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earpdearp · 7 years

Text

just the worst™

Wherein Waverly loses her cool when Shorty’s is sold and makes an irrationally rational decision for once. Nicole is mostly confused/caught in the cross-fire.

Borrows conversations from mid-1x09 as a canon-adjacent catalyst to bridge my series “just friends” and “not just friends” together.

Dedicated to user @korderoo for giving me the idea. The straw that broke the camel’s back, as it were.

Also on AO3. Approximately 5,518 words.

Other WayHaught “just friends” fics in this series: just another tuesday | just coffee | just blowing off steam | just the beginning

He showed up at Shorty’s wearing an ill-fitting gray suit with a red tie, a sheaf of paperwork in one hand and briefcase in the other. Normally, Waverly Earp would pay a guy like that little mind. But this gentleman didn’t come into Shorty’s for a drink: he came asking after Gus MacCready.

That set off warning bells for Waverly.

This wasn’t the first time Waverly had seen him. In fact, he’d returned several times in the past few weeks. A nagging worry had started to fester at the back of Waverly’s mind.

The next red flag was how attentive Gus had been to what he had to say. Hours a day were spent sifting through documentation, only to return with more papers a few days later. They typically pored over his paperwork on the upper level table, usually just out of earshot at the bar.

What Waverly did manage to overhear, especially today, set her heart racing. And not in a good way.

“…is this what we agreed on?” Aunt Gus asked, eyes narrowing at the young man.

“To the letter,” he said with a lopsided grin.

Topping off the beer she’d been pouring for Pete, Waverly shot the customer a hurried smile. “There you go,” she muttered and started to turn away to resume her eavesdropping.

“I heard about you and Champ, by the way,” Pete said shyly, sweeping off the brim of his tan flat cap and running fingers over a short crop of hair.

Uh huh, she thought disinterestedly. Waverly affixed a kind smile to her cheeks but avoided eye contact with Pete. She strained to hear what Gus and That Guy were saying, but she could only make out flipping pages and a clicking pen.

“He never treated you right, Waverly,” Pete said. She waved off the comment, mostly because it wasn’t entirely true. But the thought agitated her more than she already was.

Champ wasn’t a bad boyfriend. Or a bad guy. He’s just… not what I’m looking for. Or what I need.

Pete continued, a smile turning the edges of his scruffy cheeks. “I was thinking, you know, any man in Purgatory would be lucky to have you…”

Inwardly groaning, Waverly stopped herself short of scoffing, “But would I be lucky to have them?”

Rolling his thumbs around that mug of beer, Pete’s eyes didn’t quite meeting Waverly’s. “And I was also thinking that—“

Oh God. No no no no no no no.

Eyes widening, Waverly leapt in to cut off his train of thought. “—that you should find a gal like me, only taller, right? So she can actually get up in that custom-lifted, tricked-out pickup of yours?” She nodded at him significantly, praying Pete would get the hint.

Thankfully, Pete took the out rather than the impending bruise to his ego. His grin was a little pained, but he agreed, “Uh, yea. Yea, exactly.” Pausing for a beat, Pete then asked, “…is Wynonna… still around?”

Waverly made an exhale-sound in disgust and shot him a withering glare. She shooed him away from the counter with her bar towel, where he joined his brother at the pool table. There was a lull before the boys started chuckling among themselves and threw looks behind them at Waverly. She glared daggers back and made a swiping motion across her throat while smugly mouthing, “Ha ha you’re cut off.” That shut them up with an expletive before they racked a new game of pool.

Ugh. Men are all the same.

Sighing, Waverly scrubbed at a pair of clean mugs from the dishwasher below the bar. She went back to staring despondently at Gus near the front of the saloon. The older woman was still flipping through a stack of papers, hand at her chin, eyes probing every line of print. A pen rolled on her knuckles, poised and ready.

Just as that pen clicked one final time, Waverly straightened and announced, “I’m gonna take my break now!”

Her aunt only nodded in acknowledgment, her eyes focused on the documents in front of her.

That little brush-off grated on Waverly. She resisted the urge to huff as she gathered up her blue coat and brown purse to head for the door. A chill Purgatory wind stung Waverly’s cheeks as she stepped outside.

But Waverly just couldn’t stay and watch. She knew what was coming. The thing Waverly had been low-key dreading for weeks had arrived, complete with that rumpled gray suit and red tie.

Today was the day: Gus was selling Shorty’s.

“What the frick is going on today?” Waverly asked no one in particular as she stalked down the street, clutching her elbows to brace against the cold.

This whole day had felt off since she’d rolled out of bed this morning.

Even though there had been a lull in BBD cases lately, Wynonna was a scarce sight at the Homestead. So was Doc. Dolls was… Dolls.

And Nicole…

Waverly scowled as she checked her phone. No new SnapChats or text messages. Same as yesterday.

Things were weird with Nicole since Waverly had sent that text after watching the sunrise. It was like they forgot how to be friends.

It was all Waverly’s fault, too. She’d messed things up… crossed the line.

[“It was worth the trip”]

[“So are you”] …stupid. Stupid stupid stupid.

Plus, the last time they’d bumped into each other outside the station had been a disaster. First they’d actually physically bumped into each other (via hard shoulder-check), then it was a race to see who could apologize first, then a lot of shy ground-kicking and “So…”

Pulling the brim down on her Stetson slightly, Nicole had asked, “So… how’s Wynonna?”

“She’s… Wynonna,” Waverly had replied simply. “So—uh—how’s… Calamity Jane?”

“She’s good.”

“Good.”

(Un)fortunately, Lonnie had knocked on the window to summon Nicole inside, so the women managed to part ways with just awkward smiles. And since then, Waverly had started about a dozen texts but deleted every single one. Which dragged out the weirdness further.

Ugh.

What am I gonna do? How do I fix this? How do I make things go back to normal again?

…what the heck would Normal even be?

As she rounded the street corner, Waverly halted dead in her tracks. Because at the next block over, Waverly spotted a familiar, uniformed profile complete with a white Stetson.

Oh you’ve got to be frickin’ kidding me.

Bathed in the flashing lights of her police cruiser, Officer Nicole Haught was indeed standing at the corner. She had her metal clipboard in hand and appeared to be giving a ticket to two college-age blonde girls.

As Waverly approached, she tried to blend in with some storefront awnings. The diner was just up the street and if Waverly could just get some food in her belly, maybe she could come up with a plan to—

“Hey! Wave!”

Frick.

Just on the other side of the street now, Nicole gave a broad smile and a gloved wave. Her motorists had briefly returned to their car to dig out purses and insurance information.

