fxckinghatefolkmusic

[fxckinghatefolkmusic]

Llewyn’s political views:

#headcanon #((translation: he has no idea what's going on and his only opinion is ''I am too busy trying to find a place to sleep to care'' #I don't think he's even registered to vote))

[fxckinghatefolkmusic]

((Secret wishlist: Llewyn meets the MCU, and I mean actually meets the MCU.))

#ooc #((I can tell you right now his reaction will be just #''what? the?? fuck??? what the fucking fuck????''))

[fxckinghatefolkmusic]

Inside Llewyn Davis (2013)

#asshole

[fxckinghatefolkmusic]

Oscar Isaac on the set of Inside Llewyn Davis

#asshole #((IS THAT A SMILE I SEE))

[fxckinghatefolkmusic]

“That’s good advice.” He made a mental note to call Jim later. This was too much info to try and work out over text. “Thanks.” He glanced her way and smiled--actually smiled. The realization caught him off-guard.

Hope shook her head slightly. “You could try just saying thank you?” she offered, not particularly helpfully. She was struggling with it herself, honestly. Trying to find a way to tell Jessica how grateful she was for everything.

“For both, I mean.”

#ineededhope #v: hotels on the moon

[fxckinghatefolkmusic]

He’d seen that coming. She didn’t look like a drinker. Was she even old enough? Fuck it, he’d started at eighteen. It was barely a shot. She’d be fine. Probably. She’d be better if she had something to water that down. Llewyn got a soda out of the fridge (they were the only thing Jack said he could take--Llewyn had only had one, not wanting to risk that Jack would be pissed even if he’d said Llewyn could take them) and held it out to her. “Yeah, it’s shit. I know.”

“Straight’s fine.” She didn’t actually know what she was talking about. But Jessica drank straight from the bottle and it worked out just fine. It worked out less fine when Hope tried it. She sputtered a little, coughing on the burning liquid.

#ineededhope #v: hotels on the moon

[fxckinghatefolkmusic]

((so does anyone want anything from Llewyn))

#ooc #((I have nine followers #one of which is me and another of which is a porn bot #but I've been in a Llewyn mood for like a week so starters? if you want?))

[fxckinghatefolkmusic]

at least I know I’ll never sleep at night I’ll always lie awake until the morning light this is something that I’ll never control my nerves will be the death of me, I know

#never new; never gets old #((THIS SONG is the most LLEWYN FUCKING THING))

[fxckinghatefolkmusic]

He left his bag by the door but kept his guitar close as he sat down. Force of habit. His guitar was the only thing he owned that was really, honestly irreplacable. “Llewyn Davis,” he muttered as he pulled off his scarf. Had he gotten blood on it? Shit. Shit, great going, Llewyn. “L-l-e-w-y-n. It’s Welsh.”

He shut up as she started checking out his face. Llewyn hadn’t actually seen himself since he left the bar, but he suspected he had a hell of a shiner to go with that cut on his cheek. “If this is some kind of ploy to get my guard down so you can rob me, I don’t have anything worth taking.” He was trying to make a joke; he wasn’t sure how well he was doing.

“Well, I don’t know anyone on this floor named Jack, so I’d say that’s probable.”  She grabbed the first aid kit she’d put together for the - now thankfully rare - occurrences of Matt showing up bleeding on her fire escape.  

“You can sit down, if you want.”  She said, gesturing to the couch.  It probably wasn’t the best idea, given that he was bleeding, but it wouldn’t be the first time she’d had to try to get blood out of it.  And if he really was concussed, or drunk, and passed out at least it might save her from trying to haul his ass onto the couch.

She set out everything she thought she’d need on the coffee table in front of the couch then pulled on a pair of gloves.  “What’s your name anyway?” She asked while she checked there were no broken bones in his face.  Next she set to work on the source of the bleeding.  A little deeper and it might have needed stitches, but a couple of butterfly strips and it’d be fine.

#dumpsterdivingnurse #v: hotels on the moon

[fxckinghatefolkmusic]

Oscar Isaac looking beautiful in Inside Llewyn Davis (+ a very cute cat)

#asshole

[fxckinghatefolkmusic]

In his defense, he stopped yelling the second he realized that he was knocking on the wrong door. Somehow. Was this even the right floor? Where the fuck...?

“Sorry...” He stepped back. It was hard to tell if he was apologetic, defensive, or both--hell, he didn’t even know. “I thought...”

Yeah, well, you thought wrong, jackass.

“I’m gonna go. I’m...” Or he was about to, when she opened the door and offered to patch him up. Llewyn froze, half-leaned over to pick back up his guitar case, eyes wide and caught off-guard. The fuck? Was she being serious? Was this a joke? She didn’t look like she was joking, not that he could always tell. It wasn’t even an offer that he could say no to. He knew that gash on his cheek needed attention, but his sorry ass didn’t have insurance. Patching it up himself? Yeah, that’d end well.

