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theswedishpajas · 10 months

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Do you have any songs that you like and recommend? Related to Beetlejuice or not! 🪲 🧃 🎶

Ooooo!!!!!!!!!!

I’m gonna preface this by saying that I like to listen to a lot of random music with varying degrees of adult content and if you’re a minor or not comfortable with that stuff, please don’t take my recommendations at face value and keep yourself safe and happy. A lot of the music I listen to gets really vulgar and dark and often touch on very existential or crude topics as those are the things my brain latches onto due to my own mental health.

I have so much music I really enjoy but it’s so hard to pin it down cus I either love every song from one band/artist almost equally (and extremely much) or I love random specific songs but to a lesser degree…!

I’m a really big fan of Will Wood in general, prolly my alltime favorite artist!! I don’t even really know an album I would recommend tho as all of them are so very different!!!

It’s kinda on a spectrum of depression and unhinged to somewhat okay and pretty calm, with his first album being on the unhinged&depression side and then in order until his latest album they slowly become more calm and healthier but still sorta struggling? That’s how I think I’d describe his music!!

The topics in the songs are very existencial a lot and get really dark so that’s something to look out for if that’s not gonna work out for you tho!!!!!

For a beginner listener I guess I might recommend the Self-Ish album, mainly because that’s the first album by him that I listened to, but also cus it’s really energetic and fun in it’s existencialism, it’s just kinda crazy more than anything else-!

Other than that…

*flips through youtube real quick to see what I like cus my memory doesn’t work right*

OH OF COURSE

Now, my taste in music is kinda fucked up-

But I’ll give a (much smaller than expected) list of songs (ESPECIALLY WITH THE MUSIC VIDEO) that I really enjoy for that exact reason:

Bring Me All Of Your Teeth by Hot Dad

O b l i v i o n by Ctrl Ult Delete

I am realizing I don’t wanna call songs I like fucked up without them being very specific cus idk what’s normal or not and I don’t want anybody to think a song they like is weird in a bad way or anything but I feel like these two are okay to call kinda fucked up!!! (Affectionate)

UHHHHHH

Man, I really don’t have any good grasp on anything I enjoy at all unless it’s a special interest???

I’d be happy to share the playlists I listen to the most if anybody wants to listen to them cus idk what else I’d actively recommend???

#ask #rambles #music #I am a goddamn mess don’t look at me lmao #I admire you humoring me and my weird brain and indulging in my very strange interests!!!#this lil wrinkly lump of mine which is also my entire being in the realest sense is all over the place all the time #there was literally a time I completely genuinely listened to all the Clowncore albums on repeat for a month or two-!#my gray matter blob is just going wild-!!#I literally have no idea about anything at any point unless I am staring at it or am asked a very specific question #idk what I enjoy man. I’m just a lil dude with autism and ADHD and suddenly I know all the songs by a random fucked up artist-!!!#thank you for the ask #I know I didn’t really answer very elegantly but I never do with things so I guess this was the outcome that was expected maybe-?#i talk so much and never about the topic at hand and suddenly I’ve recommended a whole-ass thing instead of being specific #I can never tell what the rules are for questions like this but technically the Self-Ish album contains songs?? (and only songs ofc)#so I guess I didn’t answer it WRONGLY technically??#idk man idk #I would recommend beetlejuice music in general but my brain is taking that very literally and I’m not about to ask-#-people to go check out Vieze Jack cus that doesn’t feel very responsible even if I do absolutely love that gross babie of a man #it’s all dutch and I understand nothing but there IS a dedicated person out there who uploads his music videos with english subs #and I also have a friend who helps me translate when I need to (everyone say thank you to Kerenitychan!!!)#he started as a beetlejuice street/stage/whatever performer and later used it to make a name for himself #he has very weird toonjuice vibes and I love him so much-!!!#he once did the ice nucket challenge by pissing into a bucket and pouring it over a girl (but not really) and he’s so fucked up #bucket*#I love him so much #but he’s been trying to slowly change his brand. ge’s still got strong juice vibes but he’s gotten a more BJ-adjacent vibe now instead of-#-the full stripes and dark purple around the eyes and whoever does his hair is better now and stuff and I think his budget has just-#-improved over-all and idk he looks nice idk #ANYWAYS I NEED TO STOP RAMBLING ABOUT VJ LMAO #I should try to find my fanart of him and post it on here cus I haven’t yet since it’s not new art OTL

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benzibox · 2 years

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ok gravity falls spam posting over

#sorry i am so legitimately obsessed with them right now #like #ive loved this show since it came out but it was brought up in a conversation meaning i had to binge it #and all of the jokes hit so much fucking harder with age and perspective dude #also alex hirsch is my realest blorbo yet i love this man like a father

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theysherobinbuckley · 9 months

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steve & robin share a wardrobe in the realest sense of the word.

steve likes his pants a little tight and robin likes her pants a little loose, so it works out perfect that they're basically the same size (as long as robin wears a belt and steve doesn't do any squats)

robin likes to wear button up shirts baggy and loose over a tshirt or a tank top if it's real hot outside, and steve gets into the habit of wearing the same shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest

steve thinks their hoodies always smell like weed because of robin's stoner hippie parents, but robin insists that it's actually eddie stinking them up because her parents have better shit than whatever came out of a lunchbox, thank you very much, dingus

robin brings one of their shared sweaters with her whenever she visits family because it smells like steve and home (which are basically the same thing), and steve wears the flannel pajama pants that robin picked out even though they live in his dresser

they can even switch shoes back and forth if they want, but steve's not much into the converse and vans robin gravitates towards; he does, however, borrow a pair whenever they go to one of eddie's shows

it takes the others an embarrassingly long time to notice

("You literally share a closet? I thought you just had matching sets!"

"Uh, no way, dude. Haven’t you seen The Shining? Matching sets are seriously creepy.")

#stobin #steve harrington #robin buckley #platonic stobin #platonic with a capital p #stranger things

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newtkive · 4 months

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pixels [ newt x reader - modern text au ]

ch. 2 - drama queen core

summary: minho's drama finally catches up with him, but newt becomes a hero.

warnings: strong language, mutual pining, none really.

