#also sorry for making paul look like a wet cat. but.

[charlottesweetly]

sorry for bullying charlotte but....

#tgwdlm #paul matthews #charlotte sweetly #ted spankoffski #bill woodward #my art #starkid #ted #charlotte #bill #paul #also sorry for making paul look like a wet cat. but. #what if i told you this was a bit from thyme bastard #less of a bit because its meant to make you look back on it like “oh shit.” #but still #anway thats that the T and the B on her book stand for

[umbrellacam]

Post-Knightfall - Batboys and Domestic Chores

aka What To Do When Your Alfred Quits Because Bruce Is A Self-Destructive Dingus With No Regard For His Own Health And So Now You Suddenly Have To Adult All By Yourself

aka despite both being raised by Alfred from roughly age 9 onward, Bruce is still a completely helpless fumbling rich boy when it comes to domestic tasks, while Dick is very much not, lol.

Tim also starts out as a typical sheltered teenage boy who doesn't even know how to fold laundry... But fortunately for him, he has a new older brother to teach him what's what while they're partnered up during Prodigal! :D

...Sort of. Once Bruce is back and he and Tim are on their own, they both still fumble without Alfred or Dick around. Tim's embryonic domestic skills can't make up for Bruce being a sad wet cat re: household tasks, pfft.

In chronological order, starting after Bruce and Alfred have both fucked off and Dick and Tim are holding down the fort in Gotham as Batman and Robin:

DICK AND TIM

Batman #512 - Dick can cook! And he cooks for Tim :) Also, the house-robes are adorable, as always. Tim: "I can't believe you can actually cook..." Dick: "I like to eat." Tim: "So does Bruce - but he had to order Chinese last night." Dick: "That's where I'm one up on him - I've lived on my own without an Alfred. Still miss him, though... He was good for a lot more than cooking and cleaning." Tim: "Yep - but at least we don't have to miss him on empty stomachs."

Batman: Shadow of the Bat #32 - The Manor was thrashed after Bruce's fight with Bane, and was never cleaned up after Bruce's back was broken and Jean-Paul Valley took over as Batman. The Batbros are on the job! Dick (sweeping): "Bruce told me a story once: Two philosophers talked all day." Tim (blithely eating a banana): "And...?" Dick (tossing him the broom): "The mess was still there next morning!" Tim (grinning): "Message received and understood, Captain!"

Batman #513 - Timmy is amazed at Dick's mastery of the household arts! Tim: "Awesome - you can cook and do the laundry?" Dick: "Hey, if there's time, I may even putty some new panes in those smashed windows." Tim: "Blimey - does Alfred the Pennyworth know you've mastered all his domestic secrets?" Dick: "Who do you think taught him?" Tim: "Not to get too serious, Dick, but it's good to see you loose again - and good to see the Manor taking shape, too. Since Jean Paul didn't care about it and Bruce relies on Alfred, it looks like you can teach a trick or two the other Batmen couldn't."

Robin #12 - More Dick handling the laundry, and Dick flinging a towel in Tim's face - er, teaching him how to fold so that he can pitch in instead of sitting on the side and moping. Dick: "Does that mean that things are going smoother between you and Ariana?" Tim (mopily): "Not really. Every time I think we're finally getting along, something happens to change all that." Dick: "Welcome to the opposite sex, Tim." Tim: "Look at you with the laundry. You're going to make some woman happy someday." Dick: "Well, it's about time you learned to fold a towel." (throws one in Tim's face) Tim: "Hey!" Dick: "I can't do everything around here until Alfred gets back."

BRUCE AND TIM

Bruce is back! And he straight up sucks at all this stuff without Alfred, lol, and doesn't have a Dick to lean on like Tim did.

Batman: Shadow of the Bat #35 - Bruce attempting laundry in the washer (laundry strewn all over the room and bubbles ominously emerging from the machine), getting pizza delivery, and asking the delivery boy for limo service recs, lol. Delivery Boy: "Good afternoon, sir. Three-cheese special, right?" Bruce: "You don't happen to know a good limo service? Or anything about washing machines...?"

Detective Comics #685 - Bruce infamously ruining tuna fish sandwiches. Bruce: "Sorry about lunch, Tim. I'm not much of a hand in the kitchen. With Alfred gone I'm pretty much helpless." Tim: "It's okay, Bruce. How can you screw up a tuna fish sandwich?" (takes a bite) "Oh. That's how."

Detective Comics #687 - Bruce attempts to toss an Armani tuxedo in the washing machine because reasons. Tim: "Are you sure you know what you're doing, Bruce?" Bruce: "How dangerous can it be, Tim? Alfred never seems to have a problem." Tim: "Well, he makes everything look easy. What are you washing here?" Bruce: "My summer tux. It smelled like the river." Tim (pulling out the now-tiny tux jacket and smirking): "Guess you didn't know you were supposed to dry clean these things, huh?"

Batman: Shadow of the Bat #40 - The central heating system at the Manor has gone down, and Bruce is aghast that he (a) has to make a reservation with the maintenance man, and (b) it might take him more than a week to take care of it. Bruce decides to just fix it himself - I wonder how that went, lol. Bruce (hand to his forehead dramatically) : "A butler, at butler, my kingdom for a butler!" Tim (coming down the stairs into the basement): "Specifically Alfred?" Bruce: "Very specifically. He'd have had these central heating tyrants fixed in minutes. Losing Alfred has caused me as much pain as anything Bane did to me."

THE RETURN OF ALFRED! Yaaaaay! And more Bruce and Tim.

Batman #521 - More overflowing laundry shenanigans 😂 Bruce: "Not again, Tim!" Tim: "Honest, Bruce - I know I didn't go overboard on the detergent this time!" Bruce: "You mean you added detergent too--? After I already did it?" Tim: "Uh oh. Hey, I was only trying to help..." Bruce: "The mops." Tim: "Yeah...again." Alfred returns to Bruce and Tim both attempting to mop up, suds everywhere, including in their hair. To preserve both his and Bruce's dignity, he's pretended to come in answer to a Help Wanted ad that he himself placed in the paper, for a butler at Wayne Manor. Bruce and Tim both warmly welcome him home.

Detective Comics #689 - Batman and Robin pick the wrong rooftop to talk on, and startle a woman coming up to hang her laundry so badly that she faints, dropping and scattering the whole load. Robin: "She'll be okay. Just passed out." Batman: "I hate when this happens." Robin: "Well, what do we do now?" Batman: "How about demonstrating some of your new skills - the ones Nightwing taught you?" Robin: "Man..." He does, and the woman wakes up to her neatly folded items in her basket, while Bruce and Tim swing away. Tim (indignant): "It wouldn't hurt you to learn how to fold clothes, even though Alfred is back." Batman (grinning): "You know what they say about old dogs, Robin." Robin: "Right."

(All of these were published within a one year span, from November 1994 to September 1995. Very fun little recurring D-plot in the aftermath of Knightfall c:)

#long post #Dick and Tim #Bruce and Tim #Dick Grayson #Tim Drake #Bruce Wayne #Alfred Pennyworth #dcu #DC Comics panels #Batman #Nightwing #Robin #DC Comics #Cam reads comics #Cam posts

[arthurtaylorlester]

BONUS EP LIVE BLOG

spoilers obviously

warning I get a little heated about calliope

A DREAM OF A THOUSAND CATS LIVEBLOG

starting at 2 minutes in

PAUL DONT YOU FUCKING DARe

HE DROWNED KITTENS

I FUCKING HATE BREEDERS

SHE FUCKING UNDERSTANDS

YEs SLAY GIRL CATS ARE BETTER TAKE OVER HUMANS

ooooh dreams? dreams you say

skeleton vulture go mrrrp

aww poor kittens

siamese you dont deserve this

we love a dedicated cat

THE ARTSTYLE IS SO COOL

cat of dreams?

dream is a wet cat confirmed?

CAT DREAM IS SO COOL

GENDER ENVY OHOHOOHIHJOHI

oh my god eye imagery

i love it everytime

GIANT KITTIES!?

hahahaha cat and man

ooh dream man disciple

WHAT TTHE FFUCK

dreams do change the world

timelines realities this show keeps getting better and better

EAT PAUL EAT PAUL EAT PAUL

ok you should leave instead that makes more sense

i love you siamese i love you siamese i love you siamese i love you siamese i love you siamese i love you siamese

can you tell I like cats

cats are chaotic true

wait

shes hunting yall

THAT WAS EPIC

CALLIOPE LIVEBLOG

mysterious lecturer man talking about writing

who's lady

research?

girl hes uninterested

that was mean

nora aight

what the fuck did you give him nora

nora you like him it's so obvious

girl he isn't writing hes in writers block

mysterious man 2

he reminds me of remus lupin tbh

richard i mean

A YEAR!?

and the thing nora gave him was

a bezoar?

interesting get to the point old man

ooh greek mythos you say?

"ooh calliope is a muse

they summon her

get her trapped like dream

he save her"

<- prediction for the ep

what thhe ffu k

BITCH MR FRY OR QHATEEVR THE FUCK YOuR NAME IS

CALLIOPE PLEASE KICK ONE OF THEM IN THE BALLS

shes hot though, nothing to do with the show, but I'll let her fuck me

FUCK YOU MEN FROM THE SANDMAN TV SERIES BONUS EPISODE "dream of a thousand cats/ calliope" (i hc dream as nb)

richard you need to free her idc about your book

YOU TELL HIM CALLIOPE

BUT WHAT RICHARD

YOU FUCKING KNWO YOU WONT

im a writer i confirm writers are liars

BITVH WHAY RICHARD FUCK YOu

I HATE WHITE MEN LIKE RIXHARD

reddit user too? really?

NOT TWITTER

YOU CANT EXPECT INSPIRATION TO HIT YOY LIKE A BAT YOU NEED TO GO PRY THE INSPIRATION FROM DEATHS COLD HANDS. WHICH DOES NOT MEAN KIDNAPPING AN ANCIENT GREEK GODDESS

if you freed her she wouldve given you inspo immediately

Richard im sorry but your book /=/ someones freedom

ok youre drowning go on break

also no one is forcing you to write a second book just tell them you dont wanna

ok so someone is forcing you to write it

still doesn't put you in the right

free her shell give the goddamn inspo a

NONONONOJONINONO

RICHARD IF YOU FUCKING DARE

I WILL

youre a fictional characters i wont do shit but

NONONONON

calliope you fought back you did well

fucking incel

HEAR HER PRAYER

HEAR HER

hecate!!!!!!

call dream call dream call dream call dream

my favourite white boy rn call him call him

bitch what did yall do to eachother

OJSGJSJDKD

husband?????????

YES

YOU NOTH GOT TRAPPED WHAT

HOPE = DREAM CALLIOPE DO IT DO IT DO UT

jo rowling ?? ew like joke rowling is better

DREAAAAAAM PLEASEEEEE SHOW UP.

also what is it with dream and badly ending relationship with women wno deserve better

RICHARD??? WRITING STRONG FEMALE CHARACTERS BITCH YOU RAPED A GOD

i hate him

FEMINIST

YOU ONLY WANT YO FUCK YOU INCEL

WOMEN IN YORU LIFE YOU MEAN THE ONLY ONE IS HELD AGAINST HER WILL

OUR SUCCESS????

shes trapped what are you on ffs

they are people not objects you cunt

oh woc poc boohoo fake rep

escape girl

pause im eating lunch

DREAAAAAM HES HERE

ric getting the authors wrong because hes guilty and only naming women was deserved

glad fry guy got what he deserved

inspire him dream if you dont ill fight you

PUNISH HIM DREAM

DREAM AND CALLIOPE BEING BESTIES IS SOMETHING I NEED NOW

ok but dream what did you do

ooh lingering feelings?

ya are kinda really close

OHOHOOHO DREAM SLAY

your ideas arent evn your fucking own you bitch

60 YEARS!!!!

DREAM KNOWS THAT PAIN

OH IT WAS A DREAM YEAH THAT MAKES SENSE

smile calliope look hot owning him

yOu had A SON

wow divorcees calliope and dream being friends pleasepleasepleaseplease

nora nooooo hes a rapist

CURSE OF IDEAS YES

SLAY MORPHEUS AND CALLIOPE

morphlliope?

calliopheus?

dreamuse

SLAYYYYYYYY

REWRITE IT

yes dream my fav feminist

oh so calliope left dream

what happened

dream growth yesssssss

no dont release him

keep like that forever

fair enough calliope, i get your point

SHAPER OF FORMS???? BITCH ITS MORPHEUS

pathetic little man (derogatory)

pathetic little man (affectionate)

yk who is who

yes who is your son

oh hes dead

dream needs space, i get him

fun fact i changed my tumblr other user for oneiros

hes so cool

CALLIOPE GETS HER HAPPY ENDING :D

#the sandman #liveblogging #neil gaiman dni #< /j its my sandman tag

[natromanxoff]

25 - Just Chatting...

Hello one and all.

It's been a long time since I graced these pages and, believe it or not, nothing much has been happening in my life, apart from the odd soiree or two. Winter has finally left us and spring has sprung, and it's nice to see the sun again. Let's start by wishing my old mate a happy birthday and I hope you all had a little drinkie for him, I know I did. In fact I got legless, he would have been proud of me. Whenever we were in London there was always a party at Fred's on his birthday, be it a handful of friends, or one where he invited half of Britain, but which ever one it was there was always a good time to be had and a lot of chaos. One year he actually took over Pikes Hotel in Ibiza and chartered a private plane to fly his friends in. Roger and myself were already on the island recording some of his solo stuff so we didn't have far to travel to the bash. When I say we were working, it's kind of true as we spent a lot of time on his boat "Ga Ga" whizzing around having lunch and fun. The party was held outside around the swimming pool, now is that an invite for trouble or what? There were hundreds of balloons hanging from every available fixture, and of course there is always an idiot that thinks he's a clown. This particular clown, who will remain nameless, decided it would be funny to light one of the balloons, and needless to say the whole lot went up in flames. Phoebe and Crystal to the rescue. We had to get this "fire" off the wooden rafters before the whole hotel went up in smoke, so we were pulling bits of string while burning rubber was dripping down on us. I was so traumatised by the whole event I had to have another drink ....... a lame excuse I know, but hey, it's my story. Back to the pool. Edwin Shirley, of trucking fame and also an all round good guy after a few too many, decided to have a swim, so he removed his clothing and was flapping around the pool when some daft countess told him to get dressed and behave himself. Wrong move lady. Edwin was not impressed by his telling off and threw her in, and she was even less impressed with that and started ranting and raving, much to the amusement to the rest of the party hounds. She left with her tail between her legs and didn't look at all glamorous in her soaking wet dress, running makeup and failed hairdo. We continued till mid morning and went straight to the airport and caught a flight home. Thanks F for the great parties and good times, you will never be forgotten.

