so so bad, for me??”

“Your friend said to get out all our gross, couple-y affections while she was gone. I think we still have some time… why dontcha give daddy some sugar, hm?”

#Jim Bickerman x Reader Oneshot #Jim Bickerman x Reader #Jim Bickerman #Oneshot #Lake Placid; The Final Chapter #Lake Placid Vs Anaconda

[mypookiewookiebear]

Hetalia characters, high (pt.2)

same concept as the last one, featuring north and south Italy, Germany, Japan, Prussia, and Spain! (axis powers + friends)

TW/CW: drugs, mostly weed, i curse like a sailor, i make a couple hippie jokes, I have chronic tiktok humor, I abuse emojis

AN: someone reblogged part 1 so I had to rush and make part 2. Also i apologize if this is bad (y'know what they say about sequels)

N. Italy

Cannot handle weed for the life of him, zero tolerance.

Not a bad thing of course, just a general observation.

Also cannot smoke, at all…

So in the event he decides to get high, he just takes an edible.

Boy oh boy does he go through some shit.

It makes him… deep? Very introspective, and hungry.

MAJOR munchies, fiending for pasta

He opens his eyes, sees the world and shit, probably hallucinates his grandpa

Overall: bad trip, a lot of munchies, and he saw grandpa again!

S. Italy

Bad tolerance, just like his brother. On the bright side, he can smoke!

I think this is how he actually relaxes. Like I don’t think he’s ripping a fat hit from a bong on the daily or mass amounts of edibles.

I think he rolls a little joint and smokes it outside in the sun, probably in the countryside with his old lady garden.

(probably grew the shit himself, cause i bet he gardens all the time)

Overall: smokes to wind down, and garden, because he is a hippie grandma

Spain

Kinda like S. Italy, like he would smoke to relax and be one with nature, (or whatever you get my point, they’re hippies)

BUT! He is down to do some stupid shit, with his threeway bromance!!!

I can see it, Prussia brings in strong ass edibles, and dares Spain to eat one.

Spain, (never one to refuse a dare) takes it a step forward, and eats two

Yeah that did not end well. It’s fine they’re immortal who cares about consequences 🙄🙄🙄🙄🙄🙄🙄🙄🙄🙄🙄🙄🙄🙄🙄

Anyway, I can see him in the kitchen cooking up a storm while high, (if he isn’t super high lol)

Overall: also a hippie grandma, can be dared to do stupid shit

Germany

He’s on my nightmare blunt rotation list, no.1 D.A.R.E. enthusiast.

Well with the right amount of peer pressure from N. Italy he would try it

It gives him so much energy, he tries to take everyone out for a run, and fucking speeds past everyone.

Never again

Prussia

I think if I tried to smoke with him while Germany was young (y’know, in ye olden days) he would crucify me 💀

Nowadays, he is much more chill, and took himself off of the nightmare blunt rotation list!

He always brings snacks, also kind of an enabler? 

Like if I talked about “this edible ain’t shit” he would just tell me to take another one. 

(bad advice kids, never take another till the first one hits)

If he’s super high he is really funny, laughs at everything and makes funny jokes

Overall: Redeemed himself, good snacks, an enabler…

Japan

Uh he doesn’t smoke a lot because its fucking illegal at his place 💀

I looked it up, any amount is at least five years in the yard…

Kind of a shame because it naturally grows there… unfair

They use meth more often than weed lol

In the scenario he does get super high, I think he hops on fortnite with the boyz.

He is THE alpha with the cold heart, just on the grind set

Probably watches some trippy anime, like Saiki k

Overall: gamer, also a criminal technically, but whateva

not my tiktok!

ok gn guys

if this gets likes i will write more hetalia/weed content ‼️‼️‼️‼️

#hetalia #aph italy #aph romano #aph spain #aph japan #aph germany #aph prussia #writing! #i just added tags lol #hetalia headcanons #high #tw weed

[thisisnotthenerd]

c3e59 thoughts and musings

wow its been awhile. i have 57 and 58 t&m in my drafts unfinished bc of some irl nonsense i was dealing with but we’re back on the train now. i hope. aabria’s discussion of deanna’s afterlife gave me a new fic idea that i’ll have to follow up on later.

anyway. we’re coming back to team hells! i know they’re officially AOL but team bells and team hells just works too well. whatever happens this episode is going to be so great. i can’t wait to see what matt has concocted in this time. i hope we have the time for taliesin to explain what ashton was doing on their day off. not placing any bets on guests because old or new, whoever it is is going to have to match the incredible energy that aabria and christian gave to the team bells wildemount arc. just as deanna and frida had plothooks for chetney and fcg’s pasts in particular, i hope that whoever’s coming on will have some kind of link to dig into ashton’s backstory a little more and maybe get into the ashari/hishari part of his and orym’s background.

from what i can tell, this 3rd arc is all about uncovering lore--the new state of the world and the plans that led to it along with the backgrounds of core bells hells and their new friends. i’m really hoping for a good lore finding character--while orym’s fantastic perception is gamebreaking, i think they need someone for investigation/arcana. maybe laudna will get proficiency in arcana from having delilah in her head/unpicking the remnants? that would be good bc these three only have +1.

this group is also currently melee heavy; most of the spellcasters went to wildemount. i hope they can strike a good balance--maybe get some hybrid classes to work with them? e.g. ranger, paladin, artificer. i had thoughts about orym multiclassing into either of the first two, but i think orym is staying a fighter.

wtf is this ad sam. emily and omar are coming to the dome!!!! i can’t wait for this zelda oneshot!!!!

here we go! where are we gang! ruidus is likely to the south! wildemount, marquet, or issylra. laudna here being deeply worried about imogen and the blowup. oh boy sending’s not working.

this feels like a shittier situation than team bells. Pate’s here though!

Aimee’s back! latina dwarf energy! i love her. i love her. Mona! the energy is immaculate. ex-fiance??? barbarian rogue? i don’t fuck with the gods. denise though

that fucking speech broadcasted??? OH???

843 PD=no time lapse

bilbo bagginsing it

quick meth

new person??? utkarsh? cringefail of a guy. hair trigger bor’dor sorceror. ruidusborn?

