#this is my horse dorothy

[geniepuppet]

Puppet History + textposts

#puppet history #shane madej #ryan bergara #beef boy (ph!ryan) #gay oars puppets #bye bye brothers puppets #the professor #the substitute #the genie #dorothy ruth the horse puppet #textposts #patch posts #my edits #with alt text #you thought i was done with these edits? never!! #also if u have suggestions/ideas i am very open to them

[marine-paint]

good for her!

#puppet history #the professor #dorothy ruth #okay so like. here's the backstory #my friends and i were talking about dorothy ruth and her fiancé #moth joked that elmer walter williams is just a whole ass horse and not a puppet horse like dorothy ruth is #so i made this

[eeblouissant]

I had a singular brainworm & two seconds to doodle. where’re my blanche/dorothy enthusiasts because they’ve grown on me so fast (+ an extra doodle under the cut 🫣 it’s cropped here but still a little nsfw regardless, so feel free to scroll if that’s not your thing!)

something something that one thing Blanche was wearing that one time

#I’m incredibly sane and normal about them #the golden girls #blanche devereaux #dorothy zbornak #blanche x dorothy #yes I know it’s save a horse ride a cowboy but !!!! i don’t care !!!!!! *look* at her !!!! #just realized I forgot the beauty mark on Dorothy’s collarbone there I might sob #nsfw??? #idk I don’t post that kinda stuff here normally 🚶🏻‍♀️ #whoops #the parasites in my brain drew these not me #today was a bad art day but I thought these were silly in theory so I’m posting them

[mochachailattecafe]

I should draw great pretender animal crossing

#makoto and his mom obv cats :3 his dad maybe a wolf or lion #i could see dorothy as a rabbit #laurent gives horse vibes #cynthia could honestly be a deer tbh #hold on now my brain is too atached let me go doodle rn #imagining abi as a squirrel is killing me

[whiskey-tango-matcha]

City Slicker (m, allergies)

I present to you all: p0rn lmao. This is my first allergy fic in YEARS and it is literally just 2k of Elijah sneezing himself silly. It's a little messy, just fair warning. Hope you all (especially my allergy-hungry friends in my ask box) enjoy this - I certainly enjoyed writing it lmao.

cw: male snz, MESS

City Slicker

“What’s your favorite animal?”

“Greyson. I really am not in the mood to play twenty questions right now.”

“But I’m bored.”

Elijah sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose with one hand, the other held firmly on the steering wheel of the van. “What are you, a toddler?” he asked, replacing his hand so both were white-knuckling the steering wheel. “Play on your phone or something.”

“I’ve reached the end of the internet. Can we stop and get Starbucks?”

“Greyson, we’re in the middle of bum-fuck-nowhere. What do you want me to do, conjure up a Starbucks? You should’ve asked before we were out of the city.”

Greyson groaned loudly, living up to the toddler label his boss had bestowed upon him. “Great, so now I get to be bored and uncaffeinated.”

“I’m sure they’ll have some shitty folger’s or something when we get there,” Elijah said, prompting a loud, fake gag from Greyson. Elijah took a deep, calming breath in through his nose. “We’re almost there, you fucking brat.”

The event this weekend wasn’t one Elijah would have normally said yes to; it was a Farmhouse Retreat out in a rural part of New York State, and any town with fewer than a million people living in it tended to give him hives. Not to mention his irrational fear of farm animals – not that he’d ever actually seen one in person; the thought alone of a pig looking him in the eye was too disgusting for him to put into words. But, it was a paid event which was incredibly rare, and it was a celebrity getaway which meant buzz for the restaurant. Those were two difficult things to say no to.

Elijah’s phone signaled them to turn right, and when he did he and Greyson gasped in unison – this was no Podunk farmhouse getaway. The house itself was more of a farm mansion, twice the size of even the largest house Elijah had seen out in the Hampton's. The agriculture was meticulously kept, and the animals were grazing out in the tall grass – far enough away to escape any fear, but close enough to give the entire place a Fisher-Price-esque charm. Greyson whistled long and low as they parked next to the line of other caterer’s cars.

“Not in Kansas anymore, eh Dorothy?” the chef asked, yanking open the passenger side door and stepping out to stretch. Elijah couldn’t help but huff out a laugh as he opened his own door.

“Guess no – HTSCH!” Elijah wrenched to the side as he stepped out of the car. Clearly the air out here was too clean for his city-boy sensibilities. Greyson barked out a laugh from the other side of the van.

“Bless,” he called, pulling open the two trunk doors to start unloading their things. “I figured your systems would all start shutting down the moment you breathed in air that didn’t smell like piss.”

“Oh, like you’re any better,” Elijah said, starting towards the trunk to help his friend. “When’s the last time you chose to take a trip somewhere with no bar or coffee shop?”

“Obviously never, but I grew up in a shitty one-horse town,” Greyson said. “You’ve probably never even seen a cow in real life.”

Elijah’s face flamed, and Greyson howled. “Shut the fuck up,” Elijah grumbled, elbowing Greyson in the stomach and grabbing the decorations for their booth. Greyson doubled over with laughter, cupped his hands around his mouth, and shouted into the quiet farm air.

“CITY SLICKER! WE GOT OURSELVES A CITY SLICKER!”

“Greyson, shut up,” Elijah called, turning to face the chef. “People are paying to stay here, you fucking dickhead.”

“Alright, alright, sorry boss,” Greyson lamented. He pulled a few chafing dishes out of the back and hoisted them onto his shoulder. “Not my fault that it’s hilarious that your body hates fresh air.”

“It doesn’t – hhITZCH! TSHH! HTSH!” Elijah crushed his nose into his shoulder to sneeze this time, prompting another round of laughter from Greyson.

“Sure it doesn’t,” Greyson said, passing his boss to head towards the sign directing the purveyors to the massive yard of the farmhouse. “City slicker.”

***

Something was happening – he didn’t know what it was, but he did not like it.

“Are you sure you’re okay? Like, I know I was making fun of you before, but are you sick?” Greyson asked as Elijah buried his face in his arm for the fiftieth time that hour.

“HTSHH! Hh-ITZCHH! HRSHH!” Elijah wiped his running nose on his sleeve and cringed. He used his hand to attempt to wipe the sleeve of the watery mucus he’d left behind to no avail. “I’m not sick, I feel fine,” he said. “I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me – HTSHH!”

Greyson slowly raised an eyebrow, covered his finished food so it would stay fresh for the first guests’ arrival in thirty minutes, and leaned against their booth. “Lij, I’ve spent a lot of time around you – you literally never sneeze this much unless you’re sick.”

“Grey, I’ve been completely fine up until we got here, are you saying the fucking fresh air made me sick? Do you think I’m some sort of nega-Victorian child, instead of needing the fresh air to clear up my scarlet fever I need the sweet smell of street hotdogs and sewage? Hhuhh’ITSCHH-ue! TSHH! ITZCHUE! Fucking hell.” Elijah covered his face with a hand and looked desperately around for something to wipe it with. Grudgingly, Greyson handed him one of his kitchen towels. “Thanks,” Elijah muttered, blowing his nose.

“Y’know,” Greyson said, “normally I would say that yes, you are the nega-Victorian child, but I don’t think you’re lying.”

“Thanks,” Elijah said, rolling his eyes from behind the towel.

“For once.”

Elijah flipped the chef off.

Greyson laughed. “Seriously, though, have you ever been on a farm before?”

Elijah threw his hands into the air, annoyed. “No, Greyson, I’ve never been on a farm. Happy? Yes, I’m a fuckin’ liberal-elite city-slicking dickhead. Happy?” He sniffled lightly, post-tirade, his nose already itching again with the need to – to -

“HTSHH! HRSHH! Huh! TSHHH! HRSHH-uh! ITZCHH-ue! Huh!” Elijah pressed the back of his hand hard into his nose to stop the stream of sneezes – the other caterers had to be staring at him. He was sure of it.

Greyson bit his cheek to keep from laughing. “Lij,” he said, placing a careful hand on his boss’s shoulder. “I think you’re allergic to this farm.”

Elijah blinked back itchy tears. He rubbed his nose on the towel, sniffled lightly, and looked around him – at the animals he’d never been near before, the grass he’d only been around when it was perfectly manicured for a lawn or fake, the trees with their yellow pollen floating in the wind. “Oh,” he said. “I… I mean, I’m not allergic to anything.”

“Not allergic to anything you’ve been around before,” Greyson corrected, a shit-eating grin slapped across his face.

Elijah pressed two fingers into his itching, swelling right eye. “Yeah,” he said, taking in the allergen-ladled scenery. “I guess you’re right.”

Greyson motioned towards the back doors of the farmhouse, where throngs of people were beginning to head towards the booths of food. “I’d offer to ask the host for an antihistamine,” he said, “but I think it might be showtime.”

Elijah watched the crowd with a mix of anxiety and abject horror. This walk-around event was two hours long, and he couldn’t go two minutes without sneezing. “Fuck me,” he muttered, shoving the towel behind their booth and sniffling. “Hhh-! HTSSHH! HRRISHH!”

“Get it together, man,” Greyson said, unwrapping his food and setting out tiny plates. “It’s showtime.”

***

By the time the event was over and the guests had filed back into the farmhouse for whatever rich person activity they had planned for the evening, Elijah had quite literally sneezed himself hoarse.

“Dude,” Greyson said as he piled their things back into the containers they’d brought with them, “maybe you should go sit down for awhile.”

Elijah turned to the chef, rubbing his nearly-swollen-shut eye, and gave him the dirtiest look he could muster. “Sit where, Chef? In the grass that’s trying to kill me, or under the tree that’s trying to kill mehhh – ETSCHH-ue! ESHHH! HRTSHH-uhh! HTSHH! TSHH! ITZCH-ue! Guhh…” Elijah had given up the facade and moved from sneezing helplessly into his sleeve to sneezing directly onto the ground, hands braced on his knees so as not to pass out from dizziness. Greyson cringed as his boss wiped a string of snot from his nose with the back of his hand – this was about to be a long drive back to the city.