Sighing in resignation as she crossed the street, Waverly managed to step in a freezing puddle. She swore under her breath as the icy water seeped through a sock, soaking her toes. The low-key frustration at the base of her skull started to throb.

Perfect. Just perfect.

Nicole grimaced in empathy when she heard the splash. “Oh shoot, you okay? Sorry, I just wanted to say hey. I—I haven’t seen you in awhile, so…” She trailed off, her dimpled smile soft and sweet.

“Yea, it’s fine,” Waverly said, a little more sharply than she intended. When Nicole shrank back, Waverly gave a tight smile. “Sorry. Today just—today just sucks.” She stamped on her damp foot a little, feeling her sock bunch between her toes uncomfortably.

Ugh.

Tilting her head in sympathy, Nicole started, “I’m sorry to hear that. I tried texting you, but I wasn’t sure if—“

“Yea, me too,” Waverly rushed in with a bashful smile. “I keep just—and then just don’t know what to—“

A sing-sing voice interrupted the woman. “Yoohoo! Officer… Hoht?”

Both women turned at the same time to see the pair of blondes bounding back from their SUV, red passports in hand. They were practicing rolling Nicole’s unfamiliar last name in a foreign tongue. “Europeiska Unionen Sverige” was stamped in gold lettering on those red booklets.

Swedish?

“It’s Haught, ma’am,” Nicole corrected politely. She opened her hand to accept the pair of passports.

“Haaaaw-tuh,” one enunciated slowly. The other giggled, long eyelashes batting over heavily eye-shadowed blue eyes.

Nicole muttered under her breath just loud enough for Waverly to hear, “…Close enough.” She shot Waverly a wink as she continued writing on her metal clipboard.

Left Blonde twirled her scarf around her finger. “Will this be taking long time, Officer Hawwwt? We were wanting to see the Mount Rushmore today.”

Waverly chimed in with a wincing smile. “You’re off by a few hundred miles and a couple states.” She pointed to the southeast. “You want I-90. You’re on I-80.”

An argument started in Swedish, both women angrily slapping at each other’s elbows and shoulders for a few seconds. They also pulled phones from pockets to consult their maps. Waverly and Nicole just exchanged confused (but bemused) glances.

The Right Blonde then shushed the Left and gave a shy smile to Nicole. “You give us directions, maybe? Put us on right road?”

“Uh, sure…” Nicole replied, baffled but cordial. “After we discuss that illegal left turn y’all made. And you were going 22 miles above the posted speed limit.” She waved the ticket pad at them before returning Right Blonde’s passport.

“Is just mistake. Not happen again,” Left Blonde promised.

Right Blonde jumped in, her hand brushing down the elbow of Nicole’s coat (which Nicole pulled away from). “You doing things later, Officer Hawwwt? You ever see the Mount Rushmore? Want to be joining us?” Her tone was low, enticing, flirty. Left Blonde nodded in emphatic agreement.

Ughhh. They… are the worst.

Feeling like she was in the way, Waverly started to take a few cautious steps back. Her cold foot made a squishing sound, which turned Nicole’s head. The woman gave Waverly a panicked frown, but for just a second Waverly thought she saw a fond uptilt to Nicole’s lips. Which sent a surge of something through Waverly’s chest, briefly overriding that throbbing frustration.

Right at that moment, the radio on Nicole’s shoulder sounded off with a crackle of static. [“Haught, do you copy?”] A male voice.

The Velcro made a soft ripping sound as Nicole pulled the radio to her mouth and clicked the call button. “This is Haught finishing an 11-95 on Cooper. Go ahead.” She slapped the radio back on her shoulder and continued writing on her ticket pad.

The male dispatcher continued. [“Haught, return to the station when you finish that 11-95.”]

Scowling, Nicole leaned into her radio. “Copy that. …is something wrong?”

[“Nedley wants your ass on desk duty.”] The dispatcher sounded apologetic. [“Something about how you’re the only one who gets shit done around here.”] There was brief, muffled outrage/agreement on the other end of the radio.

“Again?!“ Nicole grumbled under her breath before clicking the button one last time. “10-4, on my way. Haught out.”

The two Swedish women groaned, first at being denied an “escort” and second at the ticket Nicole handed back along with the remaining passport. They attempted to salvage their disappointment by taking selfies with “a real police” and asking for Nicole’s number, which the woman declined (after shooting another panicked look at Waverly).

This whole exchange was… annoying to Waverly. And not just because she seemed invisible. Backing away slowly the way she came, Waverly smiled awkwardly. “Sorry, I’m keeping you from doing your job. I should—I’ll just go.” She resisted the urge to add an unnecessarily snarky “Have fun” under her breath.

Nicole’s frown was apologetic. “Waverly…” She looked like she wanted to say more.

But Waverly had already turned and ran back across the street. Giving up on the diner, Waverly stomped back to Shorty’s (though she took the long way back, weaving through alleys). At least the walk might give her a chance to maybe clear her head. Minus the fact her boots squished every other step.

She didn’t quite know why she was so irritated, but Waverly’s blood was downright boiling as she strode through “downtown” Purgatory. Running into Nicole used to be such a lovely surprise. But that…

…That was such a stupid thing to be mad about. And what was there even to be mad about? Nothing even happened.

Ugh.

Maybe because Nicole was working and Waverly felt like she was in the way? But Nicole had called her over. If she was such a bother, why would Nicole go out of her way to talk to her?

She was missing something and that angered Waverly even more. It felt obvious but just out of reach. She wanted to talk to someone about it.

But Wynonna wasn’t around and… the only other person she wanted to talk to was… Nicole.

Ugh… How do I fix this? How do I make things go back to normal again?

…what would normal even be for us?

…Us…

Gus was shaking hands with the Gray Suit when Waverly returned to Shorty’s. File folders slapped closed, keys were waved about, and polite laughter drifted through the saloon.

“Pleasure doing business with you, Mrs. MacCready,” the man said before leaving. His eyes gave a worried sweep of the bar but when he didn’t find what he was looking for, he smiled in relief. Briefcase snapping shut, Gray Suit held the case to his chest protectively as he ventured out those heavy double doors.

Waverly stalked over to Gus. “So you just did it? You just went ahead and sold it,” she said accusingly.

Her Aunt’s gaze was hard. “Decisions had to be made.” Gus flipped back through her paperwork, blue pen bouncing between index and middle fingers. “I know you don’t believe me, but you were not born to be a Goddamn small-town waitress.”

That softened Waverly some. “Yea, I believe you...” Resentment and worry still burned in the back of her mind. She latched on to her outrage. “But I have, like, three shirts that say Shorty’s.”

It didn’t come out quite as biting as Waverly had hoped.