➥ m.list

THE GLADE

[ 12:08 PM ]

y/n: gm pookies

newt: it’s the afternoon.

y/n: yeah well

ur east coast

newt: so are you y/n

y/n: FINE BAD MORNING THEN ARE U HAPPY?

minho: drama queen is awake

newt: you’re the drama queen min let’s be fr

minho: u want me to die be honest

newt: see .

tommy: hey guys :3 been waiting for you all

y/n: awwww tommy <3 gm

tommy: morning sweetums

minho: ew stop

newt: how did you sleep?

tommy: good! used my new heated pillow

newt: not you

minho: not you

tommy: wtf

WHO THEN?? THERES LIKE 7 OTHER PPL IN HERE

minho: he means y/n

and there’s 4 other people not including newt and y/n dumbass

y/n: oh

why just me????

newt: cuz you stayed up til 6 am

y/n: ..

how do you know that

newt: i saw you were active on discord

gally: doesn’t that mean you were awake too then

newt: ok and?

minho: thats crazy newt

newt: no it isn’t

i just casually saw it

y/n: hehe

im ok i need to sleep more. sims 4 was really consuming me

why were you awake??

newt: up for work

minho: you get on discord before work?

chronically online..

newt: can you choke and pass out and hit your head please

minho: THE WAY U WANT ME DEAD IS INSANE

y/n: he’s gotta check on his discord hoes before hitting the grind

newt: there are no discord hoes

unless you count thomas

and i don’t

tommy: well why not

newt: because you disgust me

tommy: love u too :3<3

minho: y’all about to kiss aren’t you

newt: never say that shit again im outside your door with a b*mb

minho: why censor it

just blow me up it’s my grandmas house anyway. u want to jump her that bad????

gally: blow that bitch up i say

y/n: HELLO???!,!!

gally: minho not grandma

she loves me cuz im so tall

minho: tall people always gotta remind you they’re tall 😒

like we get it bigfoot

gally: shut up tinkerbell

y/n: you’re somewhat tall minho

minho: any man under 6’0 is considered short

y/n: yeah but newt is 6 ft trapped in a 5’10 body so not totally true

newt: what does that even mean

minho: give me a break

i can tell you exactly what that means

she wanna hit

newt: stop

tommy: don’t get his hopes up

newt: dude

stfu

y/n: what newt said

gally: can we appreciate the only one actually over 6 ft here

minho: no.

tommy: im the same height as newt!!!!

y/n: yea but ur like 3 ft trapped in a 5’10 body tommy not the same

tommy: oh ..

minho: kind of real

newt: can someone kick gally i’m tired of seeing his fucking name on my phone

gally: then turn your phone off don’t you have old ladies to tend to at the library

newt: yeah and they all love me

y/n: so real

if i was old i’d go in there and imagine you’re my young boyfriend and cling to everything u say

tommy: true im the old ladies

y/n: LMAO

minho: write a fanfic y/n why don’t you

newt: yeah you both are old and not beating the dementia allegations

y/n: IM THE YOUNGEST HERE

ur just mad you’re old as dirt

tommy: youth has left you newt and it has turn you bitter in your old age.

minho: thomas knows big words who knew

newt: which word in that sentence was big??

y/n: shut up minho

minho: wtf did i do

y/n: idk but i imagine you sitting there typing on your little phone and i got pissed

minho: WHAT???!.‘wKWHFO

newt: LMAOOOOOOOOOOO

yeah chubby little fingers hitting the wrong letters on his iphone 8

minho: im leaving

tommy: dont leave i forgive you for what you said

minho: i don’t give a damn

y’all mad y’all are all fake im the realest i’ve been prophesizing and reading scriptures 7000 years before y’all fake asses were born be so for real right now

y/n: not reading that

congrats

or sorry for what happened idk

about to drink my coffee in a wine glass

tommy: just drink wine

newt: it’s noon tommy??

tommy: ok and?

newt: explains a lot

minho: no coffee for me this new year only water and pussy juice fr fr

[ newt removed minho from the group ]

tommy: woah

y/n: woah..

newt: i can’t take it anymore

alby: How did you get that access..?

newt: don’t worry about it

in times of need i have to step in like that

y/n: hi alby!

alby: Hey y/n!

tommy: you’re such a hero newt

gally: that was deserved

who wants to play minecraft rn

y/n: me!!

alby: I’ll play, I’m off work today.

y/n: let’s go to the desert i want a camel

gally: alright but then the caves after i wanna mine

newt: if you mine with her you gotta bring extra food and storage when she dies so you can pick up the fallen items

gally: i forget you’re her designated babysitter

y/n: oh please no he isn’t

and i’ll bring my own food

newt: you always say that and then leave it in the stove oven

y/n: WELL I WONT THIS TIME

newt: sure ok

i’ll get on after work

[ alby added minho to the group ]

minho: when i get you.

newt: why did you add him back alby

alby: He was harassing me.

newt: be a man and take it

gally: im leaving

[ gally left the group ]

minho: im going to throw up and die

newt: im staying out of this

minho: (guy who caused it) im staying out of this

y/n: why does gally alwyas leave 😔

newt: why question a gift from the heavens

tommy: get online y/n gally is attacking my dirt house w a pickaxe :((((

y/n: NO IM COMING

minho: im coming to your work newt

newt: okay im locking the door early then

minho: i’ll smash through the glass idc

newt: i’m leaving my shift is over at 1 today.

minho: i’ll use life360 on you

newt: i deleted that app

minho: i’ll stand in the middle of the street

newt: ok let me position my car in front of you

just come to my apartment and we can play w them on pc and xbox

minho: …. fine but i hate your guts

newt: fine

y/n: HURRY GALLY IS ATTACKING MY SHED NOOOOWWW

newt: i’ll just rebuild it

minho: i’ll set it on fire just wait

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thelampisaflashlight · 1 month

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The ghouls, but it's how I currently headcanon them personality wise. Let's go.

Aether: Punk with a PHD. Easygoing dude, but he has his limits. Reliable, sensible, and loyal. The friend who hypes you up in a genuine manner, but keeps you humble.

Dew: The friend that has absurd lore that you only find out about as an aside in a casual conversation. Diligent, thoughtful, consistent. Very routine oriented, but secretly thrives in chaos and spontaneity.

Cirrus: Assertive, quick witted, and bold. Used to be the type of person who used being "blunt" as an excuse for being rude, and only started correcting that behavior when it cost her a friend.

Cumulus: That person you have the deepest, realest conversation with at 3am in some random person's backyard during a party. Copes with trauma using humor. Creative, book smart, weird.

Rain: Has resting sad face, but is rarely actually, ya know, sad. Quiet, introspective, weird. Looks up "fun facts" late at night. True crime podcast listener who knows a bit too much about forensics.

Swiss: Despite being a multi ghoul, he cannot multitask. Can do advanced math in his head in seconds, but can't remember what he had for breakfast. Not a personality trait, but dresses like a dad.

Aurora: A princess, but Fiona from Shrek style. The filthiest mouth known to mankind. Circus camp kid energy. The type of person who smiles with their whole being when they're happy.

Mountain: Is being a lumberjack with religious trauma a personality? Maybe. Spouts off random facts about plants and animals he sees. Will try anything once, but try him and he'll kick your ass.

Sunny: A hop and a skip away from dying her hair at 2am, again. Can't slow down or the thoughts will get her. Takes running from her problems literally.

Aeon: If the phrase, "Can I put that in my mouth?" was given physical form. Circus camp kid meets "I was in improv club in high school" energy. "Can I show you my new magic trick?" kind of weird.

