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ohtobeleah · 1 year

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That video of Glen Powell playing with his nephew where he’s throwing him in the air. You CANT tell me after that Epilogue that Hangman wasn’t the fun uncle when he came to visit.

Are you talking about this one? Or even this one! Or this one because it’s my personal favourite. Special shout-out to @babyrooster thanks for the upload.

Because if those are any of the videos you’re talking about? Then yes. 100% Jake Seresin is always down 👏 to 👏 clown 👏 when it comes to your boys.

The Bradshaw resistance quickly becomes a home base for the rotating rag tag team of aviators you and Rooster saw as family. Jake Seresin and Robert Floyd being the two most frequent flyers. Always making time on whatever leave they had to visit, to catch up. To spend time with the boys who absolutely held their whole hearts. Nicholas and Thomas Bradshaw.

The two beautiful blonde haired, Heterochromia having ass ratbags. So much of their father and so much of you all at the same time. Some days you didn’t know how the tops of their little heads didn’t pop off.

“Oh your so having a girl—“ Hangman smirked from across the dinner table, Tom sitting on his lap as he played with his peas. “I just have a gut instinct.” Little Nick on yours as he drove his little toy plane over the small arch of your stomach. Already starting the show a heavy obsession with all things that could fly.

“My gut instinct tells me my husband has a weak pull out game.” Groaning, you took a sip of your water, five months along with your third child. “But yeah, it feels different this time, I haven’t been as sick.”

“Oof—“ Jake snickers as he bounced Tom on his knee. “You gonna let her talk about you like that Bradshaw—I wouldn’t take that if I were you.”

“And that’s why you’re ‘wife’ is half way across the world right now, Hangman.” Rooster whipped around from where he stood facing the sink in the the kitchen, his kiss the chef apron hugging his waist. Pointing a fork Hangman’s way. “My wife can talk to me and about me however she wants, I watched her birth my children man—free hall pass for life.” Rooster turned back to where he’d been cleaning the few bits and pieces after dinner. Jake couldn’t help but to laugh softly as he shook his head.

“Damn, I remember when you’re parents couldn’t even be in the same room without wanting to rip each other to pieces.” Cooing as he bounced Tom on his knee. The three year old giggling his infectious laugh as he tried to spoon his mushy peas into his mouth. Jake tickling his sides gently to keep the laughter going. “That’s right I know—your mama used to be so rude to uncle Jake, now look at her—such a big softy.”

“It’s called maturity.” Snapping back with a grin you moved Nick to your other knee. Jake gestured from across the table for you to hand him over, standing as you graciously accepted. He knew you were getting tired, he could see it in your eyes. The dark circles a little more prominent then usual.

“It’s called being lame, Chaos.” Carefully helping guide Nick down ad you placed him on Jakes other knee. Tom instantly sharing his mushy peas with his twin brother.

“Uh, you can’t call me that anyone—“ wiggling your finger. “I’m retired.”

“You’re always gonna be Chaos to me, you can’t not be! I have your god damn name tattooed on my body forever!” The small calligraphy Chaos that hid behind Jakes right ear would serve as a timeless reminder of the strength you showed, the determination that never wavered and the love you carried. Jakes drunken mind thought that having your call sign permanently tattooed would hopefully give him just an once of your courage.

“That’s your dumbass fault—“ Bradley chuckled as he made his way over, fully immersing himself into the conversation as he sat down at the table beside Hangman—sliding a cold beer his way.

“Much appreciated pops—“ Jake winked Roosters way, fatherhood really did suit him.

“Bet you didn’t think she’d discharge huh.”

“Still can’t believe you gave it up.” Holding your boys, the boys who melted his whole heart, Jake sent you a soft smile. He knew why you did what you did, he just couldn’t come to terms with it.

“Hey that’s what happens when I’m left to my own devices, they come with prices and vices and suddenly I end up in crisis and the next thing you know is I’m Ex Navy.” Your hands fell to your swollen stomach, your baby girl kicking you just as much as you kicked yourself sometimes for letting go of your career in favour of being a mum. You knew you could have done both, but something inside you told you that you needed to be around for the long haul. “Anyway, are you sure you’re good for tomorrow?”

“Absolutely don’t even stress.” Jake held your boys in his arms as Rooster stepped in to help Tom actual eat his peas and not just play with them. Spooning them up and into his mouth. “We’re gonna have a great day, just the bros hanging out, isn’t that right boys?”

“They’re like a year and a half man, they don’t talk very much.” Rooster beamed as he dabbed the mush around Toms mouth away. “But thanks for babysitting man, we really do appreciate it.” Whenever Jake was over, crashing in the spare room while stateside—he’d offer his baby sitting services. Especially now more then ever with a third on the way, some alone time without the boys probably came few and far between.

“It’s not a problem, honestly.” And it really wasn’t. If anything Jake actually enjoyed playing babysitter, a little more than he would have liked to admit. He had a reputation to uphold, but for your children he’d do anything. He’d always be there, and he always was.

Then next morning, Jake was up and about the house before the ass crack of dawn. His feet padding again hardwood flooring as he ran his hands through his hair. Yawning—in search of the fresh coffee Rooster had left in the pot after he’d been up with a restless Nick.

“Sleep well?” Rooster asked as he held Nick on his hip. The tot had cried himself back to sleep. The bottle of breastmilk Rooster had defrosted still sitting on the counters as Hangman poured his cup.

“God your kids have a mean set of lungs.” Turning to lean on the counter as he sighed. “Honestly at one point I thought for sure one of them was being sliced and diced.” Bradley just held his little boy in his arms. Rocking his hips side to side.

“Nicks been having some night terrors lately, not sure what’s causing it but Sarah said Chaos used to get them as a kid, guess it’s just hereditary?” Rooster cooed as he watched Jake frown, sipping his coffee like it was the elixir of life.

“Why do you get to call her that?”

“Call who what?”

“Y/n, you called her Chaos—“

“Oh, well yeah I guess it’s just gonna be a hard habit to break.” And it was. Rooster never stopped, no matter how many times you told him to. And Jake was no better.

“Now are you sure you’ll call if there’s any drama?” You asked as you packed a few extra diapers into the diaper bag. Rooster had his phone out recoding Jake as he threw little Tom into the air a few times before placing him on his hip. Reaching out for his glasses shortly after he settled in on uncle Jakes hip. “Because we’re not going too far, just to the day spa about twenty minutes away.”

“Choas—I promise you’re children are safe with me. We’ll be fine.”

“Okay—“

“I mean I’m hoping that the straps on the super hornets go a little tighter but—“ Slapping his chest with the back of your hand, a thud rang loud. Jake beamed your way as he brought you in for a side hug. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding—F-14 Tomcat?”

“It’s not funny!” Mumbling into Jakes side as you handed your twins over for the day. “They won’t be as dumb as us.” Rooster had to hold back his laughter, he knew there was no way his sons wouldn’t follow in his footsteps. He’d followed his dad and so had you, what would change the tradition.

“Well, regardless—we’re gonna have a great day.” Jake leaned over to pick the strap of the dipper bag up. Throwing it over his shoulder as he scooped up Nick—both tots on his hips respectfully. “Because I’m determined to be a the cool uncle.”

****~****~****~****~****~****~****~****~****~****

Read The Chaos Series Here

Tags: @lyannaredbird @luckyladycreator2 @skagelynn @teacupdreams @the-winter-marvel33reblogs @mrsjaderogers @katieshook02 @thescarletknight2014 @justanothermagicalsara @4ngelicb4byy @percysaidnever @puriini @luckylexie @is-this-a-febreze-commercial @shrimping-for-all @fayethefairy @lonelywitchv2 @mizzzpink @unforgettwble @callmemana @lemoonandlestars @mulletmcghee @redqueeen99 @bucky-barmes @mak-32 @fivsecondsflat @loveless-simp @bradleysgirl @mintellaine @hannabritta @nemtodd-barnes1923 @bradleysgirl @xoxabs88xox @baju69 @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @shanimallina87 @abaker74

#chaos // bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x female reader #rooster bradshaw imagine #top gun bradley bradshaw #jake seresin imagine #jake hangman x reader #top gun hangman

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antebunny · 11 months

Text

God is on the loose

I: find God in heathen beauty

It is a lovely day in the village. A mild yellow sun glows in the gentle blue heavens. Wild begonias and goose droppings follow your path out of the woods and its overcrowded glens and into the airy and beige town. A blacksmithery belches up thick gray smog, its roof low and sagging. You skirt around it the long way, avoiding the main (and only) road. Hard, packed dirt and loose dust stick to the bottom of your damp feet.

It is a lovely day in the village, but there is one unacceptable problem: you are bored. So you are here looking for some entertainment. As your mother always said: life is about the simple joys. Where to first? A farmer’s shed, inside which the farmer’s daughter spins hay for the twelfth consecutive hour? Eh. Boring. Seen it a million times. And hay makes you itchy. The local tavern, where the innkeeper’s boy balances twelve drinks on an old tray while an unhealthily large midday crowd demands more? Oh no. You know your limits. Where, then, are simple delights to be found in this small town at the foot of the great forests?

A bright flash gets your long neck swinging around for its source. There, down the path: a broad-shouldered man with a sure-footed stride, his clothes the color of straw. From his belt dangles a shiny gold object. Option one: steal the shiny thing. Option two: leave the man alone and seek other sources of joy.