Gus smirked back. “Honey, it’s in the agreement: Shorty’s will never get torn down. You can work here in as many shirts as you want for as long as you want.” Her dark eyes flicked over Waverly in a quick once over, a mixture of warmth and disapproval.

Waverly tried to interject. “That’s not the point!”

“Things change, kid. I never thought I’d be the one makin’ this decision, but I made it all the same.” Gus tapped the heavy file folder on the edge of the counter to evenly align the batch of papers. “It’s past time I moved on from this town. Enjoy my retirement.” Her slanted smile was sad with apology. “I got an offer on the farm, too. From a nice family from Shelby.”

Sputtering, Waverly slammed her palms on the counter. “What?! You’re—you’re leaving?! And you didn’t—why didn’t—I didn’t know!” She could feel her pulse quicken, blood pounding in her ears.

“Cuz I didn’t want you to fret, Waverly. My sister’s got a spare room since her boy went away to college. It’s time I reconnect with my old life. Just like you’re doing with Wynonna,” she said with a significant nod. “Not all change is bad, honey. It just is. And it’s up to you to make the most of it.”

Waverly flopped her head down on the counter, long hair covering her face. The wood counter was cool on her forehead as she groaned into the surface. “I can’t believe this. This is the frickin’ worst.” She looked up through her curtain of brown strands. “I’m gonna miss you so much,” Waverly said, her voice small as her breath puffed against those hairs.

Her Aunt smiled and reached over. A soft, wrinkled hand parted the hair over Waverly’s forehead so her face was visible again. Gus stroked her hair for another second before laying the file folder back on the bar (the air tickling Waverly’s cheek in its wake).

“You too, kid. But when you decide you’re ready to unstick those wings of yours…” Gus trailed off as she reached into her back pocket. Unfolding a small crisp paper, she offered it to Waverly. “…Don’t cash it for a week or so.”

Lifting her head, Waverly took the thin paper and examined it before she asked, “What’s this?”

It was a check. And there were… a lot of zeroes at the end of that check.

What. The. Frick.

Leaning over the end of the bar, Gus patted Waverly’s elbow with a smile. “It’s freedom, honey!” She gave the check a joyful flick and shook her head in amusement. “You’ve been doing what others want you to do for so long. Now you can do whatever it is you want.”

It should have been touching. Wonderful. Liberating.

But instead Waverly felt… empty. Lost. Alone.

She held in her hands the answer to so many questions… except she couldn’t remember what the question was that this was an answer to. She felt a heat in her eyes.

“…which is what?” Waverly retorted despondently.

A soft, sage smile. “Live your life,” Gus said. “Remember: some of the best things in life are the surprises it throws at us. About what we want.” She paused to give Waverly a lingering look before winking. “Who we want.”

That caught in Waverly’s throat. She could only stare back, confused.

“You’ve always been an honest kid.” Patting her elbow again, Gus leaned in drop a kiss on Waverly’s cheek. “Don’t stop now.”

Gus scooped up her file of papers and disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Waverly alone at the bar holding a small fortune in her hands (and more questions than answers).

The Purgatory Reservoir stretched out before Waverly, the water’s gentle ripples reflecting a cloudy afternoon sky. With a line of snowy Jeep tracks leading to her hidden alcove, Waverly’s Spot was just as quiet as always. Sipping on her second (third?) espresso, Waverly licked her lips against the cinnamon flavoring and stared out at the horizon.

She’d gone home to change out of her Shorty’s getup, and not just for a dry pair of socks. Even in her favorite white wool sweater with a coffee in hand, Waverly still felt cold. There was nervous energy in her chest that sent little shivers through her shoulders and collarbone.

What the frick is going on today??

Everything felt so… empty. This place, Waverly’s safe place against everything crazy with Purgatory… it didn’t seem so magical. The Reservoir was just a dingy, fake lake chiseled out of rock.

The last time she’d been here, she’d brought Nicole. It had been… something. Something bigger. Now it was back to being small and lonely.

Waverly folded and unfolded that check. The same line of zeroes was still there. A small fortune wrapped up in a such a small piece of paper.

It was funny: when Wynonna had first showed up, she offered to hock Peacemaker so the Earp sisters could go abroad and leave Purgatory behind for good. Now, Waverly had the money to do that twice over.

But things were different from then in so many ways. Wynonna had embraced being the Heir. Breaking the Earp Curse didn’t seem like so lofty a pipedream, but an actual possibility. And Waverly… she was helping. All those years poured into research and history and language was finally getting put to use.

The nervous energy in Waverly’s chest dredged up an old hurt for a moment and she let it roll through her.

Wynonna. Sweet, older sister. The protective one. The strong one. …And the screw-up who’d left Waverly behind.

Waverly, who stayed. Waverly, who dedicated her life to breaking the Earp Curse. Waverly… who couldn’t break the Goddamn curse.

And Wynonna, who just waltzed back into town on raw, God-given talent and the only one who knew where Peacemaker had been hidden. It had hurt to be left out, to be the only one who took things seriously, to yet again be Not Enough as an Earp.

That stupid Revenant hadn’t been wrong: Waverly was envious—jealous—of Wynonna. And while she was proud that her sister was finally taking it all seriously finally, a small part of Waverly was still resentful. It was a slow burn of forgiveness that was rooted in long-time little sister spite. But even Waverly could admit her big sister had grown into the role and—through trial by fire and then some—was equal to the task.

So, they couldn’t just up and leave Purgatory. Not after they’d worked so hard and come together as a team. As a family.

“It’s freedom, honey!” Gus has said.

Why didn’t it feel like freedom?

Waverly could go for a Master’s degree at a decent university. Or go to Japan or the ocean or at the very least just leave Purgatory for the first time in her life. Anything she ever wanted, she could go do. Right now, if she wanted.

But… why didn’t any of those things sound good?

Slouching back into her seat with an annoyed sigh, Waverly took a deep sip of her coffee. She played with the ends of her scarf, her gaze drifting back to the passenger seat.

Nicole.

The image of the woman watching the sunrise with such awe and wonder was burned into Waverly’s memory. Her red hair tousled from sleep, bundled in Waverly’s blanket, hands politely folded around the coffee that Waverly had carefully made for her at four in the morning.

For some reason, Nicole tended to linger in Waverly’s head. For minutes, hours, days after they spent time together. They’d talked for less than a minute on the street earlier, yet Waverly still remembered the earrings she’d been wearing (round gold studs) and the smell of vanilla.

That warm flutter around Waverly’s shoulders calmed for a moment, until the voice of those two Swedish girls returned in her mind. Then a scowl darkened Waverly’s face, the agitation quickening her blood.

She resented those women’s confidence and brashness. They didn’t care what anyone thought. Just aimlessly wandered around the Northwest in an SUV without a care in the world. No plan, no nothing. They just went out and did whatever they wanted. Including…

“You doing things later, Officer Hawwwt? Want to be joining us?”