#lamp rambles #shitghosting #nameless ghouls #ghost band #the band ghost #ghost bc #ghost band headcanons #nameless ghoul headcanons

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laracrofted · 10 months

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downright iconic

synopsis: after handsome gambler’s hometown show, you follow lead guitarist rhett abbott on his smoke break.

pairing: rockstar!rhett abbott x fem!reader

warnings: 18+ minors dni, ageless blogs that interact will be blocked, swearing, explicit smut (semi-public oral, masturbation, spitting, praise, degradation (slut is used a lot, so is groupie), brief hair pulling, dirty talk, role play, like... rhett is kind of mean but it's been negotiated off-screen, i swear), and smoking (wc: 4K)

note: so... i'd like to blame @lewmagoo for enabling me and my guitarist rhett agenda, but in the end, i can only blame myself for this one. please read the warnings!

listen to gibson girl by ethel cain before/after/during for the full experience, i.e. a sexy guitar solo and general vibes.

so many people interacted with the original post so i'm only tagging people who asked: @theharddeck @sometimesanalice @withahappyrefrain @blitchen @becks-things @ryebecca @perpetuelledaydreaming @rhettabbotts @starlightmoon2020 @wkndwlff @broketraveler87 @thedroneranger @high-speed-r @sebsxphia @cherrycola27 @uhhhhhhhhwat @roosterbruiser @pillow-titties @whoeverineedtobe @bobfloydsbabe @petcr3

You’re watching him the whole show. How could you not?

Handsome Gambler broke out on the basically nonexistent Wabang music scene a few years back and quickly became something of a local marvel.

A hidden gem in the realest sense.

Forged in the blistering sun that beat down on the cattle ranches and dude ranches of Wyoming and Montana all summer long where half of five-person Handsome Gambler still worked in the slow season... a real rock band.

After a year or so, larger opportunities arose in out-of-town bars, and soon enough, Handsome Gambler were selling out dives up and down the Rockies.

They'd gotten enough local buzz for the Casper Star-Tribune to cover the release of the debut album last summer, both in print and online, calling them an electric revival of the musician who works with their hands. Blue collar rockstars.

And in the deep red shadows of the stage, no other description could do Rhett Abbott justice. He looks so ruggedly handsome, like a goddamn rockstar.

Loose strands of dark hair fall in his face, in his eyes as Rhett bends over a dark red Gibson – a beautiful electric guitar, saved up and paid for with rodeo earnings.

A guitar pick is between his lips, narrow and pursed in concentration. He reaches up and plucks it from his mouth, swiping his tongue across his chapped bottom lip, preparing for the upcoming guitar solo.

Tonight is their last show in a nine week tour, and for all intents and purposes since most of Handsome Gambler is from Wabang, their hometown show.

It's a packed house, if much smaller than their usual venues these days.

You’d seen them at Million Dollar Cowboy bar down in Jackson in a 400 person crowd right around when Handsome Gambler put out their debut album, which had really gained them all the attention.

A sleek concept album. Spinning a shadowy narrow of forgotten love and wasted youth and western nights, humming cicadas and wildfire smoke on the mountains and rich earth stained black with rain and death and in the aftermath, a dusting of wildflowers that sprouted anyway – in and over a dozen songs, woven with seductive guitar solos and haunting vocals, morose and longing.

Like a ghost, come down from the mountains.

You'd bought the album on the release date and listened on the floor of your old apartment, back against the scratchy carpet, hands folded at your bellybutton, eyes closed.

On your first listen, you'd hit with repeat without hesitation; on your second, you'd cried.

It was brilliant, meant to be heard live in a hazy dive, dense with bodies and liquor and smoke, like this one.

His solo comes, and Rhett slides down on his knees in the center of the stage; faded, once dark denim stretched taut around his muscular thighs.

He sits back on his haunches, gaze slanted, watching the guitar and nothing else. Gorgeous hands slide reverently up and down the neck of the instrument, veins visible, muscles straining in his strong arms, in his beautiful neck.

Head falling back, Rhett closes his eyes, caught in the music and carried downriver.

Seeing him like this reminds you of another piece in the Tribune last summer.

A freelance music writer had spent an afternoon with him before a show for an in-depth profile on the origins of the band, on the music, on Rhett as the North Star the rest of Handsome Gambler often described him as:

"Handsome Gambler is Not Afraid to Lose."

WABANG, Wyo. – It’s an unseasonably warm June in Wabang, dry enough to brown the fields and make the local ranchers worried about wildfire, but in a secluded diner on the edge of town, former competitive bull rider and now, lead guitarist Rhett Abbott looks like a man who isn’t afraid of a little risk.

The diner was his choice, a run down place with enough charm in the form of checkered floors and old autographed photos in chipped wood frames to make it feel retro instead and according to him, the best pancakes in the whole damn state.

And – with a laugh – some of the worst coffee.

Over good pancakes, chocolate chip with homemade whipped cream, and bad coffee, I ask him about Handsome Gambler’s influences.

He co-wrote their entire debut album and came up with the instrumental interlude in the middle, which serves as the musical crux of the album.

A blend of slow and sorrowful guitar and bass and nature ambience, recorded on Abbott's phone on a late April night after a bad rain storm, which dares to go on for an ambitious four and a half minutes.

At my question, Abbott kind of smiles – half on, half off, an expression I notice often over our breakfast interview – and from memory, rattles off names like Grateful Dead, Springsteen in the "Born in the U.S.A." years ("I’m On Fire" is mentioned more than once and with great admiration), Creedence Clearwater Revival, "Fire on the Mountain" (Abbott is specific here, from The Marshall Tucker Band's 1976 album, "Searchin' for a Rainbow," not the Grateful Dead song), and more.

Household names. Ambitious names. One could almost roll their eyes if Abbott didn’t sound so sincere.

"I've always loved music. We didn't have a whole lot of live music around, not like in the big cities, but as a kid, Ma used to bring me to some of the cover band nights at this bar in town. S'closed down now, but I heard my first Led Zeppelin song there. Some drunk guy singing 'Going to California' in the wrong key for eight fucking minutes."

"She got me an old CD player for my room the next Christmas, and I'd put on Zeppelin IV and crank it all the way up. She'd come in screaming at me to turn it down, probably secretly regretted ever buying it for me."

Curious, I ask if Abbott remembers the name of the bar.

He grins, a full grin. "Handsome Gambler."

You love that profile, reread it often. His answers are so genuine, so sincere.

Every word, answer, description screams that Rhett Abbott is a man who loves music, who absolutely worships it with every bone in his body.

You can see it clear as day right now.

He plays with such ardent devotion, and caught in his thrall, you're short of breath, hand pressed across your collarbone, over your aching heart.

Applause breaks out at the end of the song, and Rhett's blue gaze blazes over the crowd and in a startling rush, lands right on you.

Your breath catches.

He has an intense stare, all scrunched brows and clenched jaw, covered in stubble, and middle-of-a-flame blue eyes, burning and bright.

He holds your gaze, drinking in the awe, the undisguised adoration in your expression.

Another starstruck fan in the crowd.

You wonder if Rhett can sense the want that warms your lower abdomen, descending from the moment Rhett stepped on the stage, a since-cast-aside black Stetson pulled low over his smoldering gaze, guitar slung carelessly over his good shoulder, and his arms – his bulging arms.

He must.

Because in a blink and miss it moment, Rhett winks at you.

One of the girls at the next table over lets out a piercing squeal, bragging to her friends that the sexy cowboy with the guitar winked at her.

But no, Rhett had winked at you, rockstar Rhett Abbott.

You look down, sipping from the rim of your rocks glass, letting the whiskey sour ground the explosion of butterflies in your stomach.

A kind of giddiness sparks in your chest, mixed with something darker and headier. Something like anticipation.

