#Hunter Springfield

[firowisteria]

Hunter Springfield in canon: 🥺 Hunter Springfield in fanon: 🥺 Hunter Springfield in my redesigned headcanon: "I DID NOT GET 'PRINCESS' TATTOOED ON MY ASS TO NOT TREAT ME LIKE ONE, YOU FUCKING BITCH." "How dare you, Hunter Springfield. 🥺 How dare you make fun of the indie pop boys. 🥺" *on heels* "But you'd look so hot if you shut up.. :("

[rdubbs]

Buffalo Springfield: "Expecting To Fly"

Tune du Jour: “Expecting To Fly” – Buffalo Springfield THE CLASH of Cover Tunes: Sonja Hunter vs. Jakob Dylan & Regina Spektor vs. Rusty Squeezebox VOTE, COMMENT, then SELF-ACTUALIZE CoverMeImpressed.blog CoverMeImpressed.blog CoverMeImpressed.blog Everybody’s Dressin’ Funny … Cover Me Impressed! The Original Buffalo Springfield: THE CLASH of Cover Tunes Sonja Hunter vs. Jakob Dylan &…

[historyofguns]

The article, authored by Clayton Walker and published on February 21, 2025, in The Armory Life, discusses Springfield Armory's "Gear Up" program for 2025, a promotion running from February 1st to April 30th. During this period, purchasers of a Springfield AR Series rifle or Hellion will receive a package of valuable accessories. These include an additional magazine, a single-point sling, and a Crimson Trace CT-103 Red Dot sight. The SAINT series rifles, including the 5.56mm, Victor, and Edge variants, are highlighted for their advanced features, while the Hellion is noted for its compact bullpup design. The promotional package is valued at up to $250, providing additional incentives for prospective buyers. However, to avail of the offer, eligible buyers must provide proof of purchase and complete an online redemption form by April 30, 2025.

[julio-viernes]

Y un recuerdo, claro, para Phil Lesh, bajista de Grateful Dead, fallecido el viernes a los 84 años. Lesh fundó la banda en 1965 con Jerry García y Bob Weir. Personalmente los Dead que más me gustan son los del año 1970, los de los LPs "Workingman´s Dead" y "American Beauty", menos ácidos, sicodélicos, "jam" y "free", y más "roots", folk, country y tradicionales. Subo la fina y encantadora "Box of Rain", prima hermana de Buffalo Springfield, cantada por Lesh y compuesta por él con letra de Robert Hunter.

[fleursfairies]

i think its really funny when people say that it's unrealistic for will AND mike AND robin AND vickie to all be gay in the 80s cuz clearly they have never even looked back to the past. people in the 1900s were gay as hell! and heres some examples

james dean (1931-1955) bisexual !

marlon brando (1924-2004) bisexual !

rock hudson (1925-1985) very gay

leslie gore (1946-2015) lesbian

dusty springfield (1939-1999) lesbian

norma tanega (1939-2019) lesbian

(dusty springfield and norma tanega dated)

elton john (1947-present) gay

freddie mercury (1946-1991) gay

george michael (1963-2016) gay

david bowie (1947-2016) bi

crazy that david and elton were born the same year and george and david passed the same year

john lennon (1940-1980) bi im pretty sure unless yoko was lying for some reason

joan jett (1958-present) bi but google ai wants to argue with me about it

janis joplin (1943-1970) bi

whitney houston (1963-2012) bi?? maybe

debbie harry (blondie) (1945-present) bi (or ex bi LMAO)

billie holiday (1915-1959) bi

im lovin all the bi people

andy fraser (free) (1952-2015) gay

i do NOT like boy george at all but unfortunately hes an iconic gay artist and i have to add him (1961-present) gay 🙄

ray and dave davies from the kinks (1944+1947-present) ima just say that theyre both bisexual cuz its a bit confusing

art garfunkel (1941-present) bi. i just found this out like last year but ive always known in my soul. simon and garfunkel are like frog and toad or bert and ernie. you just know.

4/5 members of the b-52's are queer

little richard (1932-2020) gay

mick jagger (1943-present) bi? probably? idk but please go watch the mick jagger david bowie dancing in the street music video its the gayest thing ive ever seen

pete townshend (the who) (1945-present) pansexual

chuck panozzo (styx) (1948-present) gay

lou reed (velvet underground) (1942-2013) prooobably bi but google is giving me super confusing answers that are different since the last time i checked

morrissey 🙄 (this smiths) (1959-present) im diagnosing him as pan cuz all google says is "humansexual"

pete burns (dead or alive) (1959-2016) queer

jane wiedlin (the gogos) (1959-present) bi

june millington and alice de buhr of the band fanny are gay and nickey barclay is bi. (alice is one of my biggest drummer inspirations and i totally forgot she was gay)

neil tennant (pet shop boys) gay

marianne faithfull, katharine hepburn, marlene dietrich, greta garbo, billy haines, ian mckellen, divine, rupaul, andy warhol, frankie goes to hollywood, soft cell probably, tab hunter, stephen fry, anthony perkins, cristopher walken, sal mineo, sister rosetta tharpe, billie joe armstrong, drew barrymore, jodie foster, fiona shaw, angelina jolie, etc

update: joan baez, peter tork, marc bolan, brian epstein, stuart sutcliffe, candy darling, sandy west

i have more but im tired

but these are just some people that are confirmed queer. i could go ooon and ooon and ooon about "not gay" people doing gay ass things

if you're going to make silly statements about the past please actually do a bit of research

not to mention the lesbians and the same sex kiss in the 1927 movie wings

[writing-till-i-am-dead]

Loah oneshot

I’m back from the dead! (I never died, just mostly moved to AO3). Anyways, enjoy these nerds being nerds.

Noah is that kid that Barron was bullying (chapter 42) and I saw someone headcanon that he was the son of Jacob, the owner of the gun store (chapter 53), so adopted that here. Anyways, enjoy!

Noah hated working at the gun shop. The hours would go on late. His dad usually lets him clock out at 9 pm, but sometimes, usually weekend nights, he has to work the night shift. Well,, it’s not like he had anything better to do. What, go and hangout with Barron?

He shuddered at the thought.

He stopped hanging out with Barron after that glasses guy warned him. He had to admit, that kid was scary. The way he had pinned Barron to the ground. And his face alone had been terrifying. He was just glad that rage hadn’t been directed at him.

His gaze shifts to the clock on the wall. 10:43. Noah groans and slams his head into the counter. He was so tired. He just wanted to go home already. But he had to help his dad out with the shop. He rests his face on his arms and stares at the front door. He really wasn’t expecting it to open, so when he closes his eyes for just a second, he’s startled into jolting up when the door’s bell jingles.

“Um, welcome!” he announces, cringing at his stiff words, but quickly forgets about it when he sees who it is.

“It’s you!” It was that boy! The one who warned him about Barron. Logan, was it?

Logan blinks in surprise at Noah’s declaration and Noah felt his face flush as the awkward silence spread across the room.

“Oh!” Logan says, a look of realization dawning. “Noah!”

He remembered his name! That made him happy. Most people don’t even remember he exists.

“Ya. And you’re Logan.”

The 2 smile sheepishly at one another.

“So, uh, what can I do you for?” Noah asks, stepping out from behind the counter. He began wondering what the heck was Logan doing in a gun shop? And so late?

“Oh, um..” Logan rubs the back of his neck. “I’m going hunting this weekend. And I was bored so I decided to, uh, look around. Out of curiosity. Is Mr. Jacob not here?”

“Mr. Ja- Ah, my dad! Ya, he’s here. Just in the back and taking care of inventory. Do you need me to go get him?”

“No, it’s ok. I was just curious.”

“All right. Well, I can help you look at the selections, if you’d like.”

Logan seemed a bit hesitant but slowly nodded. “Alright. Sounds good.”

The two walk down the aisles and Noah points at a rifle on the wall. “Bolt action rifles are the most commonly used for hunters. But Winchesters are also pretty good.”

Logan smiles crookedly. “I'm actually better with a Springfield. The weight is perfect and the long range.”

Noah blinks in surprise. He didn’t know that Logan knew anything about guns. He didn’t seem the type. Then again, Noah probably didn’t either.

“So you have experience?” Noah asks.

Logan freezes before shrugging stiffly. “A little..” His voice was a bit strained, like he was hiding something or not saying the full truth.

The two go silent for a bit. Noah can’t help but feel a sense of kinship with Logan. Yes, this was kind of awkward, but knowing he’s not the only one who’s bad at talking to people gave him a little bit of solace.

“By the way,” Logan says, breaking the silence. “Are you still hanging out with Barron?”