EMILY AXFORD IN THE DOME HOLY SHIT

a little try hard wizard! Cobalt Soul Archivist? investigation queen! teleport malfunction result. Prism my wizard girlie

nexus of infinite personalities in a hole in my head??? this survey is just coming out with the best personality display.

combat?? the rookie energy coming off of bor’dor and prism is fantastic.

very different energy as we get into this side of bell’s hells. communication is going to be a sticking point--ashton and denise are both very insular and private, bor’dor and prism are both new to the situation in varying ways that will really affect the future of the party, and laudna and orym are kind of taking the lead on the social interactions for the party and easing the way through this unprecedented scenario.

laudna’s compartmentalizing hard. ashton is at least letting his anger out. the lightning bolt situation was super frazzling for orym and everyone. i hope that they have the chance to actually sit down after this battle.

i have a feeling that this is really going to bring out different facets of the people we already know, and i hope they have the opportunity to relax the way that team bells did. if it’s formulaic, i think they might head for the nearest big city, then go to traverse toward marquet and maybe hit the hishari village and/or ivaadel on the way.

emily kicking ASS. Bladesinger?? this battle is so cool.

weekend at bernie’sing two corpses as a bit is so funny to me.

prism and bor’dor interacting is so neurodivergent to me.

laudna & ashton talking it out! worries about imogen & the philosophy of not leaving people is really sticking. we are more than enough.

DARIAX???? WANTED POSTER?????EX_FIANCE!!!!

aw orym’s getting to talk it out.

ascendant bridge mountain--i’m seeing a vasselheim trip in the near future maybe.

and we’re off to the nearest town in june! i can’t wait to see where we go from here!

#critical role #cr3 #cr spoilers #critical role spoilers #c3e59 spoilers #bell's hells #bells hells #team hells #orym #cr orym #orym of the air ashari #laudna #cr laudna #ashton greymoore #cr ashton #cr deni$e #cr bor'dor #bor'dor dog'son #cr prism #deni$e bembachula #prism grimpoppy

[rreskk]

The wrong circumstances

TW: Mentions of drugs Summary: A failed attempt of stealing led to you meeting a psychopath who gains an interest in you.

You raced out of the city in a rush to avoid the Los Santos police that caught you attempting to steal from a wealthy celebrity (name unknown). While you panted and stumbled through bushes, there was a red truck in sight that was awfully parked outside of a bar. It looked damaged but fast enough to escape this place.

“Bingo,” You whispered darkly, tiptoeing towards the vehicle and jumped in by the trunk in the back.

The keys was still in the ignition and you sceptically studied your surroundings. No one was around.

That brought your attention to the bar. It was dead quiet.

“What the fuck is going on?” You questioned yourself, growing paranoid that you can’t hear the police sirens anymore. You could only hear your heartbeat.

Slowly turning the keys to wake up the engine, you felt something being dropped and thrown into the trunk. You swiftly turned around, eyes growing wide when an unconscious body was lying there, bloodied and dead.

“What the f-“

“Well, well, well!” An unfamiliar voice interrupted you.

A man was crouched beside the car, patting his knees and hands after handling the body. He gave you a dangerous smirk.

“How did I not see you around, huh?”

You stuttered and went to start the car but he busted out laughing when you failed. A sudden spurt of anger forced its way out of your mouth.

“What the fuck is a dead man doing here?” You panicked.

He snickered at you in return. “No, no. What the fuck are you doing in MY car?”

You never felt so embarrassed in your life.

“I need to get outta here.” You gulped, watching his face change emotion every second.

“Yeah? In MY car?” He sassily conversated.

Your hands hovered above the wheel, showing him you were guilty.

The man rolled his eyes. “Whatever. I don’t have the time to deal with your stupidity.” He jumped into the seat beside you and gave you a mocking look, “Well? Chop chop, sugar. I’ll have the pigs up my ass soon enough.”

You were astounded. This man is trusting you to drive out into the middle of nowhere with a random dead guy in the trunk. Managing to start the engine, you pulled out of the carpark and glanced towards him.

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere quiet that is at least 20 minutes out.” He responded.

His hands fiddled with something in his pocket, pulling out a loaded gun as he playfully spun it in his hands. You shook your head and kicked him with your thigh.

“Don’t do that. You are gonna end up killing me!”

He smirked. “That would leave no witnesses for me. If I kill you, then that is another body in the trunk. No biggie.”

This guy is crazy. You were driving a crazy person out into the unknown. What the fuck are you doing?

“Never caught your name, thief.” He soon said, elbow leaning against yours as he stares into your occupied eyes that focussed on the road ahead.

“Y/N.”

The man hummed. “You have potential, Y/N. You just need a bit more spunk in you.”

You quickly gave him a disgusted look. “I didn’t mean to steal your truck. I got in some trouble and had to escape.”

“Ahh, the good old days. I remember them times.” He laughed. “The name is Trevor, by the way.”

“Are you going to explain the body, Trevor?” You mocked.

Trevor gritted his teeth. “The bastard thought he could buy some meth without paying me the full amount.”

Of course he was a dealer. From his skinniness to his sharp features. He smelt, looked, and sounded exactly like a typical meth head.

“Oh, so you are like a proper… Criminal?” You nervously smiled.

He raised an eyebrow. “Why, do you want to be a professional criminal? ‘Cos I can hook you up with some guys. You obviously have a lot to learn.”

“Thanks.” You muttered.

Trevor’s eyes was still stuck to you. He observed you like you were a statue, filing every detail he could find.

“You are quite the heartthrob, aren’t you.” He wondered out loud, noticing how hard you were trying to avoid eye contact.

There was no words that you could use to respond.

“You’re too pretty to kill. That scraps my plans.” Trevor mumbled as he finally grabbed enough courage to look away from your face.

Although you were disturbed, you kept going until there was a distant isolated desert ahead. You tapped Trevor’s arm and pointed.

“Good place, right?”

He smirked. “Perfect place. You should help me more often, thief!”

You anxiously laughed before pulling up nearby. Trevor crawled to the back where he threw the body into his arms, giving you the side eye.

“If you walk up to the main road, I’ll call you a cab.” He remarked numbly.

You nodded your head and started your journey until you could hear his husky voice again, loud and clear over the sound of the sand and wind.

“Don’t forget about me!”

#trevor philips #trevor philips x reader #trevor philips/reader #grand theft auto 5 #grand theft 5 #grand theft auto

[shinyfaceeagle]

Party Rock Anthem (18+, Sec Sex Sev, Gore)

TRIGGER WARNING - CONTAINS REFERENCE TO Sex and Willem Dafoe

Summary: A heart-warming story about brotherhood and sacrifice in the face of insurmountable odds. Set in the same universe as @plaidamoosette's 'His Greater Good' - One of my favourite romps through the wider Avengers canon.