One look at Rhett reveals a smirk, kicking up the corner of his mouth, as Handsome Gambler kicks off the next song – the last song of the night.

You drain the contents of the glass. It burns the whole way down, a struck match, a good burn.

"Need a light, darlin'?"

Rhett is leaning against the brick, watching you search around your purse for an excuse to be in the alley right now, in the alley with him.

You used to carry around an old pack of cigarettes from your college days – a built in excuse to get out of an awkward social situation, stepping outside for a smoke.

Are you missing them in the darkness, or did you leave them at home?

A sidelong glance at him. You nod.

He offers you a lighter – a gleaming brass, not some garbage from the gas station – and when your arms remain loose at your sides, not moving to grab it from him, his brow quirks in question.

Heat rises in your cheeks. “Oh, I don't have a – Can I get one actually? Must’ve left my pack at home.”

You stumble over your words and fuck, Rhett must know now.

You'd seen him slip out of the side Emergency Exit door and followed him out here, made brave with whiskey sours and adrenaline.

A door that is still cracked open, enough for a crackle of music and a faint haze of red light to seep out into the cool night and barely illuminate your faces.

The expression on his is hard to read.

An open pack of Marlboro Reds – a little smushed from being roughly pulled from and shoved back into his back pocket over and over – is held out to you, and Rhett lets you pluck one from the middle.

Sets one in between his lips.

And with a crooked finger, Rhett gestures for you to come close, closer, until you’re close enough to see the beads of sweat on his skin, damp and flushed from the show.

You suck in a breath, and Rhett smoothly lights both of your cigarettes with a deft click. A quick flash of orange flame. You barely even notice, preoccupied with the press of his mouth around the cigarette, so close to your own.

He straightens, pulling back but only enough to not blow the smoke right in your face. He inhales and blows it out of the side of his mouth, watching you.

You hold in a cough, wincing at the acrid taste, and mimic him.

Breathe in and out and in again.

His gaze drops down, caught in the rise and fall and rise of your chest.

He squints, eyes crinkling in the corners, and with vague disappointment, you realize Rhett is checking out your shirt and not your cleavage.

Armed with a pair of eyebrow scissors and a dream, you'd cropped and cut and ripped until an enticing sliver of stomach and a hint of cleavage would be visible, almost but not quite showing the red lace of your bra. Just in case.

A crooked smirk dances on his lips, amused, as Rhett reads the name across the black fabric.

“A Floyd fan, huh? Y’got a thing for drummers, darlin’?”

You manage not to squirm but only just.

You like Bob Floyd. He’s a great dummer, real sweet.

(“It’s Bob, like Dylan,” Bob mumbled against the microphone earlier, during his introduction, looking very Born in the U.S.A. Springsteen in a plain white shirt and a camo baseball hat. At the sound of his voice, a drunk girl in the audience shrieked I love you, Bob, and Bob went beet red. “I , uh – Thank you. We love you too, Wabang.”)

You shrug in lieu of an answer, and Rhett's smirk grows a little wider, a little mean.

"Why're you out here with me then, pretendin' to want a smoke?"

You look him up and down, as if considering.

“Well, I really hoped Floyd might be around, but…”

An obvious lie, but Rhett was a bull rider before. Some part of him must still possess that combative edge, that competitive streak.

You'd like to see him all riled up.

His gaze darkens, pupils blown.

A warning.

A snorting and kicking bull who's spent all night in a chute.

You bite back a smirk.

His voice is so low, so rough, scraping across your burning skin like day old stubble.

“S’that right? Are you a groupie or something? Some slut who’d let any of us bend you over and use you? Who’d suck any of our cocks?”

He is so very close you right now, crowding in.

“Maybe…”

Is that really your voice? All smooth and alluring?

Sucking on the end of the cigarette, you hollow your cheeks out with your inhale and relish in the way Rhett watches you.

You ash the cigarette, watching the red embers fall and fade.

“I mean, I do really love your music.”

His next words come out in a harsh exhale.

“Take off your panties.”

You blink at him, a little surprised, and Rhett cocks his head.

Like I dare you.

Also like I don’t believe you.

You slide them down your legs and place them in his open palm, fingers brushing against his. They are red lace and damp, obviously so.

They had been ever since Rhett had flicked his guitar pick at you during the last song and before, even.

He chuckles and shoves them in his back pocket.

“You liar. I recognize you. Saw you in there, watching me the whole goddamn show. You came out here lookin’ for me, didn’t you?”

Not Floyd is implied.

You nod, mouth dry, unable to keep up the lie.

“And what were you hopin’ would happen, darlin’? How good of a groupie are you lookin’ to be?”

“Anything, Rhett,” you breathe, pretense all but gone, "as good as you want me to be.”

A wolfish grin cuts across his face. Good answer.

He catches your chin between his fingers, pressing hard enough to bruise. Pulls your cigarette from your parted lips and crushes it under his black cowboy boot.

"It's your lucky day, darlin’. Get on your knees."

You drop your purse. Almost bruise your knees on the asphalt, and for a brief second, Rhett's eyes go wide with something like concern.

You've already moved on, pushing aside the groan of your knees, not bothered.

You undo his massive belt buckle – gleaming, like the lighter, an intricate design – and pull down his zipper in one quick move, eager. You look up at him, glossed lips already parted in mindless anticipation, and Rhett looks back with nothing but amused desire, that mean smirk.

“What? You lookin’ for an invitation or somethin’?” he asks, voice full of gravel. He is still smoking the cigarette, red embers reflected in his dark and shining eyes. “You wanted some cock so goddamn bad. Take it out.”

You swallow hard and shove his boxers down until Rhett’s cock springs free, hard and dripping and beautiful.

A soft, longing breath escapes you, and Rhett smirks down at you.

You should probably work him up some, work him over with your hands until Rhett is desperate for you to put your mouth on him, but…

You put your mouth on him, desperate for the weight of him on your tongue.

You go deeper and choke, moisture streaming from your eyes and down your cheeks.

You’re a little out of practice. It's been a while, a little over two months.

You want him deeper, so much deeper, but…

Too much, too fast.

You have to pull back, gasping for breath, and Rhett makes a disappointed tsk sound. Blows out another puff of smoke.

“You can do better than that, right, darlin’? Because I bet I could go back in there and find some other slut who’d swallow my come in a fuckin’ heartbeat.”

So damn degrading. You're on fire, smearing across your inner thighs without your underwear.

“I can. Let me do it again. I promise I can.”

You sound downright pathetic. Can't even be bothered to care.

His smirk widens, and Rhett flicks the cigarette to the side.

"Gimme your hand," he urges in a low voice.

Fingers banded around your wrist, Rhett is not overly rough, careful not to yank and strain your shoulder, but he's not gentle either.

He presses down hard on the flesh between your thumb and pointer finger until your clenched fist opens for him.

His spit slaps against the center of your palm.

And is it your imagination that Rhett brushes a kiss across your pulse?

He guides your hand back down on him – around him – and works your hand around the base of his cock in hard and unforgiving strokes, working the length of him too big for you to reach with your mouth right now.

