#EDIT: IT SHRANK THE FUCKING GIF

[eosofspades]

better weather by kimya dawson finding nemo references?

WHY THANK YOU FOR ASKING I HAVE NORMAL FEELINGS ABOUT THIS

this is so incredibly niche lmao i listened to kimya dawson almost every day when i was little and then forgot about it until i rediscovered her like thirteen years later. i only heard 'better weather' for the first time since i was four just recently though, and at this point in time i have a baby brother who LOVES finding nemo so i've seen it approximately a billion times in rapid repetition

all that said. the references are so there

^ this is the entire song minus the first chorus! and it does read kind of silly when you isolate the lines but it's such a good song. anyway

lyric about fish that live in an anemone, specifically

lyric that makes a point about turtles in a current!! the current is like, a big focus in this movie for a while and a repeated thing with nemo wanting to know about turtles!!

the ENTIRE B-PLOT of this movie is that these fish want to escape the tank they're stuck in!!! and they keep coming up with escape plans!!!

and, finally. my favorite.

LIKE????? THIS IS TOO SPECIFIC AGSNSBSNS

other additional things i feel validate my claim is "the baby never knew his mother" line (obviously nemo did not know his mother but i'm out of images on this post), that kimya already referenced bert and ernie from sesame street by name in a different song so i feel there's an established precedent; and also that finding nemo came out in 2003, and remember that i love you, the album that 'better weather' is from, came out in 2006.

anyway. that's my better weather finding nemo post! it's a great movie and a terrific song/album btw go watch it if you haven't yet/haven't in a while and listen to the song/album immediately

#mine #THANK YOU FOR THE ASK I LOVE SILLY NICHE THINGS I REALLY WANTED TO TALK ABOUT THIS AHSJDHDN #music #kimya dawson #remember that i love you #finding nemo #disney #long post #EDIT: IT SHRANK THE FUCKING GIF

[wouldpollyapprove]

Long Walk to Birmingham

Request:  Hi can I request 18 from the Angst list please ? For Tommy Shelby

Thomas Shelby x Reader

Word Count: 3k

Warnings:Abuse, alcohol, language

A/N: This is barely edited because it was sooooo long. I do really like it though and there will be a second part because I feel that it needs one.

Masterlist

Glass shattered as the man’s rage wreaked havoc through the small cottage. Y/n shrank into the corner and prayed that perhaps he would forget about her. The china cabinet had been pushed to the floor, all her mother’s good china broken, and the dining table that her father had worked on for hours was in pieces. A tear rolled down her cheek at all that was lost. 

“I can’t believe this!” the man roared and grabbed a plate off the floor. “I can’t believe you went behind my back!” He through the plate at Y/n, it shattered inches from her head, getting a shriek out of her. 

“Dad, I’m sorry,” she let out. “But we need the money.”

He scoffed. “I decided what we need around here, little missy! Not you,” he pointed at her. “Not you, you fucking whore!”

Y/n pushed herself up and brushed off the powder the plate had left. Never once had her father said an ill word to her. Not once had he raised his voice to her. It hurt to know that she was no longer a child in that sense. In his eyes, she was now a target he could attack. “It was just-”

“Just what?” he asked, venom laced his words.

“Just an old horse,” she whispered, but he heard her loud and clear.

Her father stood before her in the blink of an eye, hand raised. It came down with a deafening sound. Y/n stumbled back, clutching her face. Tears sprung from her eyes, he’d never once laid a hand on her. He grabbed her chin and pulled her to him and forced her to look up at him. “Now, don’t you ever, ever, do anything like that ever again. You hear me?”

She nodded, tears rolling down her face.

“Do you hear me?” he asked again.

“Yes, yes sir,” she muttered as he released her.

That was 3 days ago and the anger and violence had only increased. 