They just—they just asked. They didn’t need to go to JD’s and plan out what they were gonna say. They didn’t need days of psyching themselves up to plan a stupid sunrise (probably). But there it was: envy. Envy for a whole wide world of people doing things Waverly couldn’t/wouldn’t/didn’t/hadn’t.

Waverly’s thumb wandered to her own phone, her message history with Nicole depressingly quiet.

It was a shitty thing to be resentful about, she realized. Because she was basically mad at herself for not taking action. She’d always just let things happen to her. Let Champ Hardy ask her out. Let Wynonna take charge of the Curse. Let herself be a Goddamn small-town waitress instead of—what?

“You’ve been doing what others want you to do for so long. Now you can do whatever it is you want.”

“…which is what?”

“Live your life.”

Okay, Waverly thought with a long, slow breath. She tried to center herself like she did in yoga. Focused on breathing, let the outside world fade away, just her and the next breath.

What do I want? If I could want anything? Right here and now?

A bunch of thoughts trickled in. Glimpses of things she’d seen on YouTube or read about, secret passages of her diary… Swimming in the ocean or the wind on her face with the world below.

Pretty scary. But… lacking somehow now.

Maybe because… she could do those whenever she wanted? There was no urgency, no risk attached anymore. A good plan would take care of any of those little bucket-list things (now that she had the money).

Okay. What else?

“Remember: some of the best things in life are the surprises it throws at us. About what we want. Who we want.”

Her fingers felt around in her purse and found a small piece of paper. Not the check Aunt Gus had given her. This paper was thicker, smaller, lined with creases where it had been folded and unfolded over and over again. The pad of her index finger traced the embossing and Waverly didn’t even need to open her eyes it to know what it said.

“Officer Nicole Haught, Purgatory Sheriff’s Department.”

Inhaling a shuddering breath, Waverly let it out slowly. That jangling feeling in her chest started again, pushing her to stop hiding and put into words this tightly coiled anxiety she’d been holding on to for so long.

That tight feeling had come so close to being free, weeks ago. On that afternoon when Waverly had run into Nicole on the street.

“I kind of just discovered it,” Waverly had said, out loud, finally. The courage to put to words had been on the tip of her tongue, a short lifetime of restrained almosts laid bare. Except it had gone horribly wrong, dismissed by a distracted Nicole. The woman had apologized later, but not before Waverly had boxed that thought back up again and put it back on the shelf. To be dealt with later.

With another shaky inhale, Waverly pulled that thought close again, hugged it to her. And when she exhaled, she finally—finally—let it go.

Waverly liked Nicole. A lot. A lot, a lot.

Not as friends.

“Friends” don’t wonder what the other one is doing all hours of the day (and night).

“Friends” don’t get goosebumps when the other touches them.

“Friends” don’t wish the other would look at her the way Nicole did, like she saw inside her (and what’s more: liked what she saw).

She wanted Nicole. Wanted her, wanted her.

She wanted to know the things that made Nicole laugh—that sweet, deep, melodic laugh.

She wanted to know what Nicole was thinking when she chewed her cheek or licked her lips that certain way.

She wanted to know what Nicole felt like. Smelled like. Tasted like.

Eyes shooting open, Waverly let out another long breath. That feeling in her chest… it loosened. Like she was lighter. Relieved, even.

Okay.

She needed talk to Nicole. Make a plan. Tell her—tell her Waverly liked her. And maybe… they could start over?

…But what if she said no?

Nicole had already gotten hurt—almost died—before. If she stuck around, Nicole could get hurt again, maybe worse. The Earp Curse was kind of a big secret to keep/problem to deal with. Maybe… maybe it’s better if Waverly didn’t say anything?

“You’ve always been an honest kid.”

She knew she was looking for an excuse to bail. She scowled at herself, at how scared she was. How close she was to chickening out already.

Oh God what if Nicole said no?

…Oh God what if Nicole said yes?

That was the real question she was afraid of. If it was a No, she could just put that thought back on its shelf. Easy. Simple. Safe. Waverly knew what that life was like (since she was basically living it right now, so no surprises there).

But a Yes… that was Big. All those exciting Firsts wrapped in all those potential mistakes. All Waverly’s Earp baggage laid bare along with all of Nicole’s. And all that terrifying Unknown made less scary knowing there was someone to share it all with.

Shifting her Jeep into reverse, Waverly made a two-point turn before heading back up the trail back to Purgatory. She downed the rest of her coffee in one big swallow, drumming her fingers on her steering wheel.

Okay. What’s the plan?

Okay. First go to the station and find Nicole. Obviously.

What if she’s not there? Do I text her? Meet her somewhere?

Waverly had to chew her cheek a moment before remembering: Nicole is on desk duty. She should be at the station.

Okay. What about anyone else?

She glanced the clock on her dashboard: 4:15 PM.

Okay. Nedley should be at Shorty’s and if Nicole is on desk, that puts Lonnie out on patrol. And no Dolls or Wynonna at BBD to bug me.

Okay. Nicole should be alone at the station. Then what?

“Live your life.”

Striding up those steps, Waverly headed straight for the Sheriff’s Department on pure instinct. Her heart was hammering in her throat. And her plan was total shit.

Waverly still hadn’t thought of something good to say other than just blurting out “I like you, Nicole” in the middle of the station. She was breathing through her nose, dangling earrings tickling Waverly’s cheeks from her fast gait. She was nervous and agitated from all that damn espresso, too. It was hard to keep a thought still in her head.

When she reached a familiar hallway, Waverly hung back just outside the station. She saw the back of an older woman at the police desk. Dolores, Judge Cryderman’s secretary, was doing some admin work. Waverly waited for the woman to leave before approaching.

Eyes skimming the station, Waverly felt an equal mixture of relief and anxiety to see the place was empty. Just like she’d hoped/dreaded.

Nicole Haught sat at the desk, pen scratching over a form. Her brow was knit in focus.

“Hey, Nedley out for dinner?” Waverly asked in a rush, barely able to make eye contact.

Head jerking up, Nicole’s eyes crinkled when she saw Waverly. The woman tilted her head with a deadpan reply. “You mean ‘happy hour at Shorty’s?’”

Waverly mumbled a “yea” as she looked over at Nedley’s blessedly empty office.

Perfect.

Nicole gave a small nod as she sat back in her chair, dropping the pen on her form. “Same time every day, kinda like clockwork. Do you need h—?”

That nod was all Waverly needed. She pushed through the wooden divider, past Nicole and into the Sheriff’s office. Setting her purse down on the desk, Waverly gave the office a fraction of a second once-over before heading for the window blinds that looked out into the bullpen.