Determined, you lick at him, running your tongue along the slit of his cock, the vein that runs down the side, and sink your mouth around him until your lips brush against his clenching fingers.

Swallow around him.

Above you, Rhett shudders, dropping his head back against the brick, spasming on your tongue and hitting the back of your warm throat with an involuntarily jerk that makes you gag.

A low murmur of shit, sorry, darlin’ rushes from his mouth before Rhett seems to remember himself.

No longer apologetic, Rhett catches your hair in his free hand, giving a good, solid pull, and continues to work your hand around him with the other. His fingers grow slick with your spit, dribbling from the sides of your mouth, wetting the coarse hair on his knuckles.

He's muttering under his breath, curses and praises and words too low for you to make out over the wet sound of him.

“Fuck. So good, darlin'. So goddamn good."

A moan vibrates around him, and Rhett curses again, louder.

“S’that good, that what you needed? You needed my cock in your mouth? Anyone could walk out here. Anyone could come out here and see you on your knees, swallowing me whole like a desperate little slut.”

You whimper in answer, like yes, like please, like more, I desperately need you to say more, and a hand scrapes across your cheek, calloused and warm and rough, a slow stroke.

“But I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Good little groupie like you.”

Damp arousal drips down your leg, and you can't handle it anymore, you need, you need, you –

He doesn't miss a beat, not Rhett.

He sees you move, sees your hand pull at the denim, desperate for friction, for anything. A strained groan slides down your spine.

"Jesus Christ... How wet're you from suckin' my cock? Show me."

This seems like an impossible demand in this situation – you on your knees with your mouth full of him – but you've always been creative.

You gather your arousal, gasping at your own wetness, somehow surprised even in all this, and hold your hand out for him in the light.

Red light shines across your glistening fingers.

"God..." Rhett seems almost amazed. "Haven't even touched you, darlin'. You're so wet for me."

Awe burns away, leaving something more carnal in the ashes.

His eyes are half-lidded and nearly black, a summer storm on the indigo horizon.

"Touch yourself for me," Rhett rasps out, an order, a need.

And spits on your glistening fingers.

It's so wet and depraved and so fucking good, fingers dripping with his saliva and your own arousal, spreading his saliva across your cunt, rolling over your slick and swollen clit, clenching around nothing.

Every sweet sensation makes you gasp around his cock, growing more and more desperate, as Rhett pushes in and out of your mouth, spilling sweet and filthy words like a recitation.

"So fucking wet for me. So goddamn good."

"Come for me and my cock. Gonna come on your hand and swallow my cum, like a good little slut."

You imagine Rhett is the one touching you right now.

He is pinching at your clit, circling the bundle of nerves with thick and unrelenting fingers. He is parting you with knuckles covered in wet hair and stretching you out for him. He is giving you even a mere fraction of the rapt and devoted attention Rhett displayed earlier on stage, single-minded and focused on your pleasure.

And come with a muffled whine, eyes rolling back in your head.

Only seconds later, Rhett spurts down your throat with a near animalistic grunt, mouth falling open in pleasure. You swallow every drop.

Awash in the red glow of the aftermath, Rhett studies you with an unreadable expression again. You are standing again now, smoothing down your clothes and brushing the gravel and dirt from your knees.

You're both breathing hard.

He crooks a finger. "C'mere."

You go without hesitation, and Rhett grabs your wrist again, slower and gentler now, and pulls your fingers into his mouth, sucking the arousal from your skin.

He lets out a reverent groan, eyes filled with amazement and wide blue awe, flooding back in like a dam that's been cracked down the middle.

A smile pulls at your mouth, and Rhett crushes you against him. You loop your arms around his strong neck, and Rhett buries his face in the hinge of your shoulder with a content sigh.

"Missed you s'damn much, darlin'."

He murmurs the words against your forehead, smearing a kiss across your brow, stubble a pleasant and familiar prickle against your damp skin.

You melt against him, nudging your nose under his jaw and inhaling his scent, sweat and tobacco and mountain air and him. "Don't be gone for s'damn long then next time, rockstar."

"Come w'me next time."

He sounds almost drunk, mumbling and slurring against your bare skin, drunk on your proximity after nine long weeks apart from each other.

"Can't. Who else is supposed to write profiles on local up-and-coming bands? You should see the other writer that the Tribune hired. He's like... the med-iest of all the -ocres.”

His laugh is a warm puff of breath against your neck, which after nothing but phone and video calls is almost enough to make you sniffle against his shoulder.

You've missed him so damn much.

"Ah, right. It'd be selfish of me to deprive the whole damn state of your brilliance." He pulls back and looks you right in the eye, a gentle nudge under your chin. "Was that... You're okay, right?"

You smile wide. "I'm perfect."

"Good." He grins, a full grin that Rhett had flashed you for the first time over good pancakes and bad coffee months ago. "Because goddamn, you're so incredible. That was somethin' else, darlin'."

You'd been the one to come up with the idea, a perfect welcome home for him at the end of the nine week tour, a call back to the confession you'd made around a month of dating.

You know all I wanted to do when I saw you play for the first time was follow you on your smoke break and suck your cock, but I had to be a professional...

"We can pretend to be strangers. You can see me across a crowded room, and I can follow you out on your smoke break and..."

"And what?"

"That'd be up to you, wouldn't it, rockstar? I'd be like... your groupie or something."

You let the idea sink in, smiling and on the other end of the phone, Rhett swore under his breath.

You grin at him now.

"You were pretty incredible yourself, but right now, I do kind of want my boyfriend to kiss me."

His eyes are warm, light. "Yeah? D'you miss him that much?"

"So very much."

He cups the nape of your neck and leans in for a kiss, a firm and aching and devouring and loving kiss.

You kiss and kiss until Bob Floyd comes out to grab him for the encore.

"You're wanted, rockstar."

He gives you a wide grin and plants a kiss on the center of your wrist, right on your racing pulse.

"See you after the show, m'love."

You are sipping a water at the bar when Rhett comes back out on stage, all bright eyes and mussed hair and a bare scrap of red lace hanging out of his back pocket.

Impossible to miss.

You choke on your water, and Rhett winks.

note: so... i saw this photo of lewis said, yeah, guitarist rhett on his knees for a solo, and all of the sudden, i was spending hours reading musician profiles and assembling a list of handsome gambler-ish songs. life moves pretty fast 🤠

i could probably be persuaded to write more about them if anyone is interested.

#rhett abbott x reader #rhett abbott x you #rhett abbott smut #rhett abbott fic #rockstar!rhett #guitarist!rhett #fic: downright iconic #laracrofted writes #fic: rhett abbott

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bigfatbimbo · 3 months

Note

I second the appreciation for Dom reader rep! Sometimes it's not even about me being a Dom, it's just alot of characters are so babygirl (looking at alastor and sir pentious)

OH MY GOD FOR REAL. This is literally the realest thing ever dude these characters just look and act like they get railed, sorry not sorry.

(I have both a sir pentious and alastor fic in drafts, keep an eye out 🤭)

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel smut

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laundrybiscuits · 1 year

Text

(FINE I guess this is a series now. whatever.)

“He’s where,” says Steve.