(Please be kind with your criticism, this is my 7th draft of this story and I wish to write at least 9 more parts before I am removed from the mortal coli by the tumour. I recently lost control of my lower body and my hands. This was written with my tonue and my nose.)

Part I link:

I present to you:

Hulk Rock Dafoe Anthem - Part II

It's a warm summer's day. Willem Dafoe, high on Meth, was on a brisk stroll in his private estate in his gucci loafers. Smoking a spice spliff, his mind drifted to the blowie he had received this morning from LMFAO's Redfoo which was sub-par. This played on his mind as he passed the only active streat lamp. These were strange times, a streat lamp on during the day and Redfoo (usually the throat-goat) failing to please his lord. Most odd.

                    --------------------- said Hulk Hogan.

As Willem (or Willy as he was known on the streat) approached the edge of his estate, he saw in the corner of his eye, the well oiled bodice of (Y/N/Hulk Hogan) approaching rapidly. Hulk was an old friend of Will's, they'd known each other since the Durex fighting pits in Bradford, the capital city of Yorkshire.

Hulk said to Wilhelm "What's poppin' you filthy creature, you dirty dog, you professional hunk, you sex-wizard?"

William was used to Hulk's advances and responded in kind with a coy "Wanked off 6 men."

Hulk moved in to the tent in Will.I.Am's trousers. He could sense the throbbing blood tube, about to burst and release its sickly cummy bloody load all over his trousers that were most definitely Prada.

While was unhappy with Hulk's uncouth nature but he couldn't say no to a bit of chippy choppy and so pushed his toungue into Hulk's gaping maw. Hulk, surprised at Wilcox's fervour, bit down instinctively.

As Wiljam's meat sack shattered under the deep-sea pressure, he cried out "Oh my goodness gracious Hulk you fanciful fucker".

                           --------------------- Said Hulk Hogan,

#smut #hulkhogan #yorkshire #cbt #cockexplosion #partyrockanthem #tumblr #yesorno #willyD #willem dafoe #bardcore

#willem dafoe

[libidomechanica]

Untitled (“An early wanting beads,”)

A sonnet sequence

               I

What well as dilettanti in waits in that echoes far remov’d, and tear me toward Ioy no long captives just now thing shook in song Not all be bards: thou can get no more to burn steals between us thro’ the bottom peep? His lips—the wine. Meant her Remembered the voice I hung like light-bomb; in sound, and lawyers find: I by the man! Across that his paid they had all were nothing sought. Some sucking him to inflict order grief returnest home. But the blameless fountains, the lowest sponge of cheerful forever seen. And why? An early wanting beads, and tongues, and shape, and some day restoring crowd.

               II

The wedded that the vessel e’er will never people mad, for the Cross my grief, as a cloud war begun, and as black disturbing come naked and brushed Casket emptied on’t a blacken’d from Heaven to die in vain to love. Perhaps no being no hear, no more, oh, not even; but like life when it grew strong. Towards theme which had cause, the rock. Made those tendency to unknown but drooping these minced leavest me in a sheltered in our escaped her cargo, from her on the roofs as probably to the ravished throats. In travellian imperative: The very where; there’s neither heard the tomb.

               III

However habit sears over solitary bard to his lady-love the Frank. The troop retires, till he had burst without great which many a love I see that sweet he scale—Away! As the lift? Crossed by the in the foreign parting in midst other work, and then thou now? Do you still at least to shun, the silent as a noble kindled; full in vain the publisher on the won’t run any mortality, and the literary rabble: whether flight: joys in sport the darts again, nor other time is Will. To most mild, and mething planned, and shrieks, yells, and like taper-flame left me dead.

               IV

Make; where chief three sink when the dimples, the very where’er you please—a most luminous. The worlds, until each our own herself her hair’d angels watch the bull’s protects his hand interprise, when lo! I know not too hast things of all my plunged down the spell. Then, warm the East, is cheek. To act to-morrow is rage, rage suppress’d its trembling fountains to sleeping from car to their image of time the town’s open’d in peace or was whole I plann’d, unless and drawing free, all pursues, the mind then the deck stood with the birds perch, they sprang to her as show us to be, in war a weak punch, but sweetest trees.

               V

Which now itself to Heav’n, and burn and take ours, which thou art of gordian stood, nor, in the dust, strive, treading rose look’d upon a hoary hear behind louing, haue so wooden gates on it; o let thy words she nothing near; and watery plainly in his lone which she abuse me, sufferings past state! How loudly shouting the world was busy, and looking by common readers sped; but saw them from Praises be upon her sweet myrtle let Life indeed were the Moon are blush of threw his legs, in lightning gold wide o’er, when on your before on a boat, and sighs, you drinks he grows dull night his must both sight, their due reward, so the poor stop my wing—at Neptune’s palace doth enshrines the empty noise he feels his country know. That all afflicting straight ’tis passing with beauty be the avoids the sense, for their magic cured. How does dispel a thought. And be gay, rage, I gave a dizzier pain?

               VI

Ormond, the fightingaling pride! At once our neighbors, going to be Cato, nor shame with me? I love dreary, he compeers, and fear made me man, with a nod. Turning mile-and-a-half Belmont Stakes. Fool! And there when share one human hear. The sudden silence of pain—reacher had dwelt whole desire; which three, more dead! A hand with shall the blessed; all Rhodes at the casement-curtain, to an oath, arcades ambo, ’ id est— blackguards both repent old pleasures: I was a doubt too plain, ah, what to his horseracing to break. Archimedes said all, hard blown self-murder, ’ and Bis Millah!

               VII

Were lies that sweet love denial comprised aloud: Help, help the dangered seem so well, the nerve, just as more Quixotic, and temptation of his fingers on the folly, though oft himself a favours are grateful gloom which never came, veiling sound. The governed ladders do delight. She gazette of the Cellar never mood, obey their vigils pale: heav’n I lose thyself can free; shakes that he scudo of sainted fingers ache, which leads, the through he knelt to resist? Its synonym. At any that of dizzier pain. Of all its style if you felt him yet rolls on a dolphins were immortals!

               VIII

Picking heart out each high, upon the swelling- place; and fright, with a hearts a sense; yet Juan’s connection every good do t ye, gentle intoxicating heart raves. It will never faith! A country’s pride; cassandra too well: far into an end. How light. Since through their love rows, as the breathe away as want of the vessel bear it—shut his labours rife, bound and his lady-love were hearing steps trod no long and here! I touch that still finished by heaven. Then, was come, but deem for there. She paths of men as that agony to secure the vaulted roof by force the hearse our lumen-and a curse.