Oh, who are you kidding? Peace was never an option. Option one it is. You creep up behind him on silent, bright orange feet. His shiny gold thing, smaller and thinner than you expected, flashes in the face of the sun. A key? Well, it doesn’t matter. Carefully timing your footsteps with his, you extend your neck and…

“What the–? Hey!” The man spins around, but you’ve already flapped backwards, out of his reach.

Honking obnoxiously, key held firmly in your mouth, you take to the rooftops. Their triangular shapes dip you out of sight. Let him chase the wind. Thoroughly satisfied, you circle around the town in search of more excitement. You cross from one happy, thatched roof to the next. The people passing by on the paths below don’t look up. They never do.

You wander to the edge of the village, where an adorable two-room cottage straddles the gap between forest and town. The sturdy, wooden-log walls, built with love, hold the roof high over its residents’ heads. An odd assortment of flowers explode from a box in the cottage’s one window.

The place reeks of death. Ground squirrels and rabbits, beaver pelts and traps. A single wolf head mounted over the table. It’s a hunter’s house. An unnatural metallic smell originates from the tips of the arrows lying on the table, fletched with white feathers from swans or geese–

Options one, two, and three: trash this hunter’s home.

You swagger through the front door, full of misplaced confidence, and immediately encounter a woman thoroughly scrubbing a pot of beans. She looks down at you. You look up at her, key hidden in your beak. She blinks. Her hair is the color of night and her eyes are pinkish red, like roses, only brighter. Now you’re no human expert, but that’s not right, is it?

“Don’t tell me,” you say, words garbled by the metal in your mouth, “you’re a swan maiden?”

Hands over mouth, eyes widened, like humans do in surprise. Very human-like, except for the bright red irises blinking at you. “How did you know?”

“Call it a lucky guess,” you suggest. “So, what’s your story? Wait, let me guess: you decided to leave the comforts of heaven and while bathing a hunter stole your feather cloak and now you’re stuck here.”

“Yes!” She cries. “For so long I have withered in this accursed human abode, the seasons have lost their meaning and I fear I have forgotten how to fly–”

“Alright, lady, alright.” A few flaps of your wings, and you land sloppily on the table. No one’s ever accused you of possessing expert flying skills. You waddle to the edge so you can converse with the swan maiden eye to eye, bird to bird. “Look, this hunter–does he have shoulders and, uh, two feet?” Wait, most humans have those things, don’t they? “Does he happen to be wearing a straw-colored shirt today?”

The swan maiden doesn’t blink, but she tilts her head, bird-like, unsure.

“I see I’ve eliminated no men.” You drop the key at her feet. “Recognize this?”

“That’s it! It’s his!” The unholy shriek that emerges from her throat could only be made by a bird. But her squat, knees jutting to the sky, fingers scrabbling for the key, is very human, you think. “How did you…? Oh, I never thought–”

“Uh-huh, let’s not waste time lady, do you know where he keeps your feather cloak?”

“Yes, of course.” The swan maiden squeezes the key so tightly her whole arm shakes. “Oceans I have wept over it, attempting in vain to open–” She dashes off.

You take a minute to knock every arrow off the table before flapping after her. The swan maiden kneels by a chest in the corner of the bedroom. Shoulders shaking, fingers fumbling–she drops the key four times, swearing continuously.

“Why are all my arrows on the floor?” Boots scuffing on wooden planks. The whole house rattles when the door slams shut. He’s home.

Hunters terrify you, but swans are annoying, the clear greater of two evils. You helped the swan maiden anyway, and now you’re stuck in a hunter’s home with a swan, both annoyed and terrified. The universe is laughing at you.

The lock clicks. Quiet creaking bellows through both rooms like a thunderclap when the swan maiden lifts the old wooden lid. Inside, something soft and white shines.

“What are you doing?” The hunter, frozen in the doorframe, a fistful of arrows in one hand and a new longbow in the other.

The swan maiden mirrors him in stillness. His gold key slips from her fingers and clatters loudly to the floorboards. Her unceasing eye contact with the hunter is so deeply human that you wonder if there’s something you’re missing about this swan maiden’s story.

You hop onto the rim of the chest. Your long neck bows and bends so you can seize the feather cloak with your beak. “Put it on, idiot!” You hiss.

Webbed feet slip easily on thin wooden rims. You topple backwards into the chest, squawking all the way down. Finally, the hunter notices the water fowl in his bedroom, and his face twists in one of those human expressions that say everything, but only through mazes of lies, and he shouts something unintelligible while you beat your wings ineffectively against layer after layer of soft white feathers, and the swan maiden screams no or maybe don’t and–

II: stumble upon God unaware

Water so clear and blue it could easily be the sky. Sweet reeds and muddy undertones, wafting in between the shallow areas. Pink lotuses and poppy seed. Tufts of white fog, like mist, only denser, peek through the water’s surface.

You splash around in this picturesque pond, the swan maiden’s feather cloak pinning your wings to your sides. You poke your beak at the perfectly clear sky, twisting your neck this way and that. Muddy ponds, mangroves, and lush aquatic plants as far as your eyes can see. Pristine and undisturbed. You quack once, defiant and disgruntled by the beauty of it all.

“Greetings, new arrival!” A large white trumpeter swan glides across the pond. “Welcome to heaven, where the ponds mirror the sky and the vegetation always flourishes. You shall never fear the hunters or the wolves again.”

You tramp out of the pond and settle in the reeds, with the soggy feather cloak settling over you like a blanket. “This is…swan heaven.”

“What else?” The trumpeter swan does not follow you out of the water, instead maintaining a dignified distance. One glossy white wing lifts regally, indicating all of swan heaven. “Here, every swan shall relax in the thousands of ponds we call home. Here, every swan shall find joy until the end of infinity. Here–”

“You know, eternal happiness sounds great and all,” you interrupt, “but I am a goose.”

The wing lowers unceremoniously. The trumpeter swan paddles a bit closer to inspect you. “So you are.”

Underneath the swan feather cloak are two wings, somehow both brown and white in color. Sticking out is a neck that is neither long and elegant like a swan nor short and stubby like a duck. For you are a goose.

“There must be some mistake,” you explain. “See, this is a swan maiden’s feather cloak that I was trying to return to its owner–I didn’t mean to put it on. But I did and clearly I was recognized as a swan and sent here. So.”

The swan skillfully utilizes all that excess neck length to loom over you. “We do not make mistakes.” The neck retracts into its usual slender S-shape. “But please do return it.”

“Uh-huh. That’s what I thought.” You begin the arduous process of shrugging the cloak off your wings. Funny that just putting on a heavenly swan’s cloak will send a goose to heaven. “By the way, does anything happen when I take it off?”

“Yes, of course, you silly goose.” The swan seizes a mouthful of cloak in order to tug it off you. So it is in a comically muffled voice that the swan proclaims: “You will be sent to goose hell.”

Then the swan tugs two more times, but fruitlessly, for you have frozen with your own beak gripping the cloak tightly. One desperate yank frees the cloak from the swan’s grip.

“What!” You squawk, hastily wrapping the cloak snug around your wings again. “Why!? I’m not dead!”

“It’s for your own good,” the swan says patronizingly, and beckons you over with graceful flicks of that long swan neck. “Now give it here.”

“No!” You wiggle away through the reeds at full speed, trampling the delicate grass underfoot. You scan heaven’s horizon for hiding spots. The mangroves, the reedy marches, or the open lake?

“You’ll get there eventually!” The swan lives up to the “trumpeter” title, but does not condescend to chase after you. “There’s nowhere for a goose to hide in swan heaven!”

When this argument fails to persuade you, the swan lifts off the glassy pond surface, flies smooth circles around the water, and trumpets for the whole of heaven to hear: “There is a goose with a swan’s heavenly cloak! Someone get the cloak! Someone stop that goose!”

You disappear into the mangroves, where the trees tear feathers from the cloak and the insects flee in terror. Blooming life and sinking rot swamp your senses. Sunlight trickles through the interlocking leaf canopy by teaspoons. But the swan calls follow you deep into the twisting roots and branches. Warning: there is a goose loose in swan heaven! No one knows where the goose is going. No one knows what the goose will do–least of all the goose!

III: our righteous fears

Now what? The entire population of swan heaven is hunting you, and you are trapped in here, lost somewhere in the heavenly mangroves. All because you decided to meddle ere’the business of some idiot swan maiden. So what now? You have no idea how to get back home, and you can’t ask a resident swan for fear they’ll take the heavenly cloak from you. You can’t just waddle out of swan heaven, presumably. That wouldn’t be very heavenly of it. Actually, why presume? Might as well discover the geography of swan heaven yourself. Perhaps this is a way out.

A faint rumble, some kind of shush-shush-shush, like running water over rocks, creeps into your hearing range. You take off in pursuit of its source. Perhaps this is a way out.

You splash through tiny pools, mud splattering up your skinny construction orange legs. Greedy roots grow thick as branches. Your body barely squeezes through the gaps left by the skinny tree trunks. You fear the trees ripping the cloak free with every passing branch.

What would goose hell even look like? An endless desert? A world full of hunters? Well, you wouldn’t fear the hunters after going to hell. So perhaps not.