“Hey! Wave!”

Nicole’s confused shout behind Waverly made her move faster. She tugged on the cords in rapid succession, the wooden slats angling closed on one, then another, then the third window. Standing in the doorway was a very confused Nicole, who again offered a soft “Hey?”

Nudging the taller woman aside, Waverly offered a gruff “excuse me” as she edged the door closed with a gentle slam. She looked out the office door one last time, but there was no one around.

Oh God.

When Waverly turned, Nicole snapped, “What is your problem?? I don’t understand why you—!“

That almost—almost—stopped Waverly. But she had already pushed forward, letting instinct and her pounding heartbeat lead. She was too close to stop now. She had to know.

Waverly had done the only thing that came to mind: she lunged forward and just kissed Nicole. She was just so tall. And when Waverly felt some resistance, she almost let go (but she had too much momentum propelling her forward).

But then… Nicole’s hands clamped down over hers. And not to push Waverly’s hands away, either. They held tight to Waverly’s wrists, one near Nicole’s neck and the other on her waist. Nicole held on, but the balance had already been upset and they were falling backward.

Luckily, Nicole somehow had the ability to maneuver them around the corner to the couch. And there… it continued for a moment. Held fast. Just like Waverly had hoped and feared and everything in between as they kissed.

Oh God, she was so soft and sweet yet firm and strong and—oh! Nicole tasted every bit as good as she smelled. Her head tilted in just the right ways, pushing and pulling against Waverly’s tongue with a gasp. When Waverly felt Nicole pull back from underneath her(!), she finally broke contact. Her heart still fluttered in her chest, but from happiness this time.

“It’s freedom, honey!”

While the last thing Waverly had seen before she shut her eyes tight was irritation on Nicole’s face, now that woman beamed back at Waverly with impossible joy. The light from the outside window shone almost like a halo on Nicole’s head.

All Waverly saw now were dimples and glowing skin and warm brown eyes and Nicole was just beautiful and Waverly’s voice caught in her throat.

Laughing lightly, Nicole’s question was laced with breathless amusement:

“What happened to ‘friends?’”

#wynonna earp #waverly earp #nicole haught #wayhaught #fanfic #wynonna earp fanfic #fluff #gap filler #dorks in love #canon adjacent #1x09 #just friends #gus maccready #shorty's #mutual pining #first kiss #not just friends anymore

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ambidexedition · 4 years

Note

uranus, cassiopeia, supernova?

Uranus: What’s your hobby?

I like to knit! Right now I’m working on a scarf for a very late Christmas present that is soon to become a very silly random-day present.

Cassiopeia: Favorite book?

Fiction is SUCH a hard choice oh my god... there are so many options but I gotta go with The Palace of Laughter (Jon Berkeley). It’s genuinely laugh out loud every single time I read it, it’s just so surreal and poignant and I love it.

Nonfiction is a tie between Endurance (Scott Kelly) and Roving Mars (Steve Squyres). Two absolutely fascinating looks into NASA’s space programs and the universe and honestly can you TELL I am an astronomy major.

Supernova: What’s one thing you want to do before you die?

Roadtrip across America. I want to walk across the Grand Canyon, lose a hundred dollars at an LA casino, personally flip off Mount Rushmore, get lost in Yosemite, pose dramatically by a lighthouse in a Maine summer storm, climb to the top of the Empire State, feel the wind blaze through me as the car goes 75 in a 50 across an entire continent of history. That’s the good stuff.

#ask games #asks #anonymous #hsbfkadsjfkal I got stupid poetic at the end there... lov me some good roadtrippin'

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ayearofromcoms · 7 years

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#53: Man Up (2015)

IMDB plot summary: A single woman takes the place of a stranger's blind date, which leads to her finding the perfect boyfriend.

Is this an accurate plot summary? I guess. I do like how the movie poster is doing the work of trying to explain what this movie is about because the title is so vague and terrible.

Well, hey, guys! Long time, no talk about romcoms. What have you been up to since our year of romcoms ended? As for me, I’ve been busy a) having a child and b) publishing a book. Which all means that my romcom consumption has gone WAY down...like, do you know that babies have VERY little interest in meet cutes? It’s true! Anyway, the other night my husband and I actually had the chance to watch a movie together, so I took the opportunity to romcom it up. And since everyone loves Simon Pegg and Lake Bell, I chose this one. Several people recommended it to me, it was in the library’s Blu-Ray selection, it was fate.

Let’s get to the plot: Lake Bell, now British, thinks she’s a loser, I guess because she doesn’t have a boyfriend. What she does have is a lovely sister played by Sharon Horgan. Can you imagine if Sharon Horgan was your sister? You would have access to great clothes constantly.

Lake Bell, single and not loving it, is headed home for her parents’ anniversary party, for which she had to write a speech. Don’t worry, she wrote it in a notebook she carries around everywhere that definitely WON’T get lost or become a central plot point.

While she’s on the train home, she runs into a girl who’s reading some popular self-help book. Lake Bell, too cool to care about anything, makes fun of it. When the train stops, she realizes the girl left the book for her. Instead of trashing it, she tries to chase down the girl in the train station to return her book. That’s how she comes to be standing by herself under a giant clock, forlornly holding the book, when Simon Pegg shows up. Because guess what, you guys? He’s supposed to be meeting a blind date there, and they’re both supposed to be holding copies of that book. And instead of being like, “Nope, not me!” Lake Bell is all, “Yes, I AM your blind date.”

And who can blame her? Simon Pegg is cute! He’s wearing a scarf! He’s got that haircut every man I know got when he turned 30 (no shade; it’s a nice haircut) and he’s very friendly. So she’s on this date with him, pretending to be a girl named Jessica, and you know where this is going. She’s gonna be outed and he’s not gonna be able to trust her but they’re gonna have chemistry, right?

I mean, yeah, pretty much. Can we talk about the specific moment in which she’s outed as a big faker, though? So she and Simon Pegg are at a bowling alley, taking part in a romcom montage that shows how much fun they’re having, when Lake Bell runs into a guy she knows from high school. He knows she’s not named (sorry, “called,” this movie is British) Jessica, and he’s had a crush on her for years. So he attempts to blackmail her into sexual favors to keep him from telling Simon Pegg her true identity! Which is...extremely gross! He was so creepy that I cringed every time he was on screen, yet he was also kind of the “wacky side character” so it was a real conflict. On the one hand, this guy is threatening a woman. And on the other hand...well, actually that one hand’s got plenty of creepy stuff in it. It was gross, is what I’m saying.