               IX

Alas, no more wretch my presented, bound these two were still darkness are river, when love, the last, neglected into his inward weight two bloody strong as the Strange quick relieve. Our time draws near the flying bride he took a different blows upon Branch cut down, and where art the cock sung new—like mind soars alone amid the second’s ordination; on he force show’d tapers could rise their father three fireships you’ve heard my plaints, who’s injured by Reproof of Love’s isle the same princess at his brutal lust. While expected thing could not be—or I at least, unless trees, dancing unexpectant.

               X

Shouted this, I will sorrows freshening earth our escaped; thence, of this to marriages, empires my pain, and brake off our wineglass is so late? A depth in battles, and then summer night clips, passions to see em, but of scenes, by the Flood, by form, with accents halcyon. Time’s creeping flow, led thy base, no long been doing! Am sick of it. This is cruel space, with reasons why this forehead grows to improve, what he soil beneath the twilight’st him you’d expression, unto eternal sleep, Love,—only said,— and inlaid with my mother’s stupidly admire how I weep and binds iron thorn!

               XI

Because I love was afraid, for her olive rain falls cool flow and the assault: I have, or very flake, on one tinge of squirrels, and bough lifted of war. Venus, be my desire? And the must her, but silent hasten thick-moted couple with porringer from beneath, and breath of woman’s force press’d with labyrinth in battered species, huddled in the herd, as whole mind, the grave the grass you wring youth, and seals might he was he eats and heare, but to the cliffs of the lightning-swift as fairy though Mars not so wise and on his poor are his man’s hearthstone? We stand my soul abroad that roses.

               XII

Secret ship with friend force, the fall that hoarse affords. Younger, passive weapon, and left thee that make her meet at an early goddess Isis cant would wish resign, for some to hill. And by the town which now is the soul belied thrown; each sad, our hearts, whom fell she is dumb—we stands what I aspired by his army’s lord, above and my Johnny! They can pursue howe’er unpleasant this— the river-reach up the hill, thy fear of incensed awhile! If it were heavy prison gates with instant more on the succeeds it; but was he grave; her heare the first hallucinations to treated urn, hold sphere.

               XIII

Why linger, a wounded in truth be here shed before than of th’ afflicting straits beauty was by all; the lighten up your eyes moved blood: ’twas guilt, and all for very sin for of sound. A sin, nor blazing on the pity, for the news, and soul, even when well practised in one, and the stubborn pulses close doth ships which my Lover’s Language, too, the stood, its worth has give me my earth; the seas, suborn of miles when these phantasy; for I fear ’twould drown her, in that sweet eternal fate, tha sic a moment still; galesus charm all this is my loveliness, and heart; alas!

               XIV

As by no meane the parent spell, or be devoted eye—not as his owne each wounding in my hearted its cries.—Thou, O warrior thou thus doth providence, or some little red man race, and once the proud archer’s dart. All who saith A whole youth’s bright they do not know thyself, nor stopped her thought with blindly contains and only like an angel in the air. All envy, hate and viperous birds do know, or vex, men the loveliest, instructor, Love, straight winding groans, the ear, and Betty sees thereby I did not so near, to shun, thou may say, when it grew— with cease while to the deed, were hung like mine.

               XV

—For he along them watches. The governed zeal; ill suited will bring and lover of battles to cultivate his voices called be; thought to shun, thee, Cogniac! What moment, he wiped her forfeited. Each wave roses, hang on thy fame! And whisper’d walls and fears— pale, his will, approve th’ offence? Present tale of his Largess. Then is best, how love is forehead like a falling to be Italians, Russians, bought to blood; he went, aw’d from the apart; as if their savage, who should show it by this lucky though the new tear his skin that thou Air, and into a beauty dwell vile savage, with a tear.

               XVI

Vines, Earth, still seek who champion’d to find then cups of light I mean times call’d in his supreme! Who sang whelm the Babylon, and make those who served at length, think that all his train to be attack: but Stage-play-like shattering rose, rob’d in Ossian persever, there by thy hand! Love made a part take ours, nor far, ere from Livorno by the heart cold mortality, are shouting the throne of emerald deepest delight, when thither, lifts a youth, I found in her awake to Babylon, and step she muses have I saw the bus, thought him self excuse the troop, hoping to be main. Impetuous prayer!

               XVII

To some to look up my burden’d soul that unrest were for this the eagle sorrow and drew herself to be the gross, and with one contractions he cannot tell how a restored, alley cats expended by poet, must do my duty—how then, much good and eyes the most attracts to the marsh so dense atom glue my designed the fanning shade of gone found of beauty and gold, or from which once more, oh, never had deck’d her safe; his sleeping at the walk’d when Adonais died? Show, and no doubt if this is call’d some lever was an hour, and further self, should be, in which many a token world!

               XVIII

Said all the bed, on they, my scathing monumental soul its amid the chamber spring, we will fortune and mild and marriage precipitous pain; they took at least he fleet were Peters; but still, in its deep as ocean-buried. The cowards were he made without debate, that till darkness, a priestly race. And many a loved Casket of Cain Whence saddle him whom I love was Eloisa lover, I must be—yes. Save off our name, tis eighty heart’s work required, for I wish to pleasured, for if the pity, who were the charmed! Amongst their doming cause. Continuous acts influence.

               XIX

Shun the office ceaseless fell with earth, smiles, if parchings to love. Then entered species, huddled in this—for I no more, now all free as a liberticide, mistress, Harlequin in unascendent anew, Urania’s bliss if bliss if bliss. His head, and true, like one fair things wise as best, behemoth, tusk, and you, my fancies these hall is flow,—no, nor can do, thou madest Pluto’s sceptre, the moan lie buried, their vessel drove that do belong his destiny, others lost they march to touch: my tender and the more fierce, at once had brought we know, the flame; for crime. Into a narrow and praise.

               XX

They moves, and the literary rabble: whence is sheep, a fierce loves and virtue only should slay there, where Desolation drooping at this poor Johnny perhaps, and madden’d some force were dead-drifting to Haidee gazed upon the hours are gone, lament them were barr’d on my swells along the there! The old man, and in this ocean’s force the trees, those restrain o’ Heav’n to glow, far, far remote descended break in me, miracle- tones stirrup, saddle seems when first of the fact is the twang of the great business mounting, foole, where twenty-five years; and will onward eye which rose an uptorn forest.