Y/n was used to it, of course. Her father had always been a violent man. When she was a child, he only ever laid a hand on her mother. No matter how much her brothers and her wanted to get involved and save their poor mother from her abuser, she would have none of it. In her mother’s eyes, her father was the love of her life. He had saved her from a backwoods way of life in the middle of nowhere in Scotland. He was what brought air to her lungs and life to her heart. It hurt Y/n to know that her mother believed her father was no monster. All the pain that had befallen the family was always caused by him. 

Once he had gotten into a fight with a man at the pub in their small village. It had cost her father his job and the family was left to starve. He, of course, didn’t see it as his own fault. It was never his fault, not when his youngest son died from starvation that winter. 

Nor was it his fault when he sent his eldest son away to work in a factory because the family needed money. The poor boy never returned home as he had lost his footing and had fallen into the equipment. Her father said no one was at fault but the boy.

And so, when the man ran out of children to bury in the ground, he turned to his only daughter. Her father sent her away to Birmingham, which was only an hour or so from home, but still a foreign land to her. Y/n stayed with her great aunt, who was just as cruel as her father, made it clear that it was an inherited trait. She worked all the jobs she could manage. Five days a week she worked the morning shift at a bakery near her great aunts. Three days a week she worked at a pub and sometimes she would tutor children on days that allowed. The money she brought in was more than her father had ever seen in his whole life. 

He didn’t know an honest day’s work if it stared him in the face. 

She hated it, living in Birmingham, at first. It wasn’t home, even though home wasn’t much better. People were rude and everywhere was filth. But once she took the job at the pub, the city became brighter. For she had fallen in love.

Y/n never meant to fall for Thomas Shelby, half the time she wasn’t even sure if people were allowed to look at him, yet she fell. She fell so hard that she didn’t know how it felt to love. Half the time she thought she was dying because never had she loved anyone in her life. Her heart would clentch and flutter all in the same beat. Cheeks red, it was always hard to hide her feelings, but it didn’t matter either way. Mr. Shelby never really gave her a thought. He saw her, but she knew he just saw straight through her. She was nothing but the barmaid that worked for him. 

He would never see her in any light.

She was nothing but the daughter of a drunk and abusive man, who would never amount to anything. She would marry a poor man and have his poor children and forever stay poor. That was the life she was destined to and that is likely what Thomas saw when he looked at her. Y/n was not what he wanted in a woman if he wanted anything at all.

Y/n waited for the lights to go out beneath her door. Once the house was dark, she threw her covers off and quietly changed into a pair of trousers and a button-up shirt. She was tired of being home and, more importantly, tired of her father throwing her around. Her beatings had just gotten worse with each passing day. It seemed that her father liked that she had stepped out of line, it gave him a new toy to play with. She slipped on a pair of shoes and opened the window, careful to make sure it didn’t squeak. Climbing out the window, she landed on her feet and made her way to the road. 

It was a long walk back to Birmingham, but she could no longer live with the Devil.

Her feet ached the longer she walked, but there was no time for rest. One foot in front of the other was the only way she would make it to safety. Y/n knew that once her father learned of her departure, he would track her down because if she was gone, so was his money. So, ahead she went for that was the direction of the promised land. 

As she walked, all she could think about was what she was going to do once back in Birmingham. She knew that it was no longer safe to stay with her great aunt, meaning she had no home. Perhaps the bakery owner she worked for would allow her his couch for the night. His wife loved her and would probably allow it. She couldn’t keep the same jobs, though. Her father knew where she was employed and it would only be a matter of time before he would show up there looking for her. 

She would have nothing. No clothes but those on her back. No job. No house. No nothing. She was nothing but a street rat, how great. 

It was midafternoon by the time Y/n reached the outskirts of the city. Her stomach grumbled with each step down the cobblestone street. Her hair stuck to her sweaty neck and she was covered in dirt from the road. She looked like she belonged to the streets. Perhaps, she did now. 

Continuing down the street, her path came to an end at the steps of the Garrison. She knew it would be best to keep walking, refuge was somewhere, but not here. Yet, she couldn’t move. She wanted one drink. Just one drop of the drink that could make her feel less. Feel less of the blisters on her feet. Feel less of the bruises that covered her face. Feel less of her broken heart. 