I still get asked a lot if I'm gonna write the "Real" story about Queen. Well the answer is no, and the reason is that the guys gave me a great job and a great life and I have far to much respect for them, their wives/girlfriends, children and families to tell the world what we got up to in private. I feel that is our business and ours alone. Most of us are all in relationships and telling tales could make life awkward for a few people, band and crew alike. I'm sure at some point in time someone from the organisation will write a book, have 5 minutes of fame and make a quick buck, but it sure as hell won't be me, and I'll still be able to sleep at night and when I see the guys I will still be free to say, "Wanna beer MATE."

I've had a few questions asked me that I'm gonna answer quickly.

First off is "Do you have any stories about Freddies cats? (ripping furniture etc.)" Here's a good reply, No. So moving right along, "Of all the famous people you've met, who impressed you the most?" Tricky one this. After years in this "Biz" they all become "Just normal people," and some become good pals, but on one occasion I was in Paul McCartneys studio and I was handed his violin bass and I was sitting there holding it when someone said, "Paul is left handed, hold it like he would." When I turned it around, still taped in the cutout was the Beatles set list from their days in Hamburg, now that impressed me.

Deaky and myself were the only two reggae lovers in the outfit, and Bob Marley turned up to see the show at Madison Square Gardens. Strange choice of show for Bob, but he loved Another one bites the dust, and he happened to be in New York on a stopover on his way to Germany for laser treatment. Show time and our intro tape was playing, and someone told JD that Bob was in the audience, so he cranked his bass up and played "Lively up yourself" over the tape. This was very possibly the last time Marley ever heard this played as he died shortly after. I didn't get to meet him, but I did get to meet Tyrone Downie, Bobs keyboard player in the Wailers, and Tyrone and myself got up to all sorts of mischief that night. RT on the other hand hates reggae music, but I did manage to drag him to the Circus Krone in Munich to see Peter Tosh. I loved it, he hated it. I look at this as payback because years before he insisted that I went to Hammersmith Odeon to see Laurie Anderson, of O Superman fame. This show he loved, but I put it alongside Cher as one of the worst concerts I have ever seen. Needless to say I have also met a couple of stars that I didn't see eye to eye with. Like the American rock star we encountered in a club one night, and he was such a pain I had to take him into the toilets to have a quiet word with him. He finally got the message so I released my hand from around his neck and let him drop back down to the ground. To finish this segment I wanna tell you something that Bev Bevan said. Bev was the drummer with ELO, and them and us were touring the US at the same time, and as it turned out, staying in the same hotel in one city. Roger and myself were leaving the hotel and waiting for the elevator. When the doors opened Bev was in there and him and RT said their hellos. Rog then said, "Bev, this is Crystal, he looks after me." Bev turned to me, shook my hand and said, "Pleased to meet you. If it wasn't for guys like you, guys like us wouldn't be where we are today." He didn't need to say that, and was genuine when he did. I wasn't impressed with meeting him, but he is certainly in my top ten of nicest people I have ever meet.

Over the last few months I've spent a lot of time in the Chatroom, and I highly recommend it to you all as it can be a bit of a laugh. For anyone who has never visited the room please remember a couple of things, if you come in and start swearing you will be kicked out. I know, it happens to me all the time. Also don't come in and start going on about knowing axemen and murderers and other such garbage, cause that also warrants a kicking. Some buffoon from Ireland, who went by the name of "Death" turned up with an attitude and was going on about how f***ing awesome Queen were at Slane Castle. He was not known by anyone in there so I asked him to watch his language. He said he was the Grim Reaper and could do and say what he liked, so I told him otherwise and he was most put out when I kicked him. What a fool. A while ago there was some prat who called himself F***queen, good name eh! Anyway, he/she/it was picking on a lovely young lady called Raisa, and was saying some awful things to her and completely freaked her out, so I went to her defence and FQ turned the attention my way. As far as I'm concerned it's only letters on a screen and it didn't phase me at all, but at least he/she/it gave up on Raisa. In all fairness to FQ, whoever you may be, he/she left a message on the Bulletin Board saying sorry to Raisa and myself and would never do it again. So FQ, from the both of us, thanks for the apology, we accept it. What other weirdos have we had? Well, there was a brightspark who decided it would be funny to use the nickname QueenRshite, another bad move from this person who was honoured with a ban.

While in there I've seen a lot of friendships made, and a couple that have fallen apart. I got a private message one evening from a very drunk girl who, how shall we phrase this, offered me her body and wanted to do all sorts of naughty things to me, I thanked her and declined...must be getting old or something. I have also witnessed relationships being made and, usually there is a lot of humour involved, but needless to say some arguments do occur. I have also seen some of the daftest things said. One guy was so convinced that one of the regulars was either Deaky or she was chatting with him in private that he actually started tracking her every move on the net. He also told me about some highly illegal activities he was up to concerning the band. I wouldn't have thought I was the best person to tell such stuff to, and needless to say I had a go at him. Just to add to his stupidity he's been recently boasting about his affair with an underage girl, and I reckon if he had any more sense he would be half witted. Having mentioned all the twits I'd like to say a quick hello to all the regulars, White Queen and Killer Queen, the lovely girls Blue Rock and Rannnnnnni, SQJan, Mayflower and her boys, Farookh (aka Leroy Brown) MarshMallow, the three Tigers - Babe, Lily and Stripes and the mighty Falc, also to all the rest who I haven't mentioned by name, you know who you are. I'd also like to say hi to Daddy Cool who is the singer in the Dutch cover band Miracle, and Dad, if you never make it as a singer you could make a great career from being a stand up comedian. Finally an extra special hello to the gorgeous MTB, who is about to make an honest man of me ;)

Before I go I'm sure I don't need to remind anyone of a certain date in November that is engraved in all of our minds. And I know that a lot of you will be heading to Garden Lodge to leave flowers. I don't wanna preach and tell you what to do, and I know flowers are a nice gesture, but they do die and the only people to really benefit from this is the florist. This year lets all give a donation, no matter how small, to Aids research, this way the cash will be used to try and stamp out this awful disease. If you really wanna leave flowers, buy a smaller, cheaper bunch and donate the balance of what you would have spent to these charities. It's been said a million times before but it is true, Every penny counts.

As always, Loadsa Love.

Crystal

#queen #queen band #freddie mercury #john deacon #peter freestone #crystal taylor #crystal's tales

[aj-the-cat]

Lawless

~ Chapter 2 ~ Masterlist

Word Count: 1683

Scorpion's Roost

Solidarity, Texas

(Dedicated to all 100+ followers. Enjoy!)

Undertaker left the saloon that afternoon utterly confused. What whas that cowboy doing? He didn't understand humans, ever since he turned immortal he forgot all about being one. All memories left him except one particular one. Why it stayed, he had no idea. It tormented him.

Eventually his walking led to him being inside the comfort of his funeral parlor. His gathered up thoughts were pushed to the back of his mind as he took off his hat and overcoat. A large black cat met him at the door. It was pudgy, and the look on its face resembled one an irritated human could pull. Its face was also very pudgy, and a shrill meow left its mouth to gain the attention of the tall man.

"I just got home, Paul. Settle down please. It's been a long day." Another shrill meow. "Who cares if I've been drinking?! I'm immortal, it's not gonna hurt me. Now leave me be, I want to be alone." A scoff-like noise came from the cat, then he left, his pudgy paws padding on the floorboard. "Ever since he put himself in a cat, he's been more annoying than ever, I swear." Undertaker told himself.

Sighing, Undertaker pulled off his shoes and threw them somewhere. He'll find them in the morning. His socks, belt, vest and shirt flew off somewhere as well, leaving him in just his slacks. His pale skin glowed in the moonlight from a window, as well as the mysterious patterns on his arms. Intricate demonic designs littered his arms like sleeves, stopping at his shoulders. They appeared the night he turned immortal.

Undertaker staggered a little, the whiskey in his body finally taking effect. His head buzzed. He took slow and steady steps to his bedroom, careful not to bump into any precious coffins he made. Blueprints littered the countertops everywhere, with all sorts of designs for coffins.

His staggering journey took him to his wanted destination and he flopped facedown on his bed, inhaling the scent of his own cologne and a hint of cat. 'Paul must've slept here', He thought.

Deciding not to get up, his mind wandered back to the small cowboy at the bar. He didn't understand humans and their frivolous ways. Always rubbing themselves against each other for pleasure just to end up sad and lonely afterword. Letting out a yawn, he turned himself over to stare at the ceiling, eventually falling asleep from the large amount of whiskey in his body.

*~*

Light snores escaped Undertaker's body. He seemed peaceful, until his occasional twitches turned into thrashes. Fire was all he could see. Orange flames swallowing up a house. Screams. All he could do was watch in horror as the house he grew up in was swallowed by bright flames. "Mother! Father! Kane!" His mouth moved on its own. The screams died down, until all you could hear was the crackling of the fire. Undertaker fell to his knees, helpless. He just watched his parents and brother die in a fire caused by his foolish hand.

A scream left the lips on the undead man and he flew up from his bed. Sweat and tears dripped down his body and cheeks as his breathing staggered. Undertaker gripped his head in his hands and slowed his breathing to a normal rate. He hated falling asleep. This nightmare plagued him.

After calming himself for a few minutes, Undertaker slowly got out of his bed and found his scattered clothes one by one. He placed them in a basket and went back to his bedroom. Paul, the cat, sat on his bed. "I don't need to hear anything from you." Undertaker growled out. The cat just shook his head and jumped off the bed, heading to another part of the parlor. Sighing, Undertaker grabbed clothes from his dresser and a towel and headed to the pond behind the parlor.

He stripped his pants and undergarments and padded into the cool water. The cold temperature didn't bother him. There was a bucket with cleaning supplies at the other side of the pond, but Undertaker didn't bother to grab it for right now. He wanted to relax.

*~*

After sitting in the water for a while, Undertaker decided it was time to wash himself so he moved towards the bucket. He quickly dunked his head underwater to get it wet and grabbed the shampoo, but stopped when he heard voices. 'What the fuck? This is my private pond!', he thought.

The voices grew louder and Undertaker panicked and dipped his head underwater until only his eyes and top of his head could be seen. Who needs to breathe anyways?

The cowboy and his partner appeared from the bushes surrounding the pond, followed by two other guys. They were both big and burly, but the darker haired one was just a bit shoter than the bigger blonde.

"Voila. Found it a couple weeks ago while me n' Scott were running from a sheriff. Been our secret pond since." The bigger of the four said. 'Except this is my pond and I made it myself, dick head.', Undertaker narrowed his eyes. The small cowboy scanned the pond and smiled. "Last one in is a rattlesnakes lover!" He shouted and started stripping.

Undertakers eyed widened. 'No, no no no no!' He watched in horror as the four strangers stripped to their undergarments and jumped into his pond. 'And I thought I would have a good day...' He thought. The cowboy started splashing everybody, getting lots of water on the bank and dirtying up the clean water with dirt and debris.

'That fuckin does it.' Undertaker's eyes became black. The rest of his head emerged from the water, and he focused in on the cowboy from yesterday. 'Want to intrude on my life? Fine.' His horns started to sprout, but the cowboy noticed him.

"Hey! Its the man from the bar yesterday! What are you doing in this pond?" The three other men looked to where the cowboy had pointed out. Undertaker quickly averted his eyes back to green and the horn nubs desappeared. He said nothing.

"Shawn, who's that?" The cowboy's original companion asked. The two other men stayed silent. The cowboy- Shawn -chuckled. "Just some hot guy from the bar yesterday. Surprise seeing you here! How'd you find the pond?" Shawn asked. Undertaker narrowed his eyes. "I live in the building right in front of this pond. I own it." He spat.

Shawn's eyes widened, then narrowed in confusion. "But Kev-"

"GET OUT!" Undertaker yelled. His eyes turned back to black and he stood up fully, exposing his muscular torso and marked arms. Shawn blushed.

A growl started in the throat of Undertaker, and the four outlaws panicked and scrambled over one another to try to get out and away from the demonic man in the pond. They grabbed their stuff and jumped the fence, the taller of the four accidentally knocking over Shawn's original companion in the process.

Undertaker sighed in annoyance, and his eyes slowly turned back to normal. His bath was ruined, the pond probably contaminated, and he just exposed himself to the cowboy from the bar. He mentally slapped himself and finished his washing.

*~*

Grabbing his new clothes and towel, he quickly dried himself and put on black slacks, grey dress shirt and black dress vest. He would ditch the tie and overcoat today, he planned to spend the day inside his parlor working on coffins.

He walked up the path to his parlor, making sure Paul's food bowl was filled, as well as the flower garden not trampled or littered with bugs. The daisy's were nice and fragrent, the roses with beautiful colors, snapdragons at attention, and the peonies-

"What the hell happened to my peonies?!" Undertaker exclaimed. Dirt and flowers were scattered. Boot prints led a trail to the other side of the parlor. "Somebody dug up my peonies..."

Paul stalked up and sat his pudgy body beside Undertaker. His shrill meow didn't faze Undertaker, he was too busy mourning the loss of his flowers and plotting ways to kill the flower murderer.

Undertaker kneeled down and palmed at the dug up soil, finding tiny roots from flowers and scattered petals. "I'm gonna kill whoever did this." He growled. Paul meowed and licked one his paws. Undertaker still didn't bat an eye.

Sighing, he stood back up and walked through the back door of his parlor, Paul hot on his heels. Or however fast a fat cat can keep up with a 6'10 zombie.

Inside, Undertaker threw his dirty clothes and towel in a nearby room and walked to the front doors of his parlor. 'I really don't want to open today but I guess I have to.' He thought as he opened the doors, letting mid-morning light flood his front room.

He looked around, and noticed pink on the ground. He looked, and a bad bouqet of pink peonies messily thrown together sat on the ground. The roots were still intact. Grunting, Undertaker bent down and picked up the bouqet. A messy note was attached.

'Sorry for playing in your pond. I hope these make up a good apology. - Shawn'

"I'm gonna fucking kill him." Undertaker growled. He resisted the urge to hold the flowers close, as he was in broad daylight, but he did when he turned to go back in his parlor. "Of all people, why did HE get invloved in two days worth of my life?!" He thought aloud.