Noah hesitates, pulling down his cap to hide his face a little. “No. He stopped talking to me after you and your friends fought with him.”

“Oh. Well that’s good.”

Noah wasn’t so sure, though. Ya, Barron was a jerk. But it was nice to talk to someone on a day to day basis. Now he’s just back to going almost a whole day without saying a peep to anyone. It’s just incredibly lonely.

Logan seemed to notice the unsure expression on Noah’s face.

“Hey, uh.. say, are you able to take a break?”

Noah jumps slightly. “Huh?”

“I was going to run to the convenience store to get some late night snacks. Wanna come with me?”

Noah’s face flushed and he began stumbling over his words. “Well, if you’re inviting me because you feel bad for me, you don’t have to.”

“No, no. I’m serious. I really do want you to come with me.”

“Well, I don’t know if my dad would-”

“Just go with him,” a voice says, cutting him off. 

Both of them whip their heads around and see Noah’s dad, Jacob, standing at the doorway of the storage room. “Go have some fun with your friend. I can hold down the fort.”

Noah’s face goes even redder and he clenches his fists at his sides. Now he felt like a baby who needed to get his daddy’s permission to go out.

But Logan, rather than laughing, simply smiles at Noah. “Well. Wanna come?”

Noah stares at him. Then stares at him some more. Finally, he lets out a grand sigh. “Ok. Sounds fun..”

They bell jingled as they opened the door and headed out. Logan carried himself with a level of confidence that made Noah wonder how this guy could have ever been bullied by Barron. It’s really admirable.

“So, what are you getting from the convenience store?” Noah asks.

“Just some snacks. My friends and I are having a sleepover tomorrow night and they love snacking.”

Noah looked down at the ground. That’s right. Logan has friends. Several of them. And what did Noah have? The ultimate collection of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles that he spent all of his work money on? He shook his head. He’s being a real self hating dick, thinking like that. Jealousy is an ugly thing, but considering how often he gets jealous, he might as well be hideous.

“But, we can also get an icecream,” Logan adds. “This place sells this really good mango icecream. It’s on me.”

Noah goes a bit red and nods slightly. “Thanks.”

They pull into the convenience store and Logan fills his basket up to the brim with snacks. “Aiden really likes peanut butter, and Ben likes gummies… Taylor prefers sour and Tyler prefers sweet.. And Ashlyn likes gum..”

Noah listens to Logan as he rattles on about his friends’ snacking preferences and he stuffs his hands into his pockets. Geez, this was so awkward. 

“And now for the ice cream,” Logan says, pulling open the freezer. Noah shivers as the cold air hits him.

They go to pay and the lady at check out, a sweet elderly woman, smiles at them. “Ah, Logan, sweetie. It’s good to see you. How are your grandparents?”

Logan smiles bashfully. “They’re good, ma’am. Business is well, haha.”

She nods. “Good.”

They take their snacks after paying and step out of the automatic opening doors. “You knew her?” Noah asks.

Logan chuckles. “Not at all. But, most people know my grandparents. They… have a lot of connections.” He clears his throat and reaches into the bag, pulling out their icecreams before sitting down on the sidewalk and looking up.

Noah wavers before slowly sitting down next to him, taking the icecream and opening it up.

“That’s the Big Dipper,” Logan says, pointing up. Noah follows his finger and squints.

“I don’t see it.”

“Cmon, just look closer. It’s real easy to spot.”

Noah chuckles. “I am looking close. I don’t see anything.”

Logan snickers. “No, no, look closer. I promise, it’s right there.”

“I feel like you’re pulling my leg, Fields.”

They both laugh.

“Say, I often see you reading in school. What kinds of books do you like?”

Noah hesitates. “Um.. well… they’re from the perspective of.. nonhumans. And they, um.. have cool action scenes and, uh..”

Logan raises an eyebrow. “If it’ll make you more comfortable, you wanna know how many Star Trek books I own? 231.”

Barron blinks in surprise and a slow smile spreads across his face. “Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. I read those comics behind actual books, pretending to read a novel or something.”

They both laugh again.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Logan says, holding up a hand to try and pause their giggling, but barely able to compose himself. “What’s your opinion on DND?”

Noah beams from ear to ear “I’ll play as long as-”

“-I’M THE DM!” they finish together.

They laugh even harder, Logan clutching his stomach and Noah covering his face. 

“I never thought I would meet someone who gets me so well!” Noah exclaims.

“Me neither!” Logan says.

“Huh? But don’t you have, like, a bunch of friends?”

Logan smiles crookedly. “Ehh, well, ya. And I love them, don’t get me wrong! But we’re all.. still pretty different. I guess me and Ben are pretty similar, but our interests don’t really match up. I always feel bad rambling about my interests.”

“I feel the same way with my dad!”

The 2 smile at one another before Logan’s phone starts beeping. “Shoot! It’s nearly midnight. I need to get home!” Logan stands up and finishes off his icecream, wiping his hands on his slacks. “Hey, before I go, give me your number!”

“Huh?!”

“Your number! So if we ever want to talk about ‘nerd stuff’ we can just give each other a call!”

“I-I don’t- Are you sure you want-”

“Quick, I don’t have much time before I- Before my curfew is through!”

Noah jumps and scrambles for a pen in his pocket, but quickly realizes he didn't have paper. Without thinking, he grabbed Logan’s hand and wrote the number there.

“There. And, you better not be messing with me, Fields,” Noah says.

Logan gives him a sheepish smile. “I wouldn’t do that.” And with that, he turned on his heel and disappeared into the night, leaving an awestruck Noah standing outside the convenience store, the dim flickering lights the only thing allowing him to see the retreating figure.

He gulped and tilted his cap down, blushing. Logan was.. SO COOL!

Bonus:

As Logan ran off, he was blushing so bad that he thought his face would melt off. Since when was he so pushy? SInce when was he so.. so.. AGH!!

AHHHH, I’M SUCH A WEIRDO!!!!! I'M NEVER GOING TO ASK SOMEONE FOR THEIR NUMBER EVER AGAIN!!

Divider by @youre-ackermine

[talltalesandbedtimestories]

A Hunter's Helper (Through His Eyes - A Dean Winchester Writing Challenge)

I spent a couple of days with Dean this weekend, thanks to this Dean POV writing challenge by @impala-dreamer. I chose the prompt "It. Was. Amazing."

Rating: Teen; No pairing, but Dean spends a lot of time with an OC.

Summary: Just Season 1 Dean and his thoughts. On a case. With a girl telling a tale.

Tags: Mild violence and gore, cursing, angsty/hopeful Dean

Word Count ~ 5100

Not beta'd, pretty much fresh off the GoogleDocs and into this post.

“It. Was. Amazing.”

Dean knocked back another shot of whiskey. That warm, gauzy wave of intoxication finally laped at the corners of his brain. His skin tingled.

An hour ago he’d stumbled into his motel room, a tangle of livewire nerves, muscles alight with exertion. He stripped out of his clothes on the way to the bathroom. He’d worry about how to get the ghoulish grey-colored blood out of his jeans later. The steady stream of hot water cleansed his skin. A good finger scrubbing loosened the bits and bobs of flesh that had found time to crust into his hair on the hour drive from the carnage.

Killing ghouls wasn’t as easy as a salt and burn. You had to get really dirty, slog your way through filth and decay, for the up-close and personal extermination. One way or another, you had to make sure the head and brains were obliterated. It had taken Dean a machete and long gun to turn two of them into pulp above the shoulders. Quinton, his hunter partner of the week, barely managed to take care of the other one.

Dean had to look into eyes that didn’t belong to the ghouls when he hacked and pulled the trigger. He kept having to tell himself Costumes. Just wearing costumes. These people are already dead. 

A total of three ghouls holed up in a long-abandoned, unused section of the sewer labyrinth under the city of Springfield. Their hideaway butted up conveniently next to a cemetery; a section of the cemetery that handled recent burials. 

News reports and sightings of dead relatives popped up in the city about three months back. It was when the visits from the dead included taking bites out of the fresh flesh of relations and friends that hunter radar shot up. 

“It wasn’t that amazing,” Sandy murmured, sat down at the far end of the bar.

Dean didn’t hear it as much as lip-read her response. He liked the way her mouth moved. It was an odd revelation; the kind Dean got at lots of bars at 1 am.

Sandy, Dean’s newest acquaintance in the hunter network - a circle that had grown slowly over the past year. She’d been the one to put out the APB for assistance. She was more the town cryer and investigative reporter for this neck of the woods. That’s as much as he got from Bobby about her before he’d been sent off on this hunt, per Dad’s orders. 