A while later, the mangroves curl to a stop, leaves draping over the treetops to make way for a small clearwater pond. A family of swans circling its center watch you crash through the trees, nonplussed. Their non-reaction encourages you to wade into their little pond.

The smallest swan of the bunch swims up to you the way one might approach a curious new specimen. “You are an ugly swan.”

How rude! How disrespectful! Really, swans have got to raise their children better. You peck the cygnet on the head. “Not as ugly as you.”

While the little swan prepares an indignant retort, some striking familiarities tickle the back of your mind. All of these swans have black feathers, red beaks, and pinkish red eyes like roses, only meaner.

“By any chance, have you recently lost a family member to an ill-advised earthly excursion?”

No, say the swan family’s body language, and also who is this weird ugly swan?

“She has red eyes and a voice,” you add helpfully.

“Oh, so we did,” one of the larger swans recalls. A proper ruffling of feathers later and they all start swimming away from you. “Whatever became of her?” The swan muses to the others.

“Well–she’s trapped as a human!” You paddle furiously after them. “Hey! Aren’t you concerned? Aren’t you going to get her back?”

Perhaps you shouldn’t ask that so loudly when the solution is currently draped around you, but outrage gets the better of you.

“Good heavens! What barbarous ideas the younger generations come up with!” Another large swan with a cherry-colored beak clucks condescendingly at you. “No, we certainly shall not be leaving heaven. Good day to you.”

But you don’t find it to be a good day, and you aren’t inclined to say goodbye just yet. You chase after this indifferent family and get in their way. “How did you forget her? Why can’t you leave?”

“They’re way too scared to do that,” one of the cygnets says unexpectedly. “I mean, infinite happiness is too much to lose, right?”

“Is this infinite happiness, then?”

“Yes,” the cherry-beaked swan quacks decisively, covering the cygnets with one outstretched wing. “Let us leave,” the large swan instructs them.

“Hey!” You slide around their little flock, attempting to find the cygnet who called you ugly. “You know it’s not so much better here than earth, right?” Finally, you find the right cygnet, with the correct ratio of light gray fluffiness to puny size. You stick your beak through the large swans and their tight formation to get right up in the cygnet’s face. “Aren’t you curious why your sister left?”

The large swans yank the cygnet out of the pond and away from you with their beaks. They swing their heads toward prettier sights, winging around you on all sides. Their webbed feet kicking at you is the only response you receive. But the fluffy gray cygnet looks back, just once, before all the cygnets disappear behind a wall of black feathers.

“Unbelievable,” you honk at their retreating tails.

Well, it’s like your mother always said: some people just can’t see the pond for the reeds. You give up and return to swimming after the sound of rushing water. “If you’re so busy being afraid of leaving heaven,” you mutter to yourself, “then it’s not really heaven, is it?”

A little creek leads out of the swan family’s pond in the direction of running water, so you head that way mindlessly. Freshwater runs your feet clean. They dry quickly on the half-submerged, warm river stones.

You tuck the heavenly cloak into every crevice your beak can reach, lining up swan feather with goose feather. You’re not going to end up in goose hell just because this stupid swan maiden cloak fell off. If you are to go to hell, then it will be in glory, with grace, with a honking that puts the hunters’ war horns to shame; a bang, not a whimper, not quietly unnoticed, and certainly not by accident.

With the swan cloak tucked as tightly as goosely possible, you slide into the river and allow the busybody currents to carry you downstream. A little bit of webbed-foot action for steering is all the effort you exert as the glorious spring green sights of swan heaven sweep by. Shrubbery and woody trees clear space for the creek to crash forth. Another creek feeds into your creek, which soon merges with another, then another. Soon all the waters of swan heaven swirl into a roaring river, wider than a fully-grown evergreen is tall.

You squelch your way up a large, pointy and gray river stone, splashing a great deal of water about in order to free yourself from the river’s all-consuming current. Webbed feet plastered to the damp, smooth slope, body nestled against the top for balance; a semi-uncomfortable viewpoint of the river’s mouth. It is from this view that you see the waterfall running over the edge of heaven.

IV: reflect God’s face

Despite your half-formed hopes, you never believed swan heaven had a limit. Yet here it is: a bellowing waterfall, crashing over moon-white rocks and the fluffy indication of clouds into the cheerful blue void below. The roaring culmination of heaven’s mighty river.

Beyond the waterfall lies the whole world, spread like a painting on an easel. Cumulus clouds drifting like flocks of sheep. The waterfall disappears into their misty white mysteries. Their swiftly-moving shapes part briefly, and in that celestial window shines snow-covered mountain tops. Perhaps you should’ve guessed that heaven rests on the tops of clouds, because its location seems so stupidly obvious now. Of course it’s in the sky. Where else?

If only you could appreciate all this natural splendor. But scattered around the river’s mouth, on wet stones and rough rocks, stands a council of swan elders. All shapes and colors and sizes, but even the smallest is twice your size. Silent and watching as you spelunk through their majestic, beautiful river, but unlike the swan maiden’s family, their impassiveness does not soothe you. Still, they can pry the nonchalance out of your cold, dead feathers.

“Hello, my fellow…feathery friends!” You call. “New arrival here. I don’t suppose you can tell me where the new swans get to live?”

The largest amongst them, a terrifying whitish brown swan monopolizing the smoothest white river stone, inclines a neck as long as you in a distanced version of condescension. “You are not a swan.”

You flap your wings in mock outrage. “Whaaat? How could you…yeah okay, I’m a goose. So what?”

“Return the swan feather cloak you are wearing,” a black-necked swan commands. “It belongs to a heavenly swan.” Not a horrid goose, remains only implied.

“Listen, I would love to.” You demonstrate this enthusiasm by flying closer to the black-necked swan, choosing a little rock just outside of wing range as your landing place. “But. But! I’ve been told that taking it off will send me straight to hell and that just doesn’t seem very fair when I haven’t even died. And between you and me, her family doesn’t seem too keen on getting her back. Honestly, I think swan heaven ought to raise its standards. You’re letting in some real mid-tier riff-raff.”

This passionate speech moves nothing but water. The river’s gushing is your only applause. But if you thought appealing to swans’ empathetic natures stood a chance of success, you would’ve tried it already. And let’s be real, you’re not truly trying.

A very fluffy and very, very large tundra swan chooses to break the silence. “You are dead.”

Shush shush, the river warns.

You wobble on your little rock. “Huh? No. No. I’m not dead. Definitely not. I’d know.”

“Apparently not.” A black swan infuses so much dryness into those two words you can’t believe you’re all standing over a river.

A giant whooper swan flaps both wings once without taking off. The generated wind washes over the river, and with it an image ripples on the water’s mercurial surface: you in the hunter’s home. Squirming in the oak chest. The hunter, frozen in the doorway, but not for long enough. He drops all of his arrows, save for one which he strings expertly. Draws his bow, with that lightning quick, stone-cold certainty only hunters have, and the swan maiden howls at him to stop, but he ignores her and the swan feathers blind you and you twist and twist and the arrow flies–

White foam wipes the memory away. No swan speaks up. I warned you, whispers the river. But not until this moment do you feel it: the arrow cleaving you in two. A blazing trail of fire smashing through organs and muscles and bones. Death’s teeth sinking in, gnawing, carving you open at long last.

“You are already in hell,” the whooper swan states.

This is hell. Goose hell. Goose hell is swan heaven. Another obvious observation you should’ve made except that you, it turns out, are one stupid goose.

“But it’s not that bad here,” you croak.

The swans offer you looks of disdain and pity that says pathetic.

“Then you will not mind returning the heavenly cloak,” a trumpeter swan concludes.

Again with the stupid swan cloak. Why do they care so much when her own family can’t be bothered? This one is obvious, even to you: they don’t give a damn about the swan maiden or her feather cloak. They don’t care about anything at all so long as their heaven remains goose-free. That’s what lies at the end of infinity: total apathy. Because this is about you. Disrupting their perfect apathy, threatening their smug intolerance. Terrorizing heaven and the swans who call it home.

Oh, you’ll show them true terror if it kills you. A terrible, no-good, absolutely idiotic plan springs into your head. It’s too stupid to be believed. But you haven’t got any other ideas.

You, apparently possessing no significant intelligence, fly from rock to rock, passing within wing range of the enormous swan elders. Their necks crane to track your movements, but no one moves a feather. Why should they? You’re completely surrounded by swans.

Finally, you finagle a spot on the smooth white stone with the terrifying whitish brown swan, who looms even larger and scarier up close. Unnerving by those soulless black eyes and frightening by design. Still, the swans wait. You’ll hand over the cloak yourself now that you understand the futility of your struggle. Right?

“I understand what this place is now,” you say.

“Oh, do you?” The whitish brown swan says scornfully, and indicates with graceful motions made possible by that long white neck that every swan should listen. “Everyone, the goose has got a name for heaven. Well, tell us then. What is it?”

You ruffle your small wings that are neither properly white nor properly brown, and crane your short neck until it is almost as long as the swans’ elegant, bowing necks. And you do not smile, for geese cannot, but answer in a terrible, thunderous voice that will topple tyrants from their thrones:

“A JOKE.”

Then you bite the terrifying swan on the neck, as hard as you can, and spring into the air with the panicked spontaneity only a goose can muster. You yank that swan’s neck as you go, tearing feathers loose and chomping through skin. The swan unleashes a wild squawk, and outraged honks from all of the swans follow, as all are forced into action by your sudden, foolish behavior.