Paul padded up to Undertaker and gave another shrill meow. This time, Undertaker noticed him and rolled his eyes. "No, I don't even know him. He just came up to me in the bar yesterday and tried to fraternize with me." Undertaker replied. Paul meowed harshly. "Shut up! Not like you can do anything, you're just a cat." Paul huffed, and swiped at the mans ankles.

Undertaker pulled his leg up just in time and shooed off his pesky human-like cat. Paul ran off, leaving Undertaker with his peonies and murderous thoughts.

#lawless!au #fanfiction #wwe

[gripefroot]

Feel So Yellow [8/12]

Lock after lock of dark brown hair falls to the kitchen floor. Apart from the faintly audible thump-thumps of Chestnut’s tail beating against the back porch as she snoozes in the morning sun, it’s utterly quiet - Snookie sits on the window ledge above the sink, perhaps keeping tabs on Chestnut, and Bucky’s knee jiggles beneath the draped sheet over his shoulders where he sits on a folding chair. 

“Nervous?” you ask, weirdly loud as you slick up the next chunk of hair with the comb to trim, snip-snip with the scissors. 

“No.” 

“What if I give you a mullet?”

“It’ll grow out.” 

“That’s optimistic.” 

“I have to be, or else I wouldn’t be letting you do this.” A dry tone, but the joking in it is clear enough, and you laugh a little as more hair falls to the floor by your bare feet. 

“And here I thought you trusted me,” you tease him back. 

“I do,” Bucky objects, and biting your lip, you brush some clipped hair from the back of his neck. Better. “It’s just…”

“Just what?”

“This is my hair.” 

“It’ll grow back,” you parrot him, and finally he relents with a harsh chuckle. Combing back the next chunk of hair, you snip that, too, and the pile on the floor is building. “So, you are nervous.”

“No.” He pauses. “Yes.” 

“Ah. Makes sense.”

“Listen,” Bucky blurts. “I’m sorry about the way I left yesterday.” 

“You don’t have to be,” you tell him, a little startled at this sudden change of topic - but you don’t falter shaking out the shorn chunks of hair from the wet strands. 

“But I am.”

“Then I accept your apology. We don’t have to discuss it again.”

“I want to,” he says. 

That’s even more startling. Too used to issues being swept under the rug in favor of false security - or maybe it’s just the memories of another man gurgling to the surface while cutting hair - you don’t respond right away. Instead, a moment to think, and then a carefully worded, “We can, but don’t feel like you have to on my account.” 

“No, I need to for me,” Bucky tells you, and after a deep breath, his voice rises richly to a more confident tone. “I just - I got a little emotional seeing that stuff. Reminded me of those days, you know? I used to watch soldiers write those letters. Get those letters. I never did, ‘cuz I didn’t have a girl back home, but I got to see the other side. I saw men die with photos of their sweethearts in their pockets. This just brought it back. I’ve never seen the scars that left on the womenfolk back home. That was all over by the time I - I was free.” 

Unsure of what to say to that, you twist the hair above his ears to test whether it’s the same length on both sides. After a moment you move to his left to trim that section slightly, and you see his blue eyes slanted towards you, though his head doesn’t move. 

“That would make anyone emotional,” you say. “I wasn’t upset by it or anything, if that’s worrying you. I am sorry for how you feel, though.” 

“No point in being sorry,” Bucky says, more roughly now. “Doesn’t change anything.” 

“I suppose you’re right.” 

“It made me lonely, too,” he goes on. “I never got a gushing letter. Made me feel left out back then, and upstairs was just a reminder that I’m still alone.” 

“Well, you do live in the sticks with only a dog for company,” you remind him with a smile, and he snorts. 

“Chestnut would’ve written to me,” Bucky declares. 

“Oh, I’m certain of it,” you say gravely, playing along. “Told you all about the squirrels she chased and that mean old cat next door. And signed with x’s for her sloppy kisses.” 

He laughs. Stepping back, you wrinkle your nose as your experienced eyes rove over his hair - it looks even, it feels even, and dare you say - it looks pretty good. Not as good as the longer hair, maybe, but the shorter cut is reminiscent of the soldier of days past. Like the photograph of Paul Conners upstairs - a man of another day and another age. Out of place, and yet also...belonging.

“Thank you,” Bucky says suddenly - he’s watching you. Tucked beneath that sheet there’s something decidedly boyish about him, and it makes you smile. 

“Well, I don’t have a hand mirror so you’ll have to go to the bathroom to see if you like it - ”

“No, I mean - thank you for being my friend.”

“It would make our lives as neighbors much less pleasant if we were mortal enemies,” you say, using the joke to step over the delicately affectionate moment. 

“Listen,” Bucky’s eyebrows furrow. “If you want me off your land you just have to say so - ”

“I don’t! Sheesh - go check yourself out and let me know if you want me to change anything.” 

Narrowed blue eyes, but Bucky does as you say - stands beneath the sheet and tip-toeing carefully to the bathroom down the hall. In the meantime you busy yourself sweeping up the shorn hair into a dustpan to throw away, the garbage lid shutting loudly as Bucky returns. 

“It’s good,” he says, an odd note in his voice. “I approve.” 

“Why, thank you.”

“Itches like crazy though. Mind if I run home to take a shower and change my clothes?” 

 “I’ll forgive you somehow.”

“Good. That’s all I ask.” Shrugging off the sheet, Bucky carefully folds it over, holding it out - with a smile you accept it, broom resting against your shoulder, and something - something, something - jolts with his fingers brush against yours. His gaze drops awkwardly, and you blink fast. 

That evening is spent priming the walls which will be painted - some await wallpaper, which will be done later - and with the night breeze floating in through open windows, the job goes fast. Harmony has certainly been found in working together all these weeks, and weaving around Bucky and him weaving around you and passing rollers and rags and the paint tray just seems so natural. 

“You know what I’m not looking forward to?” you tell him, crouching down to paint along the blue-taped trim. “All the woodwork.” 

“There sure is a lot in this house,” Bucky comments. Rolling primer up and down the wall in long, graceful strokes. “Most of it seems to be in good shape. It’ll just need some buff and polish.”

“Yes, that’s what I’m dreading.” A quick, peeked smile, and he lifts his eyebrows down at you before resuming his priming. 

“It won’t be so bad.” 

“Sounds like you like to breathe in sawdust.” 

“Oh, for sure,” he agrees. “Keeps me immune to all sorts of tree diseases.” 

“You’re barking mad.”

A pause - the roller stops, and you can’t help peering up to see Bucky, paint-stained and scowling, as he shakes his head. “That was terrible. Terrible.” 

“It’s okay, you can laugh.”

“I will not,” he growls, but there’s humor in his voice, and you count it a victory. 

The week flies by. Between the few hours of work you put in, painting, eating meals with Bucky out on the front porch (the weather has been perfect), and evenings spent watching the stars before falling into bed with exhaustion - there’s little time to untangle the mess in your heart. But maybe it’s better that way, you tell yourself over and over again, and hopefully one day it might even be believable. 

Unfortunately, despite your best efforts, Snookie hasn’t warmed up to Chestnut - but as Snookie remains indoors and Chestnut prefers to be outdoors, infractions have been few and far between. But when an afternoon thunderstorm rolls in, Chestnut whines at the door and you let her in, despite Bucky’s assurance that she’d be fine out on the porch.

“Of course she’d be fine,” you tell him, closing the porch door as Chestnut pads through the house, sniffing at corners and doorways. “But I wouldn’t be. I’d feel terrible.”

“That’s on you, then,” Bucky grins, and heads back upstairs. 

A swoosh and pour from the 5-gallon bucket of primer into the tray - your arms are aching, but you’d rather have achy arms than be doing anything else, you think, and the fresh smell is just so pleasant. More pleasant than the old musty stink that seems less and less every passing day. 

“I think this bedroom will be pink,” you think aloud, and dip your roller into the tray. Downstairs, you hear Chestnut bark once, barely audible over the rain pattering against the window. Snookie must be down there. 

“Pink,” Bucky repeats. “Um…” 

“Trust me.”

“You say that a lot,” he says with a wry smile. “I wonder what that means.”

“Probably that you are incredibly mistrustful of me despite my proving my own amazing talent, superb taste, and matchless skills every day.” 

More barking - Bucky’s eyes glance towards the open door, and then he shakes his head and dips his roller again. “Is that what you tell yourself in the mirror every morning?” he asks with a lifted brow. 

“I don’t need to. I’m basically faultless.” 

“And so humble.” 

A quip is on the tip of your tongue, stepping over the paint tray - but the barking crescendos as the identifiable noise of nails on wood comes loud up the wooden stairs, and a sudden yowl heralds Snookie’s sudden entrance into the room as a black streak. 

“Snookie!” you cry aloud, surprise making your steps falter, and you nearly trip over the tray. A splash coats your sneakers. Then a golden blur - circling the room as the cat hisses - and Chestnut’s barks echo loudly in the empty room. 

“Chestnut!” Bucky shouts, dropping his roller onto the painting cloth. “Ouch! Shoot!” 

He’d stepped on Snookie’s fast-moving tail. In brisk retaliation her claws dig into his jeans for a half-second before Chestnut, sensing her prey, closes in - Snookie releases Bucky and darts out the door, but it’s too late for Chestnut. Too intent on the cat, she steps right into the paint tray - white primer soaks up her legs as she stumbles in confusion, paw prints littering the drop cloth as she steps awkwardly around. 

“No! Stop moving, girl!” Bucky says frantically, but already Chestnut has fumbled off the drop cloth and onto the hardwood floors. Horrified (that’s going to be a pain to clean), you cringe as Bucky scoops up the dog around the middle with one strong arm, fairly certain that the growl beneath his breath had been, “Dumb dog!”

Snookie has won - or at least thinks that she has, for at the doorway she sits primly, tail whipping in the air - but that sight seems to infuriate Chestnut all the more, and she squirms right out of Bucky’s arm to run out the door. A trail of white paw prints wrenches your gut as you listen to the descent down the stairs and Snookie’s distant hissing. 

“Ugh,” Bucky says, frowning at the streak of white all the way up his flesh arm. “I told you she should’ve stayed outside - ”

“I didn’t expect it this,” you say testily, and step forward to start picking up the scattered supplies - but a hidden puddle of primer beneath the dropcloth slips with a squeak and a shriek and you land on your behind, elbow knocking painfully against the floor. “Ouch!” 

“Told you - ” Bucky starts again, but he’s grinning now, reaching over to help you to stand - but Chestnut had dripped primer all around him - his shoe squelches and slips. Pitching forward, he catches himself somewhat successfully, one hand landing right into the wet primer with a splat! 

“Oh, no,” you lament, and start to laugh at the baffled expression on his face as he lifts out his dripping hand. Primer is smearing all over the floor in pale swooshes. The misery that that job will be makes your laughter all the more hysterical, and frustrated tears begin to seep from your eyes.  

“Next time let’s close the door and lock it,” Bucky says. Somehow he’s still smiling, and scoots forward on his knee, holding out his dry, metal hand for you to take. One pull has you sitting upright, ruefully rubbing your elbow as you sniff back more tears. Another watery laugh, and concern deepens the crease between his eyebrows. “You okay?” he asks warily. 

“This is going to be horrible to clean,” you say, and wipe your cheeks with your forearm - but by the wet smear you feel against your skin and Bucky’s sudden cringe, you know that you’ve just decorated yourself with primer. 

“It’ll be fine,” he says reassuringly. And forcing a smile, his metal thumb reaches up to wipe at that primer on your salty cheek - a shiver races down your spine faster than Chestnut chasing Snookie. Something is smoldering deep in his blue eyes, so close to yours - but rather than flinch away, you blink, and watch - watch it spark, watch it flame, watch it burn - 

When he kisses you a half-second later, it’s not a surprise. 

Bucky’s lips are warm. Obscenely warm, you think dimly, and kiss him back. It seems the most natural thing in the world to be kissing this man at this time and at this place - never mind the mess, never mind the consequences. Never mind that he’s your neighbor and your tenant and you’d sworn off dating - this is just...it’s right. It’s right in the fluttering of your heart, in the sensation of his paint-streaked arm beneath your clammy palm, in his musky breath between your parted lips. 

He pulls away what feels like an hour later - his lips are redder, his eyes brighter, and his smile broader. “Up we go,” he says, slightly hoarse, and before you can draw a shaky breath his arm has snaked around your waist, lifting you up into the air to settle securely on your feet. 

Your hands have landed on his chest, and he doesn’t let you go. Blinking several times, gnawing your now-tender lips - you stare up at him, wondering if he’s as baffled as you are - and as you watch, that fire in his eyes peters and dims. He blinks, too. 

“Um,” you say. “That - ”

Bucky’s arm drops from your waist. Now you can breathe again. 

“That probably shouldn’t happen again,” you tell him, and immediately wish you hadn’t.

“Oh,” he frowns. “Okay, then.”

Never mind, let’s do it again right now!, you want to say. But he backs up a step with an offhand shrug. 

“We’d better clean up before the primer dries,” Bucky says - his voice is back to normal now, though he doesn’t look at you as he bends over to pick up a few supplies to toss onto the drop cloth. 

“Right,” you say, and then shake yourself. “Right, of course. I hate to see what the damage is downstairs.” 

“I think I have some paint stripper in my garage if we need it.” 

“It’s going to be a fantastic Friday night,” you say by way of a joke, and receive a courteous laugh for it. Nowhere else I’d rather be, you think to yourself, but with that unexpected kiss your tongue is suddenly tied in front of Bucky, and the easy intimacy found in this unlikeliest of places seems suddenly out of reach.

continue

#bucky x reader #bucky x you #marvel #fatws #mcu #bucky barnes fanfiction

[spaceyantique]

five’s a crowd [beatles x reader] part four

chapter summary: George is sweet and comforting in the aftermath of the Battle of the Coffee Machine, and you’re not sure why your heart beats so fast being near him. Meanwhile, you’re getting closer to strangling John and poor Ringo doesn’t want to be involved. And it’s high time to make up with poor Paul.

warnings: bit o’ angst. way less of a crack fic oops i got emotionally invested haha

word count: 1.3k of FEELINGS

also peep john’s thighs in this pic hoy moly sorry i’ll take my john stan self elsewhere

one | two | three 

masterlist

When the dust settles, you’re in your bedroom again, headphones on and listening to the Crickets on the highest possible volume. You’re kneeling on your floor, spreading out all of your papers across the ground, sorting them between the kind you used waterproof ink on (the Survivors) and the ones that you didn’t (the Deceased). Your hands are shaking, from some combination of exhilaration from shouting at Paul and anger and general despair for your now-hopeless midterms grades. You try to spread out the Survivors so they have enough room to air dry, but there’s just not enough room in your broom cupboard of a bedroom. 