A country singer crooned out of the jukebox. Balls clicked and clattered, breaking atop a pool table behind and to Dean’s right. 

“Don’t knock your talent. I knew there had to be a reason they call you Hunter Helper.” He tapped the glass on the bar. “Just be ground chuck without you.”

“Thas not the only reason we all call you Hunter Helper.” Quinton, inebriated and slurring, elbowed Sandy’s bicep. “Open infitation to the sausage party in mah pants.” 

For the hundredth time this week, Dean wondered if his father had teamed him up with Quinton as some sort of punishment. Quinton was loud, crass, clumsy, and just an all around fuck-up. 

Even if the unsolicited gossip Quinton shared to Dean about Sandy might be true, he didn’t have to be a dickbag about it. 

Dean readied a reply to put Quinton in his place but Sandy beat him to it. “Sausage party? More like cocktail weenie.” She hopped off the stool and lost a couple inches in height. “Glad I could be of assistance to YOU, Dean. I’m gonna bounce.” She sipped the last of her beer and tossed another glance in his direction. “Figure the least you can do is pick up my tab.” She saluted Dean with two fingers before flicking Quinton the middle one. “You? Lose my number. Or maybe the cops in Monterey get a lead on that case that went cold a couple years back.” After snatching her backpack off the floor and swinging it over a shoulder, she wiggled her fingers in Quinton’s face. “Couple of keystrokes is all I need to make your life a living hell, Q. Not that you need much help in that area.”

Sandy marched towards the exit, pushed hard with two outstretched hands and shoved at the door. The force swung it open wide. The electric blue of the neon sign spotlit her frame as she strolled under it. The door slammed shut on the return.

“Bitch,” Quinton mumbled, sidling alongside Dean at the bar.

Dean flicked his temporary partner’s ear.

“Ow.” Quinton palmed the offended skin.

“We wouldn’t be sitting here celebrating a win if it wasn’t for Sandy, dumbass. Show a little respect.”

“Pffft. You don’t gotta defend her honor to get into her pants.”

“You are one annoying son of a bitch, you know that?”

Quinton squinted. “Well, at least you don’t gotta deal with me anymore after tonight.”

Dean hummed in confirmation. It took him a few seconds, curiosity caving, before he asked, “She’s got a thing for ghouls?”

Quinton scratched at his bald head. He had watched the thirty-something shave his skull with a razor one morning that week as they had swapped facts about the case. It made Dean consider the benefits of going full cue ball himself. “Thing? She ain’t that kinky.”

Dean reconsidered his words and fought to collect the right ones. “People in our line of work usually have a certain…”

Quinton leaned into Dean’s shoulder. “Obsession,” he finished. “You think it’s ghouls for Sandy?”

Sandy’s eyes held a mix of fear and interest, unwavering focus, with the topic of ghouls. Dean had seen the same look in his father’s eyes at the mere mention of demons.

“Just a feeling.”

*

Seconds ticked away after Dean finished retelling the case over the phone to his father.

“Good work.” The two words from John Winchester sounded as if they were being extracted from his throat using forceps.

Dean sat at the foot of the Queen-sized bed in his motel room. “Thanks.” It was the first time he’d actually talked to his father in almost two weeks. Nothing but voicemails and three-word text message responses. “Did you have to scrape the bottom of the barrel to find Quinton?”

Dean realized his error too late, cursing his loose lips and mildly trashed brain. John didn’t have many people he could count on. He’d burned bridges. Cashed out one too many favors.

“Sometimes, you gotta do the best with what you’re given.” John’s gravelly whisper doled out one of his usual platitudes.

Dean relaxed. John Winchester sounded sloshed, way more sloshed than he was. What could he do to him six states away?

“You’re lucky I could find you a partner. The way things shook out, no way you could’ve handled what turned out to be three ghouls on your own.”

Well, he could do that.

“Make sure you change the oil in the car. I didn’t give it to you to run into the ground.”

And he could do that.

“Already done,” Dean quipped quickly like a good little soldier.

“Hmph.” Dean heard glass on glass action over on his father’s end. “Talked to Bobby. He said to make your way to Sioux Falls. Reset for a few.”

He rushed out, “I could meet you…”

“I’m doing this one solo.”

All Dean heard was You’ll get in the way. “Dad? Where are you?” Solo meant secret. A hunt or case that John Winchester kept to himself cut too close to the bone. It held more than a strong conviction to save people and hunt things.

“Go relax over at Singer’s. I’ll call when I can.”

“Dad…”

John Winchester was gone. Dean’s jaw clamped tight. Teeth ground down, ready to ignite his temper like a matchhead skimming flint. His eyes flicked to the television, whose sights and sounds kept him company in the solitary space. He’d clocked a few infomercials during his conversation. Hot Bobs. Bake n’ Fill. Now it was Touch n’ Brush. They mocked and teased. 

You’ll never have normal. Never need the latest and greatest gadgets to solve all those complex issues. Hot girlfriend sobbing over her inability to change her hairstyle length at a whim. A Betty Crocker wife who wants to make you a homemade ice cream cake. Or, man, how did I ever brush my teeth without a wall-mounted toothpaste dispenser that doesn’t even need batteries?

He should’ve gotten fully loaded at the bar before closing time. It had only been a skip and a jump to the motel. He was still too sharp, corners even harder after talking to his father. He groaned and flopped back onto the mattress.

He wanted to guzzle something, punch something, fuck something. Anything to make him forget. He pinched his lids shut tight, listened to the fifth repetition of the 800 number, and the shipping and handling fees. He didn’t have a home address to send a late night, spur of the moment purchase. Or a credit card in his real name to charge some retail therapy. Can you spell your last name, sir? H-U-M-D-I-N-G-E-R. Humdinger.

A shuffle and rustle outside the thin motel room door filtered into his eardrum. The room, barely big enough to handle the bed and the dresser the television sat atop, placed his reclined head only a few feet from the entrance. A bounce to his feet and he peeked between the musty curtains, got a whiff of stale cigarettes. Surprised and grateful at the sight outside, he outstretched an arm to fiddle with the latch and lock.

“Hey,” Dean called out to Sandy, already yards down the walk. His boot knocked a plastic take-out bag she must have deposited at the threshold.

Sandy’s shoulders sagged, coated yellow-orange this time by the overhead floodlights. She spun on her black Converse heels and stared him down. She wasn’t anything to write home about. Mousy, dull brown hair slicked back and tied in a tight ponytail. She had eyes the color of clay without a hint of sparkle, even under the lights. Everything about her was stark, black her signature color down to the black-rimmed eyeglasses. Nothing Dean could wax poetic about to a horny hunter when regaling a particularly memorable conquest. 

But she’d fill his want for something tonight. If she wanted him to fill some empty part for her, he could be that something as well. 

“Hey,” she mumbled in return, arms crossed in the chilly night, her ever present backpack slung over a shoulder.

Dean picked up the bag and opened it glancing inside. His black and white speckled composition book, creased and crumpled from hand-wringing and duffle stuffing. The one he’d been using since he’d started hunting on his own about six months ago. Cataloguing the monsters and cases the way John did. Well, not as manic and detailed as his father. Cliff notes style always suited Dean best.

Sandy stalked back towards him. “Didn’t want you to come by looking for that as an excuse before you headed out of town.”

Dean flashed that grin. “Got me all figured out, huh?”

Shoulders tilted up. “Regardless of what rumors Q might be spreading, I don’t spread for just anyone.”

Dean nodded. “Understood. And, thanks for this.”

She nodded. “It was on my kitchen counter.”

“Yeah.” Dean recalled the last time he’d been scribbling notes in it. Sandy’s tiny studio apartment was about five miles from the motel. “I forgot about it as soon as you got us the probable location of the ghouls.” Dean smiled. “Haven’t been in the presence of an actual hacker before. The way you got into the utility department infrastructure,” Dean whistled low. “You’re almost as hot as Angelina Jolie.”

Sandy snorted. “And you are not as hot as Johnny Lee Miller.”

Dean shrugged. “Can’t deny I’m cute, though.”

“No, can’t deny that.”

“Wanna come in?”

Sandy tossed a side eye stare.

“I mean, if you’ve got somewhere to be at 3 am…” Dean began, hands up, bag swaying from the curved knuckles of two fingers.

She peeked past his shoulder into the room. “Not the most spacious.”

“I’ll make up for it with my company.” He thumbed behind him. “And there’s a vending machine with Funyons and Doritos.”

“I’m more of a Snickers and KitKat girl.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

*

Candy wrappers and snack bags littered the bedspread around them. They were creeping into hour two of whatever the hell kind of non-sleepover this was. Dean rested his back against the headboard. Sandy sat cross-legged and perpendicular to Dean. The television was on, crappy reception to MTV found.