“I meant in the car, Lij,” Greyson said, not-so-subtly handing Elijah his last clean kitchen towel. The GM took it, grateful, and wiped his nose, which seemingly subconsciously turned into a long, congested nose blow.

“Fuck, sorry, my brain isn’t fucking working,” Elijah muttered, clearing his throat. “I can’t fucking stop – HRRSHH-ue! Snee – HTSH! HRSSH! ITZSSCHUE! Hhh!” Elijah cringed into the now-soiled kitchen towel, delicately wiped his nose, and folded it up. “You don’t have another one of those by chance, do you?” he asked, breath already hitching once again.

“Sorry, boss,” Greyson winced. “Last one.”

Elijah nodded, somber. “Yeah, I’ll go waii – huh… snf. Wait in the cah – HUHHITSZHH-ue! ITSSZHH-uh! Huh! HTSHH! HuhhhITSZZHH-ue!” Elijah once again turned away from Greyson to sneeze towards the ground. Each one sounded more desperate, more painful than the last. Greyson had literally never seen his boss so… well… affected.

“Hey, sorry to interrupt,” a voice from behind the both of them said. Greyson whipped around as Elijah attended to his nose. It was one of the other chefs, smiling in sympathy and holding a pink package. “I wanted to see if he needed some Benadryl. I mean, it’s not non-drowsy, but since the event is over I figured -”

“Yes,” Greyson said without consulting Elijah. “Yes, one million percent.” He took the Benadryl out of the other man’s hand and placed a grateful hand on his shoulder. “Thank you so much.”

The other chef laughed in earnest, took a peek over at Elijah, then regarded Greyson again. “I remember my first farm trip,” he said. Greyson bit back a laugh.

“Something similar?”

“You could say that.”

Greyson smiled and patted the man’s shoulder. “Thank you again. Seriously, here’s my card – stop by anytime for dinner on me. You just saved me from five hours of breathing in his fuckin’ mucus.”

The man laughed again. “Anytime,” he said, taking the card from Greyson’s hand. “And I think I’ll take you up on that. You guys in the city?”

“Lucky guess,” Greyson said. The other chef smiled.

“See you around,” he said, heading towards his truck. Greyson popped a pink pill out of its packaging and placed a rough hand on his boss’s shoulder. Elijah, obviously gearing up for another fit of sneezes, turned and saw, almost instinctively, the pill in Greyson’s hand.

“Oh thank god,” Elijah gasped, snatching the Benadryl and choking it down dry. Greyson snorted out a laugh.

“Now you really need to go sit in the car,” he said as Elijah wiped his raw nose for the millionth time.

“Wha - ? Why, what was that?”

“Benadryl, you pill-fiend,” Greyson said, showing his boss the packaging. “Can’t sneeze if you’re passed out.”

“At this point I would’ve taken a lobotomy if it stopped the snee – sneezi – HUTSHHH-ue! HRSH! HRSHHH! HTSHH! Hhuhhh… hh, hhh… huhhITSSZZH-ue!” Elijah, clearly too exhausted to even cover his mouth, just turned away and allowed the fit to happen, sneezes sprayed into the open, pollen-heavy air. He groaned and held a hand up to his streaming nose. Greyson sighed, took off his chef’s coat so he was just in a white cotton t-shirt, and handed it woefully to his boss.

“You owe me a new coat,” he said as Elijah, too exhausted to even feel shame, took the garment and held it to his face. “Now go to the car and go to sleep.”

“Yes, Cheehh – HRRTSHH-ue!”

#whiskeyswriting #snz #snzfic #snez #allergy fic #allergies #sneezefic #snzblr #snzfucker #snz kink #snz fet

[tightjeansjavi]

Burning in a Hopeless Dream

Boston QZ : Part 10

“Safe & Sound”

Joel Miller x f!o/c

A/N: whew! What a journey this has been thus far. If a man ever treated me as well as Joel treats Gwen? Lord have mercy, I would fold so fucking fast. You’ll be in tears by the end. He’s so sweet to her, and your teeth will start aching. P.S. if you ever wanna write the softest, yet most toe curling smut in your life, just listen to ‘Roslyn’ by Bon Iver on mf repeat.

Summary: 2 weeks has passed since the night you were stabbed by one of Robert’s henchmen. Joel has refused to leave your side as you rest. He’s hopelessly devoted to you. He would do anything, kill anyone, just to see your eyes again.

~word count : 6.5k~

Warnings: implied age gap, established relationship, angst, trauma, brief mentions of PTSD. descriptions of a stab wound healing, hurt, comfort, overwhelming emotions, swearing, underlying possession, mentions of death, fluff, soft!Joel, protective!joel, feelings of guilt, consent, consent, consent, smut, mentions of fingering, teasing, edging, nipple play, praise kink, nicknames, unprotected p in v (wrap it kids) cock warming, after care, joel taking care of you the entire chapter pretty much about sums it all up. (+18) minors dni !

Songs for this chapter:

“Safe & Sound” by Taylor Swift/The Civil Wars

“Roslyn” by Bon Iver/Saint Vincent

“On the Nature of Daylight” by Max Richter

“Here With Me” by d4vd

“I Can’t Go on Without You” by KALEO

“Shelter” by Dorothy

“To Be Alone” by Hozier

“Can’t Take My Eyes Off You” by Engelbert Humperdinck

“Work Song” by Hozier

“Long Long Time” by Linda Ronstadt

“Kiss Me” by Ed Sheeran

April 2021 : Boston QZ

**Gwendolyn Gwen Brooks POV**

**flashback 1 week prior**

The last thing you could remember through your state of deliria was Joel’s voice, pleading with you to open your eyes. “Baby, baby. Hey, baby. Open your eyes dammit, please. Your eyes are so beautiful, Gwen. Please let me see them again.” He stroked your cheekbones gently, tears running down his face. “We’re gonna fix you right up. Gonna stop the bleeding and stitch you up, okay?” He had kissed you then, for the first time. He kissed you with tears wetting his cheeks, leaving salty streaks in their wake. He could taste the blood on your lips from the gash on your head, but he kissed you as if he could breathe life back into you from his lips alone.

His voice sounded fuzzy from the ringing in your ears. Everything around you sounded so far away as you were fighting to stay alive. You weren’t ready to go just yet. The world may have gone to shit, but you still wanted to fucking live. You swore in your last conscious moments, Joel Miller had kissed you.

He kissed you.

He kissed you.

He kissed YOU.

You could taste the salty sweat mixed with his tears on his lips. The desperation seeping from his soul as he kissed you. Then, it all went black.

***end of flashback***

There were three times in your 28 years of life where you feared dying. The first was when your parents had gotten infected. 8 years ago, you lived with your immediate and extended family on your uncle’s horse ranch in Northern Michigan. Each year, more of your family was picked off, till it was down to the bare bones. Your parents hadn’t meant to get infected. No one really ever does. They just were in the wrong place, at the wrong time. What hurt the most as you remembered, was the fact that they hid that they had gotten bit. They were too ashamed, too afraid to tell their only daughter that their end was near. You could still remember the sound of their snarls, the dead look in their eyes. The sudden flip of the switch and your mom and dad were attacking you. You pleaded with them to stop. You didn’t want to kill them, but what choice did you have? It was either you, or them. You were the last surviving member of the Brooks family, and you were on the run.

The second time you feared death was getting caught up with some raiders. The group you had formed for the past few years had gotten split up and you were once again, alone and vulnerable. You knew you couldn’t take on a group of men on your own, so you did what you did best, you ran like hell. Right into Joel and Tess. You remembered the fear in your eyes, the adrenaline pumping in your veins as you threw the knife at his face. You had no time to figure out in those moments if these strangers were friends or fo. You were gonna continue to do whatever it took to survive.

The third time you feared death was when James stabbed you back at the abandoned QZ bookstore. The feeling of the blade piercing your gut, the air being knocked out of your lungs. Your anguished cries as you fell back, clutching your wound. Seeing stars behind your eyes from the pain. You could hear Joel’s screams, you could feel his heart pounding against his chest as he lifted you into his arms. His voice pleading with you. This by far, was the moment you feared death the most. You couldn’t run, you couldn’t hide and you were all out of ideas. Joel. Your fellow, your guy, didn’t deserve to deal with you dying in his arms. Despite the odds being stacked against you, you were gonna fight like hell.

______________________

You slept for a week straight. From the blood loss alone, your body was too weak and it needed its rest if you were going to fully recover. Joel was absolutely reluctant to leave your side. In fact, nothing was going to make him budge. Nearly losing you, had psychologically fucked with him. He had gone as far to sleep on the floor, next to the couch where you were resting. He held your hand in his and refused to let go, even when his arm ached and he lost feeling in it. By day 3, Tess had to physically force him to go and shower and change his clothes. He fought her on it in the beginning, but from his own lack of sleep and pure exhaustion, he gave in eventually. His much needed shower lasted all of five minutes. He didn’t care that the water was cold, or that he had gotten a bit of expired soap in his eyes. No, all that mattered was getting back to you on the couch.

Tess had sat beside you then while Joel was showering. She had checked how your wound was healing. Gently lifting your shirt up, she assessed the damage. She was looking for any signs that your wound could be infected and just as she was reaching for the bottle of Penicillin, Joel was coming down the hall, his hair dripping wet and he had a fresh shirt on, his eyes locked on the couch. His footsteps were heavy and fast as he approached and sank down on the end of the coffee table. He reached for your hand then, grabbing it gently in his larger one as he interlocked his fingers with yours. He’d be losing his mind right now if he couldn’t feel the warmth of your palm around his.

“How’s she doin?” He rasped, voice thick with exhaustion and lack of sleep.

“She’s hanging in there. Not out of the woods yet, and I'm still concerned that she’s gonna get an infection, Joel.”