“Off to see the wizard, my dude.” Argyle passes him a pipe. Steve’s not really sure where it came from or when Argyle packed it, but he’s got manners, so he takes a hit and hands it off to Jonathan.

“Murray,” elaborates Jonathan, on an exhale. “The…you know. Oh wow, I guess you’ve never met Murray either. That’s weird, right? I mean, you were there, you were just…”

“Babysitting, probably,” says Steve. “Wait, why is Eddie meeting this guy?”

Argyle gestures in a big loopy way. It reminds Steve a little bit of how Eddie waves his arms around. “Eddie’s on, like, a spiritual journey. A dream quest, but…real life. The realest.”

“Not spiritual like church,” adds Jonathan. “Like, gay spirit. Is that a thing? Shit, why doesn’t anyone know Murray.”

“I don’t know Murray either, man,” says Argyle.

“Is…Murray a real person?” Steve asks. He doesn’t think it’s an unreasonable question.

“Yes! Jesus. He’s real, okay? Nancy knows Murray, we—yeah. Nancy knows him.” Jonathan looks kind of dour and depressed, but he always sort of looks like that.

“How’s Nancy doing?” Steve doesn’t really want to know, but it seems like the polite thing to say.

“We’re fine,” says Jonathan.

“Okay,” says Steve, who hadn’t asked that at all.

“Everything’s fine,” Jonathan repeats. Argyle reaches over to pat Jonathan on the head, then takes the pipe from Jonathan’s hand.

———

“Hm,” says Murray. It’s hard to tell what he’s thinking behind all the facial hair and glasses. “Okay, I don’t usually do this, but…what the hell. Kiddo, you are way too young to be talking like that. Your life’s not over, and if you’re smart about it, it doesn’t have to be over any time soon.”

Murray sits back on the couch, kicking up his feet. There’s a hole in his left sock.

“You think happily ever after only looks like one thing? That’s the thought of a child. If you really want, you can make some kind of picket fence life for yourself, suburbs and all. But you’re a queer, so that means you don’t have to do that shit because nobody’s expecting you to anymore. You get to decide what matters to you.”

“I don’t know any way to be gay that’s not lonely as hell,” Eddie says.

“That’s because you’re an idiot and an infant,” says Murray gently.

“You don’t have a—a boyfriend.” It comes out a little too sharp and mean, but Eddie’s feeling cornered.

Murray laughs. “Kid, what did I just say? I don’t want a damn boyfriend. Some guy coming over here all the time, eating my food? Hell no. We’re degenerate homos, we get to decide what to keep and what to shove down the god damn garbage disposal. I got some arrangements in place, and that’s the way I like it. The whole lovey-dovey romance shit isn’t for me.”

Eddie draws his legs up, wrapping his arms around his shins. His boots are probably leaving marks on the couch, but Murray can deal. “I think it…I think that is for me. I want that to be for me. Um. In general.”

Murray actually tilts his head down to give Eddie a scathing look over the top of his glasses. “No shit, Joan Jett. Your whole ooh please push past my defenses to prove you love me schtick is visible from space.”

“Fuck,” says Eddie, knocking his head against his knees. He closes his eyes, humiliated beyond words, feeling scooped-out and awful.

“C’mon, it’s not that bad.” Eddie feels a tap on his arm, and when he looks up, Murray’s holding out a glass with about an inch of amber liquid in it. “We all go through something like that. It’s a rite of passage, just like it is to get so wasted you throw up on the stranger you dragged into a club bathroom. You’ll do that too. You’re gonna be messy and embarrassing anyway, so just enjoy the ride. And take the damn Talisker, it’ll help.”

Eddie takes the damn Talisker and knocks it back in one go, just to be an ass. Murray rolls his eyes but pours him another one.

“Ah, practical shit…” Murray scratches at his beard thoughtfully. “Been a while since I had to do this. Poppers are great, don’t overdo ‘em. Splurge on the fancy medical lube if you want but Vaseline or Crisco’ll do the trick just fine. And listen up, kitten, because you can ignore everything else that comes outta my mouth, but you can’t ignore this: always wrap it up. I mean always. I don’t care if he’s your soulmate, I don’t care if it kills the mood, I don’t care if he says he’s a blushing goddamn virgin. If he doesn’t want to wear a rubber, he doesn’t care if you live or die.”

Murray looks down at his own glass. For the first time, Eddie thinks he looks—tired.

“I know there’s probably a big part of you that doesn’t care if you live or die, either. But you gotta remember there’s people who do. The kid who sent you to me. He doesn’t want to go to your funeral.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says. It comes out too quiet; he swallows and tries again. “Yeah. I know. I’ve—been to funerals too.”

Murray barks out a surprised laugh. “God, you have, haven’t you? Think I was almost thirty, my first time. I’m sorry, Joan Jett, this isn’t a great time to be young and gay. Go make friends with some dykes, they’ll keep you sane.”

Eddie, who has held Robin’s hair back as she ralphed into a bucket after losing a Peeps-eating competition with Steve, has his doubts, but he just nods.

Murray looks at him for a moment, then takes his face between two big hands and kisses him on the forehead. It feels neither sexual nor familial, but something beyond all of the easy categories Eddie’s known.

“Now piss off,” Murray says. “Don’t get some crazy idea that this means we’re friends, or that you can start coming around whenever you feel like it.”

“So, just Tuesdays, Thursdays, and every other Sunday,” says Eddie, and ducks out before Murray can start cussing at him.

———

See, Eddie’s little crush on Steve is meant to be purely recreational. It’s fun to crush on unavailable guys he knows—way more fun than celebrities or whatever. It’s just nice, to feel his heart speed up a little when Steve’s around, safe in the certain knowledge that he’s never going to do a damn thing about it. It even feels good to hurt a little bit over it, achy and sharp, like pushing on a bruise.

Yeah, Eddie knows he’s a little fucked up. But he figures this is harmless enough: a secret little vice that nobody’s ever going to know about.

Apparently, everybody knows.

“Um,” says Jonathan, wide-eyed. “Was it…supposed to be a secret?”

“Yes,” hisses Eddie. “Because this is Hawkins, Indiana, and I don’t want to fucking die. Did we or did we not just have a conversation about the many and various perils this whole thing entails.”

“My dude, if you don’t want it to be, like, public knowledge, maybe don’t flirt with him so much?”

“Betrayal!” Eddie gasps, staggering around like he’s been stabbed in the back, because he fucking has. “An unjust hit by Argyle the Assassin.”

“Argyle the Assistant,” says Argyle. “I’m assisting you, bro.”

“I don’t flirt with Steve!” Eddie screeches. “We’re friends! I flirt with you two dickwads more than I do with Steve, because I don’t flirt with Steve!”

“You really do,” says Jonathan apologetically. “Kind of…a lot. Remember when we were out by the quarry, and you kept calling him princess.”

“As a joke!”

“Ohhh yeah,” says Argyle. “That was the day you, like…took his jacket, right?”

“I was cold!”

Jonathan grins. “Is that why you kept asking him how it looked on you?”

“As…a joke,” says Eddie, weakly. He’s starting to remember that it might’ve been even worse; the words do I look pretty in your clothes, Stevie may or may not have been uttered.