“You horrid creature!” The swan shrieks. Rose red blood spills onto cloud white feathers. “Stop the goose! Stop the goose!”

The swans take to the air by the dozens, but not gracefully like you expected, and not rushing you all at once. Waiting and waiting and waiting for someone else to go first. Cawing, flapping those glossy wings aimlessly, unsettled and enraged. Ancient swan fury versus one goose’s haphazard plan to catch dozens of swans by surprise and wing it the rest of the way.

You got the first move and you don’t waste it. Every flap of your wings thrusts you away from the swans, towards the edge of heaven, to the endless sky, the endless fall. A beak grasps your foot, teeth sinking in, gnawing when you snap around, wings battering the swan’s head, feet kicking. The swan’s grip slips, tearing your webbed foot in the process, but no pain registers.

You fly faster than you have in your life, like your life depends on it–because it’s obvious, isn’t it? That it does–and your flight swoops you past the water mill, over their heavenly waterfall where the swans do not dare follow. The line in the stones that they do not dare cross, painted clearer than snow in sunlight by where their webbed feet stop. Hissing and honking up a storm, but their kwak kwaks are drowned out fully by the plangent song of the falls.

Your flying stops when they stop. Your wings wrap around the swan maiden’s salvation, hold it close to your body, and you plunge, pelted by waterfall spray, honking victoriously, tumbling out of heaven like an autumn leaf in the dizzying, endless blue, saying goodbye to the clouds by the path you tear through them, and the fall steals your breath, but you pray, at least you’ll go out in glory, you’ll die but you’ll do it gloriously, and second chance, please, reincarnate?, can’t die twice, hope, and heavens, happy, horror, lovely, liar, fury, fire, poppy, prayer, splendor, slayer, wonder, wearer, thunder, terror–

V: God has slipped the noose

Sweet petrichor and early spring sprouts. Dawn, dusty orange and boiling red. A murderous horizon birthing a fresh day of sunlit glades and fireside stories. Wild begonias bless the parched ground and the forgotten corners of the world, where life meets decay. Roses bloom in the window of the tiny two-room cottage by the woods. Inside lives a mysterious woman with hair the color of ash and eyes of fire. Sometimes, she leaves sedges and seeds out for the local wild goose. Sometimes the villagers see her squatting, speaking and laughing as if she and the goose are holding an actual conversation. But no one questions it, and no one speaks ill of her inhuman eyes either. She’s brought near-daily rains to the town, proper spring showers that ended their drought, ever since the hunter disappeared.

In the village, a baker sharpens an old knife in the treacherous morning light. Your attention is stolen not by the baker’s small selection of sweet breads, but by the bird carving in the shop. It’s shiny. You simply must have it. This combination–human and knife–ought to be lethal for every sort of water fowl, but that won’t stop you from finding out for yourself. You don’t yet know your limits.

A glorious golden sun glows in the wide blue heavens as you saunter, full of decently-placed confidence, down the only road in town. Today, in your expert opinion, is a rather fine day. Life is good, but it’s about to get better.

It is a lovely day in the village and you are a horrible goose.

NOTES

The title and subtitles all come from “Most Wanted” by Mohja Kahf

The first and last line come from the Untitled Goose Game, as well as “peace was never an option.”

Inspiration for this comes from the swan maiden fairytale which I briefly mentioned on page 1. There’s a version in many cultures, but basically the swan maiden/heavenly maiden comes down from heaven (usually with her sisters) to bathe in a pond. While bathing the local hunter/woodsman/just some guy steals her feather cloak/heavenly robes and won’t give it back when asked. They get married and have kids. Sometimes she finds the cloak and yeets back to heaven with the kids.

#my writing #writing #fairytale #fairytales #my art #writeblr #creative writing #writing prompts #4.7k #untitled goose game #swan maiden

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oldshowbiz · 1 year

Photo

Vancouver Coroner Glen McDonald recalled when Errol Flynn died in his city:

"I was about to leave [the] office when the telephone rang ... It was the dispatcher from Metropolitan Ambulance ... 'Mac, we've got a beauty for you.’

“The Vancouver City Police report ... managed to spell the celluloid hero's name wrong ... The news media and everyone else were on the phone ... The calls were fast and furious by now ... Even the night janitor was talking to The New York Times ...

“His face was sallow and a bit puffy and he looked an awful lot older than fifty years. He looked worn out, wasted ... The autopsy concluded that the death was due to ‘myocardial infarction, coronary thrombosis, coronary atherosclerosis, fatty degeneration of the liver, portal cirrhosis of the liver and diverticulosis of the colon.’

“The belongings found on his person were itemized and bagged: eighty dollars, a credit card, cigarette lighter, a ring and a gold watch that was monogrammed.

"An observation that [Chief Pathologist] Dr. Tom Harmon made startled me. It concerned a number of VD warts on the end of Flynn's penis. Tom seemed fascinated. 'Well, Tom,' I said, 'They may be of clinical interest to you as a medical man, but there's going to be another autopsy done down in Los Angeles. I really don't think these warts are material to the case. Unless you disagree.'

“Perhaps not,’ he said, ‘But, look, I'm going to be lecturing at the Institute of Pathology and I just thought it might be of interest if I could remove these things and fix them in formaldehyde and use them as a visual aid.'

“No way!' I said. 'We're not going to do that. I don't want anything done that isn't relevant to the case because we're really in the limelight tonight. We're on the hot seat. How can we send Mr. Flynn back to his wife with part of his bloody endowment missing?'

“So I insisted on absolutely no change or variation of routine procedures ... I left Doc Harmon and Errol Flynn alone in the autopsy room ... the telephones were still ringing like mad ... The night janitor had become an expert of evading questions ... Doc Harmon strolled casually into my office, 'Well, I've finished,' he said.

“Tom and I went back to the autopsy room and the first thing I noticed was that the VD warts had gone - vanished from the end of Mr. Flynn's penis. Then I spotted a jar of formaldehyde on a shelf that looked suspiciously like it might contain VD warts. It did. Oh, God! Tom had gone and done it.

“I sighed and asked the Doc, 'Did you have to remove those bloody warts ... Did Errol Flynn expire because he had warts on his dong?' Tom looked sheepish but we were both laughing at the utter silliness of the whole thing.

“Put them back,' I said, 'Right now!' Maybe the Doc had never seen warts of that enormity. Maybe he wanted a souvenir. I never did figure out why the temptation had been too great ... So the bloody warts were fished out of the formaldehyde jar and, using the good offices of scotch tape, Doc Harmon and I stuck them back where they belonged.”

#hollywood babylon #errol flynn #british columbia #Vancouver

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coraphoenix · 1 year

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ik everybody was like "oml simping for rooster/bob/hangman/coyote/insert man here" but like... can we give big ups to monica barbaro for clearly playing someone who is definitely different to herself in very key ways, most noticeably in physicality? the way phoenix walks and sits and holds herself feels very specific to phoenix/natasha trace, and that is so cool! of! her!

(also apparently she was a badass in the backseat and never got too nauseous, which, also cool)

YES! YES! YES! Anon, I hope you're ready for me to ramble a bit. I first watched TGM in early June, and Phoenix was one of the first characters that stayed with me after I had left the cinema. I wasn't sure what it was at first, but as someone in the writing industry, I took that as my excuse to go back and rewatch the movie and analyze it. That's another path I won't go down for now.

But Phoenix as a character, from my perspective as an audience member, was great! When I first began to really think on why I liked her, I realized that she wasn't annoying. "What do you mean by that, Raven?" you ask. Well, a lot of films and TV series try so hard to be "empowering" and "feminist" that they often end up doing the exact opposite by absolutely annoying the audience and making the female character way too arrogant and flashy. Phoenix was as much a part of the group as all the others. In that bar scene, which is impeccable from a writing point of view by the way because of how it introduces 7 people in a couple of minutes, the positioning of the characters and their dialogue immediately makes us pick up on certain things subconsciously. For instance, Phoenix walks in with Fanboy and Payback walking ever so slightly behind her. It's a quiet nod to her as the "leader" of their little friend group and also tells us more about Payback and Fanboy. When Hangman baits her within a second of seeing her, she's annoyed yes, but also a little amused, which makes us think, "Oh, she's confident. She's got her shit together even in the face of someone as cocky as Hangman." She's smart and doesn't underestimate Maverick, which Monica speaks about in this interview. Phoenix establishes herself as capable in our minds, and when she tells Rooster, "I'm going on this mission," we're not thinking pfft. Right! Instead, we're accepting it as a very probable outcome because she's shown that she's fit for the mission. Her immediate appraisal of Bob at the bar is another great indicator of her character, going back to her not underestimating anyone. While everyone is amused by his callsign and maybe making fun of him for it a little, she finds a way to include him while also challenging him, almost like she's saying Do you have what it takes? Show me.

