#Toadvine too

[putridpackingtown]

I have many unholy things to say about Benjamin Tobin the Expriest but I don’t think the world is ready for that yet

[ladygloomandhornets]

This is incredible, I don’t think it gets better than this

Blood Meridian calico critters

[fireworkss-exe]

too tired to draw anything else today so. toadvine moment

[alvarutomaroto]

I love Tobin x Toadvine they actually give me comfort, like genuine comfort, when I want to clear my mind because of Glanton and the judge (those stupid fuck heads don't leave my mind I love them) I always think of Tobin and Toadvine, I like them as a romantical ship but they work pretty much as platonic too.

Paranoid grumpy strict religious man and Crazy Latino mother fucker core

[edalynanarchy]

Honestly, why are (some) older blood meridian fans such assholes most of the time. Saying this one as a fan that recently came back to the community since COVID— Being hostile to new readers/enjoyers for simply having just found the book, Getting pissy at interpretations of the kid, the artist had deleted it after the rude comments and downvotes pretty quickly

I don't care about "Literally me" judge holden minions or "Ooc" art, as long as there is a potential majority of new people being fans of Toadvine and the kid, Glanton too

I've seen hate more so on Infamous tiktok, partially reddit, and insta. C'mon guys, I thought fcked up/bleak literature would have silly happy fandom(⁠｡⁠•́⁠︿⁠•̀⁠｡⁠)

[909bloodmeridianconfessions909]

Should I get tattooed the letters HTF like Toadvine (not necessarily on my forehead, and I know his were not a tattoo exactly) or would that be too ugly gng. Make this like a question thingy or whatever it’s called

#454

[nicklloydnow]

The Kid by amoxes

“The priest has led you to this, boy. I know you would not hide. I know too that you've not the heart of a common assassin. I've passed before your gunsights twice this hour and will pass a third time. Why not show yourself?

No assassin, called the judge. And no partisan either. There's a flawed place in the fabric of your heart. Do you think I could not know? You alone were mutinous. You alone reserved in your soul some corner of clemency for the heathen.

The imbecile stood and raised its hands to its face and yammered weirdly and sat again. You think I've killed Brown and Toadvine? They are alive as you and me. They are alive and in possession of the fruits of their election. Do you understand? Ask the priest. The priest knows. The priest does not lie.

The judge raised the parasol and adjusted his parcels. Perhaps, he called, perhaps you have seen this place in a dream. That you would die here.“ (p. 269)

Judge Holden by thesingingknives

“Well, he said. How are you?

The kid didnt answer.

They wanted to know from me if you were always crazy, said the judge. They said it was the country. The country turned them out.

Where's Tobin?

I told them that the cretin had been a respected Doctor of Divinity from Harvard College as recently as March of this year. That his wits had stood him as far west as the Aquarius Mountains. It was the ensuing country that carried them off. Together with his clothes.

And Toadvine and Brown. Where are they?

In the desert where you left them. A cruel thing. Your companions in arms. The judge shook his head.

What do they aim to do with me?

I believe it is their intention to hang you.

What did you tell them?

Told them the truth. That you were the person responsible. Not that we have all the details. But they understand that it was you and none other who shaped events along such a calamitous course. Eventuating in the massacre at the ford by the savages with whom you conspired. Means and ends are of little moment here. Idle speculations. But even though you carry the draft of your murderous plan with you to the grave it will nonetheless be known in all its infamy to your Maker and as that is so so shall it be made known to the least of men. All in the fullness of time.

You're the one that's crazy, said the kid.

The judge smiled. No, he said. It was never me. But why lurk there in the shadows? Come here where we can talk, you and me.

The kid stood against the far wall. Hardly more than a shadow himself.

Come up, said the judge. Come up, for I've yet more to tell you.

He looked down the hallway. Dont be afraid, he said. I'll speak softly. It's not for the world's ears but for yours only. Let me see you. Dont you know that I'd have loved you like a son?

He reached through the bars. Come here, he said. Let me touch you.

The kid stood with his back to the wall.

Come here if you're not afraid, whispered the judge.

I aint afraid of you.