Once they have their inevitable parting of ways and Lake Bell shows up super late to her parents’ anniversary party (seriously, girl, they’re your PARENTS), she’s crushed. And Simon Pegg realizes that Lake Bell is the girl he’s supposed to be with, and also he realizes he has her notebook from the beginning. You know, the one with the speech in it that she needs for the party. So of course he has to find her, and of course it involves a high-speed race through the city.

Here’s what I liked about Man Up: it actually cast a good actress who’s known for comedy. I like Lake Bell a lot and she’s super talented. Also, Simon Pegg is very cute and I would watch him in more romcoms, including the ones I write in my head when I’m daydreaming. There were parts that were genuinely funny, and several scenes that made us laugh out loud (mostly involving that creepy dude, who was very good at acting creepy). And TBH I would watch anything that lets me stare at Sharon Horgan for a few minutes.

Here’s what I didn’t like about Man Up: it’s hard to explain, but there just wasn’t enough build up to their feelings about each other. It didn’t feel 100% earned when Simon Pegg was running down the street trying to find Lake Bell. ALSO I resent that the movie expects me to believe Lake Bell looks bad just because her hair is kind of messed up. In one scene, she goes into the bar bathroom, puts on the tiniest amount of makeup and changes her shirt, and when she comes out Simon Pegg is like, “Whoa, who’s THIS girl?” Like...she looked like Lake Bell before, she looks like Lake Bell now. This isn’t new information.

What it boils down to is that I liked this movie enough to wish that it was just a tiny bit better.

I still found this to be a really charming and likable movie, and I get why so many people recommended it to me. Both of the leads were wonderful, the side characters were great (and occasionally creepy) and Sharon Horgan was there. All in all, a solid romcom...nice and cozy and pretty comforting.

Stray thoughts:

-I hate googling actors while I’m watching a movie, but I couldn’t figure out who Simon Pegg’s ex-wife was and it was driving me so crazy that I had to look it up. And she was ROSEMARY FROM RUSHMORE. A blunt bob can really change your look.

-There’s a scene built around Duran Duran’s The Reflex and I guess I never realized what a killer song it is. We should all be so lucky to have a climactic fight with Simon Pegg during it.

-Okay, you guys, this was the creepy dude:

He must be a great actor because he was SELLING IT.

-Just to confirm, both Simon Pegg and Lake Bell were super adorable in this film. Look at all their layered clothing!

Romantic comedy cliches: blind date, mistaken identities, running through the streets to find someone, a missing item that must be returned, a single person who keeps getting set up by their friends, a falling-in-love montage, an evil ex

Is this a good movie? I think it is.

Did I like this movie? Yes! I would recommend it when you’re, oh, I don’t know, overwhelmed by the news and just want to watch nice people meet each other. If that’s a mood you’re ever in.

Did this movie make me believe in love? It made me believe that I have developed a crush on Simon Pegg.

That’s it for now! I enjoyed watching a romcom so much after all this time that I think I might pop back in occasionally. What can I say? Romcoms and I are like a couple in a romcom: we might be pushed apart by plot constraints, but we’ll always find our way back to each other. I deeply enjoy talking about romcoms and sharing recommendations with the people who read this blog, and it’s nice to have something that’s purely fun.

And before I go, just a reminder that my first book is out now! It’s called LOVE AND OTHER ALIEN EXPERIENCES and I tried to cram as many romcom elements as possible into it. It’s been called a YA The Shop Around the Corner, and you know what? I’ll take it! If you like this blog, chances are pretty good that you’ll like the book, because, you know...I wrote both of them.

PROMO OVER. I’ll check back in next time I get the chance to see a romcom. I just got The DUFF from the library and I have a feeling I’ll have a lot to say. No one better mess with Mae Whitman.

As always, send your recs and thoughts to me on Twitter @KerryAnn or via email at [email protected].

#lake bell #simon pegg #man up #romcoms #romantic comedies #film #a year of romcoms #sharon horgan

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simplywitchy · 7 years

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Bucket List

Putting this under a read more because it got WAYYYY longer than I thought it would.

Parasailing

Feed a Giraffe

Ride in a Hot Air Balloon

Vineyard tour and Wine Tasting

Zip line Ride

White Water Rafting

Go spelunking

Indoor Skydive

Go Cliff Jumping

Scuba Dive

Swim with Dolphins

Swim with Manatees

Swim with Sea Turtles

Walk a Suspension Bridge

Pet an Elephant

Climb a Volcano

Horseback Ride on the beach

Hug a Redwood

Hold an Owl

Name a Star

Visit a hot spring

Go on a Horse and Carriage Ride

See a Coral Reef

Stand Under a Waterfall

Walk on a Black Sand Beach

Whale Watching

Knit a Scarf

Make a Candle

Work on a Pottery Wheel

Attend a Pride Event

Attend a Masquerade

Attend a Murder Mystery Dinner

Attend a Music Festival

Dance on a Bar

Go on a Cruise

Go to a Drive-In Movie

Go to a Convention

See a Ballet

See a Broadway Play

See a Cirque du Soleil Show

See a TED Talk Live

Give a TED Talk

Sing Karaoke in Public

Throw a Themed Party

Throw Beads at Mardi Gras

See a Famous Piece of Art

Try Pole Dancing

Do a Cleanse

Find My Signature Scent

Find the Perfect Black Dress

Get a Bikini Wax

Get a Blow Out

Get a Complete Makeover

Get a Fish Pedicure

Get a Professional Body Massage

Go a Week Without Makeup ( while appearing in public )

Have a Facial

Own a Fabulous Pair of Designer Shoes

Spend the Day at a Resort Spa

Order Room Service

Own Tiffany Jewelry

Stay at an All-Inclusive Resort

Cook Christmas Dinner

Cook Every Dish in One Cookbook

Drink Juice from a Fresh Coconut

Eat at a Food Truck

Make Ice Cream

Start an Herb Garden

Stomp Grapes

Take a Cooking Class

Toss Pizza Dough in the Air

Do a Boudoir Photo Shoot

Do the Polar Bear Plunge

Find a Treasure With a Metal Detector

Learn to Juggle

Own an Original Piece of Artwork

Slide Down a Firehouse Pole

Walk on Stilts

Do a Charity Walk

Get a College Degree

Give Blood

Learn to Play a Song on an Instrument

Master a New Language

Read a Banned Book

Read a Classic Novel

Plant a Tree

Start a Charity

Teach a Class

Unplug for a Week

Write a Book

Attend the Olympics

Jump at a Trampoline House

Learn to Fence

Learn to Surf

Participate in a 5k Race

Fly in a Helicopter

Celebrate a Holiday in a Different Country

Go on a Safari

Stay at a Bed & Breakfast

See the Pyramids

Drive Route 66

Lay on the Four Corners (4 States at Once)