She’d gotten herself a little more comfortable as the night had gone on. Eventually, she shed her hoodie and chucked off her sneakers. Her black sweatshirt is large enough that the sleeves partially cover her hands. She tugged at them often; some sort of self-soothing tick. Dean noted the occasional twitch of two fingers on her left arm.

Sandy bit into a Snickers. The caramel pulled away, stringy, and dripped down her chin. She attempted to lick it away with her tongue before wiping a hand over her mouth. Dean found more and more things to like as he studied her. She was curvy and soft. She had a sweet smile when she allowed her lips to curve upward. She smelled like cotton candy under all the chocolate. 

She had gotten her hands on Dean’s composition book to pass the time. He found it an easy confessional, spilling on what he’d been up to on his hunts. 

Now, they’d finally caught up to present day.

“I’ve heard stories about John Winchester.”

Dean stuffed his mouth with Funyons.

“Very mysterious. Doesn’t pair up to hunt often and when he does…”

He burns every fucking bridge.

“You weren’t what I expected,” Sandy added.

“Good or bad?”

Sandy squinted. “Too early to decide.”

“But cute,” Dean stated.

She sighed and rolled her eyes in response.

“How long have you lived here, in Springfield?”

“Hm. About eight years.”

After waiting about ten seconds, Dean raised an eyebrow. “I don’t get anything.”

She chuckled. “You want the whole origin story?”

“I got time, unless you want me to help you occupy your mouth with something else.” Dean waggled both brows this time.

She swatted his thigh. “God, you’re lucky you’re cute.”

“Blessing and a curse.”

“Can only imagine. Having to walk around us mere mortals looking like that.” She bowed her head.

“Come on. How’d you end up helping hunters out?”

Sandy closed her eyes. “Kind of a long story.”

“Again, I’ve got time.”

“It was my twelfth birthday when everything changed.” She exhaled, rolled her shoulders back and straightened out of her comfy slouch.

Dean nodded. “I was four.”

Sandy’s gaze met his. “I’ve heard stories.”

“Yeah, but we’re talking about yours now.” He waved a hand for her to continue. It seemed irreverent to crunch away and crinkle the Funyons bag so he rested it on his left side.

He watched her face work through the best place to start.

“It was me, my mom, and dad, until I was six. Then Shelley came along. Dad died a year after that. Coal miner. Lung cancer.”

Dean nodded in sympathy and understanding. His mom dying, leaving him, his dad, and Sam.

“Mom took it really hard. Pretty much fell apart. I took up the slack for her where I could, what she needed, what she just couldn’t or didn’t have the strength to do, I guess.”

He didn’t have to ask what that meant for a seven-year-old, familiar with his share of diaper changes and bottle feedings.

“She never really settled for years. We moved around, rental to rental, living off assistance and the kindness of others.” Sandy stared off into a corner. “Sometimes there weren’t ulterior motives behind the charity.”

“People suck,” Dean added.

Sandy chuckled and nodded. “A year before it happened, she got her life right. Quit drinking. Got a job at a factory. Long hours, but she had made friends with a sweet little neighbor, Mrs. Raintree, who would watch Shelley during the day. I’d spend a couple of hours at her house after school before mom would come round and collect us.”

He didn’t know what stung worse. The idea of things never getting better. Or something getting right only long enough to have the rug pulled from under you.

“Then, some switch flipped in Mom’s brain, and things went downhill in less than a week. She started missing days at work. Started drinking again. I’d seen it happen before, so I- I didn’t think much of it. I was conditioned, prepared, I guess. One morning, she told me not to go to Mrs. Raintree after school, but to come straight home. I figured it would be another day where she’d call in sick and watch Shelley herself. But, another part of me, the part that knew it was my birthday- I was hoping maybe I’d come home to a surprise party or something.”

Dean felt his mouth twist at the way she emphasized something.

Sandy sighed. “I came home that afternoon to an empty house. So I started on some homework, and then I waited. Two hours went by. Still no mom or Shelley. I was getting hungry, there wasn’t anything in the fridge, so I decided to go down to the chest freezer in the basement and grab a Hungry-Man.”

Dean’s eyes widened. “Salisbury Steak?”

Sandy shook her head. “Pork patties shaped like ribs.”

Dean hoped Sandy had at least gotten to eat a decent frozen dinner fresh from the oven before things had gone wrong.

Sandy’s face crumpled.

Fuck.

“My mom’s body was in the freezer.”

On instinct, Dean’s hand grasped her knee. She didn’t flinch away; instead, she rested her hand over his and gripped it tight. “I don’t know how long I stood there staring at her body. I can still picture her face clear as day. Cloudy eyeballs, crystals forming in her hair, over her cheeks, her nostrils. She was milky white. That’s when I knew she’d been dead and gone for days. And that someone was pretending to be my mother. I didn’t know much. The thing I was scared of the most was that I didn’t know if it’d done something to Shelley. What if she wasn’t my Shelley anymore?”

Something knocked me out of the haze, and I ran upstairs. I don’t know what I was planning to do. I didn’t have time to think about the next step. Cause when I got to the top of the stairs and into the kitchen, the thing that wasn’t my mother was singing Happy Birthday to me along with my sister. They had a dozen cupcakes, a candle in each, all lit up on the kitchen table. It was stroking my sister’s hair while it sang to me. But the look on its face. It knew I knew its secret. And it looked hungry.”

‘Make a wish, sweetie.’” I blew out the candles. It told me to sit and enjoy my cupcakes. Then it went about the kitchen, telling me all three of us would have a sleepover that night. Shelley clapped, all excited. ‘I’ll braid your hair and paint your nails, Shell Bell.’ It stared me down, baiting me. It bent down and whispered in my ear. ‘If you want her to stay alive, you’ll keep your mouth shut.’”

Realization slammed into Dean. “It was a ghoul, wasn’t it?”

Sandy nodded.

“How did you-”

“It kept my sister and me in the house for almost a week. Shelley was having the time of her life, playing Barbies and dress-up. She loved all of the attention ‘mom’ was giving her. Every chance it got while I was alone with it, it told me that if I tried to get away or call for help, it would kill Shelley right in front of me. But I just knew we wouldn’t make it out of there alive. I watched its patterns. It had to sleep sometime, even if we were locked in the room with it when it did. It seemed to get weaker as the days went on. It wasn’t as alert. I’d get a few minutes to myself here and there. It never let Shelley out of its sight, though, and there was no way in hell I was going to try to escape and leave my little sister behind. And, Shelley was a typical five-year-old. A real handful.” Dean saw a soft, wistful smile for the first time since the tale began. “It seemed to, I don’t know, really care for my little sister. Maybe a part of my mother-,” Sandy choked back some words.

“Anyway, Shelley wanted to have a tea party every night after dinner, and I was the maid responsible for making the tea. I’d swiped a handful of my mom’s sleeping pills from the bathroom, crushed them, and mixed them into the tea. I figured it was the only shot we had. Luckily, it drank a good bit of it and knocked itself out about a half-hour after.” Sandy tapped Dean’s hand. “I knew I’d have to drink as well. But the sleeping pills weren’t the only kind of drugs my mother took. I popped a few of the pills I knew she used to keep her up all night, when she wanted. The hardest part was watching Shelley sip away at her tea, all smiles.” Sandy got quiet.

Dean whispered, “You had to do whatever you could.”

“Yeah.” Sandy nodded. “I made sure Shelley was breathing, heart beating. I put her in bed, in our shared bedroom. My mom had never gotten rid of my dad’s pickaxe. I knew where she stored it- in her bedroom closet. I stood over the sleeping body, the thing that was in my mom’s body. I had to tell myself over and over that it wasn’t her. That my real mom was frozen solid, dead, in the basement. That I had to do this to save Shelley. So, I closed my eyes and swung that axe, hard as I could. I felt it sink into something deep and solid. I opened my eyes to peek and I’d done it. I’d pierced its heart.”

Dean shook his head, knowing that wasn’t the end of the story. “Shit. You didn’t know.”

“Nope. All that did was wake it the fuck up, snarling and screaming. It grabbed me with its teeth, clamped onto my arm, and tore a nice chunk out of it. But I just kept swinging. Thank god I managed to get a few whacks into the part that mattered. It finally stopped moving.” 

Her voice had risen, sounding smaller to Dean’s ear. “I had to kill a thing wearing my mom’s face.” He leaned in close and used his free hand to wipe fallen tears off her cheeks.