The judge smiled. He spoke softly into the dim mud cubicle. You came forward, he said, to take part in a work. But you were a witness against yourself. You sat in judgement on your own deeds. You put your own allowances before the judgements of history and you broke with the body of which you were pledged a part and poisoned it in all its enterprise. Hear me, man. I spoke in the desert for you and you only and you turned a deaf ear to me. If war is not holy man is nothing but antic clay. Even the cretin acted in good faith according to his parts. For it was required of no man to give more than he possessed nor was any man's share compared to another's. Only each was called upon to empty out his heart into the common and one did not. Can you tell me who that one was?

It was you, whispered the kid. You were the one.

The judge watched him through the bars, he shook his head. What joins men together, he said, is not the sharing of bread but the sharing of enemies. But if I was your enemy with whom would you have shared me? With whom? The priest? Where is he now? Look at me. Our animosities were formed and waiting before ever we two met. Yet even so you could have changed it all.

You, said the kid. It was you.

It was never me, said the judge. Listen to me. Do you think Glanton was a fool? Dont you know he'd have killed you?

Lies, said the kid. Lies, by god lies.

Think again, said the judge.

He never took part in your craziness.

The judge smiled. He took his watch from his waistcoat and opened it and held it to the failing light.

For even if you should have stood your ground, he said, yet what ground was it?

He looked up. He pressed the case shut and restored the instrument to his person. Time to be going, he said. I have errands.” (p. 275, 276)

- Cormac McCarthy, ‘Blood Meridian, or, the Evening Redness in the West’ (1985)

[meme-streets]

Sorry but I'm going to need all your thoughts on Blood Meridian

i'm only i think 3 chapters in so i haven't gotten too far but my initial impressions are:

the lack of punctuation isn't as hard to follow as i expected. if anything it makes reading faster but sometimes i get reading so fast i feel like i skipped over something.

mccarthy seems to really enjoy things being gross. the mud everywhere. the bat guano in that church. the hermit's fucking...moldy rabbit stew...

lots of kicking people in the face also. like a weird amount.

judge holden being completely bald caught me off guard ngl. also i still stand by the plain milk drinker energy

i have a feeling i have not seen the last of toadvine. mostly because how the hell can you have a one-off character named toadvine

i will keep you updated

[fourcriminals]

The way she moved around the private room, how she spoke, everything she did, was sensual. All part of the con, he figured. "You really like doing this?" Preacher was waiting for a twinge, a sad refection in her eyes, some sign that she was being held there against her will and hated every second of his company.

"Right," he said, "A local place I've been going to all of my life." And the women were there by choice, so it wasn't too unlikely that the mistress did love her occupation. However. "Women there. They aren't like you. They have..." For lack of a better word, "...problems." Drugs mostly. Jesse had been to Toadvine all his life; to play cards, never for the girls.

Was she a mind reader? Drinking, chain smoking, and fighting were Jesse's three favorite things. He swallowed, eyes locked with hers as he listened. It was like she had taken a peek at his journal. Custer would have been embarrassed if he wasn't so goddamn horny.

He brought the glass to his lips and finished every drop. "Hell. Help me let go then."

Irene couldn't help but chuckle at his comparison to the only other point of reference he had, it was that way for a lot of men. They expected something filthy, low down and dirty. And while that had its merits, it sex work didn't always have to be that way. "Your local brothel I'm assuming?" She hummed, pouring him a hearty glass of whiskey before doing the same for herself, except she dropped a maraschino cherry into her glass.

Nixx slid the glass in his direction as he came closer, walking around the bar before leaning against it, "An educated guess; I may have cheated a little. I could smell it on your breath." She teased with a narrow eyed smile.

She stood up straight once more, approaching him, getting in his personal space quite frankly, reaching her hands up to run them along the lapels of his jacket. "I'm going to give you my assessment, Preacher;" She began, smiling rather genuinely, "I think you're a lost man, lonely too. Looking for something to make him feel again because the alcohol and cigarettes and fights you pick aren't doing it anymore."

Her fingers tickled at the edge of his neck, fiddling with his collar. "I think you're tired from shouldering issues that aren't your own, from being a place of respite for others when you have none for yourself." Irene tilted her head and looked him up and down, "And I think you feel in your gut that I can be that place for you. Somewhere you can finally let go of the reigns and follow instead of leading."