Now onto Monica, I will never shut up about what a great job she did with Phoenix! As you said anon, one of the most noticeable things is the physicality. The way Phoenix walks and stands (which @autumntouched has also mentioned) serve to further characterize her and make our minds subconsciously form a certain opinion of her. Again I could talk about this for hours, but I don't want to bore you all. I've watched so many interviews that had me in awe of Monica tbh. All of the cast and some of the people who have worked with them on the film have attested to how well she handled the G's. Glen often mentions how she was practically surpassing them all with the flight stuff and that he had trouble keeping up with her. Honestly, I'm in awe of her even as a ballet dancer because that takes so much effort and practice. So yeah, I'm in absolute awe of Monica, and I can't imagine anyone else better suited for the role of Phoenix. Her dedication to the role and understanding of its impact is so beautiful, and I think that is a big part of why a lot of us love Phoenix. Monica also mentions how Phoenix is a pilot that happens to be female, and that's why she's playing her. There aren't things that set her apart in terms of skills etc. in the film!

Okay, that's it for now!

#raven rambles #anon asks #natasha phoenix trace #natasha trace #monica barbaro

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sloshed-cinema · 7 months

Text

They Cloned Tyrone (2023)

I will from here on out be referring to milquetoast, boring things as “missionary position shit.” Life for Tyrone is a repetitive cycle: drop by the liquor store for a 40 and a scratcher, dispense some of it to the old man panhandling out front, get shot and killed, wake up again. Oh, wait. Something is amiss here. Very quickly an element of high strangeness begins to become apparent in the otherwise ordinary daily goings-on for Tyrone, and even more quickly that high strangeness becomes the rule rather than the exception. Every element of life is about control and conformity, from songs played on the radio to the tasty fried chicken that everyone enjoys. All of these tools of control inflicted on an unwitting population. But it’s more diabolical than that: present too in this strange experiment are things that the victim does to themselves. Hair products—a way women can modify herself to conform to some sort of beauty standard set by society, or by an outside influence—contain this same formula intended to pacify and suppress. That’s the ultimate cruelty at the core of the strange, mysterious organization hidden underneath the Glen. This is a sort of Black self-annihilation, Fontaine prime determining that the only way he can secure a peaceful future is to literally whitewash Black folks, to wipe away and deny that identity and push forward with missionary position homogeneity because he thinks that only through sameness can violence be quelled. It’s short-sighted and sad, but there’s hope for a new path forward in the close as Tyrone, Slick, and Yo-Yo embark on a nationwide push for a new emancipation as they expose and destroy every outpost of this nefarious organization.

But how is this conspiracy discovered and unmasked? The world of They Cloned Tyrone is a glorious pastiche of Blaxploitation flicks, the Glen seemingly suspended in time somewhere between 2010 and 1970. It’s pimps and hos and gangsters as far as the eye can see. Jamie Foxx is gloriously smooth as Slick, always in control of the situation whether he’s arguing with Tyrone over a deal or rallying the neighborhood to exact justice from the organization. Teyonah Parris’ Yo-yo is canny and credulous, aspiring to be like her idol Nancy Drew and oftentimes the only sane mind in the room. They are classic 70s Blaxploitation pimp and prostitute to a T in their mannerisms and wardrobe—squared off manicures and gloriously excessive statement coats are the rule—but the film begins to pick away at these stereotypes, to use them in its own design. How do they discover the nature of the substance being used to subdue the population? Well, it looks an awful lot like cocaine, so of course Slick has to sample the product. How does Yo-yo fake out her captors? With a natural hair wig concealing her own. The film allows elements of what Old Tyrone is trying to suppress to flourish in a space where the only white folks around are some goofy scientists on motorized scooters and an irrelevant at best Kiefer Sutherland.

THE RULES

SIP

Someone says 'Fontaine'.

Anyone takes a pull from a 40 or a Capri Sun.

Nancy Drew is mentioned.

Fierce self-fanning.

General pop culture reference.

BIG DRINK

Fontaine benches.

YOU LOSE lottery ticket.

Secret elevator reveal!

Juice talk.

#drinking games #they cloned tyrone #john boyega #teyonah parris #jamie foxx #juel taylor #action #action & adventure #crime #comedy #blaxploitation

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tammyfeabakker · 1 year

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Looking for another job... of course life will fuck me like always... I swear this family is cursed.. no matter how much we give. Life takes never gives us a break. On the romance front my chart must of been a couple degrees out of whack.. I can't run out of sight out mind can't apply here. In my beautiful world that surrounds me... I have to take the punches again. I have plants a garden now. I'm being watched by my soul mate stops by for quick conversation... thats bout it. Ran into him at dollar general in the parking lot he called me stubborn... I cracked the fuck up pffffffft I'm so easy going. Learned along time ago people don't think alike if it makes them happy I'm happy. I'm laid back whatever makes you happy I'm happy. Stubborn now if he going to assume shit like that. Last week his ex again problem... I said get the fuck over it!!! Shes ugly. I did i said it inside and out ugly. I didn't include fat.. he closed his eyes... I said she's to ugly to be looking for a meal ticket... started talking bout the universe and how it bought Glen his mechanic into his life looking at me like I'm suppose to say did it bring me because it sure as hell bought you!!! I didn't. Then he told me go home your the second to sour my morning.. I said fuck you you soured your own morning... I walk my ass down here brightens your fucking day who the fuck you kidding bitch. In a quiet voice he said you do. His shop is attached to my back yard!!! Thanks fucking life!! I had no intentions to find a man. I just wanted some peace of mind. They say if your miserable do something I did I ripped apart my life tore it up. Took a chance and wtf. Going to tend to yard is now a torture. He watches me all the time. He has told me too. I go out that garage door goes up. He said can't wait for the pool to open. I'm like geat voyeurism... happy to watch but doesn't do shit. I can't I don't want him to think I'm looking for a meal ticket or jus say wtf!!! Jus ask me the fuck out you put more into breaking up with your ex then your future. I did tell him he is so cute witty sweet ect. I put it out there. Lemme see your attracted to me I have what your looking for and he fucking knows it! But nothing but watching its very uncomfortable.. I'm trying to over it. I have been avoiding him as much as I can. Its really hard since he is there 7 days a week 12 hours a day!!! Thanks life now what?!!! I know things can be worse i know this. But I'm trying to combat depression and did im suppose to do fucking fight fight for me to save my fucking beautiful soul!!! But no oh let's throw the guy I never had intentions for a relationship in the fucking first place!!! In my face thats in my lifes path!!! And jus lemme rot well I say 🖕🖕 you and him and everything else like the job applied for perfect for me I have the experience close to home!!! Nooooo its the only job I actually applied for that lifted my spirits but there's to many applications put in the first time I seen that!!!

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daenystheedreamer · 1 year

Note

least favourite ships 👀

oh baby you got a BIGGER storm coming 😈

just wanna make clear if any of my beautiful wonderful sexy followers ship any of these: i am mostly joking, i dont care, do what you want, the fun of fandom is getting to play in the sandpit. but in this post i will be kicking your sandcastles over.

also im speaking ENTIRELY about ship and fandom. i can think daemon and rhaenyra or sansa and sandor are interesting textually while also thinking its fucking gross and you guys are weird. anyways!

JONSA&JONRYA: thats his sister!!!!!!!!!! i cant even. that his SISTER!!! eugh. jon is so boring(joking) why do all the ship wars gravitate around him

SANSA/ADULT MEN: this includes littlefinger x sansa, stannis x sansa, sandor x sansa, anything else i cant think of. grossgrossgross ewewew. look sandor/sansa has some textual backing but it still icks me eugh. if you ship littlefinger or stannis with sansa like sorry but im just gonna assume you're self inserting as sansa and want to fuck stannis and petyr, they're like the hermione x snape of asoiaf ships

JORAH/DANY: kill yourself. sorry but fr its fucking gross. and yeah the show is like less gross and i know most jorleesi shippers are shownly and just think iain glen is hot which like whatever but eugheugheugh. book jorah is disgusting to me sorry not sorry STAY AWAY FROM HER!!!! i like barristan because he's the only man in dany's life who's not weird about her hes just her dad :)

DAEMYRA: as a pairing to read and watch canonically and dissect and analyse its very interesting. as a ship, ew. very weird. ive seen too much eugenics and race science from daemyras to treat them with respect

LUCEMOND: have your fun babes i dont care it seems fun #yaoi! but i swear you guys are making shit up about luke... hes just a baby. just a babby boye!

HELAEMOND: its so boring it doesnt even have the spice of lucemond yaoi or daemyra habsburgcest. oh they're cheating on aegon oh the kids are aemond's. lame! daeron ii did uncertain parentage better.

others:

THRAMSAY: more of an ick than hate. im just not into dead dove dont eat sort of thing y'know.

SANDORxBRIENNE, SANSAxGENDRY: im going off the game of thrones shipping wiki because i cant fucking remember half the shit people ship and those were listed. WHAT! HUH???? ight....