He nodded then, giving your hand a squeeze as he brought it up to his lips, lightly brushing a soft kiss to your knuckles. His eyes focused on your peaceful face. With his free hand, he leaned over the couch, bringing two fingers against the spot where your jaw meets your neck so he could feel your pulse. It was there, but still faint. He retracted his hand then before his eyes zoned in on your wound. He had made sure to change the bandages over the stitches every few hours. He was extremely careful and gentle as he cleaned around the wound. What upset him this morning was seeing the evident blooming bruises scattered about your body. Bruises from James sending the heel of his boot into your gut. He took a deep breath then, exhaling out of his nose as he cleared those thoughts from his mind. He gently pulled your shirt back down over the exposed skin, bringing his free hand up to rub it against his face. It was killing him inside that you weren’t awake yet. He truly had no idea how long till your body would regain its strength again. He’d do anything, kill anyone, just to see your eyes, hear your voice, your laugh–

“Joel?” Tess spoke when he didn’t respond to her immediately. She could tell he was in some deep thoughts.

He blinked a few times, lifting his head up to look at her then.

“I heard you. Just, processing is all. Go ahead and give her some more of that. She’s breathin alright. That’s a good sign, right?”

Tess didn’t want to give him any false hope. If they had the proper tools, if hospitals still existed. Then sure, she’d be comfortable telling him that your chance of survival was pretty damn high. However, with these circumstances, she couldn’t sit there and lie to him and say that you would probably be okay. Especially when she wasn’t so sure of your survival either.

She looked over at him then, taking in the permanent frown etched between his brows. How dull his eyes looked. His lips were severely cracked, bleeding in some areas of the delicate skin. She expected he probably had picked at them till they bled as a distraction. To put it simply, the man looked miserable.

“Yeah, it's a good sign that she’s breathing Joel. We can’t get our hopes up right away, we don’t know if she’s going to–”

He cut her off then, his jaw clenching and unclenching. You were not going to die.

“No, Tess. Don’t say another word. Her body is just restin. She’s gonna be fine. Don’t you dare go speakin like that.”

She reached over to him then, gently squeezing his knee before she grabbed the bottle of penicillin beside him and extracted the liquid through the needle. She injected it in the same section of your arm that he had. Once the medicine was administered, she set the vial and needle back down beside him.

“You should really think about maybe getting out of the apartment for a few hours Joel. I can stay here with her and watch over her. You haven’t seen the sun in days, and it really might do you some good.”

He shook his head immediately. There was no way in fucking hell that he was going to leave your side for more than 5 minutes. He gave into finally taking a shower, but leaving the apartment, leaving you like this was not an option in his mind.

“No. I ain’t leavin her side Tess. Don’t ask me again, please.”

She let out a sigh then. Knowing that he wasn’t going to budge anytime soon.

“Alright, fine. It was just a suggestion. Just thought y’know it maybe would do you some good.” She got up from the couch then, grabbing her worn backpack off the chair in the kitchen.

“The only thing that’s gonna be doin me any good is staying here, by her side Tess. If I leave, even just for a bit, I can’t protect her. She’s fuckin vulnerable right now.”

Tess had looked over at him then as she slung her backpack over her shoulder, tucking her gun away. It broke her heart to see him this distraught. She may have let him go, but she still deeply cared for him and nothing was going to change that.

“Alright, I get it. I won’t mention it again, okay? I’ll be back later. Try to sleep, if you can.”

She gave him one last once over, with a slight nod, before she left the apartment. Quietly shutting the door behind her and locking it.

Joel knew that Tess was only thinking of the best for him. He just truly could not fathom leaving your side. He slowly stood from the coffee table, only to sink down onto the floor, on his knees, still grasping your hand. He used his free hand to lightly brush a few strands of hair from your delicate face. “Hey, don’t listen to her shit okay? I ain’t goin anywhere and you’re not dyin. Not on my fuckin watch.”

His forehead slowly came to rest upon your exposed arm as he closed his eyes for a moment.

“Look, honey. I would literally do anything, kill anyone just to fuckin see your eyes again Gwen. You take your time though, okay? Just, please get better. I’ll be here waiting for you, just like I promised. Remember that?” He waited for some miracle to happen. That suddenly your wound would be healed, and you’d open your eyes. He was grimly reminded that this wasn’t a fairytale. He wasn’t the prince charming who could wake you from his kiss alone. You weren’t the princess either. You both were just two people who endured the harsh reality of survival.

_______

For the next few days, Joel continued to be by your side. You started to show some improvement. It was nearly unnoticeable, but it was enough for his spirits to lift. He found himself talking to you more. It gave him some form of comfort, minimal at most, but it was something. He’d talk to you about Texas, his brother Tommy, Sarah, and how she probably would have fuckin adored you. He tells you about the painted portrait of you that Frank made, and how he’s going to give it to you as soon as you wake up. He tells you how he keeps the painting in his shirt pocket at all times, right against his heart. He even reads to you. He hopes that somehow, all of these one-sided conversations he has, will somehow coax you awake. Each kiss to your head, each gentle squeeze to your hand, has him hoping that you can feel it. That you can feel and hear him all around you, and that you're wishing you could open your eyes and see him too. Just as badly as he’s dying to see you.

By day 7, you were beginning to show increasing signs of improvement. Your breathing wasn’t as shallow, the color was slowly returning to your face and thanks to the penicillin, you surpassed getting an infection. Your body was still very much in pain, and you had a long way to go before you could be on your feet again. It was early evening when your fingers twitched the slightest in Joel’s hand. He hadn’t felt it at first, until your fingers had flexed again and he sat up immediately. Glancing down at your fingers interlocked with his. You moved them again, and his heart skipped a fucking beat. “Baby? Hey, honey. Can ya hear me?” His tone was incredibly gentle as he looked down at your face, waiting for the moment that you would open your eyes, anticipating it. Joel’s voice sounded closer, less fuzzy and more clear. You were slowly gaining your consciousness back and Joel was right there, just like he promised. When your eyes finally fluttered open, you had no recollection of where you were, and why there was a sudden dull pain coursing through your lower abdomen. Then, it all came rushing back. James, the knife, Joel. You panicked. Your body was trembling, eyes wide and frantic as you quickly sat up, wincing from the pain. You couldn’t form words, you were a shell of yourself and James had fucked you up, that was evident. You could feel Joel’s calloused, warm palms cupping your face. His touch was so gentle, you almost didn't feel it. His warm brown eyes were looking into your frantic ones. “Hey, hey. Look, Gwen. It’s me. It’s me. You’re okay, you’re safe. Y o u a r e s a f e.” He spoke to you reassuringly, his eyes stricken with concern as he looked at you.

You were in disbelief that he was really there. Your lips had parted open then, processing your conscious state. What you did next, threw Joel for a loop. You had gently grabbed his face then, and kissed him. There were fresh tears rolling down your cheeks as you went through an overwhelming amount of emotions. You felt like you were being hit by a fucking freight train. Over, and over again. A choked sob slipped past your throat then as he kissed you back. As soon as you broke down, Joel was cradling you against his chest as you clutched his shirt between your fists, gasping for air. The choked, anguished sounds emitting from your chest, shattered Joel to his core. “Hey, Gwen. Shh..shh..honey, it’s okay. I’m here. I’ve got you now. I’ve got you.” He had whispered softly against your hair. His one hand was gently holding the back of your head, while the other was resting against your lower back.

You struggled to take deep breaths then as he held you. It felt like your tears were neverending, heavy like a rainstorm as they trickled down your chin. You spoke finally, your voice was raw and cracked. “J-Joel i’m sorry I–shouldn’t have i’m sorry–” He cut you off in a hushed tone then, you had nothing to be sorry for, certainly not for kissing him. That was the last thing he wanted you to be upset at yourself for. “Gwen, honey. You don’t gotta apologize for that. Okay?”

You slowly lifted your chin from his shirt then, eyes glassy and your cheeks flushed and wet with salty tears. Your lower lip was quivering as you slowly nodded. “Okay.” You whispered softly.

“What can I do to..comfort you? I’ll do anythin, okay? Just name it. I hate seein you like this baby. Fuckin tearing me up inside.” He watched as you rested your cheek against his chest once more, your fingers had loosened their tight grip around his shirt now, but you weren’t going to let go anytime soon.

“Just–please hold me. Please, just hold me.”

He nodded then. Bringing his hand that rested against your lower back, higher up, pulling you into him as physically close as possible. Even then, that wasn’t enough.

“I can do that honey. I won’t let go, I promise.” Even when his arms began to ache, he refused to let go of you.

____________________

Sometime after, you had fallen asleep in Joel’s arms. You were exhausted and it was clear that your body needed more rest. He didn’t have the heart to wake you from your peaceful slumber so he instead carefully lifted you from the couch. His knees cracked slightly, and his back ached but he didn’t care about any of that. He quietly carried you to your room, setting you down upon the crumpled sheets. As soon as you could no longer feel his touch, you subconsciously reached for him. Your fingers were outstretched in his direction, searching for him. “Joel.” You whispered into the darkness.

“I’m right here, honey.” He answered right back. You could feel the bed dip down slightly from his body easing onto the mattress. You felt his strong arms slide around your smaller frame, pulling you into his chest gently. “M’right here.” He rasped out. He had pressed a feather light kiss to your forehead then. “Rest now, sugar. You’re safe.” His voice was like whiskey, smooth, warm, and comforting. That’s all it took to lull you back to sleep. Joel fought his own exhaustion then, forcing his eyes to stay open for as long as he could. He intended from this moment forward, to always keep you safe. When he could no longer fight to stay awake, his eyes fluttered shut. His dreams flourished with images of you.

You found it incredibly easy to slip into a routine with Joel. Not that you had much of a choice in the matter. He wouldn’t let you out of his sight. Not wanting you to exert too much energy. This man had gone from a big fat grump, to being overly protective of you. Not that you were really complaining. The thing was, you didn’t view Joel as your boyfriend now. The title seemed too cliche. You weren’t into the cliches, and neither was he. Your relationship was complicated, raw, and very much real. He spent every waking minute with you now. This level of domesticity was something that you had always craved, but never thought you’d ever get the pleasures of enjoying. Joel had no issues giving this pleasure to you. He found it to be just as comfortable as you did. He’d truly be okay with taking whatever it was that you’d offer him. Just having a small piece of you meant the world to him. You evaded talking about what had happened, nearly a month ago now. He didn’t push you to talk about it. If and when you were ready, he’d be there to listen. You had taken notice of Tess's continuous absence from the apartment. You hadn't seen her since that night. Joel assured you that Tess was fine, she was off doing her thing, whatever that had meant.