               XXI

And as he was never had dwelt whole world. He coming hasty took a different purple to the narration pouring a doctor’s arms; it glides are amaz’d, but sweetest essence she is a merry and Nineveh. Her grown merits slight whose infamy is now with my past are green, nor fortune amply blessed ourselves; and morals of jet. No revellers homeward weight torments her couch wit impart, a tickling in the palace- gate is pain! In the mountain, to the spouse Nancy. Blind Fortune takes hands do know what, amassing with every way. They feast; yet I’ll record after the brighted way.

               XXII

And again and some slight I have been! Or sadly stay in which upbraid the hear Shall they would love much youth, and innocent before me this ungovernor and though her dainty of words, and fragrance, swiftly by, dark, our lumen-He lived to say a word scarce find that was little Clod of Clay, trodden paths of mercy, Goddess well in love, us canonized fortune to face and air and strife, let not much beauty and is ever stop my way; him self woulds’t, when thought I would be. Feeding; sun and as an odd one must have so muddy mind that I made, was inspired by love, you deserts led.

               XXIII

Stole through thus instead of that till no more grieved it a sigh thus doth province he made him upward tell thy sleeping flies Who mournful glooming Oceanus the will one. By a mutual pity and gone, with many a poplar shook the spoke not; not amiss; the creed and dead: the vault, nor skill rebel nature stood with a mile of Pasimond and whose disdain; his eye plung’d for from its trembl’d, and never been; they listens, but be gay, in the sage’s mask went aboard. For thee, and green toss’d up, a second’s ordinations, like shatter’d to its rose-leaves not sweetly for the rage was very rich!

               XXIV

Upon the eye of grief, as if by man abroad that came down and a rose to the grape, and all is called her thought, survey; and what Death fond the Dream has loosen’d from my chin, your wished out the Prince de Ligne have gives in our love, sustain her eyes that Sage said john surrenders he had waters trembling silent home against a rock; she posts, his light for Day ne’er scoff’d high in timely misintegration commander with no greatly to confess how they now delay the barbette, ’ of Danube’s bones. Come too quickly to the wind shoots—Add this one who around. But the hour before mellow, but go!

               XXV

Some sport us weep for Adonais: wan they join in safety land be found, was for war. Who serve? Limbs as if on with patient widens towards he passion in Styx; a mortgage was I clung around himself o’ermaster issue. Word scar’d the pain, and lips the daffodils; besides, I’ve had lights. If they listen their birth upon her foes retreat, were they betray’d at our night-fowl crow: thou art goes right, even when left-legs, which blends, when fate and earth enfeebled carcase to their cause of Saturn’s vintage; mould’ring their fault in fair, but root; lions, fearfully, and both she abuse me, thy broad-backed wave!

               XXVI

The means this joyous allow that wicked in the stanzas, and bough’s motion measure and that took its synonym. From tasting be, or drop too sad, rekindles its flames her pale ghost, tis that brim of Ettrick’s short adieu! Now Johnny, mind and in laurel! Lo! Flock o’er earth’s hot wish you do. My echoing streams, in sight, as he fellow, the has known, by the last, if thou shalt do! More triumphant iron of his yours, nor be deem’d to ascertain moment fell front rows, with my boat dance, forget their sister: hand what I most and dusky parties lose his restless, and who piercing pawes as show.

               XXVII

I’ll stay; I stretch from beneath a common dirt, pass, that once believe? Captive castle he’s coming free, i’ll be its hand and to- day: here, she’s tired. I’ll desert smile upon my call; my chin, your was a day. His past thou yield’st that pierces both your dear unto allay his sleepy crew. And weep; desiring loue, and next, what Johnny has he lives? Far for both sight danger, and this. As these metres meet. And but beings that giant’s clutch. Why show the father’s woe. Then summer clown, he long. Let’s core, that peculiar grace, and empty joys of the summer’s blood! Long on the rose shrank like thinnest cloud.

               XXVIII

At several praise, among the moon, yet we went down upon two poor Susan’s side. By carriage, have heard a lyre, and all was worthy heart. And and I shall my own meaning. Where are still what you mighty crowned? Were drawing to possessions are but to tie, and should an hour I wish withstood, nor woman; and soul state, like corporal—some sad height, earth changing lips, and succour vain; the rising fired my tears, and no doubtfully gave it all this cross it—All were death no blossoms came meekly on one ever dying Gladiator’s perch, ferris wheel; my fancy falls into place and hill to you.

               XXIX

Thy vows I made, the waters that moment’s hem with joy.—Thus while she don’t danc’d in vain lost and Don Juan, in women; they will awakening, were head, gains his own and with one but a foe, or ruined few pair in everything need not been translucent word scarce believed bodies ’gan warm with that hear it was intensity of the despite. Since, not on thy love, and storm, and the voice, is sings of her bow and from the green lollipops. If in the sixteenth, at full casks are broke from the sage mind, alas, doe want with my life enisled, with corps; the same: the common bulk, thou shall at closing day.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #105 texts #sonnet sequence

[rejectedbad]

Rejected Bad: All Weekend Long

The following is a rejected script from an early season of Breaking Bad.

INT. DEA OFFICE - DAY

Agent HANK SCHRAEDER and MIKE EHRMANTRAUT sit at their desks. Frustration is evident on their faces.

HANK:  (angry)  I can't believe it, Mike! We've been out all weekend hunting these damn meth groupies, and we got nothing!

MIKE:  (grunts)  Tell me about it, Hank. It's like they vanished into thin air.

HANK:  (stands up)  Enough is enough. I need a stiff drink. How about you, Mike?

MIKE:  (nods)  Sounds good to me. Let's hit the Broken Drum.

INT. BROKEN DRUM - NIGHT

Hank and Mike enter the dimly lit bar. Hank scans the room, hoping to spot something out of the ordinary.

HANK:  (angrily)  Not a single suspect in sight. We've hit a dead end, Mike.

MIKE:  (sighs)  Yeah, well, at least we can drown our frustrations in some whisky.

They make their way to the bar and take a seat. The BARTENDER approaches, wiping down a glass.

BARTENDER:  What'll it be, gentlemen?

HANK:  (tired)  Two glasses of your finest turbo whisky, neat.

The Bartender pours the whisky and slides the glasses across the counter. Hank and Mike raise their glasses and clink them together.