Due to the skull-rattling music of the Crickets through your headphones, you see George’s feet before you hear him. He’s wearing those fuzzy socks that you’d gotten all the boys for last Christmas (his are green) and he’s standing with one foot in the room like he’s afraid a single word from you could blow the door clean off its hinges. His hair is still curly, and you feel a strange rush of warmth in your chest.

You remove your headphones and he visibly relaxes. “Yeah?”

“I wondered if you needed any help.” George’s voice is soft. You nod at him and turn your focus back to trying to salvage a particularly wet notebook. He crosses your room slowly, taking great care not to step on any of the Survivors. You scooch over a bit as he reaches you, and then he plops down next to you, both of you leaning your backs against your mattress and surveying the damage.

“And I--” George’s eyes are focused on the floor by your foot. “I wanted to say sorry. Even though it was both me and Paul, I think… I think I could’ve handled it better.” You do a little half-laugh at that, blowing air out of your nose.

“Thanks. For apologizing,” you say, spreading the notebook out in vain hope of recovery. “And yeah, that could’ve gone better.” George nods, and you swear he leans slightly closer to you.

“What a day,” he sighs, slumping a bit more against the bed.

“What a fuckin’ day, indeed,” you agree, before a wave of despair overtakes you. “God, I’ve still got midterms starting Monday.” You curl your knees into your chest, wrap your arms around your legs and bury your head on top of it all.

“Hey,” George’s voice is even softer as he says your name. “It’s all gonna be alright. In the end, at least.”

You manage a weak noise in response, trying desperately to stop yourself from crying out of sheer frustration. George hesitantly drapes an arm over your shoulders and he’s so warm that it almost makes you forget about the lump in your throat. 

“It won’t last forever, see. This week might be bad but we aren’t in it forever. We won’t always be in uni. You’re smart enough with or without these notes. And if it goes badly, these grades won’t matter forever.”

You sniffle, lifting your head a bit to rest your chin on your forearms.

“All things must pass. Whether it’s good or bad, and when it’s gone, there’ll be new things. And they’ll go too. So it’ll all be okay.” George punctuates each word of his last sentence with a shake to your shoulder, and you smile a little despite yourself.

“All things must pass,” you repeat in a soft voice. George grins, showing off those vampiric teeth. 

“Right. ‘Sides,” George leans over to grab one of the Survivors in front of you, and in doing so, he presses his side to yours. He’s warm there too, and you feel strangely glued to him. “They look sort of cool now. Vintage-like.”

He holds the page up for you both to inspect. He’s right, honestly, it looks like when you had to ‘age’ printer paper for a school history project when you were about ten. 

“Would you say it’s gear, though?” You deadpan, and George groans.

“Never gonna let me live that down, huh?”

You tilt your head as if to consider dropping his embarrassing slang as blackmail, but when you feel the tips of George’s curls brush your temple, you feel as if someone has sucked the air out of your lungs with a vacuum. You sit back up with a jolt and George’s arm falls from your shoulders and you’re left with the distinct sensation that the ground is spinning away from beneath you.

Calm down, Sandra Bullock, you think. It’s low blood pressure, just breathe.

“I think I should talk to Paul,” you blurt. “Make things right, y’know.” 

Y’know. Since when do you say that? What’s gotten into you?

Dehydration, your brain supplies helpfully.

George looks a bit taken aback by your sudden change of direction but nods still.

“Probably a good idea,” is all he says. You’re still breathless and practically reeling, so without thinking, you wrap your arms around him in a quick hug.

“Thank you,” you say, still holding him close, but all George can think about is the smell of your shampoo lingering on your hair and how he hopes you can’t feel his hands shaking as he hugs you back.

As you pull away, you flash George the brightest smile he’s ever seen and suddenly his heart has jumped straight out of his chest into his throat. You pull yourself to your feet and, lithe as a cat, you step around the Survivors and disappear into the hallway, leaving George to calm his racing heart. As he listens to your footsteps recede, he’s struck with the sudden, crucial realisation of his feelings. His heart leaps again and all he can think is a resounding 

oh fuck.

You enter the living room to find John and Ringo halfway through a game of cards. Ringo shoots you a sympathetic look and John throws his hands up in mock surrender, snatching up a paper napkin to wave like a white flag.

“We’re innocents!” John cries, and you roll your eyes. 

“Piss off, Sergeant. Where’s Paul?” He’s noticeably absent from the common area, and the light is off in his and John’s shared room (which is directly off of the living room/kitchen). 

“Cafe down the street, ma’am. Licking his wounds, ma’am.” John salutes you sharply with each “ma’am” and the expression on Ringo’s face rivals Jim Halpert’s most irritated looks on The Office.

“Piece of work, you are,” Ringo mutters, tossing another card on the pile.

“Hold on, if I’m a Sergeant, what’s Ringo?” John scoffs at Ringo’s play and looks through his cards again. 

“Dunno. Lieutenant maybe?” You reply, pulling your shoes on. John salutes you again and he breaks into that insufferable shit-eating grin.

“How’s about George?” Now John’s leaning over the table at you, still grinning widely. 

“Why’d you say his name like that?” 

“Like what?”

“You know.”

“Sorry, birdie, I don’t.”

“I think you do.”

“I promise I don’t. Ringo’ll tell you, it was perfectly normal how I said it. Won’t you, Ritchie?” John nudges Ringo, who suddenly looks like he’d much rather be somewhere else. You turn your gaze to him too, and he sighs.

“Sorry, can’t say, because I know how to mind my own business.” 

John throws his hands up again with a whoop.

“Oh, K.O.!” He crows, and you roll your eyes again.

“Okay, I’m choosing not to address you. It’s a choice,” you say, tuning out John’s hysterical laugh as you turn on your heel and leave. 

“I’m going to find Paul!” You shout, and John yells something about you getting your eyes stuck up there if you keep rolling them, but by then, you’ve shut the apartment door behind you and you’re engulfed in the cold evening air.

#five's a crowd #the beatles x reader #the beatles #beatles fic #george harrison x reader #ringo starr x reader #paul mccartney x reader #john lennon x reader #john #paul #george #ringo #dee writes #crack fic #fluff #slow burn #modern au #modern beatles au

[sparkles-rainbows-severed-heads]

Nazi-Hating, Bisexual King, and German actor, Conrad Veidt (1893-1943) whose performances inspired the creation of Edward Scissorhands, Jafar from Aladdin, and The Joker, was a gem in real life. Be like Connie. Do it for him.

Here’s some information on how great he was:

https://aikainkauna.tumblr.com/post/41163268378/ten-reasons-why-you-should-love-conrad-veidt

“In honour of Conrad Veidt’s 120th birthday, let us present you with a list of reasons why you should love him. Because, let’s face it, he kicked more arse than you ever will. While wearing your great-grandmother’s dress.

1. He was an awesome actor who could hypnotise the screen in both the silents and the sounds. He could do amazing things with his body language, his eyes and his voice and move like an actual cat. Oh, and he was Method before it became popular. To the point where his friends and colleagues would get worried because his entire body language and way of speaking would change. He genuinely believed he was possessed by some greater spirit when he was acting. And it shows. 2. He was an amazing human being—everybody loved working with him because he was incredibly polite and jovial and charming, but he was even more amazing off the screen. Let us tell you why.

3. This guy starred in the first gay rights movie ever and played the first explicitly-referred-to-as-gay character on screen, and the first sympathetic gay character on screen. In a movie that said it was okay to be gay and that some people were just born that way. In 1919. The makers of the film and Connie himself were flooded with death threats from the far right. They would arrange riots in theatres and release gas and rabid rodents into the aisles. But the makers of the film stood their ground. Later, the Nazis tried to burn all copies of the film but over half of it still survives and a reconstruction can be seen here.

 4. Oh yeah, and this guy also starred in an early pro-choice film, had a high opinion on women (with some progressive views for his time, when the right to vote and to wear trousers were still seen as new and scandalous things) and was a fierce campaigner for human rights and a vehement anti-Nazi for his entire life. Speaking of which… 

 5. In the Thirties, he starred in two British movies sympathetic to the plight of the Jews. While still a German citizen. Hitler sent him personal hate mail, Goebbels tried to persuade him into doing propaganda films for the Nazis instead and he told them to go stuff themselves. This was after some of his Jewish and gay friends had already been killed by the Nazis, too, so he knew exactly the sort of danger he was in. Oh, and they imprisoned him and tortured him with sleep deprivation and put him on the Gestapo hitlist. Guess what? He didn’t budge. He never raised his hand in the Heil Hitler salute, once. And when, finally, the British authorities helped him escape to England, he never went back to Germany again. Also? Despite being Protestant, he identified himself as Jewish on official forms as a form of protest. In. Nazi. Germany. I’m sorry, but Conrad Veidt’s balls»»»>yours. 

 6. He spent a huge amount of money supporting the British war effort and personally smuggled people out of the hands of the Nazis. Including driving his third wife’s Jewish parents out to Switzerland in his car under the cover of night after much bribery and passport shenanigans. In the Forties, he participated in a fund helping fellow Europeans escape Nazis and settle in the UK and the US. One of the people he helped was his Casablanca co-star, Paul Henreid. By the time Henreid had reached the UK, the war was in full swing and he was treated as an enemy alien. Connie (who had managed to acquire British citizenship just before war broke out) personally rang the British authorities and vouched for him until Henreid could finally cross the Atlantic to safety (with some monetary assistance from Connie himself). So, kids, when you watch Major Strasser menacing Laszlo in Casablanca, remember this guy actually helped him escape the Nazis in real life. 

 7. While living in London in the late Thirties, he and his wife would regularly shelter war children at their house. When the air raid sirens came on, he’d rather run back home to be with the kids rather than stay safe at the studio’s bomb shelter. No, really. And even when he’d left for Hollywood in the 40s, he would do stuff like this for the poor kids of London huddled in bomb shelters. You might need tissues. 

 8. He was made of actual sex on and off the screen. He possessed an amazing, androgynous sexual aura that would take no prisoners. He could be feminine without being effeminate, seductive and possessing and powerful without being gruff or macho, incredibly catlike and soft without being weak. Despite being skinny as hell and 6’3” tall, he was as graceful as a dancer, gliding around so smoothly it was uncanny, slightly unnatural (when Disney were making Aladdin, they deliberately based the cartoon Jafar on his performance in The Thief of Bagdad and told the animators to make him glide like Connie did. Yeah, that’s right, Disney villains were based on him. No wonder. No, really, look at that). From the Thirties onwards, he was repeatedly described as pantherlike. He had a sensuous, cruel mouth (always a little more red and open and wet than it should have been in order to be decent), large, pale blue piercing eyes (oh yeah, he was well-read in hypnotism and occultism, so he is actually hypnotising and possessing you for real), finely manicured fingernails (sometimes filed into sharp points) and a voice to melt knickers off anyone within a five-mile radius. When he smoked, it looked like he was giving oral sex to a woman and a man at the same time. Watch A Woman’s Face, The Thief of Bagdad and Dark Journey for good examples of this amazing man’s slinking, slithering, purring charm. 

 9. Oh yeah, speaking of the off-screen sex… Merle Oberon said “he would have sex with a butterfly”, Anita Loos quipped “the prettiest girl on the [Berlin] street was Conrad Veidt” and he was a major gay icon in 1920s Germany thanks to the aforementioned gay rights movie and his androgynous looks and style. Let us remember this guy spent his youth in Weimar Berlin and its cabarets, a modern Babylon where “anything goes” was an understatement. Drugs, wild parties and sexual diversions of every sort imaginable were the done thing in those days. You were considered unfashionable if you didn’t dress in drag and experiment with bisexuality. In that, he was hardly different from his peers (like, for example, his good friend Marlene Dietrich). But then again… there were people who experimented and there were people for whom it was all a phase, but according to numerous sources, he was a natural, voracious bisexual and so in love with everything feminine he genuinely loved to dress as a lady. And apparently he would fall in love all the time, so the Twenties were… busy years for him, especially when his second marriage had started to fall apart. Just don’t ask what he did to Olivier. And according to a couple of sources, Gary Cooper. Oh, and his first wife left him after she found him wearing her dress (her loss). Most of the time, his friends would describe him as a ladies’ man during the day, and going after the men as well after he’d had a few drinks in the evening. He seems to have calmed down a lot in the Thirties after he found genuine happiness with his third wife and escaped the Nazis to the UK, but apparently he was still an incorrigible flirt with both sexes until the end of his life. If you think he looks seductive and deliciously perverse on screen, that’s all real and then some. So, yep, this was a guy who was a genuine saint and an amazing human being and a naughty, naughty man at the same time. How often do you hear of both sides coexisting in the same person? 

 10. He was, basically, the last lingering sigh of Romanticism as a genuine cultural movement. On screen, he played the Gothic, Byronic hero to the hilt (The Student of Prague being one of the greatest examples of the type). In the silents, he played degenerate dandies, tortured painters and pianists and violinists, cruel yet seductive tyrants, men haunted by their doppelgängers, possessed creatures wanting to crawl out of their own bodies, sleepwalking and twitching and writhing on the screen, turning everything into a dark, exquisite ballet. In the sound films, he turned that demonic energy outwards and would pin people down with his gaze as he cursed them, would undress women with a flick of his pitch-black lashes, would curl his long fingers around their arms in a sadomasochistic, erotic stranglehold. He never completely lost his accent, but he compensated for it with pitch-perfect softness and tone, speaking very slowly and quietly when everybody else would speak loud and fast. His voice in The Thief of Bagdad was compared to poisoned honey. The MGM bosses were surprised at the mountains of fanmail he received from women in the Forties, even if they had never given him a starring role, only supporting, villainous ones. And the ladies wanted this villain, oh yes. A woman moviegoer (presumably after seeing his performance in A Woman’s Face) described him thus: “Conrad Veidt has wicked eyes, a sinister mouth, strange hands and a half-man/half- woman quality about him. His walk is frightening. There is something not quite normal about him. And yet, he was totally fascinating, charming and appealing to me at the same time!”

So, there you have it. There are many more reasons to love him, but it would take forever to try and list all of them. I suggest you watch his movies and read up on him yourself, because he deserves to live forever.”