“Everything changed after that.” Sandy shivered, blinked, and met Dean’s eyes again. “It was crazy. The cops couldn’t make heads or tails of what happened. My mom’s dead body is in the freezer. Me, all of twelve, trying to convince every single adult who’ll listen that my mom’s doppelganger had been holding my sister and me hostage. I had a ton of psychiatric exams. Shelley and I got separated and placed in the care of the state. My time in that group home is pretty much a blur. All I could think of was if Shelley was scared; if I’d ever see her again. It was a month before they’d found a great aunt on my dad’s side willing to take us both in.” 

Dean forced the thoughts of his brother out of his mind. “Is that where it got you?” He pointed to her left arm.

Sandy nodded. Without further prodding, she rolled up the puffy, sagging sleeve. 

His gaze lingered on a beautiful, ornate tattoo covering every inch of skin he’s permitted to see. Black swirly scrollwork, green vines, red roses, and thorns dripping blood. It continued up past her elbow. She cuffed the fabric over her shoulder. It wasn’t until her hand fell away and she tilted her forearm that he clocked the injury. Nothing but mottled, wrinkled, tattooed flesh occupied a space that should have contained firm, sinewy muscle. The ink did a nice job of obscuring the scarred reminder. “I don’t have much feeling in a couple of my fingers. Lots of surgery and PT. Real lucky my hand didn’t become a paperweight. Scary to wonder what life would have been like if we didn’t have family after all that happened.”

Turning on a dime, Sandy pushed the sleeve down and wiped the rest of her tears away. “Shit. I haven’t told anyone that in years.”

“The hunt.” Dean answered, his tone low. “The ghouls.”

Sandy sighed. “Having them here, near my home. Connecting with hunters once I left my aunt’s, I wanted to be a part of eradicating every single one of those fuckers off the planet. But, at a distance, you know?”

“I get it.”

“You never had that option, did you?”

Dean puffed out a laugh. “No.” The heat of her stare made Dean’s skin itch.

“Q mentioned a younger brother. Sam? He hunted with you and your dad?”

Fucking Quinton and his mouth. “Did. He’s in school now. What about your sister?”

“She’s still in Paramus. I keep tabs on her through my aunt. Better that way.”

Dean urged more details with a squint.

“I-I didn’t want her to know what happened to our mom for a long time. My aunt actively avoided any discussion on the whole thing, which made it easier, too. Shelley was doing really well, adjusting to a new life. It was on her twelfth birthday when she brought up the last memory she had of our mom on my birthday. How she remembered the fun we’d all had. And that,” Sandy laughed, a bit manic, “I snapped. It all flooded out. Every sweet moment for her had b.een pure torture for me. She flipped out. More because I’d kept it from her than anything else.” Sandy shrugged. “I did what I thought was best. She thinks her life’s better without me in it.”

They sat in silence. Another pop tune crackled over the television.

“Would you change what you did? If you could?” Dean asked.

“What’s the point of wondering? What’s done is done.”

“Yeah, but nothing’s really final.”

“How does Sam handle all this?”

Dean grabbed his Funyons and munched.

Sandy huffed. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.” She tore into a bag of gummies next. “You are a really good hunter, Dean. I’m a pretty good intel person. We’ve made choices we gotta live with. Sometimes I feel shitty about them. Sometimes I know I’m doing something good. Like what I helped you do tonight. We made this world a little safer for people who get to make different choices. Like my sister. Your brother.”

Dean stared at his socked feet. The mattress bounced. Sandy scooted her way up to the headboard. She mimicked his position and swept the empty candy wrappers onto the carpet with a leg swish. “Sorry if I hit a nerve,” she mumbled. “I guess I’ve been on my own for so long I forget what it’s like to give a shit.”

“So why’d you give a shit about returning my journal?”

Her arm shrugged against his. “I know the look of someone needing to prove something and figuring their way as they go.”

“I just think you wanted to get in my pants,” Dean sassed.

Sandy let out an exasperated sigh at that. “Get over yourself.”

“I get how easy it is to say ‘fuck it’ and hole up by yourself. I’ve seen my dad do it for as long as I can remember. And, it goddamn sucks when you decide to share a part of yourself only to get it thrown back in your face.” Dean leaned into the warmth of her body a fraction. “I had a girl I met not too long ago. Thought being honest about the life, what I did, might turn out different than it did.”

“I tried that once, too.”

“You want the best for your sister?”

She nodded.

“What’s wrong with wanting to be a part of what’s best for them?”

It was her turn to rest a hand on Dean’s knee. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting that. But we don’t get to choose how much that part is. Or when it happens. If it ever does.”

Dean zoned in on the slight twitches of her fingers. “I meant it. I was in awe of your computer skills.”

She tapped her hand patronizingly. “As you should be.”

“Why aren’t you transferring some funds into your checking account as a little bonus for all the good you're doing for the world?”

“How do you know I’m not?”

*

Sandy kept him company until checkout in the late morning. He opened up a little more about his life, his dad, Sam. It had done something for him. He felt like it did something for her, too.

No one could really understand the weight of this life unless they lived it. And the weight of continuing to live it, well, he’d found that could be the loneliest of existences lately.

But he didn’t know how to break free from it like Sam had. He didn’t think he ever would. But, truth was, like Sandy, he really didn’t know if he wanted to.

After dropping the key off at the motel office, he found Sandy waiting by her brown sedan, parked a couple spots down from the Impala. She was using the hood of her car as a desk, laptop open, her face studying the screen intently under the shade of the awning. He watched her scribble something in her notepad.

As he strode up the walk to say his goodbyes, she clicked the laptop shut. A rip of paper followed. “All set?” She whipped around to face him, folding the sheet into quarters.

“Yep. Off to Sioux Falls.”

“Well, I have yet to meet the illustrious Bobby Singer in person. Please send my humble regards.”

“Ain’t missin’ much.”

She shook her head, sighed, then offered the note to him.

He grabbed it, smiling. “Directions on how to hack my way into the really good porn sites?”

“No.” She backhanded the sleeve of his jacket. “The current address and phone number of one Sam Winchester at Stanford University.”

Dean had no comeback for that.

“Like you said, nothing’s really final.” She peered up at him. “You're brave enough to take that chance. Braver than me, anyway.”  

Dean had been right. He would never wax poetic about her to some horny hunter in a bar. She was too good for that. Too good for him.

He chanced it anyway in that moment. He leaned down without asking, brushed his lips against her surprised mouth.

He pulled back, stared into a pair of beautiful brown eyes. “You. Are. Amazing.”

[gunzlotzofgunz]

Springfield Armory M1A Scout Squad 18 Rifle

Aimpoint Hunter on Spuhr Military Mount

[historiavn]

ABRAHAM KNEW A LIAR WHEN HE SAW one, and so, this woman IMMEDIATELY garnered his suspicions. His shoulders tensed, squaring themselves in the midst of PREPARATION for inevitable confrontation. Aspiring politician though he may be, he DID NOT TOLERATE liars.

⠀ “If you are going to lie, at least learn to do it well.” Perhaps Abraham’s response was TOO CONFRONTATIONAL, but his lack of toleration for lies had upset his sensibilities. His hand twitched, as though ITCHING to seize his axe. “Now, tell me the truth — were you following me?”

╰► @acourtcfmuses

@historiavn asked: ❛ were you following me ? ❜ Spoken by Abraham Lincoln (THE VAMPIRE HUNTER) to Rebekah Mikaelson.

"Of course not." The blonde lied easily. She knew who he was, though if he knew who she was was yet to be determined. As an Original she couldn't be killed, but that didn't mean that it wasn't painful when people tried. She wished to see what his plan was. Would he strike first or act casual to scope out the situation? "We're merely going in the same direction is seems."

[escapedaudios]

How well would a barrel 50 cal round do against a Mondheuler like Johann, no silver included?

That could put him down for a few minutes if you hit his heart or struck him with multiple rounds. He might even go into a false death for a while. Uwe Schmidt managed to fuck Johann up with a single magazine from a 7.92x57mm Mauser rifle (roughly equal in power to a 30-06 Springfield) but he got lucky and knocked him off a cliff in the process. Still pretty heroic for an ordinary man armed only with an old hunting rifle and a powerful desire to protect his niece.

It's kind of unknown how their near-unbreakable immunity to harm works. Conventional non-silvered weapons work somewhat better on werewolves than they do on vampires though, since vampires supernaturally defy biology in a way that werewolves don't.

Monster hunter texts go way waaay back to the middle ages. They describe arrows as "striking bloodlessly", and only the sharpest of spears weilded by the strongest hunters piercing their hides, but leaving no wound behind when they withdraw and only enraging the beast.