You could tell that the seasons were changing just by the warmth of the sun seeping in through the windows. It was comforting. Spring was in full bloom and you just wished for a moment, that you and Joel weren’t in this apartment. That instead, you were somewhere far away, tucked in a cozy cottage in the woods. It was a nice dream to have, as long as you realized it would never come true. Joel was comfortably sprawled out on the couch with your back resting against his chest. You still were getting used to the fact that Joel fucking Miller, enjoyed a good book now. You’d cause this man to turn absolutely soft. These moments were for your eyes, and your eyes only. Something had washed over you in those next few moments as you listened to Joel’s steady heartbeat, the rise and fall of his chest, his light chuckle at something he had read, the sound of the worn paper being flipped to the next page. Joel Miller was entirely yours.

You had carefully sat up then, turning so you were facing him now. His eyes flickered up to yours momentarily with a raise of his brow. You had delicately wrapped your fingers over the top of the book’s worn spine and coaxed it out of his grasp, tossing it onto the coffee table with a soft thud.

He made a slight sound of protest then. “Sugar, why’d you go and do that huh? I was still readin–” He was cut off by your finger tip lightly pressing to his lips then, silencing him. Joel was stunned, to say the least. You had slowly sank down into his lap then, straddling his hips, stealing the oxygen from his lungs.

“Is this okay?” You asked him then and his heart nearly burst right then and there.

“Huh? Yeah, honey course this is fine. What’re you up to?” His tone was light, and held a sense of amusement. He watched your face carefully then as he slowly dragged his hands up your thighs and settled them around your waist, playing with the ends of your frayed shirt. One that you had stolen from him.

“Can I kiss you, please?”

He let out a deep, throaty chuckle then. You were killin him slowly without even realizing it.

“Yeah, ‘darlin, Course you can. You don’t need to ask me twice.” He teased.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Why were you so nervous? This was Joel, your Joel. Your fellow, your guy.

The feeling of his thumbs rubbing soothing circles against the soft skin on your hip bones was enough to coax you from your thoughts and back to reality. You leaned down then, cupping his strong jaw in your hand, your eyes locked on his, you were both anticipating the moment. Time seemed to stop when you had finally kissed him. His eyes fluttered shut, his fingers grasping firmly to your skin. Your lips were so sweet and he could easily find himself getting drunk off kissing you. you were his favorite drug by far. Your breaths were in sync as you kissed him languidly. You wanted to savor this fucking moment. Your chest was flush against his now. His kisses became desperate, needy. His teeth clashed against yours as he allowed himself the freedom of being completely consumed in you. He nipped your lower lip lightly then, letting his hands slip under your thin shirt, feeling the expanse of your warm skin beneath his touch.

“Tell me if it becomes too much. Don’t wanna overwhelm you.” He mumbled against your lips.

“Please, keep going.” Was your immediate response. There was zero hesitation behind your words. You wanted him as terribly as he wanted you. Your fingers were already toying with the buttons on his flannel as you detached your lips from his and started to pepper kisses along his jaw. He let out a hum of appreciation.

“Sit up honey.” His tone was huskier now, dripping with the desire for you.

You slowly sat up then, your cheeks were flushed and your lips were swollen from his kisses. You watched as Joel slowly began to lift your shirt from the hem. His eyes never left yours as more of your skin was revealed. He sat up slightly then gently gliding the fabric up your torso, over your breasts and finally, your head. The fabric was discarded to the side then. His fingers reached out and lightly brushed against your imperfect skin. Littered with scars, indents, you were like his own personal constellation. His thumb had brushed against the stitching on your abdomen then. You sucked in a harsh breath from the contact.

“You’re so fucking beautiful Gwen.” He breathed out.

Now you were the one left in shock. The butterflies swirled deep in the pit of your stomach and your head was spinning.

“Cat got your tongue, ‘darlin?”

He had a small smirk on his face now and you could see his dimple peeking out. God, this mother fucker was so handsome, you could melt into a puddle right now. “Shut up. You just always know what to say and frankly? It’s annoying as hell.”

He chuckled then, wrapping his arms around you, tilting his head down to be level with yours before he captured your lips in another searing kiss.

“Mmm. I tend to have that effect on ya sugar. What can I say?”

His lips had sinfully dipped from yours and made their descent down your jaw, nipping at the spot where your jaw met your neck. You immediately leaned into him then, stifling a quiet moan. He had found your sweet spot with ease. “You’re gonna be the death of me, Miller. I swear to god.”

“Ditto, Sugar.” You could feel his slick smirk against your searing skin. Your mouth fell open when he had sucked harshly at your thin skin, leaving marks in their wake. When his lips dipped lower, and lower, the need for more was becoming nearly unbearable. He had licked a hot stripe between the valley of your breasts. Your fingers had found their way into his hair, gripping his soft curls as you let your nails lightly scratch his scalp.

When his mouth finally enclosed around your nipple, you nearly fell apart. His teeth nipped at the sensitive skin, biting down slightly causing you to jolt from the sensation.

“Fuck.” You gasped.

He hummed in response, bringing his other hand around the swell of your untouched breast. Toying with your nipple between his thumb and forefinger while his mouth continued to expertly worked the other. It was a delicious combination, the way his mouth and fingers played you like a violin. You found yourself grasping his hair tighter, yanking him up suddenly before pressing a chaste kiss to his lips drinking in his low chuckle that rumbled from deep within his chest.

“I wasn’t done with ya yet. You’re a needy little thing, huh?”

“Shut up, Joel.” You mumbled against his lips and in one swift movement, he had turned the tables, flipping you gently so you were underneath him now. Your back hit the couch with a soft thud before his lips were on yours once more. Your fingers frantically began to undo the buttons of his flannel. He broke the kiss only to help you out with the last few before you were pushing the fabric down his broad shoulders and biceps. It was soon discarded with your shirt on the floor. Your lips met once more, desperation seeping through both of you.

“I’m gonna take care of ya, okay honey? Will you let me do that, please?”

You were nearly clawing at his skin now, your nails lightly scraping his biceps.

“Please, Joel. Don’t make me beg you.”

He nipped at your lip once more, tugging it out with his teeth before he released it.

“Ain’t gonna go and put you through that kinda torture, sugar. Don’t you worry your pretty little head about that. I got you.” His forehead was lightly resting against yours now, his lips barely touching yours. He was the devil, you were certain of it. He watched your eyes intently then as he slowly dragged his hand down your torso, brushing against your navel. Your skin felt electrified from his touch then as his hand dipped lower, and lower.

“G’nna take these off now, okay honey?”

All you could do was nod, your breath was caught in your throat and he had barely touched you yet. You felt his hand grasp the waistband of your sweats then, slowly pulling them down over your hip and thighs and past your ankles. He was taking his sweet time with you, and it was driving you crazy. His hand came between your inner thighs then, coaxing them open, not that he even had to try. His fingers had slowly dipped down under your panties, toying with your slick folds as he spread them open.

“Wet for me already, hm? You're absolutely drippin for me baby.” His words were straight filth to your ears as you felt your back arch up towards him, lips parted open, a low moan slipping past them.

He toyed with your clit then, moving his fingers in expert slow circles, applying just enough pressure for you to mewl. His fingers were slick with your arousal then as he brought his middle finger down lower, circling your entrance as he slipped it into your warmth, slowly. His finger was knuckle deep as he curled it against the spongy spot of your walls. As your moans slipped out of your parted lips freely, he drank them in, kissing you once more as he slipped his forefinger in and slowly began to pump them in and out of you. Listening to the squelching sounds of your pussy clamping down around his thick digits.

You were a mess already as you kissed him, your lips struggling to keep up with his as he continued to ruin you with his fingers. His free hand had reached up to cup your face then, stroking your cheekbone with his thumb as he watched you slip into pleasure.

“Feels good, doesn’t it Sugar? You’re takin my fingers so well baby. You can hold on a little longer, can’t you honey?” He had used his thumb to circle your clit once more as he increased the pace of his fingers, curling them inside you once more.

You let out a strangled moan, your eyes rolling back into your skull.

“I-I can hold on a little longer baby, fuck.”

His lips curved up then from your response. He took note of how you called him baby and god, did he love it.

“That’s it. Good girl. You’re such a good girl for me honey.” He praised you then. One last curl of his fingers deep inside you, nearly had you on the edge. Before you could be seeing stars, he had slipped his fingers out. They were coated in your arousal and you watched with hooded eyes, in a daze as he slipped them past his lips, licking his fingers clean right before your very eyes. This man was the definition of Filth.

“You taste so fuckin sweet honey. G’nna have to get a proper taste of you later, okay? It’ll be my treat. You’ll love it, I promise.”

He was kissing you again, letting you have a taste of yourself against his lips. You wanted him even more now, if that was even possible. Skin on skin with him buried to the hilt inside of you. Your two bodies connected, that’s what you really wanted.

You were grasping for his belt then, undoing his buckle in a haste. He had grabbed your wrist gently then, ceasing your movements. “Joel, please. I need you, I need all of you.”

“You sure, sugar?” He wanted all of you too, more than ever now but this wouldn’t just be fucking, not like the first time. He knew this would mean a hell of a lot more to both of you.

You sat up then, grabbing his face in your hands gently, stroking your thumbs along the coarse stubble of his beard. Your chest was rising and falling at a quick rate as you were coming down from your near orgasm moments ago.

“Joel, baby. I’m more than sure. I’ve never been more fuckin sure of anything in my entire life.” Your confession knocked into him, your words stealing the air from his lungs.

“I’m yours.” He whispered, bringing his hands to rest along your cheeks then, using his thumb to brush a strand of loose hair behind your ear, his forehead resting against yours. You both were silent as the moment washed over. The realization, the excitement that bubbled between you. The chemistry was palpable, and electric. Suddenly, he was kissing you again, slow, deep, intimately. There was nothing but passion emitting from his lips. While his fingers gently pushed your panties down past your ankles, you worked his jeans down, giggling lightly in between kisses as he struggled to kick them off.