#conrad veidt #do it for him #do it for her #the cabinet of doctor caligari #the cabinet of dr. caligari #the man who laughs #gwynplaine #casablanca #the hands of orlac

[catchester]

12 Days of Christmas

Title: Twelve Drummers Drumming

Authors: @evieplease​​​​ and @catchester​​​​

Which character: Actor!Tom and OFC Rocky

Genre: Humour/Explicit

Fic Summary: Tom and Rocky spend their first Christmas as a couple and Rocky meets Tom’s Mum for the first time. Expect 12 gifts, too much boozy, bad puns and lots of fun!

Rating: Mature

Previous Chapters: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17138390/chapters/40304798

AN: Well, we just scraped it in on the 12 night (as long as you don't live in the UK) and we have a special little epilogue planned, which we hope to bring you tomorrow. 

Also, sorry for not tagging directly, but tagging seems to work much better for @evieplease​ than  for me.

12 Drummers Drumming

When I told Tom to bring his guitar he knew I had something musical planned but I could see him becoming confused when the cab drove us away from the centre and towards Croydon. He held his tongue until we parked in a very nice new development of town houses and flats. 

“Okay,” he said, looking around as he retrieved the guitar case from the boot while I paid. “I give up, why are we here?” 

I just smiled and took his arm, tamping down my own nervousness, leading him to one of the new townhouses and ringing the bell. It was opened a moment later by slim, sandy blonde man in a black t-shirt and faded blue jeans. 

“Rox!” he said with an enthusiastic smile, leaning forward for a cheek kiss. I never liked that nickname, but he was family so he got a pass . . . sometimes. And since he and Dave had allowed me to hijack their evening at the last minute, he definitely gets a pass tonight. Though I did wince at the name.

I turned to Tom, just in time to catch his smirk. I knew he was filing ‘Rox’ away in that prodigious brain to use in some future nefarious plan. I would, if the situation were reversed, after all! I warningly narrowed my eyes at him, and his smirk grew wider. He knew I couldn’t do fuck all about it at the moment.

I dragged myself back into the moment. I do want him to like my family, and my family to like him. Right, so.

“Tom, this is Ryan, my brother-in-law.” 

Tom had to switch his guitar to shake hands but he professed he was pleased to meet him. He even managed a warm smile for Ryan, while shooting me a glare that promised retribution for not warning him that he was about to meet my family.

Ryan shook Tom’s hand and then froze, giving me wild eyed look as he twigged to Tom.

“Oh, Rocky you’ve outdone yourself! Dave is absolutely going to shit! I can’t believe you brought Loki home! No wait. Yes I can.” Dave shook his head and grinned at Tom. “Come on in, Tom, you’re just in time for the fireworks!” 

Ryan offered to take our coats and Tom’s guitar. 

“What can I get you to drink?” Ryan asked Tom, then listed off the wines they had available. 

“Whatever’s open is fine,” Tom smiled, as we seated ourselves on the sofa and Ryan headed off into the kitchen. Tom grabbed my elbow and hissed in my ear as soon as Ryan was out of the room..

“You didn’t tell your family anything about me?? Rocky...” 

“Sure I did, Tom! I told ‘em that you’re wonderful and kind and fun. You make me laugh  and you like me. What else do they need to know?”

Tom’s eyes softened. “Rocky, you…”  he shook his head, apparently speechless. But I knew better. I was sure to hear about it later.

I flashed him a cheeky smile as we sat down. “I just thought it was probably best not to give you time to get drunk before meeting my family,” I teased. 

The glare he levelled at me was slightly spoiled by the smile he couldn't quite repress. 

“You’re here!”

We looked to the doorway where my clone stood, assuming I was 6 inches taller and 60lbs heavier. He also had short hair but the family resemblance was uncanny. 

“You must be Dave,” Tom said, rising from the sofa to greet him. 

“I am indeed,” Dave grinned, shaking Tom’s hand genially. “And I’ve heard an awful lot about you. All good, of course.” 

Tom turned and gave us both some serious side eye, looking back and forth. 

“Have you met your sister?” he asked Dave.

Ryan clapped a hand over his mouth and did his best to stifle a giggle and letting out a small snort over madly twinkling eyes, while Dave laughed ruefully.

“Too true, but ‘All I know is that you have dodgy plumbing and work away sometimes’ doesn't really sound very polite.” 

I stood to reach up and kiss Dave hello. “And that’s why you haven't met my family yet, Tom,” I glanced at him and teased. “Let me just apologise in advance for my brother.”

“Right,” Ryan said as he returned with three glasses of red wine and a bottle of beer for me. He’d been a bartender in college so he could juggle far more beverage than the average Joe. “Can’t you lot stop sniping at each other for just one night?” he teased us.  

“Oh please,” I smiled. “You give as good as you get.” I’d always liked Ryan. 

“Yes, but I find it’s best to break new people in gently.” He tilted his head at Tom in a ‘sorry, mate’ eye roll.

“Oh, don’t worry about Tom.” I waved an airy hand. “He’s so broken in I’ve ridden him hard and put him away wet many times now.”

Ryan nearly choked on his wine and Tom couldn't stifle his laugh. 

“She speaks the truth,” Tom agreed. “Although she could learn a little tact.” 

“That’s what I keep you around for,” I explained. 

“Well, don’t stand on ceremony,” Ryan gestured to the sofa behind us and as we sat down I heard a small ‘ding’ emanating from the kitchen. 

“I’m up, I’ll go,” Dave offered since Ryan had taken a seat too. 

“I knew I could smell something delicious,” I said as Dave went into the kitchen to serve the nibbles. “Ryan’s a caterer,” I told Tom. “A very good one too.” He’d catered a few prestigious events so he was used to acting naturally around famous faces, although his events tended to be business and politics more than theatrical, but he’s told us all about meeting Stephen Fry at one of his events. 

“I can’t believe he hasn’t noticed yet,” Ryan whispered. 

“I know!” I whispered back. He’d understand once we took him upstairs. 

Tom looked slightly nonplussed by the conversation but he turned to Ryan with a friendly smile and asked, “What are we having?” 

“Well given what Rocky said about tonight, we’re just having a series of finger foods, starting with mini kebabs marinated in satay and hoi sin sauce. The satay is a teeny bit hot but nothing most people can’t handle.”

“Is it just us?” he asked.

“While introducing you to my family really should be a one at a time thing to avoid premature ageing, Dad and Paul are still in Florida.

“Well they may have sun, but we have hors d'oeuvres.” Dave returned with a serving plate of mini kebabs, two small pots of extra sauce in the middle. He put them on the coffee table then sat on the sofa opposite us, next to Ryan. 

“Rocky tells me you work in Finance?” Tom said to Dave as he helped himself to a kebab. 

I jumped in. “Dear god, Tom, don’t get him started, we’ll be hip deep in spreadsheets!”

“It’s a little more sophisticated than that,” Dave rolled his eyes. 

“What Dave, I keep telling you that one and one are two. Two and two are four. It’s not hard.” I teased him, tipping my glass at him.

Dave grinned back. “Bet you can’t tell me the square root of three, though!”

I opened my mouth and shut it. I had no idea. Dave took a sip of his wine and managed to look like the cat who got the cream.

Ryan laughed. “Do you want to tell her, or shall I?” 

Dave toasted Ryan and snickered. “Be my guest.”

Ryan put a consoling arm around me. “Darling. Three is a square root,” he said gently.

“Well, shit.” The two men chuckled at me, but Tom winced. I knew he didn’t know, either. I flopped back on the sofa and scowled at my smartypants brother. For some reason Dave got all the maths in the family. Dad was right annoyed when he went into banking, instead of staying home and doing the books for the family plumbing business. But really, Dad’s very proud of Dave. And so am I, come to that.

“So, what’s the plan for tonight?” Tom tried being more direct this time as he reached for another kebab and offered me the plate. 

Those things were moreish and I was tempted to hold onto the plate and finished off the remains. Good manners won out however and I returned them to the coffee table. 

“She didn't tell you?” Dave asked playfully. 

“No, she didn't,” Tom levelled a narrow eyed glare at me. “Secrets abound tonight, it seems.”

It was time to put him out of his misery. 

“It just so happens that although he wears a suit and tie, and has the world’s most boring job, in his spare time, my brother here happens to be a world-class drummer.”

“Hardly,” Dave blushed. “But I enjoy it.” 

“Don’t listen to him. He’s good. Really good, and I have the scars to prove it!”

“I can’t see any scars!”

“They’re all mental, dear brother.” I smiled sweetly and took a sip of my wine.

Ryan choked a bit. “Shall we get on then?” 

“I thought you two could have a little jam session,” I told Tom. 

“While Rocky and I will gaze on adoringly,” Ryan added, batting his eyelashes only slightly sarcastically. 

“Oh no,” Dave shook his head. “If I have to play, you two have to sing.” 

“I’m game,” I grinned. “Besides, we’re running low of kebabs,” I said as I popped the last one in my mouth.

“So,” Tom cleared his throat, “When do we start?” he said in his Loki voice, doing his best to suppress a smirk.

“All right,” Ryan stood up. “Let’s do this!” 

Tom picked up his guitar from the hall and we all trooped upstairs. The Marvel posters lining the stairway and the upper landing didn't escape his notice and I could see the penny drop with regard to why Ryan as surprised Dave hadn’t recognised Tom. 

“Who’s the Marvel fan?” Tom asked. 

“That’d be me,” Dave answered. “Do you like the MCU too?”

“Well, I suppose you could say that, yes.” Tom blushed slightly but I don't think the boys noticed.

“I’ve got a collection of awesome memorabilia in the bedroom. I’ll show you once we’re done here, if you’re interested.”

“Are you indecently propositioning my boyfriend?” I asked innocently. 

“No, but I do have a new life size cutout of Captain America that might tempt him away from you,” Dave fired back with a smirk. 

Tom snickered. “I’m fairly sure that Rocky looks better in tights, mate! ” 

“I can feel the righteousness surging! Let’s hear it for truth, justice, and the American way!” I did my best Loki impression, which was shite, but when I tried to walk backwards at the same time and nearly fell on my arse it got a laugh.

Tom lept forward and caught me. “Darling, that was pitiful! Are you sure you want to talk about our kinky bedroom habits in front of your brother,” Tom teased as we were guided into the music room. 

“Our kinky habits?!” I tried to sound outraged.

Ryan laughed out loud. Dave narrowed his eyes..

“Wait, there’s an American Way?” He glared at Tom. “Just what the hell are you doing to my sister, mate??”

I clapped a hand over Tom’s mouth just as he opened it to tell Dave. “Now Tom, there’s no need to tell my brother just what you get up to in Captain America’s tights!”

Ryan held up a hand. “Right! That’s enough out of all of you! You’ll be giving Dave nightmares, and I need my beauty sleep!”

Tom didn’t let it go, though. He bent down and purred in my ear so just I could hear. “Don’t worry, darling, you will kneel for me later.”

Fuck me! My knees wobbled.

He, of course wandered off into the room without a care in the world leaving me feeling all hot and bothered on my brothers landing. 

Bastard. 

The largest bedroom had been turned into the music room and the walls were covered with some sort of soundproof foam. A large drum set took up about a third of the room, but there was also a keyboard against one wall, and a guitar propped up against it.  

There were also two small sofas and a couple of stools, so obviously jamming sessions weren’t unheard of. 

Tom looked around. “This is great, man!”

Ryan nodded. “Dave needed the space for his gear, so we use one of the smaller rooms for our bedroom. 

“It’s a terrific set up!” Tom enthused. “Do you play the piano and guitar too?” Tom asked as he pulled his guitar out of its case and began to tune it. 

“The guitar is mine,” Ryan admitted with a grimace. “I haven't been playing long, though.”

“The keyboard is something I keep meaning to learn,” Dave added. “Trouble is, the drums are just such good stress relief.” 

“We’ve pretty much decided we’ll have to adopt some kids and fill out our band with them,” Ryan teased. 

“The Osmond’s mark two,” I quipped. 

“The family that plays together stays together,” Dave shot back, while Ryan clutched his head.

“Oh god no! Not the bloody Osmonds! 

We all laughed. 

“Go on then,” I gestured for Dave to play his drums as I took a seat on one of the couches. “I promised Tom drums, after all.”

“But what about the other eleven drummers?”

“Sorry. This is the discount 12th day. All the other drummers were sold out. All you get is Dave. But he can play Wipeout like he has twelve pairs of arms!”

“All right Oh, thanks very much, sister dear! No pressure there!” He sat behind his drum kit and looked surprisingly nervous. A few deep breaths, however, and he launched into the familiar opening bars of Wipeout. His hands and feet moved with a furious pace and at the correct time, Ryan jumped up and grabbed my hands and we both launched into a gyrating dance and sang along, sort of na-na-na-ing the missing electric guitar accompaniment. Tom joined in after a minute, riffing on his acoustic guitar. Who didn't know Wipeout? 

At the end we all fell back, laughing and clapping.  Tom got up and offered his hand for Dave to shake. 

“I’ve got to say, I’m impressed.” He said that last in his slightly deeper Loki voice, but Dave was too busy blushing to notice. 

“Thanks.” Dave had turned a bit pink around the ears. “It’s one of my favourites, so I’m very practised at it.” 

“Very,” I agreed dryly. 

Dave chuckled. “When  we were kids I went a bit overboard one summer, obsessed with getting it right. One day Rocky got so fed up at hearing the same tune over and over she stormed into the garage and swore that if I ever played Wipeout again, she would get a gun and stab me to death.”

That story was one of the family staples now, Dave’ll be telling his grandkids one day about crazy, homicidal Aunt Rocky, no doubt!

“I’m not very coherent when I’m angry,” I shrugged. “And while we’re on embarrassing musical stories, I seem to recall you having a thing for Michael Jackson’s Man in the Mirror, only you kept singing, ‘and no moustache could have been any clearer’.”

Dave blushed again. “Oh please, I was only about 12 or something.”

“Yeah? I was 12 when you were driving me mad over wipeout, and you’re still telling the story!

Tom smiled and doing his Michael Jackson impression, carried the song on. “If you want to make the world a better place take a look at yourself and then make that... shave.”

We all laughed. 

“Excuse me a second,” Ryan left the room.

“If you want to talk misheard lyrics, you can’t beat our dad,” I smiled at the memory. “You know that Abba song, Chiquitita? He always used to sing Chicken Tikka. ‘Chicken Tikka, tell me the truth’.” I sang. 

“Our brother, Paul, has the best one of all time though,” Dave explained. “Everyone knows Bohemian Rhapsody but when Paul was about seven or eight, he kept singing, “Beelzebub has the devil for a sideboard.” 