“Hey, man, it’s no biggie. That was a million years ago and he didn’t say anything, so you’re free and clear. Totally righteous.” Argyle throws an arm around Eddie, who curls into him sulkily. Argyle’s tall and solid and kinda hot, so it’s a real shame Eddie can’t crush on him instead.

Eddie sighs. “If Jonathan weren’t here, I’d ask you to make out with me until I felt better,” he says.

“What,” says Jonathan. “You can’t—I mean, you can, and I, uh—support you? Should I leave?”

“Aw,” says Argyle, and ruffles Eddie’s hair. “That’s sweet, dude. If Jonathan weren’t here, I would.”

“What is happening,” says Jonathan. “I’m gonna—should I leave? I’m gonna leave.”

Eddie whines, “No, c’mon, stay, we’ll do that seance. That’ll make me feel better too. Maybe we can resurrect my deceased heterosexuality.”

They don’t manage to raise any ghosts or any heterosexualities, but it does make Eddie feel a little better anyway.

#cw: reference to the AIDS crisis #fic: young man what do you wanna be #yup that's the new title. yup it's from the YMCA song by the Village People.#1) it's a gay disco standard 2) it represents the level of seriousness with which you should treat this series #I genuinely do not know if this will ever be posted on AO3 because I'm putting so little effort into making it a coherent story #instead of a vehicle for eddie + jargyle interactions #ALSO I do not actually know if pipes were super common in the 80s. I did zero research on any part of this. just go with it shhh

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holidaydesigns · 7 months

Text

My Saw X thoughts

“I have a few hobbies” okay

Knowing what happens later on, seeing John all happy that he’s going to live makes me want to claw my eyes out

I was in love with Amanda in this movie she’s my wife btw

Her calling Cecilia a bitch was the realest part of the movie I think

The sounds when Diego was cutting the bombs out of his arms were making me wince so bad

I just know they had Lawrence working overtime for these traps

I mean if he was even on the team at this point idk

VALENTINA WAS SO DISRESPECTED she was the nuuuurse bro she didn’t even do that much but she had to cut her own leg off only to die anyway and then Cecilia used her intestines as rope and THEN they used her fucking head for that dummy

Valentina and Mateo’s deaths were similar in the way that they did what they were supposed to but since they hesitated, they couldn’t win

Cecilia urging everybody to participate in their traps is very sinister knowing that she wanted them to die

Amanda caring about Gabriela is so sweet, she saw herself in her for sure. I was so happy when Gabby lived

AND I WAS SO MAD WHEN THAT BLONDE DEMON WHITE WOMAN JUMPSCARE KILLED HER

“YOU SICK BITCH” Amanda was like my inner monologue throughout this movie I stg

I obviously knew that Amanda and John were gonna make it out but the whole part with Cecilia and her boyfriend who I can’t remember the name of had me scared bro

I was tapping my foot and sweating in the theater

Cecilia was fr just despicable for bringing Carlos in dude

It was so sweet when Carlos tried to save John and then John tried to save him

Imagine Adam and Lawrence in the trap they were in though I actually loved that trap

That was such a satisfying ending besides the fact that Cecilia lives

I reallllly see how this sets up Amanda’s thought process in the 3rd movie, with how everyone died but the truly truly evil one, and even after Cecilia saw all those ‘friends’ die she still remained that way

John and Amanda were so father and daughter in this movie

I was so expecting Hoffman to say epic fail

He’s the real epic fail

I LOVE SAW X

#Saw #Saw x #Amanda young #John Kramer #Mark Hoffman #Cecilia pederson #saw x spoilers #Gabriela saw x #mateo saw x #Valentina saw x

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bloogers-boogers · 11 months

Text

Stan would blurt out sometime later about still using chatgpt to text Wendy and Cartman would start laughing until he realizes Stan has been a lot more caring in their text messages which immediately offends him once realizing he’s also using the app on him.

He leaves the scene after, leaving the group of friends who just looked confused by his exit.

Then Kyle is all like “wait, you can use the app on texting too?”

And Stan be like, “yeah, i use it on Cartman all the time when he’s being obnoxious. You should try it, saves you a lot of energy.”

And Kyle just stands there completely in thought, seemingly not believing that type of thing happens, “do you use it on me?”

“What? No, dude, never.” (He’s lying btw, he uses it only when he starts complaining about Cartman)

But Kyle just remains silent, back home he just lays in bed starring at the ceiling wondering why would someone be able to live with the fact they just don’t read people’s concerns and text an automated reply with ai, caring so little to just give one single minute of their time to read a message.

But at that same moment he receives a message from Cartman: ‘i need a distraction, wanna play online? 🤔’

He glanced at the message with sympathy, recalling the events from earlier and connecting Cartman’s abrupt departure.

‘You okay?’

‘Wym’

‘About earlier the ai chat thingy’

‘it’s fine’

‘Typing..’

‘I still have u, ur the realest thing I have’

And Kyle just feels his heart pondering by the reply knowing he’s still doing something right by reading someone’s messages.

#south park #eric cartman #kyle brovlofski #stan marsh #kyman #sp kyman #random shit post ☆#srry guys been taking a break on writing rn

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heartbreak-sandwich · 3 months

Text

Marmalade Stream of Consciousness

Well, I typed up random thoughts and quotes and moments while watching Marmalade for the first time, so here's this, I guess lmao. Spoilers below the cut

STREAM OF CONCH, HERE WE GOOOOOOOOOOOO

"you scared the chickens out of me." OKAY, BARON, YOU LITTLE ABSOLUTE SWEETIE.

"escapes, beeeeitch." OTIS OMFG. I LOVE OTIS.

"I swear...on my hair." Baron is the best. But just when you think you know his capacity, he surprises you. he might seem simple, but there's definitely more to him.

CROCHET, not CROQUE lmfao.

Awwww the moon pies...watching Baron take care of his mom squeezed my sad heart.

Listening to him describe his town to Marmalade when he first met her was just the cutest, most earnest thing. "It's the only place I ever knowed." He's just so fucking SWEET, it makes me want to cry.

FROM THE BEGINNING, Marmalade sketches me out. She talks about how "some sleazebag" gave her Big Bertha (her car). Even Baron questions her like "he just gave it to you??" and I bet there's a story there. Has to be.

And the way Baron talks about his dad....couldn't some see him because he was too busy building a rocket and then he blew up in space? Oh, honey....the dude needs a hug.

Marmalade is obviously striking the manic pixie dreamgirl chord immediately. There's something fun and magnetic about her, but also obviously red flag central. I'm excited to learn more about her. The way she just immediately inserts herself into Baron's life is so unsettling.

"You can borrow my nose. They smell beautiful, just like you." OKAY BARON, YOU LITTLE BABY SWEETHEART LMAO

DAY TWO, SHE'S LIKE "Let's rob a fuckin' bank." HELLO?!?!?!?

Enter Otis, once again, being the most normal person in this entire movie lmfao.

Baron hesitates on the bank idea, and Marmalade is immediately like "I LIKE U" kisses his face....I see what ur doing here, girl. I see u.

I honestly cannot tell if she's being genuine, but my money is on probably not.

Hearing Mama Eda's coughing in the background of their lovely moments makes my heart sink. Wow.