“Damn fuckin things. Always gettin in the fuckin way.” His Texas accent was thick now and when he finally kicked them damned things off, he wasted no time to rid himself of his boxers now as he settled between your thighs, his tip lightly pressing against your slick folds. He grabbed the back of your thighs then, gently yanking you down so you were beneath him. The movement caused the length of his cock to slide up between your slick folds.

You both let out a low hiss from the friction.

His lips hovered above yours as he grabbed the base of his cock, inhaling as he slowly sunk his tip past your folds, sinking into your deep warmth, his eyes flickering to where your bodies connected, watching as he disappeared inside of you completely. Your sweet moans intertwined with his low groans. He dipped his head down, capturing your lips between his as you brought your arms around his broad shoulders, pulling him in as close as physically possible as he thrust his hips slowly, at first. Your nails scraped at his skin then as he quickened his pace, giving one sharp thrust that knocked you back slightly. He detached his lips from yours so he could watch your face, see your mouth fall open, watch your breasts bounce with each sharp thrust.

“Fuck, honey. You feel so fuckin good. God, I'm gonna get drunk off you and this pretty little pussy. You’re killin me, Gwen.”

He grasped your thighs then, bringing them around his hips so he could fuck you at a deeper angle. You immediately caught on, digging the heels of your feet into his ass, bringing him in closer as he continued to fuck you. In his haste, he brought his thumb down between where your bodies were connected. He vigorously started to rub circles against your already sensitive clit, he wanted you to cum before he would even get the chance.

“Joel, i’m close baby, i’m so fuckin close.” You could taste the impending orgasm on your tongue as you moaned out his name.

“I know you are ‘darlin. Doin so good baby. You’re takin me so fuckin well. G’nna get you there alright?” He gruffly spoke, snapping his hips once more before his thrusts started to become uncoordinated and sloppy. He continued rubbing your clit, you were nearly seeing stars as a strangled sob of pleasure wrecked through your body.

“That’s it baby, that’s it. Cum for me honey. C’mon, let go. I’ve got ya, you’re safe.”

One final thrust, and flick of your sensitive bundle of nerves had you falling apart around him. Your thighs were shaking as he held himself at the hilt inside of you. He came undone as quickly as you had. You were chanting his name like a fucking oath and he cut you off with his lips, kissing you sloppily as he groaned out your name, mumbling into your lips about how good you were for him, how fuckin beautiful you were. He rested his sweaty forehead against your shoulder, his eyes were closed as he panted heavily. You brought your hand up into his sweat soaked hair, running your fingers through it as you cradled his head gently. He stayed buried inside of you, even after he had gone soft. Neither of you wanted to be separated from each other just yet.

Once both of your breathing was no longer jagged, and your heart rates turned to normal, Joel had turned his head to look at you, a lazy smile gracing his features. He looked drunk off sex, so did you.

“How was that darlin? Did I do alright?”

You couldn’t help but giggle then. It was such a sweet sound to his ears and he liked that you were holding him so close. Your comfort was appreciated 1000 times over.

“You silly fuckin man, you did more than alright. You were amazin.” You had a soft smile on your lips as well and he couldn’t help but lean in, kissing you sweetly before he pulled away and pecked your nose, causing you to giggle again.

“Mmm, good. Just needa ya to inflate my ego a bit, honey.”

You gave his shoulder a light slap and he chuckled from it.

“You, Joel Miller, can be an insufferable bastard when you wanna be.” Your tone was light and playful as you continued to lightly play with his hair.

“You’re right on the head with that one ‘darlin. You enjoy it though. I’ll keep doin it if it means I get to hear your laugh. You’re adorable.”

“Shut up, I'm still recovering and you’re gonna make me blush!”

“Good.” He spoke lowly with a smirk on his face before he had slowly slipped out of you. He gave you one last kiss before he reached for his boxers and slipped them on, handing you your panties.

“Hang tight, okay honey? Gonna get you a towel, glass of water and a fresh shirt, okay?”

You watched as he stood then, checking out the way his back muscles flexed. God, you were so fucking lucky.

“Goin all gentlemanly on me now, Miller?”

He looked back at you then, grin on his face as he nodded.

“Had to bring that southern charm out on ya eventually honey. You deserve it. Now, you just sit there and look pretty for me.” He winked then and you reached down grabbing his shirt from the floor and chucked it at him. He caught it, no problem. Bastard.

Joel returned to you minutes later, a fresh shirt in hand and a towel. He leaned down then gently wiping between your thighs. He was very attentive as he cleaned you up. You had never had a man take care of you like this before. Sure, you had your fair share of partners in the past, none were like your Joel. Nothing was ever going to compare to him. He had you sit up then as he slid the fresh shirt over your arms, stealing a kiss before he padded off to the kitchen. You couldn’t help but smile to yourself, bringing the collar of his shirt to your nose, it smelled of him. It smelled of home.

He handed you a glass of water then, before he sank down beside you, bringing his arm around you, leaning over and kissed your cheek sweetly as you took a sip of the water, settling against his warm, bare chest.

A comfortable silence washed over both you and Joel as you both recovered from your post-sex activities. A warmth had settled over you and couldn’t help but brush your fingers across his jaw lightly, taking in the way he smiled at you. It was a rare sight for Joel Miller to smile. He saved those moments for you. Tonight, he had given himself entirely to you. He was allowing himself the freedom to feel again. It was hard for him to even try and put into words how you made him feel. The one thing he did know, was that he was forever grateful that you stepped into his life. You brightened it in more ways than you’d ever know.

You had gotten the best sleep in your entire fucking life that night. All thanks to Joel Miller. your fellow, your guy.

Chapter 11 :

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us #pedro pascal characters #joel the last of us #joel miller the last of us #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #joel miller fluff #tlou #tlou x oc #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller x oc #joel miller x original character #joel miller imagine #the last of us imagine #pedro pascal fanfiction #tess the last of us #joel miller angst #joel tlou #tlou hbo #tlou fic #joel miller x female oc #joel miller x f!oc

[looklikeapencil]

DIVINE PROVIDENCE - A FAR CRY 5 PLAYLIST

combined my love of creepy folk music, vaguely christian music, and massive playlists to create a special one for Far Cry 5. and the songs are categorized by theme!!

(i posted one previously but didn't like the graphics, so here's a playlist that is more aesthetically pleasing)

🕇 "CLASSIC" GOTHIC COUNTRY 🕇

Ain't No Grave - Johnny Cash Bad Moon Rising - Mourning Ritual Blood On My Name - The Brothers Bright Bottom of the River - Delta Rae Broken Crown - Mumford & Sons Come Away to the Water - Glen Hansard I Will Never Die - Delta Rae O Death - Clifton Hicks Sinner Man - The Seekers

🕇 RELIGIOUS OVER & UNDERTONES 🕇

Ain't No Devil - Andrea Wasse Carry Me Home - The Sweeplings Down to the River - Alison Krauss Eat Your Young - Hozier Headed for the Reaper (acappella) - Kat Frankie Heaven is Here - Florence & the Machine Holy Water - Freya Ridings Pale White Horse - The Oh Hellos Providence - Poor Man's Poison Wayfaring Stranger - Dolly Parton Wading Deep Waters - Crooked Still

🕇 BAD-ASS VIBES 🕇

Baby Outlaw - Elle King Bones - Split the Dealer The Calling - The Rigs For What It's Worth - Trills Glitter & Gold - Barns Courtney Gold Lion - Yeah Yeah Yeahs Red Right Hand - Laura Marling Rest in Peace - Dorothy Run Baby Run - The Rigs Ticking Bomb - Aloe Blacc Where Did You Sleep Last Night? - Nirvana

🕇 INTERPRET AS YOU WILL... 🕇

Better Dig Two - The Band Perry Big Love (live, 1997) - Fleetwood Mac The Chain - Fleetwood Mac Daddy Lessons - Beyonce Dirty Paws - Of Monsters and Men Everybody Knows - Sigrid House of the Rising Sun/Amazing Grace - Athens Creek I Get Off (live) - Halestorm Never Tear Us Apart - Dylan LeBlanc Terrible Things (feat. Ashley McBryde) - Halestorm Throne - Saint Mesa Until the Levee - Joy Williams Waters - Eliza Shaddad Where is Your Rider? - The Oh Hellos Wildfires - Jenny Mitchell You - Greta Isaac

#far cry 5 #farcryedit #fc5 #fc5edit #*my stuff

[ring-a-round-a-posey]

Cowpoke

welcome to finding charlie!

next

lowercase intended

when a girl from texas finds her self intertwined with the world of sticks and pucks.

if anyone has any questions regarding the actual ranching part shoot me a message and i'll give you an explanation!

the early dawn was shining on the body strewn across the sheets. the body peacefully sleeping was quietly awoken by the rays. 

her eyes slowly adjusting to the light 

“why must we wake up so early?” charlotte asked in the quiet of her room. she begins to make the trek across the floor to her now, slowly opening door,

“hey shug, just making sure you were up.” a soft-spoken elderly woman said to her. 

“yeah mawmaw, i’m awake, has pa made breakfast yet?” charlie responds. 

“no, your daddy did, he’s tacking the horses up with the hands.” dorothy responds

“are we sure that the food is edible?” charlie jokes

“you’re funny shug, i’m sure your daddy is perfectly capable of making the four of us breakfast” dottie laughs. the two women begin their journey down the stairs, 

“hey momma, hey babygirl. ready to get to work?” graham asks his daughter while flipping an egg. 

“not really but someone has to do it, we can’t let chloe and the rest of the hands do it alone.” she laughs as a weathered gentleman walks in from the daylight-ridden ground. 

“how is my favorite person this morning?” henry asks

“great dad, hows my favorite person?” graham responds causing the other people in the room to tumble over in laughter. 

“now baby you know that wasn’t meant for you.” his mother says with residual laughter coating her face. 

“haha of course i did momma, my babygirl has always been his favorite.” he says with a soft smile

“i don’t know about that now daddy, momma would’ve given that answer a run for its money,” charlie says with the same smile on her face,

“c’mon y’all, now lets not kick off our day with a grim start.” dorothy says before grabbing the cooler full of water and gatorade. 

“now shug go ahead and get on some work attire, you can’t ranch and ride in your pajamas.” her grandma said in a warm tone

“yes ma’am,” charlie says before walking up the same stairs she came down thirty minutes before.