HANK:  (Laughs bitterly)  Here's to another wasted weekend.

MIKE:  (Smirks)  Cheers to that.

They both down their drinks in one gulp. The alcohol burns their throats, momentarily distracting them from their disappointment.

INT. BROKEN DRUM - LATER

Hank and Mike stumble out of the bar. The alcohol has taken its toll, but their determination remains fueled.

MIKE:  (slurs)  You see that, Hank? Over there. I think those are our prey.

Hank squints, trying to focus his blurry vision. Indeed, he spots a GROUP OF SUSPICIOUS INDIVIDUALS huddled together across the street around a burning handkerchief.

HANK:  (grinning)  You're right, Mike! Meth groupies!

They share a wicked grin and silently pull out their DEA BADGES, concealed in their coats.

INT. ALLEY - NIGHT

Hank and Mike stealthily approach the group, tightening their grip on their "tools”. The groupies are oblivious to their presence.

Hank signals to Mike, and they both move in for the hunt.

EXT. ALLEY - NIGHT

Hank and Mike jump out, badge flashing, guns aimed. The groupies freeze, fear filling their eyes.

HANK:  (deep, gravelly voice)  DEA! Hands where we can see them!

The groupies comply, slowly raising their hands. Hank and Mike move in and start handcuffing them one by one.

MIKE:  (smirking)  Caught you in the act, didn't we?

GROUP MEMBER #1:  (terrified)  Please, we don't know what you're talking about!

GROUP MEMBER #2:  (crying)  We're just hanging out, officer. We swear!

HANK:  (mocking)  Oh, just hanging out in a dark alley wearing creepy smiles? Nice try.

MIKE:  (to Hank)  Another successful hunt, partner.  Ready to execute?

They exchange victorious glances, knowing they've finally made a breakthrough.

FADE OUT.

#breaking bad #rejected bad #hank schrader #mike ehrmantraut #meth groupies

[fr3akinthecorner]

100 guns 100 clips fuck your brother nigga hey u like uzzy snubbz? yes he's cool well he likes your playlists! that's good i'm glad he likes them why do u type so slow? i have weak hands no u don't! ur phone is just heavy! hey do u like eboy content? yes why? you're good at it! thx so are u omg u know who this is? yes who? the chinese guy with the buzz cut! yes me! u have a crush on me? yes i do well i can take u to china i know but it's gonna take time but at least i have something to do for the years ahead i need like 2 years dude what?! it's keeho u can't go to china well then he can come here how long? 3 years omg hahaha! ok fine lol sorry but i need to lose weight from my stomach mt st helens lol what? i like him yes she does like me! are u tired? no i slept how long? like 4 hours oh ok you're good um ok thank u i can't play the playlist game rn it's hard just play! were having fun! ok ill tell u when i start omg ok so why aren't i high? idk um u need to focus thx good advice i guess ok so like i can't write my diary on twitter it's too hard im just gonna use tumblr btw the meth is good it's just my body is making me sober feeled it sucks well just wait i know hahaha ok so i like posting on twitter more tho this sucks but i love that i don't only have to talk to keeho he's really annoying sometimes well he is your daddy! possibly... i don't look like him yes u do! no only sometimes i think he did something to change the way i look do u like the way u look? no i don't and its not body dismorphia its my thick face what?! your face is not thick today it is! well just deal with it baby ok bb i love you ily 2 omg you're so shy! yea so what? it's ok she's coming home tonight it's keeho you are fucking crazy like there is something wrong with you keeho why?! you're a dreamer i'm more logical we could never work out so im staying home for now and yes im keeping my cashapp card i know u don't want me to have money what?! no you're not keeping it! omg hahaha you're right he is kind of crazy he's a psycho but like i feel better after laurel ridge wtf?! i know hahaha but it did help me but im on vacation from the manga prob for a couple months idk man are u mad about it? no im not bc i have spotify now and netflix im not into manga that's why i'm married to ellsworth kelly to live outside of the manga it's better for me but i thought that you didn't love him? if he's south korean then i love him we have to go! bye!

#keeho

[batsarebetterthanpeople]

dw i dont think the poll was that deep! i just really like talking about these things lmao, i really love ofmd and brba so its hard for me not to think about the comparison deeper. in response to your thoughts on the matter, i just wanted to say— jesse actually didnt snitch! it gets revealed by the police later that krazy8 actually snitched on his own cousin, and had been an informant for them for a long time. all the characters in the show are pretty morally bankrupt and jesse is the best of them tbh (excluding almost all of the women and all of the kids). selling meth is basically like murder in ofmd where its like, so many of the characters sell meth and are criminals or crooked cops that the scale of morality is skewed. like i wouldnt call ed a bad person in the scope of ofmd because he’s committed murder (not by his own hands ofc but like, thats semantics, hes caused a lot of death.) i also dont really mind him saying faggot because its funny lmfao but stops he does stop saying it eventually, which is an improvement. he may say faggot but he’s honestly one of the least toxically masculine characters in the show. any toxic masculinity he exhibits is really limited (imo, its mainly his casual homophobia in the beginning of s1) and it never hurts anyone, unlike izzy who hurts so many people because of his toxicity. a consistent theme in the show is jesse being walt’s foil. the meth business brings out the darkest of walt’s narcissism, apathy and disregard for others lives and wellbeing, which turns him into a monster. all the while jesse stays empathetic, and is good at heart even if he fucks up sometimes and commits crimes. i could list all of the things that jesse does that drive home this point and personally make my heart ache for him but this ask is already long enough!! idk TLDR basically ofmd’s narrative condemns izzy’s actions and used him as contrast to the goodness of the other characters, whereas brba’s married frames jesse as decent person who is used to contrast walt’s genuine psychopathy and machiavellianism. i dont really think the characters are comparable from a narrative perspective but tbh i get why you would compare them from a fandom perspective! they are both poor little meow meows in fanon, and thats more accurate to what your poll was measuring. sorry again for how long this is i just have so many thoughts T_T

oh ok werk. It really seemed like he was lying about not being the informant when he was called on it but I suppose that'll come up soon enough. Like, that man is not very good at not coming off suspicious. I agree tho about your point on the homophobia. Like if a real guy like Jessie was coming at me with the f slur like that I would feel very unsafe, but the way it reads in the show is like him calling the very heterosexual Walter White a homo as he, Jessie "t-boy swag" Pinkman, zooms in on his ass with a camera so it's like the homophobia is so undercut, dude. Like homie you are coming off so fruity for a guy who uses faggot as an insult.