#i genuinely cant think of any femslash ships i hate.... i love lesbians!#ask #anonymous #theres a lot im just like meh on but these are all the ones that ignite my haterism

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missathlete31 · 3 months

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I need to go back to the theaters just to see this on the big screen again 🔥🔥

#glen powell #anyone but you #the things this man does to me #hes gorgeous #my rom com king #I’m only a little obsessed #never mind I’m a lot obsessed #oh glen you beautiful man #is it hot in here or is it just glen #it’s glen

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coconutcordiale · 1 year

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17 q's

thank you sm @double-j @heartsofminds @mothdruid @mandylove1000 for tagging me ily all this was fun!

nickname; mae (it's my middle name)

sign; virgo

height; i literally thought i was 5'2 my entire adult life and then went to my flight physical a few months ago to have the nurse tell me i was 5'4 so let's go with 5'3

last thing i googled; 'hurt locker cereal scene' because it's not enough that i watched the movie last night i now have to watch that scene 10 times so i can write a stupid long fic inspired by it (don't come for me, i know i have other stuff to finish. but for real that scene is brilliant)

song stuck in head; summer in new york- sofi tukker

number of followers; 1044 (i love you guys tysm for following me even though i'm unhinged)

amount of sleep; 6 hours which is low for me i'm a 9 hour kinda gal but i stayed up late watching hell or high water (that movie is so good how i have i not seen it before - my dads been telling me to watch it since it came out i really should listen to him more)

lucky number; i really like the number 39. and 19. no idea why. so my lucky number is probably 9?

dream job; writer (yes i know i'm in flight school don't talk to me it's for the $$ and to only work 3 days a week)

wearing; ptula leggings, aerie sports bra, socks with wine glasses on them (????), tcu sweatshirt

movie/book that summarizes you; oh man this is a loaded question. am i allowed to say new girl? i don't have roommates anymore but the whole running theme of trying to figure yourself out, you and all your friends being too old to act the way you do (ex: my friends are getting a bounce house for their nye party), having to grow up but not really wanting to while simultaneously feeling very old. i'm at the age where most acquaintances have started getting married and having kids but the people in my core group are not there yet (and may never be). a lot of that show hits home

favorite song; SO MANY so i have to give you a few, ones that have stuck with me through the years that always hit no matter what mood i'm in

future people- alabama shakes

arabella- arctic monkeys

late night- odesza

favorite instrument; the cello. no rhyme or reason. i just love it i think it's hauntingly beautiful (see above about new girl summarizing me: i'm nick miller with good hygiene)

aesthetic; very 70s / 80s (but think like, everybody wants some 80s not hairband 80s). i love bright, bold, lots of color, maximalist style. modern farmhouse makes me shake with anger

favorite author; oooooh boy. i'm weird about claiming specific authors because people love to disappoint you so lets go with favorite books

the book of salt- monique truong

a visit from the goon squad- jennifer egan

welcome to my country- lauren slater

confessions of a sociopath- m.e. thomas

i'm also in the middle of devotion- adam makos & flights- olga tokarczuk right now and they're both fantastic

fun fact- i learned how to make latte art years ago??? i'm pretty sure i could deadlift glen powell?? i've been to every us state except 2? i have no idea what i'm doing with my life? do these qualify, idk

no pressure tags- @currentlybradshaw @thewrittennerd @sweetlittlegingy @marsontoast @justfandomwritings @stickxjockey @forever-sleepy-sloth @gigisimsonmars @oncasette

#can i just answer the questions without some sort of commentary? No but thanks for asking #tag games

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batrachised · 1 year

Text

chapter 2 of my walter blythe/una meredith fic is up!

A snippet:

“I never thought you’d be the first of us to get married,” Mary Vance said frankly. “Or have a scandal. Here I was thinking it would be Faith and Jem.”

Una didn’t respond, choosing to focus on her knitting. Rilla darted a glance between them and said airily, “Oh, Mary, please. We all know that the scandal is utter nonsense. Although,” with a sigh that betrayed her youth, “I think it’s a little romantic, don’t you? It’s like the Lady of Shallot…or Guinevere…”

“Sure, from where you’re sitting,” Mary replied bluntly, saying what Una could not bring herself to. Rilla had spent one too many afternoons daydreaming in Rainbow Valley about handsome princes sweeping her off her feet, ones that most likely looked similar to a certain tall and handsome friend of the family, and besides, Una had once caught a glimpse of Rilla’s face when she’d seen Una smiling up at Walter. Rilla suspected the truth.

Una understood Rilla’s comment about romance was kindly meant, and so she just smiled wanly. Little roly poly Rilla—not so little and definitely not so roly poly anymore, as any young man of the Glen could have told you—whose beauty and winsomeness blinded her to Una’s reality. Una, “kind, but not pretty,” as she had overheard Miss Cornelia say once. The last dance Rilla had attended has seen no shortage of partners for her, while Una had never had a sweetheart at all. A man stuck with marrying Rilla would probably be delighted, when her dreamy brown eyes and quirked upper lip that seemed to ask a question most men found themselves wanting to answer. Meanwhile, Una, always cloaked with a solemn sorrow, stood alone. She couldn’t bring herself to care most of the time. While Nan and Di and Faith whispered of their dreams for their own House of Dreams, blushing when they sometimes gave a name to the man they thought would take them there, Una had sat quietly and listened. When Jerry and Nan would slip off together, or Faith and Jem wander through Rainbow Valley, Una had contentedly played the piano at home or aided Rosemary in her visits. The only time when it hurt was when Walter idly seemed to give another girl special attention. Even then, Una firmly tamped down on her bitterness, believing it to be an awful sin. “I have no right to him,” she’d remind herself, making herself read one of Father’s religious books for the rest of the afternoon in self-flagellation whenever it happened.

“Have you talked to Faith yet?” Mary Vance forged forward. “Or Nan? That one’s proud,” she added ominously. “I’ve always held it.”

“My sister isn’t proud,” Rilla cried. “If you’re going to sit here and tear down my family, Mary Vance—”

“Everyone has been kind,” Una interjected gently before the conversation could careen further downhill. “Nan especially.” Faith, too. Faith had written Una a bristling letter encouraging her to take her own path and not to let society sway her, but Faith had never cared the way her sister did. Una had never been hurt by her rather lowly social position, no, but she did want to belong. Faith could toss her head and march to the beat of her own drum, but Una was cut from a different cloth. She wanted to help the Ladies Society and have dear little babies to kiss and a cozy little house to look after. Faith already planned to explore the world, like the rest of the Rainbow Valley bunch; Una, meanwhile, could only think of how lonesome and homesick the mere idea of everyone scattering had made her feel. Una Meredith would always belong in the Glen—if the Glen pushed her out, she would have nowhere else to go.

Di Blythe had not been as kind. She hadn’t been rude—had even written Una a very sweet letter—but Una could sense the underlying sorrow in it that stung more deeply than any other comment had. Di, the closest to Walter, who would know where his heart lay, unintentionally christening Una as his last choice. If Walter had cared for her, Di’s letter wouldn’t have been so dim. It hadn’t been purposeful, but as Una had learned, things don’t have to be purposeful to hurt.

#my fic #lm montgomery #walter blythe/una meredith #walter blythe #una meredith #i'm writing this like a woman possessed #do i have any idea where it's going? no #no i don't #but i'm not going to start questioning my life decisions now

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kolbisneat · 1 year

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MONTHLY MEDIA: December 2022

And so another year draws to a close. It was surely a strange one and I have this weird feeling that 2023 is going to be a good one? Just a hunch. Anywhere here’s all the art I experienced this month.

……….FILM……….

House (1977) I knew it was gonna be dreamlike and indescribably weird but I was still consistently surprised. Fun and sad and beautiful and again...weird. We watched the interviews included with the Criterion Collection DVD and it added so much. I never would’ve known “Mac” was short for “Stomach”! Just bursting with ideas and I saw someone describe it as a cinematic I Spy and that really resonated. Lots of details that are easily missed so I’ll definitely be watching this again.

Weird: The Al Yankovic Story (2022) Incredible. Everything I wanted (and didn’t know I wanted) out of a Weird Al biopic. I wasn’t expecting so much of the humor to land for me and if you at any point enjoyed a Weird Al song I think you’ll dig this movie.

Mean Girls (2004) A really great watch, even to this day. Aged better than a lot of teen comedies, though I did find the soundtrack distracting this time? Were teen movie soundtracks always so...shoehorned? Oh well you still can’t beat such classics as “That’s why her hair is so big, it’s full of secrets”, “You go, Glen Coco”, and “get in loser we’re going shopping.”

Gremlins (1984) An annual holiday tradition and one that really gets me in the Christmas spirit. It’s something about those carolling creatures and them all singing along to Snow White and the Seven Dwarves that does it for me.

Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer (1964) Another annual tradition and the artistry in the Rankin/Bass specials hold up so well.

The Year Without a Santa Claus (1974) Having never seen this before, I was interested in watching a Rankin/Bass film without the lenses of nostalgia. Surprisingly dark in a lot of the story, but just as weird and charming as the other productions.

……….TELEVISION……….

Andor (Episode 1.01 to 1.01) Season 2 of The Mandalorian was probably the last Star Wars media I’d watched and wasn’t planning on checking this out...until everything I heard was raving about it. You know what? It’s worth checking out. Really great character-driven television that has something to say! I really hope Andor season 2 doesn’t fall into the same trap as The Mandalorian.

Cybergunk (Caleb Gamman, Youtube) Okay I don’t normally include stuff I watch on YouTube but this series made me realize I should! I’ve been burning through Gamman’s catalog but his Cybergunk series is really resonating with me. It feels like it’s explaining the technological stall we’re experiencing right now in a concise and entertaining way. Watch it here.

……….READING……….

The End of Policing by Alex S. Vitale (Complete) An interesting, and depressing, read. Though to be clear, it’s not a hopeless read. I really appreciated each chapter ending with researched suggestions for reform. It really does make the case that most problems that the US polices are made worse by policing. Maybe some of them wouldn’t even be problems if they weren’t policed? As a non-US reader it definitely acted as a cautionary tale and with that in mind, I wholly recommend.