“...okay.” He sounded wary a he stepped inside, unsure of how to respond to the offer. Llewyn grabbed his things and stepped inside. Everything about him screamed of discomfort--the hunch of his shoulders, the way he kept adjusting his grip on his guitar case, the way his eyes kept glancing to meet her gaze then darting away again. “Uhm, thanks. I’m not a pyscho murderer,” he added quickly. “I think I’m just on the wrong floor.”

She was going to murder someone.  Specifically, she was going to murder whoever was yelling outside her door.  She was going to murder him, and she’d probably get away with it too.  She’d ask Matt, since he was basically a walking encyclopedia when it came to law stuff.

Checking the peephole before she even thought about opening the door, Claire gritted her teeth and stepped back, opening the door only as far as the chain on it would let her.

“I’m not in the mood for random guys yelling outside my door in the middle of the night, and yet, here we are.”  She was attempting to keep her voice down, mindful of her neighbors.  “And there’s no one here called Jack, so why don’t you go wake up the rest of the building and let me go to sleep.”

It was only then that she noticed he was bleeding.  And damn all her helping instincts.  Letting a sigh slip from her lips, she stepped back, opening the door fully.

“You’re bleeding.  And either really drunk, or concussed.”  She suspected both.  “Look, I’m a nurse.  Let me fix you up before go waking the neighborhood up.”  She stepped aside to let him in.  “If you turn out to be some psycho murderer looking for a chance to kill me, I wouldn’t bother, you’d just regret even trying.”

#dumpsterdivingnurse #v: hotels on the moon #((''you'd regret even trying'' pffft yeah he would matt murdock would fry his ass #it'd be a curbstomp too llewyn is a big weenie))

[fxckinghatefolkmusic]

@dumpsterdivingnurse

Maybe he was concussed, or maybe he’d had more to drink than he realized. Or maybe he really was just such an asshole that he didn’t see the problem with pounding his fist on the door at a quarter ‘til midnight.

“Jack! Jack, c’mon, open the goddamn door...” Fuck, was he still bleeding? “I’m not in the fucking mood, man.”

#dumpsterdivingnurse #v: hotels on the moon #((the continued adventures of llewyn davis and the Wrong Fucking Apartment))

[fxckinghatefolkmusic]

((Tfw this blog got followed by a porn blog...for some...reason???))

#ooc #((one this account has been really inactive lately so what #two IT'S LLEWYN #he's about as sexy as damp potato skins what the fuck))

[fxckinghatefolkmusic]

Llewyn wasn’t too offended by that, either. She wasn’t wrong. “Got any tips for...” Something in the apartment started buzzing. Shit, his phone. “...not being an asshole? Hang on...”

Text from Jim. Potential gig later in the week. Halle-fucking-lujah. “Well, goddamn. Can I get lessons in expressing sincere gratitude while we’re at it?”

“That’s kind of sad. Maybe you should actually try being less of an asshole.” She frowned down at her knees. It wasn’t like she was being particularly nice to him. Really, she hadn’t been able to muster up the strength to be nice to anyone since prison.

#ineededhope #v: hotels on the moon

[fxckinghatefolkmusic]

He shrugged noncommittally. True, but he didn’t trust her not to. Especially not when he’d probably give her a reason to at some point. He always gave people a reason to be pissed at him. “You gonna have that straight, or do you want a coke?”

“She almost killed me the first time we met. Yes, I’m scared of her.” He didn’t think it was an exaggeration. She’d kicked his ass, that was for sure. Llewyn found the bottle and passed it to her. “Pretty sure she could snap me in half if she wanted to.”

#ineededhope #v: hotels on the moon

[fxckinghatefolkmusic]

The lifted glass cheers his spirits, but not enough to make him sing his usual closing song. He ended on “Wild Mountain Thyme” instead. There was a polite smattering of applause when he finished. He ignored it. Just get paid and leave before you can get lectured for cursing out one of the patrons...

All that went down the tubes when he walked down her table. He stopped. Kept going. Stopped. “Is the booze better than the atmosphere? Because I’m only here because they’re paying me.”

That was terrible.

Her lips roll into a thin line, pressing together to keep some or any of her amusement at the outburst from her face. Irene doesn’t need to be roped into such a display, certainly not in a place like this. She catches his look ( like he would owe her, a stranger, an apology for what happened ) and only offers a nod in his direction, glass lifting gently as if to toast him.

#misireneadler #v: hotels on the moon

[fxckinghatefolkmusic]

“...that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

His tone wasn’t sarcastic, for once. Not too sarcastic. Saying it was the absolute nicest thing anyone had ever said to him was a stretch, but it was up there. Top ten. Probably the nicest thing anyone had said to him int he past few weeks.

“You still play music for other people. Or try to.” She frowned and scooted back up to the edge of the fire escape to kick her legs out over it. It occurred to her that she actually didn’t know that. At all. “So, you’re an asshole. But not completely selfish.”

#ineededhope #v: hotels on the moon