See the Northern Lights | Alaska

Hike into Antelope Canyon | Arizona

Ride on a Cable Car in San Francisco | California

Explore the Everglades | Florida

Attend the Kentucky Derby | Kentucky

Walk the Las Vegas Strip | Nevada

Niagara Falls | New York/Canada

See Mount Rushmore | South Dakota

Visit the White House | Washington DC

Visit all of the Smithsonian Museums

Walk on the Pink Sand Beach | Bahamas

Sleep in an Overwater Bungalow | Bora Bora

Explore the Galapagos Islands | Ecuador

Attend Mass at Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris | France

Put a Love Lock on Pont des Arts Bridge | France

See the Eiffel Tower Glitter | France

See the Mona Lisa at the Louvre | France

Kiss the Blarney Stone | Ireland

Sleep in an Irish Castle | Ireland

Visit Stonehenge | United Kingdom

Attend the Westminster Dog Show | USA

Get trained to UFC/MMA fight

Take a survival course

#bucketlist #jade talks

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alaspoor-yorick · 7 years

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so here’s a thought

Sometimes I see old edits of postapocalyptic landmarks out on the internet: the Eiffel Tower swallowed by ivy, the Empire State Building lying on its side in the sand, Mount Rushmore slowly falling to pieces, a tree growing in the middle of the Louvre, pushing through the infinite glass ceiling; descendants of the animals from the Central Park Zoo prowling through a mossy Times Square; the Pyramids finally swallowed by sand; the Great Wall finally breached by insurgent troops of trees and moss.

That’s chill.

But you know what I’d like to see?

Postapocalyptic fiction landmarks.

Give me an abandoned Hogwarts, ravaged by fire, clotted with ivy, radiation-infected dust sweeping down the abandoned corridors; the four house tables long empty, torn banners hanging limp from a dead, empty ceiling - but through the window the lake gnaws the shoreline, a family of giant squid splash in the depths, and a silent white tomb keeps a silent vigil.

Give me a fallen Minas Tirith, its proud gates smashed in, faded banners fluttering in a chill wind as thunder growls overhead, walls falling apart, patches of barren earth between the scorched cobblestones - and far above, in the ruins of a windswept courtyard, a single white sapling growing from the dirt.

Give me a battered wardrobe in the ruins of a bombed-out flea market, remarkably pristine among the grime - its door half ajar, and beyond, the faintest echo of a lion’s roar.

Give me 221 Baker Street ankle-deep in floodwater from the Thames, dusty furniture riddled with mold, a long-abandoned pincushion of a map still attached to the wall, an abandoned tea service, bullet holes in the wall - but in the corner, a hatstand sits cloaked in shadows, still holding a deerstalker hat, a blue scarf, and massive black coat with an arm-issue pistol in the pocket.

Give me a battered police box sitting empty in a field of wildflowers; a Shire so green and overgrown you can’t see doors and windows among the bushes; an Erebor with the forges stone-cold and the treasure chambers empty, dead kings still on their thrones and orc carcasses rotting in the deepest mines; the Enterprise marooned on some distant land with no company but the sky, the earth, and the wind whistling through its broken hull; the Millennium Falcon locked into a planet’s ice caps, Avengers Tower flooded nearly to the penthouse, Night Vale’s radio station submerged in a solid foot of sand, Rivendell’s elegant buildings slowly slipping into the valley below.

just

ugh

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racingtoaredlight · 3 years

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PRS vs. Gibson

Gibson is a historic, iconic, legendary brand that’s more responsible for shaping the face of western music for the latter half of the 20th Century than any other company than Fender. In a lot of ways Fender and Gibson couldn’t be more opposite...Fender’s are designed to be easily maintained and repaired while being able to literally be lit on fire and still make music on, Gibson’s are brittle and clunky. Fender’s are light and slice through a mix, Gibson’s are heavy and plow through a mix. Fender has had patches of brilliant, forward thinking leadership while Gibson’s C-Suite has been a running comedy of errors since Ted McCarty left (to work with PRS).

I’m not going to compare Fender to PRS because it doesn’t make sense. While PRS’ are considered to be “Fender/Gibson hybrids,” really the only hybrid aspect of Fender you see is the whammy bar and this really bad imitation of the “Fender sounds” via coil splitting the humbuckers. Listen, I’m not shitting all over Gibson’s here...while they have their flaws, there’s a reason that the Les Paul and ES-335 and dozens of other models have been used continuously since they were released. We’ll get to that.

PRS is a close cousin of Gibson more than anything else. And there’s a lot under the hood that you might not notice that represents a significant improvement in design over Gibson’s iconic instruments. Despite everything I’m about to write though, Gibson has the ultimate trump card.

***

HEADSTOCK ANGLE

Headstock angle? Really?

Gibson has known about the above fault FOREVER. Strings need to have a proper break angle after the nut...in order to tune properly, resonate clearly and essentially make good sounding notes come out. You can see in the image above how Gibson headstocks are angled backwards (at a 17* angle), so that every string has the proper break when feeding into the tuning pegs.

That idea makes perfect sense. If you don’t have a neck that’s designed to create that proper break angle, you need to do what Fender did, and add an ugly piece of metal right in the middle of your headstock...

Here’s the problem though...if your headstock is angled at an extreme 17*, it’s very suceptible to break. Gibson headstocks are so legendary for breaking like in that image above, there’s a common saying “not everyone is meant to own a Gibson.”

Oh, and there’s a solution for this that’s been known forever too. It’s called a scarf joint, where you take two pieces of wood cut at that 17* angle and glue them together. But then cork sniffers complain about not having “one-piece necks.” Why not make the headstock angle less severe? Because cork sniffers only buy guitars “to vintage spec.”

It’s ridiculous and Gibson is going to die on this hill. PRS headstocks have a 10* angle. Same sonic benefits, same break angle, same construction method...and in all my years in guitar forums, I have never seen a PRS headstock break like the hundreds of examples of a Gibson.

And that’s not the only headstock issue either...

***

STRING ANGLE

Another thing that seems insignificant...but it’s fucking huge. Mega important.

PRS’ headstocks are designed for the strings to feed straight from the nut to the tuner. One straight line. You can obviously see on the Gibson headstock, the strings shoot off in different directions after they hit the nut (lol). In theory...old, outdated theory...it doesn’t matter what the string does before the bridge and after the nut, as long as it’s secure.

Which is ridiculous. Here’s the thing, man...what good is music if it’s not in tune? Nothing. It’s garbage and sounds like shit, even if you can’t immediately tell why. What good is a guitar if a string breaks mid-song? Not much of one, unless you know how to deal with it.