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the once calm sun, now beating down on the crowd of cows and people.

“you sure know how to pick ‘em mr.jamison,” chloe says wiping the beads of sweat from off her hat-line.  

“you sure do pa, it's hotter than hell out here” charlie adds on,

“yeah mr,jamie, why’d you choose the hottest day of the summer to do this?” anthony, a ranch hand says.

“oh y’all quit your complaining, let’s get this done before the real heat starts to hit you lot.” henry nags on their complaining.

“WOULD SOMEONE COVER THE FLANK FOR ME?” charlie yells as she sees a cow and calf begin to move out of the circle. she goes to grab her rope and begin to circle it in the air,

“CHARLIE GO BACK TAKE YOUR POSITION LET THE SWING HANDLE THE LOOSE ONES” graham yells at her from behind

“i almost had ‘em” she mutters to herself as she drags her horse to get back into their position. she couldn’t help with the way she was feeling, although she knew that her anger was unnecessary, all her dad wanted was to keep her safe. especially after what her mom went through, and she never wanted her dad to go through that pain again.

the drive was long and tiring but that’s the price you have to pay when you’re generations deep into a cattle ranch. all charlotte wanted was a cold shower and to relax, but her day was far from over.

“hey shug, when you’re done untacking your horses wanna come start dinner with me?” dottie asked her granddaughter.

“of course i do, mawmaw! give be about thirty minutes to cool down stetson and i’ll be right in!” charlie said with a grin adorning her face

“actually i might need a quick shower before,” as she said that her face screwed up, “i smell pretty bad.”

“alright hopalong, see you when you don’t smell like you’ve been rolling in cow patties.” dottie says laughing as she walks back to the house.

while she and stetson were winding down from their eventful day, charlie couldn’t help but think about how much she wished her mom was there with her.

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charlie had finally made her way downstairs after her much needed shower.

“it’s about time you got down here” henry said to her

“would you rather me sit here and make your food while i’m covered in dirt and sweat?” she asks with a smirk lacing her lips.

“no i guess not” he says with a small laugh. charlie walks into the kitchen, admiring her grandmother from afar.

“you know staring is rude shug?” dottie says whilst turning around.

“can’t a girl look at her grandma with admiration without being nagged?” she says with the same bright smile that once shined on a similar face.

“whatever, come help me make these biscuits before those men get restless.” dottie says before turning around so she can start the chicken.

“how was the wagon without me mawmaw?” charlie asks

“not near as exciting, no one drives that buggy like you do.” dorothy softly laughs, “how was being back with the team?”

“not as exciting as i remember, i’m not used to being so stagnant. you know?” charlie thought out loud, “is it bad to say i miss the thrill of being in the middle of the problem?”

“no, of course not shug. you’ve been doing this since you could ride by yourself. being on the back burner is hard when you’re used to bubbling over all the time.” dorothy tells her before ushering her out of the way of what she need. charlotte took that a sign to finish up with her biscuit making.

“alright, ive got this dough shaped it just needs some time in the oven” charlie says as she put the cast iron of biscuits in the oven. dorothy nodded her head as she breaded the final pieces of chicken to fry.

“alright shug, i can finish up from here. why don’t you go set the table and find out what those hooligans want to drink, hmm?” dottie asked

“yes ma’am.” charlie replied before disappearing into the dining room. she begun laying the plates down, 5 place settings, one for henry, one for dorothy, one for graham, one for her, and one for clara. even though charlotte’s mom had passed almost 6 months ago, no one had the strength to leave her seat empty.

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dinner had commenced but not without some banter between the son and father. charlotte had taken it upon herself to clean up after everyone to catch some peace of mind before her day starts all over again.

charlie had made her way up the stairs for the final time today. although instead of turning into her room, she took the turn into the den. she thought some tv would do her a little good after the day she had.

she surfed channels for awhile before settling on some old western, when her grandpa walked in.

“hey pumpkin, watching el dorado are we?” henry asks before plopping down right next to his granddaughter. charlie nods while dropping her head on to his shoulder. he responded by wrapping his arm around hers in turn. charlie eventually fell asleep, and henry didn’t have the heart to move her, she looked so content just laying there.

charlie stayed asleep until a nightmare plagued her mind. she woke up with a shine on her forehead and decided she wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep. she, once again, began to channel surf before seeing a familiar face. although she couldn’t quite place the young man, she knew him from somewhere. she paused before getting lost in the way the men slid across the ground, seemingly chasing nothing.

she didn’t know it then but that one interview would change her life, but would it be for the best?

✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩

#finding charlie #jack hughes x reader #luca fantilli x reader #trevor zegras x reader #luke hughes x reader #mark estapa x reader #ethan edwards x reader #quinn hughes x reader #cole caufield x reader

[toiletpotato]

on one hand I think "yes add more nods to the 1939 film that's so fun I love the 1939 movie and it's the most recognizable one to the general public" but on the other hand I think "maybe don't add too many references to the 1939 film because if you give any critical thought to it, the plot of the two works together just barely line up and sense begins to unravel if you give it the smallest bit of thought: the entire movie takes place in the span of four songs in act 2"

for example:

No One Mourns the Wicked

Dear Old Shiz

The Wizard and I

What is This Feeling

Something Bad

Dancing Through Life

Popular

I'm Not That Girl

One Short Day

A Sentimental Man

Defying Gravity

Thank Goodness

The Wicked Witch of the East

Wonderful

I'm Not That Girl (reprise)

As Long As You're Mine

-> Dorothy's house lands in Munchkinland

-> Come Out, Come Out Wherever You Are

-> Dorothy meets Glinda AND the Wicked Witch of the West; receives Ruby Slippers- I'll get you my pretty and your little dog too

Catfight scene

No Good Deed

-> Dorothy meets the Scarecrow

-> If I Only Had a Brain

-> We're Off to See the Wizard

March of the Witch Hunters

-> Dorothy and the Scarecrow pick apples

-> Dorothy meets the Tin Man

-> If I Only Had a Heart

-> The Wicked Witch of the West appears on top of the farmhouse and threatens them

-> We're Off to See the Wizard

-> Dorothy meets the Lion

-> If I Only Had the Nerve

-> We're Off to See the Wizard

-> Poppy scene

-> Arrive in the Emerald City

-> Horse of a Different Color

-> Surrender Dorothy

-> King of the Forest

-> Meet the Wizard

-> Go to the Haunted Forest

-> Dorothy gets captured

For Good

-> The friends save Dorothy

-> The Witch lights the Scarecrow on fire

-> The Witch gets melted

-> Dorothy and friends go back to the Emerald City

-> They receive their gifts

Glinda tells the Wizard to leave and Morrible to prison

-> The Scarecrow, Lion, and Tin Man are put in charge of the Emerald City in the Wizard's absence

-> The Wizard's balloon floats away

-> Glinda returns, click your heels 3×

-> Back to Kansas

Finale begins

The Scarecrow shows up in Kiamo Ko

Opens trapdoor

Says they can never return to Oz

Glinda thinks her friends are dead

End of Finale

End of show

--

Idk what I'm trying to say with all this- don't get it wrong I LOVE both properties dearly. It's just funny when one is framed as a prequel when that only applies to act 1 since the entire thing takes place in the background of act 2. All three (book/movie/musical) entities are very unique in their own special ways! It's fun to look at it closely and realize some little silly bits about it though :3

#wicked spoilers #wizard of oz spoilers #musical theatre #musicals #please add your thoughts #curious to know others' perspective on the matter #also let me know if I got anything wrong of course #ozposting

[tdciago]

Fargo: C and Ch

(Originally posted to Reddit on 1/20/24)

I want to point out a couple of significant things that Noah Hawley did with alphabet letters in the finale. You can reject my interpretation of their meaning, but we should at least acknowledge that they were done.

The first is the absence of the letter C, but its repeated use as a sound in a spoken phrase.

The episode title, Bisquik, leaves the letter c out of the brand name, even though we've seen the correct spelling on the box several times during season 5, and the product has been mentioned many times.

Lorraine, in her description of Roy's punishment, mentions that she's helping prisoners in cell blocks D, B, and A, but not C. Once again, the C is missing.

During the scene in Dot's house, the phrase "across the sea" is spoken three times. If we think of sea as c, this phrase becomes part of the motif that highlights the letter c in this episode. We've also had references to "seeing" throughout this season, including eye patches and complete blindness, or lack of seeing/c-ing.

One of the meanings of C is cancer, as in the big C. Roy has said, "Cancer can't survive outside of the body," and Jordan Seymore repeatedly emphasized that he had cancer, and that, "I need this cancer out of me!"

Cigarette smoking is a major cause of cancer, and Lorraine gives Roy a pack of cigarettes with the fictional brand name Original, as in "original sin."

This "gift" can be seen as paying off the Trojan horse idea that was depicted in the shot through the windmill blades, showing two buildings on the ranch configured like a Trojan horse. The blades of the windmill itself look like matches with red tips, and the windmill is a gravesite. We can associate this with the cancer-causing cigarettes accepted by Roy. They are presented as a gift (because he can theoretically use them to bargain away abuse), but they are actually something harmful, just like a Trojan horse.

Munch also mentions being approached by a man with a "wealthy horse" to be given food and two coins. This was also a Trojan horse, because the food was actually sin.

Munch's sins are like a cancer that he can't get out of him.

Now for the second unusual thing with letters in the finale.

In the space of a few minutes, we hear the words chili, cheddar, chopsticks, chocolate, chimpanzees, and choice. That's an odd assortment of words, particularly the decision to include chopsticks and chimpanzees. What's going on with all those ch words?

The letter combination ch is a digraph: "two letters used to represent one sound," from Greek di- "twice" (from PIE root *dwo- "two") + -graph "something written," from Greek graphe "writing," from graphein "to write, express by written characters," earlier "to draw, represent by lines drawn" (see -graphy)."

I've theorized that season 5 is a story being written by Gaear Grimsrud, the kidnapper and killer of Jean Lundegaard in the Fargo movie, and that he was representing himself in the narrative as two characters: Ole Munch and Roy Tillman.