[tvvolips]

🃏 /holy fuck yes

send 🃏 for our muses to play a prank on someone else

Last thing Jesse Custer expected to find outside of Dennis’ apartment (for once, he’d just been out to grab a pack of smokes), was his girlfriend making a drug deal. Least, that’s what it looked like. Tulip was handing a wad of cash to a shifty, twitchy looking teen and receiving a small, brown paper bag in return. They’d done drugs before, sure, coke was always fun, weed too, but right now? Cassidy’s allowed to be into that sort’a shit ‘cos the man lives and breathes illegal substances, but Tulip? How the hell is she gonna catch the little details Jesse always skims over if she’s floatin’ up in the clouds? 

She doesn’t even look bothered when she notes Jesse, just gives the dealer a tip of her head in farewell before pushing the door to Dennis’ place open, “Get those smokes?” she asked. Maybe she was buying drugs for Cassidy, maybe she wasn’t completely losing it after all the shit they’ve gone through. 

“uh—yeah,” Jesse replies, watching her toss the bag onto the dining room table. The moment she was pushing her glasses on was the moment she was up to something. She had that gleam in her eyes when she turned to him and whoever was gettin’ it from Tulip O’Hare better be hauling ass to the nearest storm cellar, ‘cos boy, could she bring down hail. “What is this, Tulip? Drugs?” Jesse finally voiced, nudging the bag with his hand. 

Tulip, currently laying out a tobacco wrap, scoffed at him, “Drugs?” she parroted in that dopey, ‘Jesse’ voice’a hers, “No, Jesse. Don’t got time for drugs. Don’t worry about it,” he figures she’s still sour about, well, everything. He’s only following his predetermined destiny and all, searching for God, but he knows it hasn’t been going as well as it should’ve, and she’s still not sleeping right. Any chance to get closer, maybe get a peek inside of that hard head of hers, he’ll take it. He knows he’s risking her wrath when he slides into the chair adjacent to her, watching her pull out a plastic container of oregano. 

Him and her have been pranking together since the day they met, whether a well-crafted plan of unleashing an armadillo into Betsy Schenck’s room during her annual sleepover or an old fashioned teepee outside of Toadvine. The two of them always had a connection in that sense, often completing the other’s idea during their planning stages. Jesse knows she’s up to something, can’t help but grin at the thought of pranking again after so long. “So, who’re we pranking?”

The question takes Tulip off-guard, her gaze snapping to his, studying his features to study if he’s being serious or not. 

Her gaze burns a hole into his face for a few moments before she twitches her face in an expression of ‘fuck it,’ and dumps some oregano onto the rolling paper, “Cassidy,” she seats herself now, expression almost sympathetic, “Got eiffel tower high and decided it’d be funny to put freakin’ plastic wrap ‘round the toilet,” Jesse had been disciplined enough as a child for laughing at inappropriate circumstances that it wasn’t hard to keep from laughing now, but it wasn’t rightly easy either, ‘cos this was Tulip and Cassidy. Only makes sense that a prank war would break out between those two. 

“All right, so you pissed yourself—” the sharp glare she shot upwards as she pulled on some goddamn rubber gloves (the fuck was she planning) caused him to hesitate, “—well, uh, what’chu got planned, there?” 

Finally, Tulip lost her edge, baring a smile that made Jesse pause to consider that she might actually be plotting Cassidy’s death, here. She reached into the small brown bag, produced a small little vile containing an inch of red dust, trinidad morgua scorpion pepper. One’a the hottest known to man, had to goddamn call in a pepper dealer to get my hands on one. Too many idiots eatin’ them just to look ballsy,” she uncorked the vile, carefully tapped it onto her line of orgeno.  

“Think it’ll kill him?” Jesse questions, brow knit as he watches her carefully roll the ‘joint.’ “Dunno, but he shouldn’t have fucked with me,” Tulip casually states, studying the joint for a moment between her gloved fingers. “When a dog pisses on the carpet, you gotta swat it in the ass so it learns to stop pissin’ on the carpet,” Tulip states, shrugging her shoulders, “Just a part of life, preacher. This look good?” 