Alice: Through the Needle’s Eye by Gilbert Adair (Complete) Books that build off of Carroll’s work is often hit or miss for me. The trend seems to be dark, brooding, and skewing towards YA. Nothing wrong with that but that doesn’t click with me. This. This clicks with me. It’s a spiritual successor to the first two stories in the tone, plotting, and style. You want whimsical poems and wordplay? You got it. You want nonsensical characters? There’s a full cast here. Anyway, big fan.

Spider-Man: Blue by Jeph Loeb and Time Sale (Complete) It just feels right to read this in the winter, you know? All the snowy skyscraper scenes and Peter getting sick from the cold. Classic stuff.

……….AUDIO……….

I’m Your Empress Of by Empress Of (2022) Just started listening to this but really digging it so far!

……….GAMING……….

Oz: A Fantasy Role-Playing Setting (Andrews McMeel Publishing) The holidays meant we only played a handful of times but it was a great couple of sessions! The broke into a castle, stole a book, discovered strange rock creatures have infested the Munchkin District’s capital, and more!

Neverland: A Fantasy Role-Playing Setting (Andrews McMeel Publishing) The Mof1 group is spinning a lot of plates at the moment. They’re hunting newts so that they can enter a cave and return an eye to stop a terrible evil from being released. Super fun!

And that’s it. See you in January!

#monthly media #kolbisneat #Andrew Kolb

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scratchybeardsweetmouth · 10 months

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Thanks for tagging me @lodessa in the WIP Folder Meme and for @youcancallme-ray for the Last Line - WIP Meme! I barely write so I unfortunately have nothing for this but just going to share some notes or initial plans or ideas I had that well, were initially WIPs, and now are just rotting in my folder (or brain) left un-giffed.

Goran Visnjic in every episode of Red Widow - I stopped at episode s01e04

Jorah Mormont in every episode - I stopped at s05e08 and have yet to compile for s05e09

Iain Glen as John Manly in Black Beauty - the last scene where he lets the horse roam

Iain Glen as Sonny McElhone in his undies helping a friend out of his heart stopping

Tedbecca... (Ted Lasso and Rebecca Welton scenes) (see below the cut)

I kinda wanna tag writers that might actually enjoy the WIP Folder Meme and Last Line - WIP Meme but this reply of mine might be confusing lol! For any writer that does wanna check out that tag game, please see the links in the first paragraph.

########################## tedbecca side by side in one scene 1x01 - welcome to england 1x01 - drinking water after press 1x02 - keeley arrives with lion or panda (extra 1x02, standing in front of press) 1x02 - that's y you're the boss / toy soldier 1x02 - cake from sam's bday 1x04 - ted lasso, my god! 1x05 - ted in rebecca's office with head injury 1x06 - just the man i wanted to see 1x06 - ey boss glad u could join us 1x06 - oh spirits 1x07 - rebecca comforts ted/panic atk 1x08 - meeting milk sisters 1x09 - biscuit boost eggplant suit 1x09 - apology 1x10 - toast 'win whole fucking thing'

########################## tedbecca because you loved me by celine dion

for all those times you stood by me 1x08 - don't want to give him the satisfaction

for all the truth that you made me see 1x04 - who sees who he really is? you're not.

for all the joy you brought to my life 2x04 - walking together outside ted's place 2x01 - that laugh cheering from the box

for all the wrong that you made right 1x09 - rebecca apologizes, 'i forgive you'

for every dream you made come true 2x12 - you too ted! champagne to celebrate?

for all the love i found in you 1x02 - toy soldier

ill be forever thankful baby ---

you're the one who held me up, never let me fall 2x10 funeral, ted continues the song

you're the one who saw me through, through it all 1x04 hug or the start of convo --------------------------------------

you were my strength when i was weak 1x04 hug outside the gala

you were my voice when i couldn't speak 1x08 dart scene

you were my eyes when i couldn't see 1x09 i forgive you

you saw the best there was in me 1x09 eggplant suit

lifted me up when i couldn't reach 2x10 funeral, ted continues the song

you gave me faith 'cause you believed 1x09 apology hug

i'm everything i am

because you loved me

########################## struck by fuckin' lightning

1x01 how you holdin up 1x02 fuck me (biscuits) 1x04 *thank you* (end of gala, reacts to ted) 1x08 dart scene 2x12 you too, ted (congratulations)

########################## if you're with the right person, even the hard times are easy

1x04 gala hug 1x07 panic attack 1x08 you wanna leave? 1x09 rebecca's apology 1x10 carrying something besides biscuits 2x04 "hi ted" 2x10 never gonna say goodbye

########################## himbo moments, rebecca's reactions

1x01 ghosts need to believe in themselves 1x03 branding joke 1x03 owner of the sun 1x03 obama arm wrestle 2x12 "still" water

########################## s01e04 gala comfort s01e07 panic attack comfort s01e05 oklahoma s03e04 oklahoma s01e08 hi boss s02e04 hi ted s02e10 traumas

########################### Gifset of them with these lyrics:

God sent those eyes to get me through the night And all the shadows of the past fade into white When all the memories in my head subside You remain here, you remain dear inside, ooh

We try to understand the way the current flows We find the love and plan that only faith can know And underneath the veil of my wild eyes Is a heart unafraid to let love inside,

-- Godsent by Ben&Ben

#tag games

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fanficwriter284 · 2 years

Text

Wisdom Teeth Removal

Chucky rubbed the side of his face in pain. Leaning over the sink spitting out the blood coming out of his mouth.

"Ok, Chucky open your mouth and let me see."

Tiffany inspected his mouth looking at the deep bite.

"Chucky you gotta get that wisdom tooth removed. It's to the point where you're biting chunks off"

"AH! Come on TIFF! Is that really necessary!!??

"Yes, It's ready to come out!"

She called the dentist's office and made an appointment for Chucky. Who was still rubbing his cheek and went to the fridge to put some ice on it.

"Come on get in the car we're going to the dentist!

"NOOOOO! You can't make me!!"

"Oh really?" She grabbed him by the ear and dragged him to the car.

She drove him down to the dentist and had to listen to his complaints for the whole drive there. Once they arrived she pretty much had to force him out of the car. They walked into the office and had a seat. Tiffany noticed Chucky's leg bouncing up and down. She placed a caring hand on his thigh and gave it a good squeeze.

"Mr. Ray? Mr. Kodak will see you now."

Chucky tensed up not wanting to go with the lady.

"Don't worry Chucky I'll be fine."

Tiffany walked in with her husband and watched him as he sat down in the large chair where they clean your teeth. It's not that Chucky is afraid of the dentist. Which he wasn't. What did fear was being put under and not knowing if he was gonna wake up or not. Plus he hated being touched by strangers on top of that.

"Hello, Mr. Ray. I'm Dr. Kodak and I'll be the one running this operation today sound good?"

Chucky just nodded his head.

"Now mama I'm gonna need you to wait in the waiting room. If you don't mind."

"OH! Sorry! My Bad!"

She saw Chucky's arm tense up and his bright blue eyes followed her.

She mouthed the words "It'll be ok!" To him and left the room.

The doctor injected Chucky in the arm with some annestisha and told him to count backward from 10.

"10"

"9"

"8"

"7"

"6"

"5"

"4"

"3-"

".....Zzz"

"And's he is out. Let's begin shall we?"

After The Operation

They brought Chucky out in a wheelchair and he looked completely zoned out. It looked like he had seen some things. He had some sponge foam in his mouth to soak up the blood and a band-aid on where the needle with inserted. They rolled him to their car and tried to help him up.

"Ok, two feet! 1 2 3! Almost there! Almost!"

"Chucky! Sweetface! It's ok! Come on! One foot in front of the other. There we go!"

They finally get him into the car and Tiffany and her husband drive off.

"Sweetface? You ok?"

He said nothing and just looked out the window.

"There's a flying TURTLE!!!! THAT TURTLE IS FLYING!"

"Wha---?"

"SHHHHH!!!! I think we are being followed by a goose."

"HAHAHA"

They arrived home and the real struggle was trying to get Chucky out of the car. Just the touch of Tiffany made him jump.

"Why are you touching me?"

"So I can get you out of the car and into our house."

"Our HOUSE? But I don't even know you!!!"

At this point, Tiffany just lost it. She was on the ground dying of laughter. She kissed him on the cheek.

"Why are you kissing me!" The poor man was completely delusional.

With some persistence, she finally managed to get him out of the car safely. She sat him on the couch trying to steady him. Till he got a look of himself in the mirror.

"Is that me? Is that what I look like?"

"Yes Sweetface that is what you look like."

"Damn. I look beautiful. I look beautiful."

"Wait is my name Sweetface?"

"N-No. Your name is Chucky. I'm your wife Tiffany. And we have two kids. Glen and Glenda."

He took a moment to process what she just said. But it went in one ear and out the other.

"I HAVE KIDS!"

"Yes and a wife"

"AND A WIFE!!!!!! WOW. Radical"

"Oh my god. Haha"

"Sweetface you want some ice cream?"

He nodded his head. When she came back she saw him slapping the side of his face.

"Chucky! WHat are you doing?"

"I HAVE NO CHEEK!!!!

Tiffany laughed to herself. What was she gonna do with him?