Jäger talks about this later, but before they used silver, medieval werewolf hunters would just leave multiple spears inside of their bodies to imobilize them, with Moonlight Hounds closing in to deliver the killing blow. Before they discovered their vulnerability to silver you just absolutely could not kill those fucking things unless a Moonlight Hound chose you as their master. The only other way was to immobilize their limbs with many spears and wait for the full moon to go away, then kill them with fire in human form and bury their bones in four different graves. Mondheulers could straight up be burned at the stake and then just get up a month later if the moonlight touched their bones. Their skeletons would reform into a wolf. They'd grow back their hide and come back as these starving beasts that would devour any living thing in front of them until they restored their form.

TL;DR: You could harm them somewhat, but it wouldn't be a big deal to them and any harm would be temporary. They're tenacious monsters that defy harm, even anti-tank rifles would be of very limited use.

[sebaxino2811]

Hello everyone, this is one of my mha ocs but will slowly be transfered to my own story but for now on he is mha^^

Name: Saruhu Sariko

Villain name: Wayhit

Nicknames: Saruhu-san, Hit, Saru.

Alliases: spinning bullet, hitwalker.

Age:20

Gender:male

Sexuality: straight

Quirk/power: bullet manipulation

Villain rank: very high

Appearance:

Hair: brown hair, short hairstyle.

Eyes: Yellow

Face: he has black eyeliners near his eyes.

Body: fit body, his fingertips have a deep red painting on them like q life mark tattoo.

Outfit:

Upper part:

Head: brow cowboy hat to give him more bullet vibe.

Lower parts: classic leather brown jacket with small silver details

Torso: he has a tight and big belt that has small and big boxes attached to it, and each one has its type of bullet caliber and small holes they float from when he uses his manipulation.

Legs: brown jeans with many pockets

Shoes: cowboy shoes.

Quirk:

"Bullet manipulation"

As the name says, Saruhu can basically control bullets and everything that has the meaning of an amo or a shape of it.

Mechanic:

Each time he shoots a bullet, it has to attach to his fingertip of any finger, then the bullet spins and charges and the time of charging depends on the bullet. He basically can make bullets float but to shoot gun like shots he has to charge them ofc.

Charging time depending on the bullet caliber:

3-4 second charging:

.22 LR

.22 WMR

9mm Luger

.32 Auto

.380 Auto

.40 S&W

5 second charging:

10mm Auto

.45 ACP

.38 Special

.357 Mag

.44 Mag

30 seconds:

.243 WIN

.308 WIN

6.5 Creedmoor

.30-06 Springfield

8×68mm S

2 minutes charging;

50 BMG

Hand techniques for each type of ammo:

With almost every bullet expect 50 calibers:

He does a finger gun while the bullet spins on the fingertip.

With 50 calibers:

The hand is making a thumbs-up gesture, but the fingers are loosely curled inward rather than held tightly in a fist—kind of a relaxed or casual version of the classic thumbs-up.

With RPG rocket:

This hand position looks like you're doing a loose fist with your palm facing toward you, almost like a dramatic “flex”

More abilities:

He has the reaction speed of a speeding bullet.

You basically cant even shoot at him with gun because he can just make your ammo stuck in it and it explodes.

Sensing any ammo nearby.

Drawbacks of his quirk:

Not timing his charging:

If he charges it way longer than it should, it can explode in his hand.

He has a limit of bullets he can manipulate at once.

Skills: incredible aim.

Mid-tier hand-to-hand combat.

He can use gunpowder well for wound help.

Personality:

Saruhu seems like calm and collected, side funny person but inside he is psychopath who enjoys seeing body of a lifeform slowly die or bleed out. He can act normal but he is really not. He is someone with a complete disregard for morality and human emotions. He finds enjoyment in causing harm and pain but not complete chaos, taking pleasure in the suffering of others. He lacks empathy and compassion, and his actions are guided solely by his own whims and desires without any regard for the consequences. He can make hard acts into simple real quick. He is surprisingly good leader but not perfect because he always focuses for his needs first. He is the type of character who seems chill and slightly goofy with his jokes but when fully folded and backstory revealed he is a menace and psychopath. He has a passion for seeing a human being crumble to death. He always gives off bullet and gun vibes.

Hobbies: hitman jobs, gun expert even though he doesnt use gun, bullet expert, hunting.

Backstory:

Saruhu was a weird kid with two parents and a strict household....his dad was a hunter, which means Saruhu always saw and heard his dad talk about guns. One day, his dad took Saruhu to hunt with him, and they ended up shooting and killing a deer. While the deer was on the ground struggling and bleeding, Saruhu looked at it with amusement. Not flinching, no worries, and no empathy. Just amusement and admiration. He stared at it like it was a new birthday gift. He watched it slowly bleed to death. Saruhu wasn't really into gore or anything; he was into the facial expressions yelps, and bleeding people do after getting shot; he admired how easy it is to break a human being with a gun. Years later, when he was around 10, he discovered his quirk, but he secretly studied it. Two years after he successfully mastered his quirk, he killed both of his parents. The Dad kinda deserved it for being strict, and the Mom for being violent. Saruhu didn't care, and the aggressive behavior of his dad; the yelling he always did, the memory of the dying deer. Saruhu made the scene look like an accident, Nobody could tell that he was the one killing them because his quirk did not really leave any traces behind, and he claimed that he did not have powers yet.

After years of being orphan he got away around 16 years of age and he started his whole villian arc and mastering his powers and using it for being hired as hitman and using it as his pratice and fun, and it was like drug to him seeing the poor souls struggle with bleeding and yelping. He got invited and joined one of the villian organizations and even got himself a team and the very reason he was the leader was because they see that he is the most twisted one and can keep them in line if they ever thinked of switching up.

Thank you for reading😘

[mariacallous]

How Online Is Too Online?

Let’s do a quick thought experiment, just for fun. Read the following quote, and try to picture in what real-life scenario you might encounter it.

“In Springfield, they’re eating the dogs! The people that came in. They’re eating the cats. They’re eating, they’re eating the pets of the people that live there. And this is what’s happening in our country, and it’s a shame.”

Devoid of context, you might guess that this was a late-era Simpsons gag, or something blared out of a megaphone on a busy street corner. Or, more likely, you might well assume that you’re unlikely to hear this combination of words in real life at all. Something this fevered, this outrageous, frankly this unhinged, would feel much more at home in a backwoods corner of the internet.

At last night’s presidential debate between Donald Trump and Kamala Harris, it escaped containment. Trump pushed the baseless anti-immigrant conspiracy, likely introducing it to a vast swath of the voting public, along with a handful of notable others. Democrats executing babies. Transgender operations on illegal aliens in prisons. All the fury and paranoia of a nation’s conspiratorial cousins delivered in a highly concentrated dose.

Trump has always been extremely online. He owes his political rise in part to his incessant promotion of Obama birther conspiracies. He has, in the previous two presidential election cycles, consistently given a wink and a nod to the right-wing internet discourse. (His 2020 debate with Joe Biden was peppered with Hunter Biden allegations that required a MAGA Rosetta stone to decipher.) In some ways, Tuesday night’s debate was business as usual.

Although … maybe not. Last night Trump traded a wink and nod for a literal shout. He transmogrified forum shitposting into genuine belief. It was, if nothing else, a deeply strange position to stake out, especially with such fervor. And please don’t take this from me. “YOU STUPID MF’ers JUST GOT TRUMP TO REPEAT YOUR LIE ABOUT THE PETS,” wrote conservative commentator Erick Erickson in a post on X during the debate. “CONGRATS ON SETTING THE NEWS STORIES TOMORROW BY LYING SO TRUMP PICKS IT UP AND SAYS STUPID SHIT.”

It’s telling that Trump’s pet-eating protestations have inspired only a limp defense, outside of his running mate, JD Vance, doubling and tripling down. The ABC moderators are biased for saying it’s not true. One guy told the cops he maybe saw some Haitians holding some geese one time. OK, well.

Trump’s internet addiction is well-documented. He majority-owns the platform Truth Social, where his account constantly posts and reposts, absorbing and amplifying memes with the ferocity of an unemployed edgelord. His online experience is a bubble within a bubble, with a language and reference points unto themselves. Trump is now fully enmeshed in the manosphere, giving audience to influencers like Logan Paul and Adin Ross, a self-perpetuating cycle of bro-dom. The ouroboros tightens to the point that baby executions become an accepted reality rather than an obvious untruth. The more fragmented the internet becomes, the more jarring mass exposure to certain corners of it can be to the uninitiated.