With what little strength she had left, she opened the pub door and walked inside. No one noticed her arrival as everyone was too drunk to care. To them, she was just a man who had gotten off his shift at the coal factory, not some girl on the run from her father. Y/n went up to the bar, she noticed that the Shelby’s were occupying the private room at the moment.

“Harry,” Y/n said quietly, trying not to gain anyone’s attention.

The man turned, a towel and a glass in each hand. He raised a brow and looked her up and down. “Y/n? What are you doing wearing that?”

She sighed, “It’s a long story, believe me. Can I stay in the backroom for a while?”

He gave her a soft smile and nodded. “Would you like something to drink? On the house for you tonight.”

“I’ll take some whiskey.”

Before she could protest, Harry handed her a bottle. “You look like you need it, now go before Tommy sees you.”

“You won’t tell him, will you?” she asked, her eyes pleading with him to keep her secret. Her boss didn’t need to be aware that she had been beaten black and blue. It was no one’s business but her’s anyway.

“No, dear, now go.”

Y/n scurried off to the backroom, shutting the door behind her. Finally, alone, she let out a deep breath. 

Freedom at last. 

She never knew that freedom would be the back room of a pub in the middle of poverty, but did anyone know what freedom truly looked like. Y/n opened the bottle and drank down as much as she could manage. It felt good, the liquor burning her throat. It traveled through her veins, easing her pain. 

There was a large crate in the corner of the room that once held bottles of whiskey, now empty, Y/n decided to sit in it. Night was now upon her and there was nowhere else she could run. Might as well have her fun while she could. 

By the time her eyes closed, the bottle that Harry had given her was empty. Her lips were turned up in a smile. Freedom at last. 

Once everyone had left the pub, the Shelby brothers exited their private room. It was now quiet enough for them to have a conversation with Harry.

“How’d ya do tonight?” Arthur asked and finished off the last of his whiskey.

He shrugged, “Did alright, I suppose.”

Thomas nodded and pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. He pulled one out and placed it between his lips. “Have you seen Y/n lately? She was supposed to work yesterday.”

Harry turned pale, he had seen her for sure, but he didn’t like what he’d seen. “No, no. Haven’t seen her.”

The man raised a brow and pulled out a box of matches and lite his cigarette. “I’m sure.” He turned to his brothers. “We need to go over the plan for tomorrow before any of us leave here tonight.”

“Ya, I guess,” Arthur mumbled, he just wanted to get some sleep. “We can discuss it over a bottle of well-aged whiskey. Just had some shipped in from Ireland, it’s in the back. Let me grab it.”

Harry couldn’t help but squeeze his eyes shut at what would be discovered. But he promised Y/n that not a word would come from him and he wanted to stay true to that. 

Arthur walked to the back room and stopped in the doorway. He wasn’t sure who was laying in the crate, but he knew no one should be. Without a word, he motioned for his brothers to come to his aid. Thomas and John came up behind him and peered over his shoulder and the figure that laid lifelessly in the whiskey crate. 

“It’s Y/n,” Harry said from behind them. Though he said he wouldn’t tell the brother’s anything, he knew that if he didn’t, they might shoot her. 

“What do you mean that’s Y/n?” Thomas asked, his eyes not leaving her exhausted body. 

Harry wrung his hands together, his nerves getting the better of him. “She came in a little bit ago, all black and blue and told me not to say anything. She looked like hell, but I gave her my word.”

He nodded, biting down on his cigarette. That was probably the reason she had missed her shift the day before. Thomas brushed past Arthur and walked up to the crate. Looking down, his heart ached at the bruise that took up Y/n’s cheek and the bags that were under her eyes. He didn’t know how it happened, but he knew it would never happen again. Scooping her in his arms, her bottle of whiskey clattered to the floor. “Let’s get her a proper bed.”