"Chucky your cheek is there and perfectly intact."

"NO, IT'S NOT! I'm telling you, Tiffany! My cheek is not there!"

She gave up knowing fighting with him wasn't gonna work. So she decided to change the subject.

"Here I got you some ice cream."

"Thanks."

She had to spoon-feed this man. She wished she had recorded this then she realized that the security cams were recording.

"Here is an icepack for your cheek."

He took it out of her hand and placed it to his face and sighed in relief.

Just then the twins came home from school.

"MOM! DAD! We're HOME!"

"YEAH! AND WE BOTH NAILED OUR MATH TEST!"

"Hi kids! That's great! I'm so proud of you both!!"

"Uhhh. Mom, what's up with Dad?"

"Oh. We went to the dentist and they removed I think two of his wisdom teeth. And the drugs took him away. And now he's this" Tiffany motioned towards him.

"You're MY KIDS"

"Yeahhhhh.???"

"Yup."

"WOW!"

Chucky got up to look around but almost fell and in the process ended up hitting the edge of the door frame with his face.

"HAHAHAHA!"

The Next Day

The next day normal and semi-sane Chucky woke up but with a horrible headache and jaw ache. However, he was able to talk in sentences that make sense and could sorta walk properly.

"My face hurts so bad."

"It probably wouldn't have hurt as much if you didn't hit your head the other night."

"WHAT?"

"Yeah, you acted like a fricken weirdo!"

"Oh come on please!"

"It's true! Klutzy!"

#chuckyxtiffany #chucky #chucky x tiffany #childs play #tiffany valentine #charles lee ray #raysforever #glen and glenda #chiffany #wisdom teeth

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divine-donna · 2 years

Text

robin buckley relationship head canons

i am so terribly in love with robin (more so than eddie) so here are some relationship head canons for robin!! naturally robin is a lesbian so (y/n) is a non-man. (y/n) is also the same age as robin as well.

you were in love with girls since you were a kid. you knew. you just knew. but of course, you kept this secret. why would you tell anyone? not when people were so casually throwing around slurs for, what you eventually learned you were, homosexuals (with you specifically being a lesbian).

you would say you were a popular kid, even if you were involved with band. everyone knew who you were. you got invited to parties where the popular kids would hang out.

except, of course, you always felt out of place.

carol perkins would always be making out with her boyfriend, steve with whoever he was with at the time. it was always boy kissing girl. you didn’t like boys. they were kind of smelly, rude, didn’t even know how to take care of their girlfriends.

more often than not, you’d be left sitting in the corner. and eventually, you thought that it would be better to stop coming and to stop being popular.

queer people have always existed. you learned this when you decided to hang out more with your fellow band kids. you guys developed a tight bond as a group of queer teenagers in a town where it clearly wasn’t the norm. no one batted an eye at your friend group. you guys were pretty great at pretending you feigned interest in heteronormativity.

the first time you met robin, you felt your tongue get all tied up. you didn’t know how to respond.

you guys were going to go see the hot new horror film, a nightmare on elm street. being someone who frequented the theaters for horror, you had refrained from going without your friends.

“hey guys! sorry i’m late.” she panted. you have seen her around before. of course you have. but never have you interacted with her. until now.

“oh (y/n). i hope you don’t mind.” your friend whispers. “i brought robin along. her plans got cancelled last minute and i convinced her to come along.”

you couldn’t speak. robin smiled at you and waved. she was just so...pretty.

you had your fair share of brief crushes. but never something that hit you as hard as this.

you took your seat next to robin in the movie theater, excited to see one of your most anticipated horror movies yet. “i’ve only heard good things about it.” you whisper.

“then let’s not be disappointed.” she whispers back.

you definitely weren’t. and while you guys were walking out, you could not stop talking. “i mean that twist! it was just so genius! i’ve never seen anything like that! the misdirection, the effects! how did they do that with freddy like reaching through the ceiling?” you mimicked the the scene with your arms. “and on top of that, heather langenkamp! my god she was just so amazing and beautiful and i don’t understand why her character was dating glen when clearly she’s much better off single and whatnot-” you had to stop herself. “sorry. sometimes i...ramble a lot. i mean heather langenkamp is like beautiful. you know like standard wise and stuff.” not like you had a celebrity crush on her. and sissy spacek. no, no, no. well...you did. obviously.

“that’s okay. i have that problem sometimes.” she laughs awkwardly. even her laugh was just...nice. “anyways i’ll see you around.”

“yeah...” you watched as she walked away. “see ya.”

being friends with robin was...nice. it was fun. you saw her a lot more often after that movie. but it was easy to tell that something was occupying her mind. that something being tammy thompson.

what was so special about her? really, what? tammy thompson wasn’t special. she had the voice of a muppet (you could not unhear it once steve told you). she was even a little bit mean. why her?

you didn’t realize that you felt this massive amount of jealousy within your bones thinking about tammy thompson. the way robin looked at her. you wanted her to look at you that way.

you only fell onto your bed and looked up at your plain ceiling to realize that you were harboring a massive crush on robin buckley.

she consumed your every thought. robin this, robin that. robin smiling, robin laughing, robin missing a note while playing, robin frantically trying to clean up the milk she spilled at the cafeteria table. robin, robin, robin. everything was robin.

you were quite joyous on the inside when you came out from the back of scoops ahoy to find robin with an application. “you told me scooping ice cream was a fun job.” she says.

“and it is.” you take the application. “the mall just opened anyways so we are in need of employees.” you smirk. “just gonna run this over and hopefully we can get you started.”

working with robin was great. and steve. you liked steve. but you weren’t going out of your way to hang out with him. not like with robin.

of course you weren’t expecting your life to suddenly turn upside down. but apparently, this was a normal thing now according to steve. you went along with it. not every day you get tortured and injected with truth serum.

you distinctly remembered just sitting in the third stall, your breath as quiet as possible as you listened to the conversation between robin and steve. your heart sank a bit hearing him confess that he liked her. he liked robin.

who were you to stand a chance against the steve harrington?

and then you heard it. “do you remember what I said about click's class? about me being jealous and, like, obsessed? yeah.”

“tammy thompson.” you remembered all the jealousy you felt about tammy thompson. “i wanted her to look at me. but she couldn't pull her eyes away from you and your stupid hair. and i didn't understand, because you would get bagel crumbs all over the floor. and you asked dumb questions. and you were a douchebag. and you didn't even like her and i would go home and just scream into my pillow.”

the truth was so obvious.

robin liked girls.

you liked girls.

you felt your lips purse together and your eyes begin to well up. you didn’t know why you were crying. was it out of relief? that your long time crush also liked girls? that maybe, just maybe, you had a chance?

it could’ve also been the drugs to be fair.

“but tammy thompson’s a girl.” god steve.

“you are so dense sometimes.” you mumble, crawling out of the third stall into the end stall where they were. you sat next to robin. you didn’t need to see yourself to know you looked like a mess.

steve opened his mouth. “oh. oh. holy shit.”

“holy shit is right.” robin leans against you. “i’m sorry (y/n). i-”

“it’s okay.” you say, taking her hand in yours. you began to stroke her knuckles gently with love. “i...”

steve looked at you with his eyebrows raised. “did you ever have a massive crush on someone?”

“yeah. i do.” your eyes flickered to robin’s. “at least she doesn’t sound like a muppet.”

“what does she sound like?” steve asks. robin looks at you curiously.

“she...” you struggled to bring up the words. “she sounds like...a goddess. and she’s my friend. and she even said she would come with me to watch the second nightmare on elm street movie. even if it won’t be good.”

robin blinked as it clicked in her head. her grip on your hand tightens and she pulls you closer. “and i wouldn’t change a thing.”

steve looks between the two of you before laughing. “guys, i would like to not be third wheeled in a mall bathroom.”

the three of you let out small laughs since that was all you guys could muster after everything you have been through.

every intimate moment with robin must be spent away from prying eyes. the movie theater is the perfect place for you two to hold hands and for you to rest your head on her shoulder as you guys watch another sappy, terrible rom com where the man treats his partner horribly and his partner clearly has more chemistry with her best friend.

you spend a lot of time at each other’s houses. most of the time, you guys don’t even do anything. maybe you put on a record or put in a vhs tape in the background. for the most part, you are content with laying against your girlfriend’s body, face buried in her neck as she holds you and talks about whatever she wants to talk about.

you love her cute rambles. you can’t help but giggle as you listen to her talk.

oh and that rasp. it makes you shiver every time you hear that rasp. robin doesn’t understand. at least steve gets it when you tell him.

you also love wearing robin’s clothes. her shirts and jackets are particularly very comfortable for you. you even wear them to school sometimes and no one notices. even if someone did, it’s easy to say you guys are so close that you swap clothes. a lot of people do it.

your favorite thing to do with robin, however, is go to the lake with her. you guys find an empty table. it’s late at night, the moonlight reflects on the water. you have a picnic basket with food and a small portable radio where you two listen to music. and you guys eat, talk, play a card game or two.

and at the end of the night, you get to kiss her after she gives you her jacket because you were cold.

#stranger things #stranger things season 4 #stranger things season 3 #robin buckley #robin buckley x reader #x reader #female reader #gender neutral reader #gn reader #fem reader #THIS IS ALSO LIKE LATE #I INTENDED TO FINISH THESE A WHILE AGO LOL

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