She extends it towards him, to which Jesse retracts slightly, as though the pepper could sting his eyes from here. He offers a sheepish grin at her furrowed brow, surprised to see the edges of her lips quirk in a responding smirk. Hell, maybe this was all it took, after all, “Pretty sure Cass would smoke a joint with mold on it, you’re good,” he commends, to which Tulip’s smirk grows (in size and smugness). “You could replace that cocaine stash of his with flour as a fail safe,” Jesse recommends, chest lifting as Tulip grins at him like he’s the sexiest, smartest thing alive. 

“Good idea, how ‘bout you go do that while I finish up here?” his grin fades, ever so slightly, ‘cos the last thing he feels like doing is scrounging through Cassidy’s assortment of weird belongings, used needles, and girl clothes for a baggie of cocaine, but Tulip’s looking at him so expectantly he knows he’s fucked. “Sure,” Jesse Custer, whipped as can be, replies, standing immediately. “Thanks, partner,” Tulip calls as he starts his search in Dennis’ cupboards for flour, Jesse responding with an eloquent grunt. 

Eight in the evening and Cassidy’s home, feet kicked up on the kitchen table, flipping Tulip’s booby-trapped blunt in between his fingers. Tulip and Jesse are there, too, having previously attempted a game of clue with the vampire. Their match remains unfinished, Tulip’s eyes reminding Jesse of a stalking lion’s eyes in one of those nature documentaries, constantly flicking between Cassidy and her blunt. Cassidy’s oblivious to it all, still resuming the rant that stopped the match in the first place, “’m just saying, if you’re going to make a game, name the characters creatively. Bloody birds and sauces? Riles me right fuckin’ up,” and finally, finally, Cassidy brings the blunt to his lips, clenches it between his teeth as he rifles for a lighter. Tulip extends her hand immediately, lighter between her fingers. “Always at the ready. Thanks, Tu,” the two exchange a smile (Tulip’s is maneating, riles Jesse up in all the right ways), before Cassidy’s lighting his joint. 

One puff, two puffs, ten puffs later and Cassidy is still prattling on, completely unaffected. Jesse’s watched as the vein in Tulip’s temple progressively bulges, can almost hear her teeth squeak as she grits them. 

Finally, after Cassidy’s just hit the topic of the absurdity of monopoly pieces, he pulls the blunt away, frowns at it, “Dud joint,” he announces with a grimace, pinches it out between his fingers before standing to toss it in the waste bin. “Dennis must’a plucked it up, poor lad. Not too perceptive. Back in two wags of a lamb’s tail.” 

Once Cassidy is gone, Tulip delivers a kick to Jesse’s shin, evoking a groan of confusion (and pain) from him, “—the fuck?!” “How the hell isn’t he crying for milk right now? That fuckin’ punk give me a fake pepper? I swear if I gotta—” and as suddenly as her fury began, it’s gone the moment Cassidy returns. 

The cocaine. Both Jesse and Tulip forgot about the cocaine fail safe, eagerly watching as Cassidy pours a bit of the powder onto the table before seating himself again. “If me mam’s maiden name was Peacock, she’da offed herself right away, Peacock,” he pauses, leans over and takes a mighty snuff. 

There are a few moments of precious apprehension between Tulip and Jesse as they watch Cassidy retract, scrunch his nose, and finally, he blows. White powder erupts from his nostrils as he sneezes, coating his lower face as he wheezes and huffs, standing so quickly his chair falls flat. 

Jesse’s eyes crinkle in delight, widening as Tulip hops onto the kitchen table, stood with her finger crooked down at him. “GOT YOU, BITCH!!!” she declares, her grin shit-eating to the max. 

Cassidy looks up in horror, wiping his running nose on his shirt as he resumes his desperate attempts to snuff the flour from his sinuses, “CRUEL, bloody…VILE!” he manages between wipes, eyes hurt as he watches her and Jesse share a victorious grin, “Jesse? You were in on this shite? How could ye? My best friend, a TRAITOR.” 

Jesse only gives a mildly sympathetic shrug, halted as Tulip’s sliding down onto his lap from her perch on the table, slinging an arm around his neck. “I’d say we just nuked this fool, babe,” Tulip cheerfully announces, landing a peck upon Jesse’s cheek. 