"Shoot the camera with what?" Oh, Baron. Oh, honey lamb...

The way she CACKLES when Baron gets scared by the gun, oh my god.

(I'm really not a fan of the nickname "Puppet." Shit makes me cringe for him - more foreshadowing imo so far)

HIS MAMA MARMALADE JAR TATTOO OMFG.

"GOT ME OVER HERE FEELIN' SHIT. I'M INSPIRED, MOTHERFUCKER." Otis is the realest lol.

THE WAY HE ALMOST FORGOT MAMA EDA'S MOON PIES OH MY GOD NO. She's distracting him from his mom while she needs him, I'm gonna cry for real....

OH GOD THE SCARE. THE SCARE. I was going to LOSE MY MIND if she had died right there. And he noticed something's up with the pills.....and Marmalade's all passed out? Hmmmmmmm.

Damn...when Baron pressures Marmalade to tell him about her life... you know she's been through some shit. And she's running from more than she lets on.

Oh, God. Her story breaks my heart... and Baron does his best to comfort her. Bless him...

THE ABSOLUTE TERROR ON BARON'S FACE AS MARMALADE ROBS THE PEOPLE AT THE ANTIQUE SHOP?! Poor boy. Oh my god....

"I was just playin" oh my god.

And he starts to try to back out. He wants to. And she comes back with "She's gonna fuckin' die." this POOR BOY. SOMEONE HELP HIM.

AND WHEN HE WANTS TO GO CHECK ON HIS MOM.. and Marmalade says "I can do it." I don't trust that. I do not trust that at all....I gotta know what's going on there.

BARON'S LITTLE ASTRONOT ON HIS CEILING, I can't... crying.

AND NOW SOMETHING'S WRONG WITH MAMA EDA. Conveniently as soon as Marmalade went to go see her?!

AND SHE DIED?!?! WHAT THE FUCK. NO. NO NO NO NO NO. Fuck this.

Oh, Otis..... my heart. :( I just want to give him a hug. Also bless him for looking out for Baron.

"Clench your buttcheeks" lmfao. Good advice, Otis.

"I think you got somethin' in your braid." BARON NO.

Aaaaaand now they're fighting.

OTIS OH NO. He was just trying to protect Baron :( poor Otis.

OH MY GOD SPECIAL AGENT OTIS??!?!?!?!??! HELLO WHAT?!

SAME DRESS, SAME MISSPELLINGS, SAME WRITING, BABY DOLL BANDIT?! Okay. She's on some real shit. I need to know more.

Aaaaaand Baron calls her. Rule Number One, all jail phone calls are recorded unless you're calling a secure attorney line. The End. Never, ever, ever do what he just did.

He doesn't need to rob the bank oh my god..... AND HERE SHE GOES AGAIN WITH HER BULLSHIT. And she's PREGNANT?! THAT WAS FUCKIN FAST?! Oh, Baron, no, no, no, no, no.

And she's such an asshole to him about being the driver.

Ngl, I think he outfit is so cute tho. Courtney Love vibes.

Okay, I love the dance number lmfao. Please tell me that's actually them dancing. I need to know. AND THE SEQUINS.

Marmalade squeals with delight. Baron screams in terror. My feels.

"Somethin' doesn't smell right." YOU BET, BABY. TELL HER WHAT'S UP. Poor baby is so uncomfortable.

"How come you know so much?" HE'S NOT STUPID. DON'T UNDERESTIMATE BARON.

"I might've done this once before." YOU DON'T SAY, MARMALADE. YOU DON'T SAY.

"Did you just fart?" ->->->->-> "I thought you can't smell." HE'S ONTO YOU, MARMALADE.

I just know the baby's fake. I just know it. I know it in my heart.

AND HE FINDS MAMA EDA'S PILLS IN MARMALADE'S CAR.

Oh, he has the gun on her. Oh, boy. Oh, baby.

Poor Baron. He's just unraveling, poor baby.

"It was just Mama Eda's time." Kinda wanna punch her, ngl.

Oh now the police are here and BARON... "We gotta go outside and apologize." THIS POOR BOY IS TOO GOOD.

God, I STILL cannot tell if she's ever being genuine. And I almost think she held Baron up for just a SECOND longer so he'd get caught and she could run.

RUN BABY RUN PLEASE OH NO. Oh no. He's too good. Baron's just too good.

OKAY. But he's for real pushing him out there.

Oh, they're tracking him. And Ted with his Shakespeare quotes lol.

Awww....Baron goes to visit Mama Eda first thing... sweet boy. I just want to hug him. :(

THE POOR DUDE IN THE CAR, he was so terrified. Of course the car was ditched. Of course.

The fuck is he pulling out of that chimney? Newspaper clippings?

OKAY WAIT. WHAT'S THE JAR OF MARMALADE ON MAMA EDA'S GRAVE FOR. WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING NOW.

Baron......BARON?!?!?!?

WAS SHE FAKE THIS WHOLE TIME?!

HE'S CUTTING HIS HAIR?!

He ain't no dummy. Baron is NOT stupid. QUITE the opposite, I think, at this point.

Oh. My god. WHAT is happening.

Joe Keery dressed as a mystery woman. All right.

"Take care now" WHAT IS HAPPENING. OH MY GOD. The way he takes that wig off and how fucking stoked he is lmao.

"There is no girl." WHAT.

OKAY SEXY JOE KEERY IS BACK WASSUP.

L-A-M-R-A-M. Huh. Pharmaceuticals. I am so confused.

OH BUT THE LOOK IN HIS EYES.

I am SO FUCKING AS;DFJSA;ODIFHSD; WHAT IS HAPPENING.

This dude's money. Who is this dude. Have I missed something. Oh, Don Frankels, CEO -- BARON PHARMACEUTICALS?!??!?!?!?

OH MAN, HE WAS NEVER NO SIMPLETON. THIS IS BIG BUSINESS.

Oh, but he has a white cane......

OH. OH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Oh, I don't like Don. We don't like him at all.

JAR OF MARMALADE. HE WAS THERE.

Okay but WHO IS HE AND WHAT IS GOING ON. I NEED TO KNOW MORE. NEED.

"What's real, what's fake?" MY QUESTION, TOO, TED.

OKAY THE FUCK?! What's in the envelope.......

"Sorry for your loss." ->->->->-> "My what?" WHAT THE FUCK.

"I'm taking care of my mother. I hope you'll do the same," AND A TICKET TO JAMAICA. HE KNEW THE WHOLE TIME?!?!??!!?!?!?

HE KNEW. THE WHOLE TIME.

IS HIS MOM ALIVE?!?!?!?! IS SHE?!?!?!?!

I'm crying. For real, I'm crying.

He's just delivering meds to all these boxes....?

AND EDA. THE MOON PIES. HIS MOM. OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!!

AHHHHHH IT WAS SO GOOD. SO FUCKING GOOD. I LOVE LOVE LOVE THIS SO MUCH!!!!!!!!!!! Ugh, I could not have prepared myself. SO fucking good. Will watch again and again.

#marmalade #marmalade film #honestly it was so good #I coudln't have asked for anything better #marmalade spoilers #so in love with this film

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