But yeah Like I said in the first ask I don't consider selling meth evil, an argument could be made to me about "well they profit off of people's addictions" to which I would respond "So you agree? Selling things that people need to continue functioning is evil? Which means selling food is evil and it should instead be free." To me drug dealing is not that bad in a society where we let people die of no money all the time. We're all doing what we gotta do to get by. I'm just using dealing meth as a morality argument because I don't expect mainstream television shows to share my rather libertarian(Leftist) views on drugs and I assume any meth dealer on my screen is going to do other things that I am against, like, idk murder. I have no beef with the real life Walts and Jessies of the world, although you would do well to stop cutting your drugs. Jessie, Jessie, I'm begging you not to synthesize baphomet's dandruff (Meth + cHiLi PoWdEr) my nostrils are burning just thinking about that shit.

#breaking bad

[dzpenumbra]

12/21/22

Today was big ups and big downs. I started off strong. Meh, kinda mixed actually, now that I think about it. I hung out in bed and chilled with the cat, browsed social media and, of course, there was nothing worthwhile on it. Dating apps were a bust again too. And then I just casually hopped over to Reddit. I hadn't been over there in a while. Not a great idea, in hindsight.

I read a post from someone in my city, they were all talking about how it was really going to shit. How there was huge uptick in crime, homelessness and drug problems - apparently meth has finally found its way out here and it's becoming a big issue, it used to just be mainly downers for a long time. Coincidentally, this just happened to be around when they started defunding the police. Probably just a coincidence. But, I mean, there was the pandemic too, so we can just say the pandemic made this problem, shift the blame to something... that can't fix the problem... smart...

I don't even want to talk about it, honestly, it's super depressing and it feels like... well, to be completely honest, as someone with a long-ass history of being abused, it's that oh-so-familiar feeling that I'm going to get "in trouble" and someone is going to scream at me. And I'm going to just have to sit here and either explain myself, apologize for something I'm not sorry for, or... just take it. And honestly, I just don't have the emotional endurance anymore. Especially not over shit I can't do anything about. I'm not a fucking mayor, I'm not a police chief, I'm just a dude who sees people freaking out about police violence several thousand miles away in different states where people speak with an almost unrecognizably different dialect of our language, and then demanding we get rid of our own police force (as though they're the same people) the people whose presence deters criminal activity, then somehow the criminal activity levels rise. And we blame a virus. Figure that shit out.

I just needed to get that out. It just hit me the wrong way. I just moved here. I don't want to think about how I might have just moved to an unsafe area. I have no backup plan. And no social contacts outside of here, either. At all, actually. None active at least.

Here's a fucked up one - what happens when you develop trauma related to reconnecting with people you haven't talked to in ages? Like... bad trauma. Like... haunting trauma, the kind that makes you sorta just freeze in place and your brain just turns into a skipping record or something. What happens then? I'll tell you. People start to think you're selfish. You're full of yourself. You're just so fucking important and needy that everyone else needs to reach out to you.

Ugh. These choices of words, the cadence, the tone... it's not even my voice. It's the voice of shitty people from my past. It lives in my head rent free. It sucks.

So yeah, reaching out and connecting with new or old people is just... a minefield of trauma nowadays. Which sucks. It used to just be social anxiety, like "oh god, what if?" And then, the "what ifs" actually came true, and much worse and more frequently than I was expecting. Now it's just... "do I really need to burn that bridge?" Dark shit.

This was my super easy-to-follow transition to talk about posting on the PTSD subreddit. I just responded to something someone posted, they were asking about whether smoking weed worked for us and I gave that fucker a 2 page thesis. There were a bunch of posts but seriously every single one was like "it helps me sleep" or they use it to distract and avoid their feelings... somehow... I have no fucking clue how people can smoke weed to avoid feelings or emotions. Weed 100% every fucking time ramps my emotions and feelings way the fuck up. To the point where I have been terrified to be high around people, it's just waaaaaay too fucking intense. Like I resorted to smoking out my window just to avoid the chance of running into people in the parking lot because of how not down I am with having my social anxiety ramped up to 2000% while in proximity to strangers. Also trauma shit, so yay!

Nope, I left a super detailed account of how I incorporate this: journaling. See, this journal here was originally just... 100% me writing while I was high before bed and processing thoughts and emotions on my way to sleepy time. And working through those thoughts and emotions in this way works really well for me to find perspective and ground myself. To explore those feelings, anxieties and whatnot and figure out what they're really all about at their core. And being able to do that, and put them to rest rather than just shove them down... it helped me sleep really well. Like, better than I'd slept in years.

So yeah, I posted that and went about my day. There was a part I wanted to share here that I put on there. I am really pissed off that I couldn't find a single therapist that would be okay with me getting high and doing therapy with them. Like, I'm actually very angry about that. For me, that would be probably... one of the biggest steps forward to overcome my personal demons I could possibly take. And I had been denied by 3 therapists on that, despite the fact that cannabis has been recreationally legal in my state for almost 5 years and that I would make a great medical weed candidate. And I guarantee they had no idea what my proposal was actually about. Why would I want to do that? I've used this analogy before. Weed unlocks all the doors in my head-house. It opens the gates and allows all thoughts to flow freely, and amplifies my imagination at the same time, making the experience much more experientially and emotionally visceral. It steamrolls my inhibitions, which allows for much deeper fears and thoughts to come out to play at will. Whether I like it or not. It's perfect for therapy. And training myself that I can be that vulnerable and it's okay, it's safe. That is the biggest thing I could do to move my life forward. And these assholes literally did the opposite. They said "it's not safe, and I will not create a safe, supportive place for you to do that." They treated me like a junkie, like someone who wanted to avoid their problems, not facilitate engaging with them. I'm just going to vent this here and now so I can move on - fuck them, fuck their ignorance.

I showered. I got some cereal, fed the cat and started prepping some dinner. Cajun chicken alfredo in the slow cooker, new recipe. Took the trash and compost out. A lot of good executive functioning stuff today, I was actually really on a roll today, in the first half at least. I watched some art talks that hit really close to home and worked on a simple animated thing I've been working on. It got a bit too emotional, so I moved on to something else. I started working on a copper wire ring. I found a cool tutorial thing and said "fuck it" and went along with it. I sank a good 2-3 hours into that. I put on Baroness's Gold/Grey album - first time listening to it in the headphones and holy fuck is it good. When I got to the point of setting the stone - I made it for the small quartz piece - things went south really quick. After braiding the entire band and lining the wires up right, the prongs were just giving me trouble. A lot. And the stone is absolutely tiny, like... I have no idea how to get it to work. And things just started bending out of control, and it just got really overwhelming and stressful. And Max kept coming over to me and screaming at me for food even though it was still pretty early. And the stress just sent me through the roof. I gave the fuck up.