These two variables are legitimate things you have to think about if you play in a working band and choose to use a Gibson. The D and G strings (strings 3 and 4) go out of tune frequently, no matter how perfectly set up your guitar is. You gotta be ready to tune at a moment’s notice...and even be able to re-tune mid-song when you notice one of those strings slipped.

The A and B strings (strings 2 and 5) go out less frequently, but when I play Allman Brothers’ “Ramblin’ Man” and I’m at the end where there’s those beautiful harmonies...if both the B and G strings slip, those harmonies are completely ruined. What good is a great sounding guitar if it’s not in tune?

Now, I’m not saying the Gibson goes out of tune when you play 3 notes or something...but compared to a PRS? The PRS and it’s straight-pull headstock alone are designed not to go out of tune...and that’s before we mention that he uses locking tuners, which secure the string completely (where the strings on GIbson tuners can occasionally slip, another flaw).

Less stress on the strings, better tuning...that shit lets you focus on playing music instead of fussing with an instrument.

***

ERGONOMICS AND WEIGHT

On the bottom picture, you can see what’s called a “belly cut.” Another thing that might sound ridiculous, but think about how these things are used...

The belly cut was revolutionary when it came out in 1954 on the Fender Stratocaster. Guitars before this...even Leo Fender’s own designs...were on what’s obviously called “slab bodies.” Look at the top pic of the Les Paul, and it’s pretty obvious why it’s called a slab. There’s no contours or anything to fit against a guitarist’s body or where they rest their arm. When this came out...

...oh man, guitarists fucking LOVED it. You can see the belly cut here, where it just melts against your body...and you can also see the contour where you’d rest your arm. Why is this important?

When you’re playing a show or recording, you’re moving around, playing with energy for multiple hours, and when a giant slab of wood is digging into your ribs and forearm over and over, it fucking sucks straight up. When the Strat was released in 1954, the comfort of playing it was as big of a draw as how beautiful it sounded. Hell, look what Jeff Beck did to his famous 1951 Esquire.

He just said “fuck it” and did it himself.

A comfortable guitar to play for hours, is a guitar that you will play for hours. Gibson will never adopt this because of the cork sniffers, even though it’s been the number one complaint about a Les Paul since it’s inception in 1952.

Playing a Les Paul is a labor of love. You have to LOVE playing a Les Paul to make it your main guitar because it’s wrecked so many backs and shoulders over the years, that you know this going in. Imagine playing a gig...two 90 minute sets or something...Les Paul’s typically weigh between 9-12 pounds.

Keep in mind that 9-12 pounds is digging into your shoulder, ribs and elbow for three hours...and because it’s just a slab of wood with no contours, it’s swinging around and moving, making it all more of a pain in the ass. A Telecaster doesn’t have contours, but they’re the lightest guitars out there at 6-7 pounds.

PRS made this a non-issue. Their guitars are rarely over 8.5 lbs., they’re ergonomic and designed to fit comfortably against the guitarist’s body and be played for hours. They don’t swing around, move on the strap, are perfectly balanced...

You have to a fight a Gibson, pretty much no matter what model it is...PRS’ are so balanced and comfortable, you sometimes forget it’s there.

***

GIBSON’S TRUMP CARD

To sum up the advantages in design I detailed above...PRS guitars are more stable, more resonant and less likely to have the headstock pop off completely after a very minor fall compared to Gibson. That headstock thing is almost the perfect definition of an Achilles’ Heel.

So why do people still play Gibson’s?

A bunch of intangible reasons that don’t mean much unless you have an instrument in your hands. But these things are the most critical aspects of what an instrument is supposed to do, because if a headstock snaps, making that instrument worthless...just pick up another one!

The most Les Paul-like PRS is the McCarty 594 (named after the former Gibson honcho mentioned above)...but why doesn’t it sound like a Les Paul? Why is it clearly “lesser” sounding when it has almost the same body thickness, pickups, electronics, scale length...all that shit? I honestly don’t know.

But it is. I call the Les Paul the heavyweight champion of the world, because it is unbelievably thick, rich, meaty and huge sounding, almost to an overwhelming degree. That serves a very, very useful purpose with any type of music featuring overdriven amps...so basically anything from blues to the heaviest of metal. And the McCarty comes close in sound...close, but not the heavyweight champion of the world.

The other Gibson design that’s on the Mount Rushmore of guitars is the ES-335...which isn’t as thick and meaty as a Les Paul, but due to the hollow wings, has this wonderful bloom and sparkle. You can feel the hollow instrument vibrating against your body, and it occupies this sonic middle-ground that other semi-hollow and Gibson-styled guitars have never fully captured.

I know it sounds like a cop-out, after all that, to just say “yea well Gibson’s are better sounding, and that’s all that matters,” but that’s the case in my opinion. Also, there’s something psychologically to fighting with your guitar...keeps your mind active in the moment, instead of letting your thoughts drift because it seems like a guitar plays itself. For all the ergonomic advantages of the Strat, while it’s comfortable, you gotta fight it to get it sounding its best. That’s not the case for a PRS.

***

PRS’ TRUMP CARD

PRS’ sound damn good, OK? We’re talking splitting hairs here in the sonic differences between, say, a Les Paul and McCarty 594. It’s just the Gibson’s have that certain something extra I can’t define, that’s all...

Fighting guitars is fun when you’re feeling it and it’s a great gig that you’re fired up about...but if it’s some shitty bar gig you regret taking on, 45 minutes away, in front of thirty people that aren’t paying attention, do you really want to have a 10 pound boat anchor digging into your shoulder and ribs all night? Not really.

PRS guitars sound more than good enough to get the job done. No-playing guitar nerds care about specs and stupid things that don’t mean a goddamned thing like “accuracy,” pros care about reliability and durability, the audience cares about NONE of this shit.

Why is that Gibson headstock thing a big deal and not a big deal at the same time? All the audience cares about is if they like what they hear...it’s binary. If they pay attention, it’s good. If they don’t, it’s bad. If something like the drummer knocking a Gibson over and breaking the headstock can keep you from playing, that’s a big deal. If you borrow another guitar, the audience won’t even know it’s borrowed, because...again...they do not care about any of this.

Plus there’s the value proposition. PRS isn’t compared to Gibson’s USA issues...where $3,800 vs. $2,500 for a McCarty vs. a Les Paul seems like PRS’ are ungodly expensive. Given the standard of quality, however...the comparison is to Gibson’s Custom Shop lines, where that $3,800 McCarty is now up against a peer Historic Gibson that will cost you anywhere from $5,500 up to $8,500.

Much different value proposition there.

*for the record, I consider Gibson’s current USA line to be the best value in new high-end guitars.

***

CONCLUSION

I do tho, so fuck you.

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