Y/n batted her eyes open, an unfamiliar ceiling staring down at her. Panic filled her chest, her breath coming in at ragged intervals. This was not where she was supposed to be. Not that she knew where she was supposed to be.

With a grunt, she pushed her body up, every muscle screamed for her to lie back down. Her body was exhausted, but her mind was racing a mile a minute, there was no way she was going to stay in bed. A cloudy mind, body riddled with exhaustion, Y/n imagined she was back home, in the small farmhouse that she had grown in. She had collapsed along the road and her father had picked her up, dragging her back to the hell she was trying to escape from. 

On weak knees, she threw her legs over the side of the bed and used the bedframe to push her up. The walkout of the small bedroom was a struggle, but once there, she knew that she definitely wasn’t home. Voices floated up from a flight of stairs and Y/n couldn’t help but follow them, her legs barely carried her down the stairs before she had to lean against the wall and catch her breath. 

“She’ll be alright, Tommy,” Polly’s voice reached Y/n ears. “Y/n’s strong and she just needs rest.”

“I know,” the man sighed.

Y/n reached the bottom of the stairs, her lungs screaming for air. It would have been a good idea to stay in bed, it was clear she needed to rest. But against her better judgment, she continued on her way and stopped at the entrance of a kitchen.

“Now, let’s not…” Polly dragged out as her eyes landed on Y/n in the doorway. She walked past her nephew and gently grabbed Y/n by the elbow. “You shouldn’t be out of bed, dear,” she led Y/n to a chair at the table. “Let me get you some tea.”

Thomas was leaning against the counter, arms folded across his chest. Polly set a cup of tea in front of the girl before she excused herself. There was obviously something going on that Y/n was unaware of.

“Nobody’s seen you in days, Y/n.” He knelt in front of her and cupped her bruised face in his hands. His thumb circled the large bruise that was forming, it would be ages before it went away. “Seeing you in that whiskey crate, you had me scared to death.”

Y/n shook her head, letting his hands fall. “No need to worry, Tommy. I’m fine and you’ve got more important things to worry about.”

Tommy shook his head, that was not true. It was hard for Y/n to see, she had too many things to worry about, but the young man could never stop thinking about her. Day and night, she was in his thoughts. There was nothing he could do to keep her from his dreams, but there was nothing he wanted to do either. 

“Y/n… Y/n, you’re the most important thing I have to worry about.”

That was not what she was expecting. 

Sure, Y/n had always wanted Tommy to confess his feelings for her, but she knew it was impossible. It was only ever a dream in the back of her mind. She knew it would never happen. But it looked like she was wrong.

“No, I’m not,” she brushed it aside. As much as she had wanted this, she knew he was just saying it. “You have your business and your family to worry about. I shouldn’t make the list of worries.”

He shook his head, standing up. That was not the reaction he was expecting. “Why do you have to go and make this difficult?” he asked her. “I am in love with you and have been since you walked into the Garrison, looking for a job.”

Jaw to the floor, this was too close to the confession she had pictured in her head. “I… I don’t know what to say.”

Tommy turned to the counter, bracing himself against its surface. “This is not how I wanted to tell you. All broken up because someone laid a finger on you,” he said more to himself than her. “Who did this to you, Y/n?”

Y/n shook her head, why was her life so screwed up? Why couldn’t she have a normal, happy family? Instead, she had a violent father, a blind mother, and dead brothers. Tommy turned back to her and stepped in front of her, his hand rubbing circles of his back. Before she knew it, Y/n was sobbing into his chest. “He’s never done this before,” her voice broke with every word. 

“Who, Y/n? Who?” his words were barely above a whisper.

She let out a sniffle. “My-my dad.”

Tommy instantly froze up. How could a father hurt his child like that? Granted, his own father was a piece of trash, fathers still should never lay a hand on their kids. “You’ll be alright, Y/n. I’ll make sure of it. That piece of shit will never touch you again.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist: @captivatedbycillianmurphy

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