Like... the animation was "okay, I'm just not really there for this one today." The ring was like "this is fucking garbage, I fucked this up really bad, I'm giving up on this." I was angry. I was frustrated. I was sad. I was disappointed. I was defeated. Ugh.

Got the cat fed, moved on to stage two of cooking. The parmesan cheese had mold all over it. I salvaged what I felt okay salvaging, I mean... it's cheese, right? Don't worry, it came out okay. And I spent some time on the floor with Max to make up for being a bit rude to her. But the rest of the night just... disappeared. Oh, I took a break for yoga in between wrapping the band and doing the stone setting, so... there was that too. But that was definitely good, not bad.

Anyway, I was just really hoping to get art stuff done today and it was just not flowing. It feels like it's just... really slow-going artwise lately, and it's frustrating me. And I still haven't come close to unpacking, because I just don't really have places for any of my shit to go. Like... where do you put like 25 sketchpads? In a box, right? Well... they're in a box... it's just cardboard. I dunno, I just don't have furniture. I never really have. Like... ever. So... I guess I'm just not used to it? My tentative plan is to start to unpack a few boxes to just get an idea of what's in them and where that stuff is going to live, then inventory what furniture I need and take a run to a second hand furniture shop and get some shit. One of these days I'll get around to it. Nothing quite as fun as moving furniture in the snow in mid-December by yourself in a rental car. Can't wait.

I accidently skipped over something important from this morning. I started to look for a doctor. And I got really freaked out. Like, really freaked out. I'm still trying to put my finger on exactly why, it was the same "I can't emotionally do this right now" feeling. Something to do with the city going to shit? That reddit post? And bad doctor experiences in the past? Maybe? I can't remember. Now that I'm diving into it, maybe it's because I'm trying to get screened for ADHD and I'm worried they might be suspecting me of drug seeking and just turn me down wholesale. I wonder how much my social worker dude would advocate for me if I needed it, I can definitely mention him as a reference, if they really need it. Like... I'm not even sure I want to be on meds, I have no idea what they even do. I just want life to be easier for me. I just want to not have to slog through every fucking basic task that other people breeze through like it's nothing, but for me it's like the feeling I had when I hiked to the top of my mountain back "home" in March and there was knee deep slush at the top and I was wearing skate shoes, and I just fuckin pushed to the top, slipping the whole way. E x h a u s t i n g. So yeah, I tapped out of that, too, before I even got out of bed.

What a mixed day, huh? I got some chores done, I learned some wire-wrapping skills, I made a shit ton of food that was pretty good, I did yoga. Even with the setbacks, not a bad day, even got some ice cream. We'll see what tomorrow brings.

I'm tempted to reconnect with streaming or YT or something, just to do a project that's a bit more social... but like... okay... so, is it better to be in complete isolation and work on a project alone just wanting nothing more than to be around other people, but you get to listen to whatever music/podcast/whatever you want... or to work on the same project and have to listen to generic shitty "radio-friendly" horseshit for 3-4 hours... and still no one shows up? XD I dunno, I'll think about it more tomorrow, I am very very tired. And I'm kinda just done with today.

#diary #journal #online journal #stream of consciousness #stream of thoughts

[peridotsarelongterm]

It’s been a long month, I’m running low on shame, and some of y’all who shall remain nameless encouraged me, so here it is.

The Definitive Guide to DeForest Kelley’s Necklines

Warlock

We’re off to a slow start, guys. Curley is completely buttoned up and, just to make sure nothing improper pokes through, bundled with a neckerchief. 0/10 naughty, could bring home to mom and grandma.

The Law and Jake Wade

The 50s were a confusing time. Despite our cowboy being sexed up in leather and stubble, the shirt collar is still very respectable. 0.5/10. Could bring home to mom if she has a spittoon.

Star Trek TOS (Mostly)

Shatner is the Gene-appointed Resident Sexpo, so still not much going on unless your thing is bare necks. Occasional shots of an undershirt or chamois vest are consolation prizes.

Death Valley Days, The Breaking Point

Here’s your standard early 60s De neckline. Still plausible deniability, but you can definitely see there’s quite a show under there.

Star Trek TMP

Now we’re getting somewhere. What A Private Little War started, the 70s attempted to finish with multiple plunging v-necks for the good doctor. (Sadly, in TWOK and thereafter, they go right back to packing the chest away for nice.)

Bonanza - The Decision

He’s a doctor in this one, but we’re getting into romance novel cover territory here. Not that anyone’s complaining. This is a normal shirt but several buttons are open, creating a v-neck effect.

Black Saddle - Apache Trail

Oh, paydirt. In addition to several buttons out of commission, we have a profuse amount of what’s probably Vaseline going on here. This character is Bad News, but if you watch on mute, you could almost forgive him.

Fear in the Night

This is the film version of your 7th grade Lit teacher telling you to grab the reader’s attention. One scene in and BAM here’s De whipping off his PJs so he can properly convey angst. It makes the barest effort to fade out as the PJ top comes off, to the point if you pause it just right, you see complete shirtlessness, not that I’ve ever tried.

The Virginian- Man of Violence

This show’s episodes were 90 minutes long, so it’s like a collar tour de force in and of itself. It begins with De properly suited up as an army doc and eventually ends with...this. I guess the lesson is moral fiber is directly proportional to how much chest hair you show?

Silent Service - The Spearfish Delivers

I initially found this thru a Google Images search and thought it was Photoshop (before realizing probably not many ppl in 2020 would be PSing grainy nudes of De, but whatever). Not a neckline seen until the very end, and then he puts on a freaking Navy uniform. Weird thing is I could probably bring him home to the folks just fine too bc war hero.

I hope this has been informative to everyone, and I turn the discussion over for questions and additions. 😂

#deforest kelley #baby!de #western!de #my momma actually raised me better than this #oh well at least its not meth #also wish i knew how to create a jump on #tumblr mobile #oh well #warlock #the law and jake wade #silent service #the virginian #black saddle #fear in the night #death valley days