Munch is the pancake lover who just wants some peace and quiet. Roy is the domineering Marlboro Man side of Gaear, who commits ruthless murders.

In the movie, another character says of Gaear, "You know, he looked like the Marlboro Man." She proposes that this may be a subconscious thing, "'cause he smoked a lot of Marlboros." And Noah Hawley described Roy's look as the Marlboro Man.

The purpose of writing this story would be to pay a debt to Jean in the only way possible now, and to gain her forgiveness and hopefully some measure of redemption.

Just as Dot (who represents Jean) gives Munch the biscuit and speaks of forgiveness, the movie theme music kicks in. The victim has forgiven the perpetrator. In the previous episode, the perpetrator literally pulled the victim from the grave, resurrecting her in the form of this fictional character, Dorothy Lyon.

The only thing left now is redemption. So Munch eats the biscuit and is apparently freed from the curse of sin. At the same time, Roy (his other half) is damned to eternal hell for the crimes he has committed.

So there is both acknowledgement of Gaear's crimes, and recognition that they deserve punishment, but also some measure of salvation in the fact that his victim forgives him.

This is my interpretation of the finale. I also believe these events are taking place, within the story, as a bardo in the afterlife, a liminal transition space in which earthly trauma and sins can be worked out before reincarnation, much like Camp Utopia was for the abused women in Linda. As Munch says, "This is the other side."

We've had various discussions before about reincarnation and cycles, and if we look back, there are a lot of hints along the way that could point to smoking and cancer. I think this is what the author is dying from.

However you interpret the finale, we should recognize that Noah Hawley was trying to convey something with his emphasis on C and Ch.

#fargo #fargo fx #fargo season 5 #fargo spoilers #bardo #gaear grimsrud #roy tillman #ole munch #Bisquik

[snallyghosted]

puppet history theory

the way the hand manipulating the puppets is clearly visible? in any other season, it has not been obvious. in the theatre segment of S5E2 “The Defenestrations of Prague”— a wrist with a watch on it is obvious. additionally, during the ad break, molasses horse’s wife (Dorothy Ruth) is being puppeteered.

according to the holiday funeral special, aren’t all the historical puppets in a sort of in-between space from life and death? how would Stanley the molasses horse’s wife survived?

my ongoing theory is that the Genie is either making his own puppets or manipulating the puppets, Wandavision-style. or possessing their corpses, idk.

as professor mcnasty has not been right since his canonical death (?), i think that the Genie is controlling his doppelgänger and also all of the puppet guests.

also, the mention of the professor wanting to keep his hat if he was defenestrated? when he fell back in time through the wormhole, he kept his lil hat on his head. interesting.

what this means for the rest of the season? i don’t know. time will tell.

#watcher entertainment #puppet history spoilers #puppet history season 5 #puppet history #puppet history theory #all hail the watcher #shane madej #hot daga #ghoul boys #ghost files #professor mcnasty #the professor #ryan bergara #brian david gilbert #defenestration #prague #snallyghosted #long post

[moecartoons]

Happily Ever After Headcanons

Because I think it's my favorite Cybersite. Keep in mind I'm mostly making this up for fun.

The site is called Happily Ever After, and it's main kingdom is called Happily Ever Afterville. The site is sometimes referred to as 'far, far away,' especially by the old fashioned.

Afterville is ruled by Old King Cole, who is a merry ol' soul.

Every resident of the site is Organic. They were not created or built but born.

Residents who are a part of a story are called Characters. This would be Snow White, the Big Bad Wolf, the Golden Goose, Little Miss Muffet, etc.

Those who live in HEA but have no story, no role beyond a face in the crowd are referred to as "vignettes." Some Vignettes may leave HEA for other cybersites.

Characters have a natural urge to stay on the Cybersite and a duty to fulfill their story.

The only one who understands this urge outside of the denizens themself is Motherboard, who created all sites. Some believe if too many Characters refuse to play out their story, then the cybersite will fall apart.

A new hero, villain, and other storybook character is born every other generation to fulfill their story.

It is commonly believed that only residents of HEA can be storybook characters, but this is untrue. Faith will bring the hero, villain, sidekick, or whoever to the land of far, far away. They may be of Happily Ever After descent, but it's been found this is not required.

There has been only ONE Earthlie, however, who fulfilled the role of a story, and this was Dorothy.

There had only been one Story that took place off of Happily Ever After, which was Alice's. She went through a rogue portal to an unknown cybersite that can only be described as 'mad.'

Stories rarely end the exact same. They rarely play out the exact same either for that matter. One generation's Evil Queen may be just that without remorse while the other's is seen as a saint. Only the battle between a hero and villain is guaranteed, not the outcome.

HEA is very forgiving, their villains no matter what they've done are always welcomed and given a second chance. There may be some time when people fear them, but eventually they'll be forgiven and allowed to live in peace if they so choose. This is why Wicked, Wolf and the Giant can be around everyone without much of a fuss. Spider had just recently frightened Miss Muffet and so was still recovering socially.

HEA is considered one of the friendlier sites. But it may depend which part of it you visit.

The technology on HEA is limited, they don't believe in most except for emergencies. They like their horse-drawn carriages and fire during the winters.

They do, however, so adore their music, they regularly use speakers, microphones, and even electric instruments. They still adore their acoustic sounds, but they do love feeling the music right through to their bones in a gathering.

TVs are mostly for keeping up with news outside of the site. It's normal for only one person in an area to own one and allow others to watch when something important is going on.

Phones are scarce, because it used to be easy to contact Motherboard since she had an eye over everything. It proves more and more difficult however in times of crisis to reach her given her condition.

Cyberspace's universal bus system does make stops at HEA, so many do not need to own a ship. Many Kings, Queens and Rulers have their own in case of an emergency, however. Some that are so kind even have many in case of their kingdom's need to evacuate.

HEA has a mixture of medieval and modern food. They make everything by scratch but aren't afraid to make their soda pop or import out of seasoned veggies.

HEA is the most Earth-like cybersite there is. Their animals looks the closest to what they look like on Earth, there are [mostly] humans, and the greenery is the most complex in all of Cyberspace.

Residents speak like any one else does in Cyberspace. Some may visit thinking they speak Ye Olde Tongue, but that's not the case. You may find they have a vocabulary as hip as a Radster.

The Olde Tongue is actually much more complex than inserting "thy" and "thou" in your speech and is near impossible to understand nowadays. There's only one resident who seems to struggle to adapt...

Character Specific Headcanons

Jack, of Jack and the beanstalk, is now a full grown man and King Cole's most trusted help. He keeps track of the king's schedule and helps keep everyone calm in times of crisis. He's still known to be irresponsible despite trying his best. King Cole is seen as foolish for many reasons and his choice of help is one of them.

Red Riding Hood is one of the few borg of HEA. She has a glitch that makes it difficult for her to recognize faces, making her perfect for her story's role. She keeps her hood up to hide the back of her head, which is the most borg-like part of her appearance.

Spider appears friendly, and is, but has a horrible set of teeth and fangs. When he sat beside Little Miss Muffet, he sneezed. He looked so horrific it frightened her away and everyone grew fearful of Spider in "Counted Happily Ever After."

The Big Bad Wolf is the runt of his family, with three older brothers, two younger ones and a little sister, who all resemble wolves from Earth. Wolf is the only one who can stand on two legs, has thumbs, and can huff and puff so hard he'll knock you down.

Wicked is a wonderful example of how HEA's natural order can be broken.

#Happily Ever After #HEA #My Hcs #I've been writing this out for like a week but tbh I've probably forgotten something... ugh #I wanna write more about Chip but I keep coming back to HEA overall and Screams

[april-is]

April 2, 2023: The World Keeps Ending, and the World Goes On, Franny Choi

The World Keeps Ending, and the World Goes On Franny Choi Before the apocalypse, there was the apocalypse of boats: boats of prisoners, boats cracking under sky-iron, boats making corpses bloom like algae on the shore. Before the apocalypse, there was the apocalypse of the bombed mosque. There was the apocalypse of the taxi driver warped by flame. There was the apocalypse of the leaving, and the having left— of my mother unsticking herself from her mother’s grave as the plane barreled down the runway. Before the apocalypse, there was the apocalypse of planes. There was the apocalypse of pipelines legislating their way through sacred water, and the apocalypse of the dogs. Before which was the apocalypse of the dogs and the hoses. Before which, the apocalypse of dogs and slave catchers whose faces glowed by lantern-light. Before the apocalypse, the apocalypse of bees. The apocalypse of  buses. Border fence apocalypse. Coat hanger apocalypse. Apocalypse in the textbooks’ selective silences. There was the apocalypse of the settlement and the soda machine; the apocalypse of the settlement and the jars of scalps; there was the bedlam of the cannery; the radioactive rain; the chairless martyr demanding a name. I was born from an apocalypse and have come to tell you what I know—which is that the apocalypse began when Columbus praised God and lowered his anchor. It began when a continent was drawn into cutlets. It began when Kublai Khan told Marco, Begin at the beginning. By the time the apocalypse began, the world had already ended. It ended every day for a century or two. It ended, and another ending world spun in its place. It ended, and we woke up and ordered Greek coffees, drew the hot liquid through our teeth, as everywhere, the apocalypse rumbled, the apocalypse remembered, our dear, beloved apocalypse—it drifted slowly from the trees all around us, so loud we stopped hearing it.

--

2022: For the Journalists Who Write About Ukraine, Julia Kolchinsky Dasbach 2021: For My Friends, in Reply to a Question, Safia Elhillo 2020: The Conditional, Ada Limón 2019: Dorothy Wordsworth, Jennifer Chang 2018: A Small Needful Fact, Ross Gay 2017: What We Need, David Budbill 2016: Husky Boys’ Dickies, Jill McDonough 2015: Why Some Girls Love Horses, Paisley Rekdal 2014: The Fox, Faith Shearin 2013: You Can’t Have It All, Barbara Ras 2012: Road Trip, Kurt Brown 2011: Onset, Kim Addonizio 2010: February, Margaret Atwood 2009: Domestic, Carl Phillips 2008: A Birthday, W.S. Merwin 2007: Words for Love, Ted Berrigan 2006: At the Trial of Hamlet, Chicago, 1994, Sherman Alexie 2005: The Waking, Theodore Roethke

#all of this has happened before #apocalypse #franny choi #colonialism #race #reproductive rights #immigration #modern life

[liraleinil]

So. I finished reading the Captive Prince trilogy in three days (just the novels, not the short stories) and I am feeling a lot of things, but mostly I'm feeling vaguely frustrated. It's hard to articulate how I feel. I enjoyed the books while I was reading them, even though some parts made me cringe. But that's not the problem.