“Did you correct him?” Tom asked me. 

“I was too young to, I didn’t know,” I explained. “And I think Dave enjoyed the fact he got it wrong.” I slanted a look at Dave. “In fact, I think Dave used to feed him wrong lyrics all the time. Remember ‘Scare a moose, scare a moose’?” I grinned.

“Bastard’s good at everything, I can’t enjoy the fact he fucks up such a well known song?” Dave growled. “I think he figured it out in his teens. I remember him being moody as fuck one day because his friends made fun of him for it. Now he knows better, but he does it just to annoy me.”

Ryan returned with a tray containing a selection of crispbread with various toppings, plus a pitcher of margaritas and 4 glasses. “Got to keep our strength up.”

“And our dutch courage,” I added. 

“Absolutely! Citrus is good for the vocal cords, as well!” He grinned as he handed me a glass. “Right, what’s next?”

“Let’s do something we can all join in on,” Dave suggested. “Anyone know any Queen?” 

“Not well enough to play without sheet music,” Tom admitted. “Unless, maybe Crazy Little Thing Called Love.” 

“I love that one! It’s a great dance tune! What about it Ryan? I’ll take the low parts if you’ll take the high ones!” 

“Deal!” 

Mounted on the wall over the keyboard was a huge flat screen TV because Dave limed to practice with some musical accompaniment sometimes, and Ryan liked watching Youtube guitar tutorials. Oh, the things you can afford when you’re a DINK. For the uninitiated, that’s Double Income No Kids household, and Dave does not like being called that, but that’s mainly because he think’s the word dinky doesn't reflect well on his manhood. So of course I use it whenever I can.

Ryan turned the telly on and spoke his google search into the remote. They’re gadget freaks too. Just about every room has an Alexa. It wouldn't surprise me if she was even wired into some of their sex toys! EWW! No, no, nasty stray thought! Back to lyrics. 

Even with the lyrics on screen, we still got some parts wrong because we were too busy trying to dance while seated and just generally hamming it up. 

“I hear Adam Lambert might leave Queen and try going solo again. You should audition,” I teased Ryan. 

He clasped his heart and uttered a gasp that would rival any of Ru Paul’s drag queens. 

“Sacrilege!” he pointed at me. “Get this blasphemer out of my house this instant! Away, demon! By the power of Gay I command you, leave this place!” 

We all laughed. His views on replacing Freddie Mercury were about on par with mine, only I wasn't quite so theatrical about it. 

When we finally stopped laughing we continued disavowing any new iterations of Queen for a minute or two, then we discussed songs again. 

“Hotel California,” I suggested, “Everyone knows that.” 

“Not known for it’s drum solos, though,” Tom reminded me. “But if it’s for everyone,” he turned to Ryan. “Don’t tell me you haven't learned to play Hey Jude yet?” 

“Well, it is one they usually teach beginners,” Ryan admitted. 

“That’s a yes,” Dave explained. “Come on, if I have to perform, so do you.” 

Tom handed Ryan his guitar and approached the keyboard. 

“All right, I can take a hint.” 

“How do you turn this thing on?” Tom asked, examining the keyboard.

“Need to turn it on at the plug.” Dave did it for him. 

“My saviour is here,” Tom teased and Dave smiled. He got the marvel quote, he just hadn't had the second realisation yet.

Tom sat down and played a chord, which sounded like a church organ. He switched it to piano and tried again. 

“There we go,” he smiled. 

“Is this a Gibson?” Ryan asked, examining Tom’s guitar. 

“It is,” Tom confirmed. “Beautiful instrument, you’ll love it.”

Ryan looked a little green around the gills and swallowed, probably understanding its worth. He slipped the strap around his neck despite already sitting down.

It had left me breathless for a moment when I realised how haphazardly I’d been slinging around a £2,000 guitar, but it had survived my laissez faire treatment, so I was fairly confident of its ability to survive Ryan’s playing. 

Tom  and Ryan played around for a few moments, familiarising themselves with their instruments. “Ready?” I asked when they quietened. 

They nodded and I counted to four then began. We’d sung this fairly often as kids. Dad had an accordion and Hey Jude was one of his favourites, so I was fairly confident the words would come back to me. If not, I didn't expect to be the only one singing, someone else would pick up my slack. 

There’s something about hey Jude, it just sort of unites people, like a world war two knees-up around the piano or something, except a totally different style. 

Usually I thought the na na na nas went on a bit long for my tastes but I’d have been happy carrying on longer tonight. The final note held for four beats, then we all clapped. 

“That was brilliant!” Ryan gushed. 

“It was! We should form a cover band! We could call it Duvet!”

“Dung Beatles more like,” I joked.

“Scarabs, if you don’t mind, Tom said loftily. 

“Oh we’re in treble now, boys!”

“Speaking of the Osmonds, and given geek boy here’s comic book addiction, we could be The Ozymandias… ians?” 

“Not the snappiest name,” Ryan laughed. 

I took a sip of my drink and helped myself to one of the last crispbreads. 

The evening continued in a similar vein with Ryan regularly bringing fresh treats and drinks to keep us nourished and hydrated. 

We played, drank, ate and sang for a good couple of hours. 

Tom dropped a few more Loki hints but it seemed my brother was determined to remain  as dense as Thor [Love it!]. Then Tom suggested Immigrant Song. It actually sounds really good on  an acoustic guitar and Dave  was able to provide drum backup, but I have no idea if he was true to the original or not. 

Tom handled most of the lyrics but Ryan and I join in on the bits we knew—basically the ah-aah-aaaah-ah bits. Turns out Ryan can get that bit really high when you pinch him at just the right moment! When the song finished We were all smiling. 

“I’d never really paid much attention to the lyrics before, but that stuff about hammer of the gods and what not, I can see why they used it for Ragnarok.”

And then I could literally see the penny drop as I watched the colour drain from Dave’s face. It was enough to gladden a sister’s heart!

“Wait, you— You’re not—? Holy fuck, you are!” 

We all cracked up laughing, Ryan even clapped. 

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” Dave rushed on. “It’s  just with the ginger and the glasses and the tan you’re so. . . and with the black and pale skin he’s so. . .”

Poor Dave. I was going to pay for not warning him earlier but it’s a sister’s job to torture their siblings. And honestly, I really did think he’d recognise Tom instantly. He even had a Loki action figure for Christ’s sake! 

“Sorry, mate. It’s all Rocky’s fault, you know” Tom ticked his chin at me.

I clutched my chest dramatically. “Under the bus! I can’t believe you pushed me under the bus, Tom!”

“Yes, well, I needed company under here, didn’t I?”

Ryan turned to Dave and slipped an arm around his waist. “They’re well matched, don’t you think?” They both turned to look at us. I stuck my tongue out at them.

Dave snorted, looking at Tom with pity and shaking his head. “Poor sod.”

Tom wrapped his arms around me from behind. “I know. But I like a challenge…”

I rubbed my arse against Tom and reached back to pat his bum. “It’s alright. He’s well up to the job!”

Dave groaned. “I’m going to need brain bleach after this night,” he muttered.

“Why don’t you play us some Hank Williams,” I suggested, to give Dave a chance to recover a bit. 

Tom played Move it on Over which we didn't know but on the choruses we could just echo him and be his backup singers. Everyone knows Hey, Good Lookin’, of course, and then he sang Your Cheatin’ Heart, which we knew from Patsy Cline (our dad was a fan) but the words were the same so we joined in. Dave had even recovered enough by then to back him up on the drums.

After that Ryan and I managed to do Chasing Cars together. He’d been teaching himself the tune and I’d been obsessed with that song it first came out. Then Tom and Dave were forced by popular demand to play In the Air Tonight, and Dave made the most of his drum solo, expanding it. 

“Couple of kids I went to school with had that song as their first dance at their wedding,” I laughed as I clapped. “I sat there trying not to giggle as they gazed into each other’s eyes while Phil sang, well if you told me you were drowning, I would not lend a hand.”

“Okay,” Dave held up his hand. “Worst first song to play at a wedding, winner gets the first serving of Ryan’s sinful sticky toffee pudding. Go!” he pointed at Tom. 

“Uh . . . U2, I Still Haven't Found What I’m Looking For.”

His suggestion was greeted with a mixture of laughter and wincing ‘Ooh!’s

“Rox,” Dave pointed at me. “And no, you can’t say Phil Collins!”

“Ummmm . . . My Chemical Romance, I Don’t Love You Like I Did Yesterday!”

“Ryan.”

“Don’t Marry her, Have Me, by The Beautiful South.”

“You turn,” I told Dave. 

“Lady Gaga, Bad Romance.” 

Then the suggestions were just flying and I could hardly keep up with who was suggesting what.

Tainted Love by Soft Cell, D.I.V.O.R.C.E. by Tammy Wynette, The Human League’s Don’t You Want Me Baby... Jar of Hearts... What’s Love Got to Do With It?... You Give Love a Bad Name

 You’ve Lost That Lovin’ Feeling... Another One Bites the Dust... Highway to Hell... I’m All Out of Love, anything by Adele, You’re So Vain… You Can’t Always Get What You Want... I Will Survive... Gold Digger by Kanye, 

“No, I’ve got it,” Tom cut in. “Engelbert Humperdinck and Please Release Me, Let Me Go.”

“Step back!” Dave said. 

“We have a winner!” Ryan finished for him. Everyone clapped and cheered.

We adjourned back to the living room for dessert, Dave and Ryan going off hand in hand to the kitchen to fetch it. They’ve been together for about five years now, and it’s good to see they’re still just as lovey and gooey as they always were.

Tom pulled me down onto his lap on the sofa, making me giggle and squirm just as the boys returned with the sticky toffee.

Ryan handed me a double sized portion on a single plate, and went to sit on Dave's lap with theirs.

Tom moaned out loud when I fed him a spoonful, and everybody cracked up. Except Tom, who was too busy having a food orgasm.

“That’s brilliant stuff, Ryan! Can I have the recipe?” I nodded my head frantically, my mouth too stuffed with deliciousness to speak.

Ryan chuckled as he fed another spoonful to Dave and listened to his own moan of appreciation. 

“Nope. You’ll have to come back if you want more!”

Dave chimed in. “Oh yes, please do Tom! You can even bring my sister with you, if you must!” He leaned in confidentially, “Ryan only makes it for company, you see. It’s the only time I get it!”

Ryan rolled his eyes at Dave and turned his attention back to Tom. “But I’ll send the rest home with you, if you like.”

Tom popped the last bite into my mouth and shoved me off his lap, standing abruptly. “It must be getting awfully late! Don’t you think so, Rocky?” He stretched and yawned ostentatiously.

“Oh, um...yes.” I looked at my bare wrist. “Will you look at the time! I’ll just go get the rest and we’ll be off, shall we?”

Ryan laughed and shook his finger at us. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re planning on doing with my sticky toffee, you naughty things! Tell you what, I’ll even give you an extra pot,” he winked.

Dave thumped his head on Ryan's shoulder. “Ryannn,” he whined, “that’s my sister!”

Ryan turned his head and dropped a kiss on Dave’s head. “Oh like you aren’t planning something naughty for the extra piece I kept!”

Dave leapt up. “Here, let me help you with your coats! So sorry you can’t stay longer!”

Despite being hustled out we had hugs and kisses all around, and plenty of laughter.

“I like your brother. Ryan too. They’re nice chaps.” Tom said later as he was hanging my coat at his front door.

“Yeah Dave’s not bad. He got bloody lucky with Ryan, and he knows it too. Now, where’s that pudding? I have things to do with it!”

The smile on Tom’s face broadened into a leer. “Do you?”

“Yep. I have to give my boyfriend his just desserts for being such a good sport tonight.” I reached for the carrier that Ryan had given us, but Tom lifted it high over my head teasingly. 

I narrowed my eyes at the bag. Nah. Too high. Well, if Mohammed can’t get to the mountain, the mountain will have to come to Mohammed! 

“I’m not jumping for it!” I stamped my foot.

“But darling, it does such charming things to your...charms when you jump!”

I took a couple of steps back, and started to peel my jumper off. “Oh, I think my charms are fine just the way they are.” I reached back to undo my bra strap and the rustle of the bag hitting the floor signalled my victory. Darting under Tom’s arm as he lunged, I swiped my prize and scrambled for the sofa, holding the bag behind my back.

“To the victor go the spoils,” I grinned. 

“Too right,” Tom smiled. “Looks like I win either way…”

I glanced down at the girls. My bra had slipped down under one boob and the shoulder straps had come down to bind my elbows. Well, damn.

Tom strolled in front of me, reaching a finger out to push my bra the last bit off my other boob. I could have easily struggled out of my bra, but Tom looked so happy, what the hell.

Still being in possession of the bag, I raised my head defiantly. “You want my pudding?” I asked.

“Darling, I would love your pudding. Name your price?”

“Hmm,” I pretended to think aloud. “Nice newish car on the driveway… Decent bank balance… Lots of designer gear… Hmm… I want…” I drew it out. Maybe there was a little bit of drama queen in me. “... A kiss.”

“One kiss?” he clarified and I nodded. “One single, solitary kiss?” I nodded again. “That sounds easy enough, deal.”

“Oh, I may have forgotten to, mention, this kiss has to make my toes curl and forget my own name.”

“Is that all?” he smirked. “I think I can oblige.” 

Tom knelt on the floor, carefully taking the bag from my hand and setting it on the side table. He lifted his warm hands to cup my boobs, and I'm honestly not sure who moaned. His hands slid smoothly down my ribs to the waistband of my jeans and deftly undid them, pushing them down and helping me step out.

He nuzzled at the junction of my thighs and made a deep humming sound. Abruptly he stood and slung me over his shoulder. I shrieked as he grabbed the dessert bag and strode off to the kitchen.

He set me down on the edge of the table and opened the bag. “Now, let’s see what we can do with this…”

I opened my mouth to tell him just what he could do with it, but he beat me to it, sliding a finger full into my mouth and following it with his tongue. This time we both definitely moaned. God, the silky toffee flavours, combined with Tom’s tongue? Nirvana!

We giggled and fought a bit over the morsel, Tom trying to steal it back, but he conceded it at last and he let me swallow.

Putting a hand between my breasts he pushed me slowly back to lie on the table. I blinked up at him, still trussed helplessly in my bra, and licked my lips.

“Now I have you just where I want you, my pretty!”