At least, that’s the theory. In truth, we don’t yet know how Trump’s debate performance landed with undecided voters, or whether it will make any difference in the long run. He’s too online, sure, but maybe it’s all relative. Maybe we’re all so inundated with internet garbage that, for a majority of people, conspiracies bleed inexorably into gospel. Maybe the most alarming outcome of a major presidential candidate personifying 4chan is that it works.

[justforbooks]

John Ashton

American actor best known for his role as Sergeant John Taggart in the Beverly Hills Cop films

In several action comedies of the 1980s, John Ashton, who has died aged 76 from cancer, played disgruntled, buffoonish or flummoxed figures caught up in chaotic situations not entirely of their own making.

The first, Beverly Hills Cop (1984), was originally intended as a dramatic vehicle for Sylvester Stallone: “Stallone was going to make it ‘Rambo Blows Up Beverly Hills’ or something,” said Ashton, who first auditioned for the film in that form.

When it was subsequently retooled for the overnight sensation Eddie Murphy, it became a comedy in which other cast members were also permitted to be funny. Among them was Ashton, who played the dyspeptic Sergeant John Taggart. With his partner, Detective Billy Rosewood (Judge Reinhold), he is assigned to keep an eye on Murphy’s irreverent Detroit native Axel Foley, who makes waves as he hunts a killer in Beverly Hills.

Foley runs rings around the pair. During a stakeout, he inserts bananas into their car’s exhaust pipe, causing the vehicle to stutter and stall when they try to follow him. Ashton’s irritability was nicely offset by Reinhold’s peppy naivety. One of the pleasures of the film was seeing Taggart gradually come around to Foley. Having begun the movie at loggerheads, they end it as allies.

After witnessing the enthusiastic response to the movie at an industry screening, Ashton and Reinhold stopped by a Los Angeles cinema a few weeks later to see how it was going down with the public. Seated in the balcony, they marvelled at the audience “hooting and hollering and screaming and yelling”.

Directed by Martin Brest and released in the US in December 1984, Beverly Hills Cop took $316m worldwide, and was one of the country’s top 10 highest grossing films in 1984 and 1985.

Ashton and Reinhold returned in Beverly Hills Cop II (1987), as well as the recent fourth instalment, Beverly Hills Cop: Axel F (2024), in which Taggart has now been promoted to police chief. “If we were gonna do [another] Beverly Hills Cop, the only way it could happen was if all of us were in it,” said Murphy earlier this year.

Less commercially successful than Beverly Hills Cop but far superior was the buddy movie Midnight Run (1988), also directed by Brest. It starred Robert De Niro as a dishevelled bounty hunter transporting a turncoat Mob accountant (Charles Grodin) across the US. Ashton was superb as the comically coarse Marvin Dorfler, a rival bounty hunter who tries repeatedly to intercept the duo and claim the money for himself. Dunderheaded the character may have been, but Ashton also showed convincingly that he could be intimidating when the need arose.

The role had been written as a straightforward heavy. “But that’s not how I played him,” said Ashton, who approached Marvin instead as someone who was simply doing his job. It worked: though the character died halfway through George Gallo’s script, Brest ordered a rewrite. “About a month in, Marty said: ‘We can’t kill Dorfler, the audience will hate us!’” Ashton recalled. He was spared and given additional scenes, including a memorable appearance during the tense climax.

Seeing Ashton square off repeatedly against De Niro was among the film’s highlights. It was also vital to him to win the role in the first place. He had arrived at the audition to find “about 30 guys in the hallway going, ‘I can’t believe I gotta read with Bobby De Niro’. Everybody’s freaking out.” Ashton, on the other hand, was champing at the bit. “Nobody’s getting this role but me,” he decided.

During the ensuing improvisation, De Niro was meant to hand him a set of keys. As he went to take them, De Niro tossed them on the floor. “Fuck you!” barked Ashton, sparking an escalating exchange of obscenities. “I know every other actor picked those up,” he reflected. He later discovered that, once he left the room, De Niro had told Brest: ‘I want him.’”

Ashton was born in Springfield, Massachusetts, to Edward and Eva (nee Wells), and raised in Enfield, Connecticut. He was educated at Enfield high school and Defiance College, Ohio, then studied theatre at the University of Southern California. In 1970 he won a scholarship to travel abroad, and appeared in theatre productions across Europe.

He always referred to theatre as his first love, and it was in that medium that he won his only prizes: a Los Angeles Drama Critics Circle award in 1973 for A Flea in Her Ear, and a Drama Logue award in 1982 for a production of Sam Shepard’s True West, in which he starred opposite Ed Harris.

His first film was the slasher thriller An Eye for an Eye (1973). He then became a familiar face with guest spots on TV shows such as Kojak, Columbo and Starsky & Hutch. In 1978 he appeared in six episodes of the soap opera Dallas as a crony called upon to do the dirty work of JR Ewing (Larry Hagman).

Film work included the acclaimed cycling drama Breaking Away (1979), the Charles Bronson thriller Borderline (1980), John Schlesinger’s chaotic comedy Honky Tonk Freeway (1981), the monster movie King Kong Lives (1986) and several John Hughes projects: Some Kind of Wonderful (1987), She’s Having a Baby (1988) and the children’s comedy Curly Sue (1991). In 1989 he played a worried father whose seven-year-old son is kidnapped in the factually based TV drama I Know My First Name is Steven (1989), and at a press conference to promote the film, tearfully recounted his childhood memories of being followed home from school by a stranger.

There was much talk of a follow-up to Midnight Run, and even a script that Ashton read but felt was not up to snuff. A trio of undistinguished sequels were eventually made for TV without the original personnel. In the first two, Another Midnight Run and Midnight Runaround (both 1994), Dorfler was played by Ed O’Ross.

Ashton worked continuously in film and television. Notable parts included a prison guard in Instinct (1999) with Anthony Hopkins and Cuba Gooding Jr, and yet another cop in Ben Affleck’s impressive thriller Gone Baby Gone (2007). Ashton’s final performance was as a judge in two forthcoming westerns: Hot Bath, Stiff Drink an’ a Close Shave and its sequel, Hot Bath an’ a Stiff Drink 2.

He is survived by his third wife, Robin Hoye, and two children, Michelle and Michael, from his previous marriages to Victoria Runn and Bridget Baker, both of which ended in divorce.

🔔 John David Ashton, actor, born 22 February 1948; died 26 September 2024

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Billboard project

* * * *

Harris stays "on message" while Trump spirals out of control

September 14, 2024

Robert B. Hubbell

There is a great line in the movie Broadcast News: The protagonist Holly Hunter is complaining to her friend Albert Brooks about the state of her love life. She says, “I am beginning to repel people I'm trying to seduce.”

Although Trump hasn’t entered “Holly Hunter territory” just yet, he is doing his best to get there. You know things are going badly when Marjorie Taylor Greene, Lindsey Graham, and Thom Tillis are begging you to hang out with a better class of friends. All three urged Trump on Friday to ditch well-known bigot and conspiracy theorist Laura Loomer. Loomer did not take the intervention gracefully, responding that Marjorie Taylor Greene is “Like a hooker [who] sells herself to the highest bidder.”

Trump's sudden fixation and joint travel with Laura Loomer caused the always-staid Matt Drudge to run a series of headlines proclaiming:

LOOMER MAGA LOVE!

HAS HE FOUND HIS SOULMATE?

WHERE'S MELANIA?

MTG CALLS DON IN RAGE

CIVIL WAR ESCALATES

CAMPAIGN IN CRISIS

I am not a campaign expert, but none of those headlines seem like the type of coverage that is helpful with 52 days remaining until the election.

As bad as Matt Drudge’s innuendo about Trump's relationship with Loomer is, the worst part of the day came as Trump vowed to send the influx of immigrants in Springfield “back to Venezuela.” [Trump appears to believe Haiti is a city in Venezuela.] Trump also claimed that the Haitian immigrants in Springfield were “destroying the way of life” in the Ohio town, to which JD Vance added that Haitians in Springfield had allegedly increased the level of communicable diseases in the city. If violence is directed at the Haitian community in Springfield, the vilification by Trump and Vance will be the proximate cause.

Florida has between 100,000 to 300,000 Haitian immigrants eligible to vote. See Los Angeles Times, Trump's Haitian immigrant comments stir outrage in Florida. Insulting the Haitian community is hardly a way to motivate turnout for Trump.

It is difficult to imagine a more “off-message” day for Trump and Vance—after an off-message week in an off-message month.

We can’t count on Republicans to beat themselves, but it is helpful to recognize that the GOP campaign is reflecting Trump's personal chaos and disordered personality at a time when Kamala Harris is running a disciplined but energetic campaign.