The problem is the Lymond Chronicles by Dorothy Dunnett. I feel like at least some people who liked the Captive Prince books would love Dunnett but I've found that recommending the books rarely sticks. 

If you're expecting an epic gay romance, you won't find it in Lymond. But a lot of the other elements in the Captive Prince series are there, along with great writing, a complex cast of characters, and plots and ploys abound. I don't read much historical fiction, but Dunnett was so good, it sucked me completely in, despite knowing very little of the history and setting. (Not so different from reading fantasy, really.) 

Anyway! Spoiler warnings for all the Captive Prince novels and the Lymond Chronicles, though it's less explicit for the latter.

Let's get the obvious thing out of the way. My favourite book series is the Lymond Chronicles by Dorothy Dunnett, six historical fiction novels set in the 1500s, spanning from Scotland to Europe to Turkey to France, featuring a blond-haired, blue-eyed, minor Scottish nobleman known as Francis Crawford of Lymond. I'm sure other people have pointed out the similarity between the two series and the characters Laurent and Lymond and there has been analysis by people much more eloquent than me. 

I started reading Captive Prince one afternoon and finished it before midnight. I went on to read Prince's Gambit simply because Laurent was acting so Lymond-like that I had to find out what he was up to. I immediately suspected he knew who Damen was from the start because that's the sort of annoying leaps of logic Lymond makes, with his cornflower blue eyes glittering with malice — that's how similar they are.

I'm not one of those people who can't enjoy a book because something like it has already been done before. I'm always looking for books that could bring me back to that same kind of excitement I found when I first read the Lymond Chronicles. One of the reasons I picked up Captive Prince was because of the comparisons made to Lymond.

It's just that I feel a bit cheated that, despite all the similarities, I don't think it would be easy to get people to read the Lymond Chronicles after getting into Captive Prince. It's too dense, too full of historical references, too many quotes in too many languages. Too clever. 

Who knows whether the parallels in the two series were intentional or not. At the start of the first book, The Game of Kings, Lymond gets drunk before he goes off to rob his mother, Sybilla, and set her castle on fire. Here's part of his conversation with her. You can see why everyone around him wants to stab him. He's more loquacious than Laurent, at any rate.

Yes, he even has an older brother. Lymond goes and antagonises Richard almost immediately after this. I think that was the point where I started wondering, This is the man we're supposed to get behind? Quite the antihero, Francis Crawford of Lymond. 

There are other things. They don't play the same part or advance the narrative the same way in both stories, but the fact that they are there just … I'm not even sure what to say. Imitation is the best form of flattery? There are disguises with hilarious consequences, trials where every single piece of evidence is disputed, exhilarating chases over the rooftops of Paris, whips and whipping posts, royal hunts that don't end well, ridiculous acrobatics on horses, babies of indeterminate parentage, your favourite characters ending up dead, Will Scott's mix of hero worship and wanting to strangle Lymond at the same time, and Jerott (I don't even know where we should toss Jerott). 

Sometimes it's just a line, and I end up raising an eyebrow at it because it sounds so Dunnett. I'm not disparaging Pacat here; as I said earlier, I'm frustrated, because I feel more people should enjoy the Lymond Chronicles and Dunnett's writing, but they're not going to, because Dunnett was too clever and made the books too dense and witty and difficult.

If you do start The Game of Kings, though, I ask you to try to get at least to page 100 or so before giving up. That was where I decided that yes, this was definitely worth the effort. 

I don't suppose I'm making much sense, but apparently I feel so strongly about this that I need to make a Tumblr post in an otherwise empty account. Go me.

PS: I liked Megan Whalen Turner's Queen's Thief series as well, though the first book is, uh, somewhat disappointing? I don't know if I had too high expectations or what. I loved the later books, though. For some reason, I still haven't read the last book in the series. I suppose I should remedy that.

#captive prince #c.s. pacat #the lymond chronicles #lymond #lymond chronicles #dorothy dunnett #books #books and reading #book recommendations

[poorly-drawn-puppet-history]

season 6 thots

saved all my complimence and criticisms until the end for all our sakes

The new Professor puppet is great and I love him. He looks cuddly as shit, and I hope he continues to get more fun outfits.

Shane please put arm rods on the Professor I’m begging. If u can move his hands he’ll look so much more animated and can do a lot of funny shit that way

I enjoyed this season’s theme of “people who, no matter where or what they were, decided to just do some batshit stuff in life” and didn’t make us think in absolutes of They Were Obviously Evil/Good and let us draw our own conclusions.

(It also fit with Ryan and the Professor’s character arcs imo- they’ve both made mistakes, and the Antarctica episode Especially is about leaders whose personal shortcomings lead to uhhhh Death! so)

THAT BEING SAID I am WAITING for a follow up on the Catholic church’s abuse where it’s condemned. It was not right at all for that hat to get off scot free like it did. Send his ass to hell

idk who exactly writes the songs for puppet history but the fact they can write something that flops as hard as the Dragon's song and then something with the genuinely stunning vocabulary and imagery of Antarctica's is fucking insane.

i love the horse subplot going on. fuck elmer walter williams. go dorothy ruth murphy. chase the truth. while im at it? go dinosara. i'm so happy for her

season was a Bit Eurocentric imo. disappointing

the production quality of the puppets has increased so drastically. it's genuinely pleasing to see this medium being treated well even by amateur performers. i extend a Big Bravo to the cast & crew at Watcher!!!

i'm neither disappointed nor glad about the "lack" of lore- it's one of my favorite parts of the show, but what i love most is just getting to watch it and learn new things. however if you guys didnt want us asking so many questions you shouldn't have made such a cute and fun Host and cast of supporting characters to get attached to<3

already looking forward to next season, though i'm predicting a holiday special along the same lines as the funeral one- i think halloween is an appropriate time to find out what happened to all our "dead" friends and foes dont u 🤔 but maybe that is Wishful Thinking.....

#mod post #puppet history #watcher entertainment #puppet history s6 #im planning on joining the watcher patreon soon!!

[slashingdisneypasta]

Dorothy Must Die (Danielle Paige):

A p p e a r e n c e s.

~

~

~

~

Tin Woodman:

He looked more like a machine that had been cobbled together out of spare parts, a hodgepodge of scrap metal and springs and machinery pieces all held together by screws and bolts. His long, spindly legs were a complex construction of rods and springs and joints, and bent backward at the ankles like a horses legs; his face was pinched and mean, with beady, flashing metal eyes and a thin, cylindrical nose that jutted out several inches from his face and ended in a nasty little point. His oversized jaw jutted out from the rest of his face in a nasty underbite, revealing a mess of little blades where his teeth should have been.

I half remembered the Tin Woodman's story. He had been a flesh-and-blood man until a witch had enchanted his ax to make him chop off pieces of his body one by one, and one by one he had replaced them with metal parts until that was all that was left of him. From what it looked like, he had been making improvements ever since. The only thing that was really familiar about him was the funnel-shaped hat he wore. I guess some things never change.

//

He had fingers like knives and needles, each one of them twisted into a slightly different shape. Like dentist tools.

Dorothy Gale:

This was not the same girl I'd read about. She was wearing the dress, but it wasn't the dress exactly- it was as if someone had cut her familiar blue-checked jumper into a million little pieces and then put it back together again, only better. Better and, okay, a little bit more revealing. Actually, more than a little bit. Not that I was judging.

Instead of farm-girl cotton it was silk and chiffon. The cut was somewhere between heaute couture and French hooker. The bodice nipped, tucked, and lifted. There was cleavage.

Lots of cleavage.

Dorothy's boobs were put to here, her legs up to there. Her face was smooth and unblemished and perfect: her mouth shellacked in a plasticky crimson, her eyes impeccably lined in silver and gold. Her eyelashes were so long and full that they probably created a breeze when she blinked. It was hard to tell how old she was. She looked like she could have been my age or years older. She looked immortal.

She had her hair pulled into two deep chestnut waves that cascaded down her shoulders, each tied with red ribbon. Her piercing blue eyes were trained right on me. I knew I was supposed to look down, like the Tin Woodman had instructed. Instead, I found myself falling into her gaze. I couldn't help it.

The Scarecrow:

At Ozma's side stood a tall thin man dressed in a baby-blue, one-size-too-small suit. Beneath a small hat, bits of straw and yarn stuck out in every direction. His face was a skein of tightly pulled burlap with two unnervingly lifelike buttons sewn on in place of eyes. His lips were thin lines of embroidery stitched in pinkish-brown yarn underneath a painted on red triangle for a nose. His buttons were fixed on me.

A chill shot through my body. It was the Scarecrow. Like the Tin Woodman, he had been twisted and warped into something I hardly recognised.

//

His head lolled over to his shoulder and a little felt tongue I didn't even know he had dangled limply from his mouth.

The Lion:

Or maybe like something was waiting them: at the front of the line, I saw the Lion himself for the first time in the flesh. He had been a vague, hazy shadow in Glamora's scrying pool, but now, in person, I realised exactly how terrifying he really was.

Really, he was barely recognisable as a lion at all. He looked like a monster, like some warped nightmare version of the king of the jungle. He was huge and golden, with bulging, grotesque muscles and a filthy, snarled mane. His lips were curled back, baring a mouth crowded with sharp, long, crooked fangs.

#Dorothy Must Die #Dorothy Must Die by Danielle Paige #Dorothy Must Die Tin Woodman #Dorothy Must Die Dorothy Gale #Dorothy Must Die Scarecrow #Dorothy Must Die Lion #DMD!Lion #DMD!Scarecrow #DMD!Dorothy Gale #DMD!Tin Woodman