I rather thought that I had him just where I wanted him! The bag rustled and he was dripping caramel sauce over my boobs with a maniacal grin. God, it’s cold! I shivered.

“Thank Christ he didn't make rice pudding!” I joked as Tom drizzled more toffee sauce over my nipple. 

“But baked Alaska might have been fun!” Tom suggested.

“Thanks, we’ve done that—” My words cut off as Tom’s hot mouth wrapped around my nipple, sucking the sauce off and leaving me nearly dizzy with want.

Tom stood back to admire the artistic swirl of sauce he’d left on my body, and fortunately for him, to take his clothes off. I growled at him for taking so long and opened my mouth to scold him, but he popped another bite of the sticky stuff into my mouth.

“Hush now, Rocky! None of your lip, I’m busy!”

He planted a large hand on my torso and began to very delicately lick up all the sweetness from my body. Oh god, he was driving me mad.

Heat was flowing through my body, making me squirm and I felt Tom’s chuckle vibrating on my skin. When he lifted my hips and took a long lick and swirl around my clit I nearly came off the table.

Then Tom was pushing into me at last, leaning over me to kiss me as he thrust into me, rocking us both on the table. I could feel the coil inside me tightening and tightening, Tom’s breath harsh in my ear. 

“Fuck, Rocky!” Tom’s burning eyes stared into mine and I couldn’t look away. His hand went between us, and at the first press of his fingers I exploded with a scream. Tom shouted along with me and I felt the hot wash of his release, both of us still grinding into each other the last little bit of pleasure.

“Oh,” I sighed, getting my breath back. “Thanks for pudding up with me.”

Tom chuckled at the awful pun. “I think you’re flan-tastic, Rocky.”

I groaned. “You know what this means,” I said with gravity. 

“What?”

“We need a bath now.”

“But you’re  cleaning the table!” 

[myloveholtzy]

SNL Adventure! 11/4/17 Larry David/Miley Cyrus

Yup I did standby again for SNL! My back hurts and I kind of lost my voice but that’s okayyyyyyy! This will probably be my longest SNL post ever bc I got to meet 14 people! Some of the pics are a little blurry bc I was too excited and my hands shake a lot (also i look like trash and i have fucked up teeth rip me please don’t judge too harshly 🙃)

First that came out was Kate! She hasn’t been stopping for fans a lot this season BUT she stopped this time bc @wooden-swings-and-diet-coke​ and @ohippiegay​ made an AMAZING quilt for her!!! (btw it was really great to meet y’all!!) Everyone wanted to meet Kate and she said, “I’m so sorry! I- I have special guests!” I felt kind of bad but she stopped real quick for a pic with me and @blazermckinnon​!

Melissa came out next!!!! I mentioned this last week, but I briefly chatted with her on her art insta (melissavart) and I just really love that she takes time to talk to her fans and she’s so supportive and told me my art is beautiful 💕 I wanted to draw something for her to show that I really appreciate her kindness so I made stipple portrait of her cat Ella! She seemed to really like it!! She said, “Ella’s going to love it!” Then she safely tucked it into her bag asdfghjkl

Okay so this next part got me shook. Aidy came out and everyone cheered and it went something like, “Aidyyyyyy!! wait what wAIT VANESSA!!!!!!!!!!” YEAH SO PRECIOUS BB VANESSA BAYER WAS THERE I LOVE HER SM ASDFJLGKA 

Anddddddd Katie Dippold came out with them! Katie co-wrote Ghostbusters with Paul Feig! She also played the real estate agent that shows them the firehouse

She’s also the girl that dressed up for her friend’s halloween party when no one else dressed up

So yeah 3 people I admire came out at the same time! I called out Katie’s name because I’ve wanted to meet her but never thought that I would! She looked REALLY confused when I called her name lol she probably didn’t expect anyone to recognize her

me: KATIE! kd: *stops and turns* ????????? (probably thinking “me???”) me: Yeah! Ghostbusters! kd: !!! Yeah! me: Yeah!!!! Can I get a picture with you? Sorry, I just really love Ghostbusters!

Aidy was very sweet as usual! Vanessa was taking pictures with some people but left before I could ask for a pic lol BUT SHE LOOKED AMAZING AND BEAUTIFUL AND I MISS HER

Finally got a picture with Heidi!!! She made me laugh a lot as Angel and I’m glad that she’s getting screen time! My first picture with her was super blurry so later when she was waiting for a car I asked if she could take another one. After the picture she asked me if it was clear or if I needed to take another one and it was a little blurry but I felt guilty for asking her to take another so I told her it was clear and thanked her lol

Mikey likes to make faces and hand signs in pics lol he was making a weird hand gesture in our group pic and I asked him what it meant and he said, “I’m sorry, I was trying to do the west side sign. Ah I’ll try one without it.”

SO I FINALLY GOT A PICTURE WITH BECK AND KYLE IDK WHY IT TOOK 5 TRIES BUT WOW IM HAPPY also I didn’t print out the album cover bc I didn’t have time but I might try and give it to them in 2 weeks

Chris is so fucking hilarious I’m so glad that he’s getting so much screen time!!! Someone said, “No wet diapers!” (ref to the baby steps sketch) and it made him laugh 😂 also I want to point out that he was laughing right before I took the pic and then immediately switched to this face:

it’s blurry bc I’m laughing rip i tried

Met Luke! He’s really friendly! He took his time to talk to every single person there and was making silly faces in all the pics

Alex came out with his fiancée asdfgjklaas they’re so cute together!!! They kissed and she was about to leave to find a car but then he pulled her back to kiss her again it was really cute ❤️ @blazermckinnon told him that she loved him as Eric. I made a comment about the fun dip and I think he laughed and said it was tasty lol

Beautiful talented amazing goddess Cecily Strong came out and I’m pretty sure her feet were hurting in her high heels lolol “Sorry, I’m hobbling!” I asked her to sign my wristband and she held my hand and signed it asfdghjk She asked @blazermckinnon what she was going to do with the wristband and I joked, “Frame it!” Then Cecily said something like, “And then you’re going to move and throw it out!” LOL never! I have the grid on my phone’s camera on and she noticed it and said, “She’s got a grid on her camera! I gotta get an app like that!” precious bb 💕

I was about to leave, but Higgins came out and then I was too paranoid to leave LOL

Okay so I almost met Colin my very first time at SNL smh I left at like 3am and he came out 2 minutes after I left 🙃🙃🙃 and he didn’t come to my side the second time and the third time he didn’t come out at all bc he was with scarlett and I’ve been bitter ever since BUT FINALLY MET HIM ONLY TOOK 5 TRIES He was in a rush so the pic is a little blurry but also I was just shook bc he was moving so quickly he was in my face at one point and also his cologne is really strong???? but it smells nice so whatever ALSOOO he didn’t really do it in my pic but I noticed that he made a face in a lot of fan pics that was basically “the smolder” from tangled

At one point Leslie came out and she looked exhausted so I didn’t want to bother her. Pete also came out with Cazzie David! PETE NEVER COMES OUT He stopped for a few people and then left. I’m kind of disappointed that I didn’t get a picture with him but owell it’s okay!

GOOD NIGHT REALLY FUN 10/10

#river gets tickets #kate mckinnon #melissa villasenor #katie dippold #aidy bryant #vanessa bayer #mikey day #heidi gardner #kyle mooney #beck bennett #chris redd #luke null #alex moffat #cecily strong #steve higgins #colin jost #snl

[elboyo-blog]

About Youtube Rewind

Right so… youtube rewind 2017 is out. Everyone’s favourite end of year tradition, showcasing all the trends people were talking about, and all the topics and creators on the site that cultivated the community around to make youtube stand ou…

I should stop. This is all bullshit as I am aware you all know, yourtube rewind is, was and always will be throwaway ‘look at us we’re unique!’ shite, but this years was especially aggravating. It really boiled down a reality that has been creeping up on us for a while. Youtube rewind 2017 just shows that youtube doesn’t want to be youtube. Of course that could be seen that last year, for example the whole Dwayne Johnson at the start but I believe that can be justified with the fact that Dwayne has a channel just for himself, what isn’t justifiable from last year at least is the fucking talk show hosts like trevor noah and Seth ‘cumstain’ myers.  This only gets worse and worse with this years entry however. But I’m getting ahead of myself, lets just break it down (tl;dr at the bottom)

overview (This will be the most chronological so watching along helps)

Right so off the fucking bat the vid starts with a Stephen Colbert(Not a youtuber) talking to Lele Pons (A viner and Instagram star who flocked to youtube where that ship sank) and some girl beside (I think she’s popular but I don’t know her), we then see some random girl run into the room and start the cue to ‘Despacito’ which I can see why it is there at least, as it sprung to the highest viewed it can have justification. It then cuts to some people dancing and switching shots locations and people (one of which is that one DJ marshmallow or whatever who, again, isn’t a youtuber). It stops at KSI (Who I’ll get too) using a fidget spinner (which ill also get too) with some some vloggers/IG stars beside him (probably). Oh, hey Rhett and Link.  We then get showcased to a slime playground of sorts. I have no fucking clue if this was a trend at all. The only thing I can link this too is all the ‘homemade slime’ tutorials I always hear about. The only thing I really got was ‘Wow! Muselk is thicc’ but other than that the whole thing I think was pointless. Then, for some reason, they put rinestones on their faces? Again, was this a trend? Like, was there a whole underground rinestone craze that slipped under people’s noses? Like most things though, I doubt if it was a trend it even started on youtube. Anyway, they do the dua lipa thing, go to Africa, uuuuuuuugehiehehiihesfiefbfrbeube, do dance crazes during said ‘uuuuuuuugehiehehiihesfiefbfrbeube’ that didn’t originate on youtube and HEY! The eclipse was a thing right? EventhoughthatprimarilyhappenedintheUSthereforealienatinganyrelatabilitythatyoutubewasgoingfor buuuuuut I digress. They do do one thing right which is the whole meme graveyard idea (fitting, I know) parodying the video for the worst tayloer swift yet (nothing beats love story fight me) oooooooh but then the DAB! They hit that DAB!  Into yet another ‘uuuuuuuugehiehehiihesfiefbfrbeube’. Oh cool poopy’s there. Don’t know who that other person is but maybe it’s a new character in the poppy lore or maybe its just a person I don’t know or maybe recognise. The whole hurricane Harvey thing they pull next is insulting to the point ill reserve a whole section to it. Skipping that we go to a roof party with the DJ and the fidget spinner, a perfect almagimation of all that isn’t youtube based trends, seriously the dj could maybe be related as he uses youtube as an outlet for his music but fidget spinners were a physical thing! It was a brand! Literally this year’s version of silly bandz! Yes Susan, include this! Very youtube, much wow! Fuck off. Anyway, we see the party is home to the biggest twats of youtube, team 10 and the pauly boys (Note: that’s a nice band name). with them on the roof are stars that again, didn’t start on youtube. Most of them are viners and/or IG stars with like one or two from fine bros React (I shit you not if you look in the back there’s the old guy from elder’s react). We cut to more slime bois (hey Tomska). When they cut back, (yes holy shit it is the guy form elders react! Jfc) and they do their sick moves like the floss, a move YouTube claims to have homebrewed as well (come on guys, Katy Perry tried to claim it first). Hey, look its every 14y/o girls wet dream. More slime boyos. I think KEEM screams the floor is lava but… that trend was an IG trend wasn’t it or like the last vine trend, but it got Ol’ Yellered, like, just because Fine Bros do a youtubers react to it doesn’t make it a YouTube thing! Jeez louis. Big Shaq’s there, that’s neat. Some filler dancing and cuts when they cut back to the graveyard reinforcing that is it a graveyard for dead memes which I have problem with, because that would insinuate that ‘All Star’ died this year. No, it didn’t, and as long as Steve Harwell is still on God’s green earth no it won’t, yes its popularity has dulled but it was actually a meme that just faded away, cropping up every once in a while, its survival is different to similar trends like ‘We Are Number One’ which can make people I know physically wince when heard. All star didn’t die, it’ll be back if it even left in the first place. More vloggers and traditionally attractive people flash by as a whole recap happen of the torment thrusted upon me. The last live action sketch is Lele and her friend greet the non-youtuber rounding out the production. The credits are actually the best part of this however as we see different pseudo-animators (think more odd1s out, less Psychicpebbles), such as Extra Credits, Tabbes, Jaidenanimation, Odd1sout, Rebecca Parham, ItsAlexClark and Simon’s cat. Though their subject matter is just as pander-y shite as the whole vid you can see the effort in their animation and it’s nice to see that youtube finally removed the dildo it has been shoving up most youtube animator’s asses for the last 3-5 years (but by ‘removed’ I really mean they just slapped a sign on it that says ‘here at YouTube, we love our animators!’ and pretend they solved the problem.

Dead fucking memes/(hate to use the phrase but) irrelevancy

The Dab, fidget spinners, shooting stars with more probably but it was hard to see during my stroke, point is, YouTube is out of touch and has zero self-awareness when it comes to memes and trends

I know the word sounds pretentious as hell but seriously, here’s a my honest-to-god reaction of who I saw on screen

·         Not a youtuber

·         Not a youtuber

·         Don’t know

·         Don’t know

·         Despactio guy 1

·         Don’t know *3

·         Despacito guy 2: electric boogaloo

·         Don’t know *2

·         Don’t know *2

·         Don’t know *2

·         Dj boi

·         Vannos

·         Don’t Know *4 Ft. Lincoln

·         Don’t know *3

·         Quick flashes of the great unknown

·         KSI and his favourite toy (not counting NetNobody’s dick)

·         Don’t know *6 (Empire was better)

·         Another 3 I don’t know but there is that one guy who screams a lot, think his names guacamole or something

·         @rhettandlink and another guy, classic trio

·         Don’t know*2

·         Don’t know*slime

·         Don’t know* rhinestone

·         Hey, its @a-kind-ale-war

·         Africa – Toto

·         Slo mo guys among the dead meme cosmos

·         Otherwise, you guessed it, no clue

·         Don’t know * field

·         Don’t know any of the eclipse crew

·        @caseyneistat

·         God’ wrath in the form of comets coming to smite us as failed creations

·         YouTube Is Shutting Down My Channel and I'm Not Sure What To Do

·         His beautiful bastards (nameless in my lack of knowledge)

·         6 zombies that died in obscurity, nameless and unknown, ‘tis a shame

·         Why I left Smosh

·         The cosmos of people I don’t know

·         KSI’s brother

·         Poppy

·         A DC lawsuit

·         Mooooooooorrrrrreeeeee spaaaaaaccceeeee

·         A youtube circle jerk of self-righteousness (more on that later)

·         People holding hands

·         The shitty vine family

·         Team 10 bitch who the hell are flipping you

·         The other one

·         Shitty IG ‘Comedy’ Squad

·         Black guys and backpack kid (Note: another good band name, though it needs tweaking)

·        @thetomska getting face fucked

·         Victims of the great slime massacre (slime control now!)