He glances over to Cassidy, who’s now groaning with a ‘kicked puppy’ sort of grumpiness about him, “Real coke’s under your pillow,” Jesse offers in consolation, to which Cassidy begrudgingly nods. “Good, gonna need something to flush out this witchcraft,” he opens one eye wide towards Tulip in what Jesse assumes is a threat, but it only causes an eruption of laughter from the victorious heap in his arms, “It’s flour, Cass,” Tulip primly corrects. “Witchcraft,” Cassidy repeats before he’s heading back to his room. 

Once he’s gone, Tulip’s turning to Jesse, pausing for a moment before lifting her open palm with a lifted brow. Slowly, Jesse smacks her a hi-five, grinning, “I reckon we did pretty good there, partner,” he says, glancing off towards the doorway Cassidy’d gone through, “Yeah, I’d reckon we did,” Tulip agreed, shifting to rest her temple against Jesse’s shoulder. 

He glances down at her for a moment, realizing he hasn’t seen her laugh this much, let alone smile this much since this whole road trip started. Kinda feels stupid, really, that all it took was this dumb prank. Maybe he should’ve tried something like this earlier, maybe they both should’ve. 

“You gonna tell him about the joint?” Jesse finally asks after a moment. 

“You think I’m a monster? He’d probably start crying,” Tulip peers up towards him for a beat before they’re both laughing again. 

[carterhaughs]

ok here’s a preview from the bit I’ve written of chapter 3 of this fic (which I’m really quite proud of but have gotten very little feedback on unfortunately :/):

“Read ‘em and weep, boys. Looks like I’ve got myself another haul to cart home.” Tulip spread her arms across the width of the card table and grinned wide in the low yellow light of Toadvine’s central card parlor, as Mose liked to call it. What was it with West Texas whorehouses and their high-falutin terms of art? Hear them tell it, they had boudoirs and antechambers and drawing rooms like some kind of bumfuck Moulin Rouge. Pretensions of Old World bohemia were the furthest thing from the clientele’s small, simple minds, dead-set as they were on screwing the entirety of Annville High’s former color guard in record time. Well, maybe not the entirety of it. But most of those girls would fit the bill of Toadvine’s current lineup - too pretty to stay, too dumb to leave.

“Home?” snorted Verne from across the table, a scraggly-bearded regular always dandling some girl half his age on his knee. “Where might that be?”

“The spic, span, and spacious trunk of my car. Room enough in there for plenty of winnings, and the unconscious bodies of stale old men besides.” Verne sneered but said no more. Tulip raked in the night’s winnings, her grin fixed but never reaching her eyes, gleaming with the same dull yellow glow of the fluorescents overhead.

As she pulled out of Toadvine, she unclenched the steering wheel and let the blood seep back into her tingling hands. The Chevelle was no more her home than Jesse was, and clinging to either left you with white knuckles and nothing else.

[909bloodmeridianconfessions909]

i need tobin on a carnal, carnal level. i love expriests, i love men who have abandoned the cloth. i love deeply flawed pseuo-father figures. i love old men. i love him.

also eh toadvine can get some too for similar reasons. the only difference is that he has a sluttier waist.

#1

[jamescanningauthor]

Im sorry I rlly do want to draw my design of toadvine but the john wilkes booth brain worms are way too powerful for the weeks of april 14-27 and around May 10 (his boothday)

[jamescanningauthor]

I know I'm designing everyone in Blood Meridian based on the text and in order of appearance, but I think I am just going to skip over The Judge entirely. He has been described to death, and we all know exactly what he looks like, aside from a few small details such as eye color. (of which I have expressed that I am in the red/pink standard albinism camp rather than creature eyes, not because I believe he is a mere mortal human, but because I want to keep in with the text's ability to keep his humanity or lack thereof ambiguous, and anything not biologically possible as a color would shift him too far in the inhuman direction, in my opinion.)

The second-most described character, Louis Toadvine, on the other hand, has many traits that are undescribed, though not to the degree of the remainder of the Glanton gang. If I do "design" The Judge it will mainly be a work of costume design, and he will be last due to his predictability of appearance.

[fireworkss-exe]

Favourite scene in bm and why? :)

i still haven't completely finished the book (unfortunately) but the one where, after one of the massacres, the judge kidnapped one of the children who was too young to know what happened, treated them very gently for a few days, and then killed them, and toadvine almost shot the judge for doing it but the judge was like "do it if you're not afraid🙂" and toadvine backed down. I don't know why but that one really stuck with me. it's haunting