V.P. Harris held a standing-room-only rally in Pennsylvania on Friday. The video is here: Rally in Pennsylvania with Vice President Kamala Harris. It is worth watching the first few minutes of Harris’s speech. The enthusiasm level of the crowds seems to be increasing over time. (So much for the media’s “honeymoon” theory that claimed the enthusiastic support for Harris was a temporary phenomenon.)

Although Harris varies her speeches to reflect local issues and races, she is sticking to her stump speech—a traditional campaign strategy to ensure that candidates stay “on message.” She is expanding her speech only to add attacks on Trump's latest missteps and most recent outrageous statements—additions frequently delivered with a pointed sense of humor designed to deflate Trump's overblown ego.

[Robert B. Hubbell newsletter]

[wastemanjohn]

y'know I thought I was all done but I got one more thing to add to my earlier (lengthy -- sorry!) response to the wincest wednesday askbox scattergun, and that's on the topic of familial lexicon:

mundane headcanons, I hear you say? how about this one that is gospel in my heart: there are dozens, if not HUNDREDS, of songs that sam hears in his brother's voice before anybody else's.

there's songs for bathtime and bedtime, songs to make sam sit still while dean clips his sharp little fingernails, songs for when dad's been gone for so many minutes, way past the little hand on the eight and the big hand on the four. there's songs for waiting in the car while dad pumps gas or digs deep holes or lights fires that make dean go pale and a little sweaty, so his palm slides clammy-cold over sam's. there's songs for walking home from school, songs that sam gets to hear vibrating up to where he's perched on dean's shoulders, and songs whispered against his temple when sleep won't come.

(later, when he's older, there's songs for counting cadence during PT and songs for walking back to the fence to reset the pop can targets and songs for when he's fought with dad and screamed himself hoarse. there's songs for hanging out the window to the waist while dean does a conservative seventy-five of roads graded for fifty. there's songs dean sings to and for himself, but he doesn't mind if sam listens in.)

like, for sam, pete seeger didn't sing "little boxes"; dean winchester did. paul simon and art garfunkel didn't sing "cecelia"; dean winchester did. bruce springsteen didn't sing "atlantic city" and arlo guthrie didn't sing "alice's restaurant massacre" and warren zevon didn't sing "roland the headless thompson gunner" (besides, sam's pet theory is that warren's probably a hunter himself, or at least a well-informed civilian); peter schilling didn't sing "major tom" and elvis didn't sing "suspicious minds" and roy orbison didn't sing "all I have to do is dream". joan baez didn't sing "with god on our side" and tom paxton didn't sing "lyndon johnson told the nation" and hoyt acton didn't sing "greenback dollar" and fleetwood mac sure as hell didn't sing "the chain". phil ochs didn't sing "the highwayman" and john denver didn't sing "country roads" and dusty springfield didn't sing "I only want to be with you". dean winchester did; word-perfect, every time.

sam's a connoisseur of the entire dean winchester discography. no matter what anybody else (the radio included) says, sam knows how those song go.

sam knows that the song goes, "my sammy lies over the prairie, my sammy lies over the sea, my sammy lies over the prairie, so bring back my sammy to me"

sam knows that the song goes, "a-round her neck/ she wore a yellow ribbon/ she wore it in the springtime/ and in the month of may/ and if you asked/ her why the hell she wore it/ she wore it for her young marine sent far, far away"

sam knows that the song goes, "I've got some fine memories of san angelo/ and I've seen some beauty queens in el paso/ but the best lookin' women that I've ever seen/ have all been from kansas and all wearin' jeans"

sam knows that the song goes, "we've hauled some barges in our day/ filled with lumber, coal, and hay/ and we know every inch of the way/ from albany to far below"

sam knows that the song goes, "my father was hung as a horse thief/ my mother was burned as a witch/ my seventeen sisters, they run the whorehouse/ and I'm a cocksucking son of a bitch"

sam knows that the song goes, "oh, my darling/ oh, my darling/ oh, my darling clementine/ you are lost and gone forever/ dreadful sorry, clementine"

sam knows that the song goes, "so take my tip before you ship to join the iron gang/ don't be too gay in botany bay, or else you'll surely hang/ "or else you'll surely hang," says he, and after that, jim jones/ way up upon the gallows tree, the crows will pick your bones"

sam know that the song goes, "bye, baby bunting, daddy's gone a-hunting, gone to fetch a gator skin, to wrap his baby bunting in"

(sam's twenty-three and newly dead so he doesn't know the next time a song from dean's back catalogue gets sung in a whisper against the thin skin of his temple, hair pushed back behind his ear so maybe he'll hear: bring back, bring back, oh, bring back my sammy to me, to me; bring back, bring back, oh bring back my baby to me)

!!!! SCREAM! ANON YOU ARE FUCKING *COOKING* this is so beautiful 😭😭😭😭 gosh. I'm screaming. EVERYONE READ WHAT ANON SAID PLEASE BECAUSE MY BRAIN IS REARRANGED BY THIS

[dertaglichedan]

Nolte: Disgraced AP Lies About Tulsi Gabbard Describing Trump and Putin as ‘Very Good Friends’

The disgraced, far-left Associated Press’s latest lying piece of fake news involves spreading the blatant falsehood that Director of National Intelligence Tulsi Gabbard described President Trump and Russian President Vladimir Putin as “very good friends.”

There is just one problem: she did not say that.

Naturally, it was only after this lie, in the form of a screaming headline, had been blasted all over the world, that the AP retracted its lie.

If I may, I’d liked to suggest to the AP that they spend less time cry-babying about not gaining access to certain White House events and more time NOT lying.

But the Associated Press will never stop lying and…

That makes me very happy.

Folks, this isn’t an oopsie on the AP’s part. This isn’t a my bad. This was deliberate. How do I know this? Because these “mistakes” in the regime media only ever happen one way. I give you Exhibit A:

Elon Musk Nazi Salute Hoax

Mass Hysterectomies Performed on Immigrants Hoax

The All-White Trump Party Hoax

Springfield Bomb Threat Hoax

Trump Called for Liz Cheney to Be Executed Hoax

Violent Crime Down Under Biden/Harris Hoax

Arlington Cemetery Hoax

Kamala Was Never America’s Border Czar Hoax

Russia Collusion Hoax

Hands Up, Don’t Shoot Hoax

Jussie Smollett Hoax

Covington KKKids Hoax

Very Fine People Hoax

Seven-Hour Gap Hoax

Russian Bounties Hoax

Trump Trashes Troops Hoax

Policemen Killed at Mostly Peaceful January 6 Protest Hoax

Rittenhouse Hoax

Eating While Black Hoax

Border Agents Whipping Illegals Hoax

NASCAR Noose Hoax

Georgia Jim Crow 2.0 Hoax

Trump Assaulted Secret Service Agents and Grabbed Steering Wheel of Beast Hoax

MAGA Assaulted Paul Pelosi Hoax

COVID Lab Leak Theory Is Racist Hoax

Hunter Biden’s Laptop Is Russian Disinformation Hoax

Joe Biden Will Never Ban Gas Stoves Hoax

COVID Deaths are Overcounted Is a Conspiracy Theory Hoax

Mass Graves of Native Children in Canada Hoax

Trump Killed Japanese Koi Fish Hoax

Trump Told People to Drink Bleach Hoax

Hamas Hospital Hoax

If Reelected, Trump Will Execute People Hoax

The 900,000 Kids Hospitalized with Coronavirus Hoax

Dozens of Environmental Hoaxes

The Alfa Bank Hoax

Libs of TikTok Murdered Non-Binary Teen Hoax

Aaron Rodgers Sandy Hook-Truther Hoax

‘Bloodbath’ Hoax

Biden ‘Sharp-as-a-Tack’ Hoax

Iowa Poll Hoax

…Your Honor, I rest my case and request a penalty of slow death through continued exposure and humiliation.

Here’s the headline and opening of the AP’s original piece, which, despite the retraction, is still everywhere online in various forms of syndication:

Gabbard says Trump and Putin are ‘very good friends’ focused on strengthening ties WASHINGTON (AP) — U.S. Director of National Intelligence Tulsi Gabbard said President Donald Trump and Russian President Vladimir Putin “are very good friends” who are focused on ways to strengthen the bonds between the United States and Russia.

This total and complete lie is then used by the AP to whip up McCarthyism against both Trump and Gabbard…

“Gabbard, who oversees the nation’s intelligence services, has in the past echoed Russian propaganda about the war and expressed sympathy for Russia,” reports the AP without context.

“The comments about the friendship between Trump and Putin and the ties between the U.S. and Russia — longtime adversaries — alarmed some critics of Trump’s call for warmer relations with Moscow,” reports the AP, premised on a lie.