·         Old guy from react

·         Don’t know*roof party

·         Every teenage girls wet dream/gay ship

·         Daniel Keem saying floor is lava

·         Lava victims

·         A very cold rapper

·         Don’t know but has a sword

·         More zombie boys

·         A cluster of people 2012

·         Forehead in the back again (sorry jack)

·         @markiplier

·         Why I gave the pope Undertale

·         A finale of people I don’t know being absorbed by the cosmos

·         Neato mosquito animators

As you can see a good majority of the stars I doubt much people know, probably only chosen for the brand friendliness which begs the question…

Exclusions/double standards

A lot of people were excluded from this year’s rewind, which isn’t a surprise in the slightest. This issue was brought up last year as well, but with this year it showcases some hypocrisy with possible reasons to exclude folks. Firstly, KSI, he had the whole beef with NetNobody (the greatest Minecraft youtuber there is) but Netnobody was excluded, it couldn’t be numbers or presence as before retiring, Adam had about 11 million subs, maybe he declined, like most sane people would, or maybe because he neither pulls the views or the family friendly influence that he used to. Its safe to assume Ricegum and IDubbbz got rejected by choice, again sanity, or because of their beef, which is again hypocritical of the site as KSI was allowed on fine and Keem along with the Paul brothers aren’t the angels of Youtube either. Again, it seems YouTube is really trying to push this family friendly goofball persona which is perfect for the weird kids and the cool kids which is true but is only really surface level in the rewind and the reality isn’t really shown otherwise. Also fuck that Nazi racist Pewdiepie amirite ladies?

Hurricane Harvey debacle

I believe this is honestly the most insulting aspect of the rewind. Though it had good intentions it just highlights YouTube’s utter ignorance. Not to pull a PJW but this is dictionary definition virtue signalling. Youtube makes themselves out to be all together, yes youtube, you are the most influential platforms of our generation, cat videos and make-up vlogs can save the world! In all seriousness though this is one of the most botched poorly executed thing I’ve ever seen, and I’m counting HWNDU. For one thing the tone and flow is horrible, the segment is frankenstiened into the middle of the video and puts a halt on the relatively well paced video, and is followed by a radical hip and swaggity dance party yeah! As if the whole was a task by the team and when they were down with it they thought; “right, that’s over with. Back to the fun and cool stuff yeah!” if they kept the pace by putting the thing just before the credits as to highlight the message at the end and while everyone’s lifted by the message they’re treated to the credits and the talents of the wonderful animators. However, that would only make the segment flow correctly as, in my opinion, it comes off as quite nepotistic to big creators. A method they could’ve done is before they filmed or edited anything they could’ve announced to fans and viewers to send in webcam clips and videos of them holding hands in unity or saying unity, showing a UNITY between fans and creators. That said this brings me to my conclusion;

 Conclusion

Youtube doesn’t want to be youtube, it wants to be a family and advertiser friendly site for all to come, it wants to be seen as a beacon for ALL internet trends and ideas and it wants to be seen as a user and creator friendly platform. But youtube isn’t this, and youtube hates that. This year has seen the worst year in the sites history for user treatment and contact showing double standards with actual users and companies such as talk show hosts, with things like the adpocolypse rumoured trending tab rigging and trending tab blacklists. Along with this is the, as I said, nepostistic outlook on creators, with youtube success being less and less consistency based and more and more luck based on one video blowing up and staying that way, and trending (along with youtube in general), should facilitate a rise in creators and ideas instead of promoting channels who already have 5-6 million subs and censoring a lot of voice directly or indirectly. With no other options for video site (realistically, nobody uses vimeo or dailymotion and fucking rip vidme) youtube’s current state is more dire than ever and their push for a false identity within an identity crisis for the site is very obvious. This alongside their cowardice and compliance with controversy like in the nazi Pewds situation is showing to be really damaging.

Tl;dr: get a fucking backbone youtube and stop pretending to be something that you’re not.

#youtube #youtuberewind #idubbbz #rant

[celebratorypenguin]

Fic: Don’t Cry, Young Lovers (4/4)

FiNALLY finished!

"Well, for starters, you need to get off of the bed."

Of all the things John might have said to him, Paul hadn't expected this. The sense of panic started in him again, short-circuiting his brain and making his heart beat far, far too quickly. He jumped up and turned away, hoping to hide the flush of humiliation that was burning his cheeks.

John wanted him gone. He needed to pack. He needed to figure out how to hitchhike to Calais and still have enough money for the ferry back. And how in the hell would he get back to Liverpool, all alone?

Alone. Oh, God, alone.

With trembling hands, Paul moved John's wine bottles off his suitcase and prepared to turn it over. The shuddering became so violent that he ended up knocking the case over onto his own foot. He let out an undignified yelp of pain, then completely disgraced himself by standing still with his face buried in his hands as he unsuccessfully fought back sobs.

"No, no, you git. C'mere." John was by his side, wrapping a bath towel around his shaking arms. "I just meant you were dripping all over the bed. Calm down, Paulie, it's okay, it's okay." Paul felt like an idiot: the luckiest, best-loved idiot on Earth. He half-fell into John's waiting arms.

"Wet things. Off. Now." John said into Paul's ear. He gave Paul a playful shove in the chest. "If you catch your death, I'll never hear the end of it."

Paul, nearly boneless with overjoyed delerium, allowed John to undress him like a doll. John had to kneel in order to get the waterlogged leather trousers down Paul's slim legs. His fingers hesitated at the waistband of Paul's underpants, and his expression was almost shy. Paul mouthed "yes" at him.

John took off the last of Paul's clothing, sat back on his heels and gazed up at him. "Good God, you're a work of art," he whispered.

"It's not as if we haven't seen each other naked before," Paul commented, finally noticing that John was also nude.

"It didn't MATTER, before." John tugged at Paul's hands until they were kneeling in front of one another, their hands still joined, staring into each other's eyes in wonder. "I was so scared when you ran off," John said, so softly that Paul had to strain to hear it.

"I'm sorry," Paul murmured. "I was scared, too. I didn't...I didn't know, or I hadn't let myself think about it. Once I realized, though, I had to come back, I had to find you."

John nodded. Never taking his gaze from Paul's face, he slid one hand up Paul's chest to the long column of his throat, then to his chin, finally resting on his cheek. John usually just took what he wanted, but now he was asking, and Paul's heart overflowed with delight.

Paul leaned forward, twisted his fingers in John's hair, and kissed him with all the hungry ferocity of his nineteen years.

When they parted, astonished and a little out of breath, Paul realized that he had managed to render John Lennon speechless. John was simply staring at him, his beautiful eyes radiant with an inner light, and Paul fell in love with him again a hundred more times.

Emboldened, Paul stood up and held out his hand to John. John turned Paul's hand over and kissed the back of it, then let Paul help him up and lead him to the bed. They lay down facing one another, pulling the bedspread into a cozy tent, and pressed themselves together as tightly as they could. John's inquisitive fingers, so much stronger and firmer than any girl's had ever been, mapped every inch of Paul's flesh. In return, Paul, intoxicated with pure bliss, kissed and caressed John's familiar-yet-alien body until he could no longer tell where his soul ended and John's began.

All too soon, Paul felt the telltale signs of orgasm building up inside him. Gasping, his back arching uncontrollably, he pulled away just enough to turn his face toward the pillow. Even when they were young boys "having a wank" at someone's house, even when he was with a girlfriend, he had never been able to let anyone see his face at that most intimate, vulnerable moment.

John bent over him, stroking a strand of sweat-dampened hair from Paul's forehead. "You don't need to hide from me, Paulie," he crooned.

Paul let out a thin, apologetic cry but couldn't bring himself to move.

"Please, Paul," John implored, his voice cracking with unrestrained emotion. "I need to see your eyes, baby. Please."

Somehow, Paul forced himself to turn back over and look at John. The adoration he saw in his face, the way John's sharp features softened with love for him, sent him over the edge, wailing John's name over and over.

John followed, uncharacteristically quiet, with only the long, grateful sigh of someone whose eternal patience had finally been rewarded.

Bewildering, giddy moments passed that Paul was too dazed to heed. Eventually, when they had tidied themselves up with John's undershirt, they wrapped their arms and legs together into a human lovers' knot with Paul's head tucked under John's chin.

When he was able to catch his breath and formulate a thought, Paul kissed the underside of John's jaw and asked, "How long have you known?"

John hummed, and Paul could feel the vibrations of his Adam's apple. "I'm not sure. It was always somewhere behind me, like the background of a painting that you don't notice at first. I think I really understood it when you and Pete got deported. Seeing you hauled away, having you torn away from me like that... that must've been when I finally knew how far gone I was." He tightened his arms around Paul, who nestled closer. "What about you?"

"Maybe it was that first day at the fete, listening to you screw up the lyrics to 'Come and Go With Me.' I knew right away that you desperately needed me," Paul said, enjoying the sound of John's chuckle. "It's funny - I've always tried so hard to get your approval, but I didn't know why, really, until you told me you loved me. Then it was suddenly so clear that I couldn't handle it."

Kissing the top of Paul's head, John murmured, "We're quite a pair of clueless lads, but at least we have one another." He moved around restlessly for a moment. "Are you sleepy?"

The question surprised Paul, who had to think for a moment. "No, weirdly enough. You?"

"Too wired to sleep." John sat up and dragged Paul upright. He kissed the bridge of Paul's nose and grinned. "Let's go for a walk."

"It's the middle of the night," Paul protested, but at the sight of John's exaggerated pout he shook his head, laughing. "All right, but if we get rumbled I'm hiding behind you."

Dressing took a while longer than normal, interrupted for kisses and whispered promises of future carnal delights. Eventually they were ready - Paul was relieved to be in fresh, dry clothes - and they took to the Parisian streets.

Dawn was just beginning to break when they found themselves in a coin-operated photo booth in a touristy area. It was silly and overpriced, but John shoved Paul behind the curtain and giggled like a schoolboy when he put the coins into the slot. They leaned against each other, two young men with their whole lives in front of them, and relished the closeness.

Paul shifted from foot to foot, blowing on his hands, as they waited for the strip of pictures to emerge. When it did, John put on his glasses and inspected each frame.

"Oh, God, my HAIR!" whined Paul.

"I think you're dead gorgeous," was John's answer. He tore the bottom picture off and handed the rest to Paul. "Let's take this to Sylvie's, okay?"

Paul was a little embarrassed, given the state she'd last seen him in, but he agreed, and the two of them headed to the cafe. It wasn't open yet, but Paul dragged John around the back and tested the rear door. Sure enough, the latch was unlocked, so Paul lifted it and let John - and Debussy - into the kitchen. He took a pen off of the little table and wrote: "To Sylvie, from John Lennon and Paul McCartney, with our love" on the picture while John played with the cat.

Smiling, Paul tucked the photo into the handle of the refrigerator. "Ready?" he asked John.

John gave Debussy a tickle under the chin, then followed Paul back outside. They headed for the Champs-Élysées, where they used Paul's camera to take photos of each other at the Arc de Triomphe until the film ran out. Paul rewound it and was preparing to take the canister out of the back of the camera when a familiar man caught his attention. "Hey!" he said, nudging John. "I think that's Jurgen over there."

"Can't be," John said, handing Paul a fresh roll of film.

"You wouldn't recognize ME from that distance without your spectacles, son, so put 'em on and see if I'm right." Paul reloaded the camera while John grudgingly set his glasses on his nose.

"I'll be damned! I had no idea he'd be in Paris, did you?"

"None. Let's catch up to him." Paul pocketed the camera and reached for John's hand. "C'mon, Johnny - come and go with me!"

***

February, 1981

AIR Studio, Montserrat

It was definitely a scotch and Rodgers-and-Hammerstein kind of night.

Paul had resumed work on "Tug of War," and it was going both brilliantly and horribly at the same time. Brilliantly, because he was finally in a place where singing didn't make him want to curl up in a ball and weep, and horribly because everyone was being ridiculously kind to him all of the time.

He would have preferred that people tell him off when he was making a mistake, or have the gumption to say something like "No, I don't want to have dinner tonight because I've made other plans." Hell, he thought, he'd be happy if someone would just tell him a fucking joke.

But half of the world's most famous songwriting team was gone, no one wanted to tell Paul a joke, and the only thing he wanted to hear was music by some other team, one with a happier ending than his own. To that end, he had the soundtrack to "The King and I" on the turntable, and Gertrude Lawrence was beginning to sing.

Hello, young lovers, whoever you are, I hope your troubles are few. All my good wishes go with you tonight; I've been in love once, too.  

This might turn into a multiple-scotch night, Paul thought. He stood up, glass in hand, and went to the table where mail had been piled up, forwarded from the London offices by his staff.

Be brave, young lovers, and follow your star, Be brave and faithful and true. Cling very close to each other tonight, I've been in love like you.

Maybe Sondheim or Weill would have been a better choice. Demon barbers or Macks-with-knives would have caused less pain.

Paul tried to distract himself by faffing with a pile of fan mail. One airmail envelope, postmarked from Paris, caught his eye. It was stiffened with cardboard, indicating some kind of enclosure. Paul slit the envelope with his thumbnail and a small, yellowing photograph fluttered into his lap: Paul and John leaning against one another in a photo booth in Paris, twenty years ago.

I know how it feels to have wings on your heels And to fly down the street in a trance. You fly down a street on a chance that you'll meet, And you meet--not really by chance.

"Christ," Paul muttered, taking a long swallow of scotch. He picked the picture up carefully by the edges. Their inscription to Sylvie was slightly faded but still legible. He turned the stiff paper over and saw something written in fresh ink. The words, in spidery, feminine handwriting, were: "He loved you so, sheyn eyngel."

Don't cry, young lovers, whatever you do. Don't cry because I'm alone. All of my memories are happy tonight-- I've had a love of my own. I've had a love of my own, like yours. I've had a love of my own.  

Paul kissed the photo, the ghost of John's face cool and dry against his lips. Carefully, mindful of its fragility, Paul tucked the picture into his shirt pocket and raised his glass in a silent toast.

***

End

***

#Fic #McLennon fic #McLennon #sorry not sorry