Llewynâs political views:
AnasAbdin

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if i look back, i am lost
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Stranger Things
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
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I'd rather be in outer space đ¸
we're not kids anymore.

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PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
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@fxckinghatefolkmusic
Llewynâs political views:

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((Secret wishlist: Llewyn meets the MCU, and I mean actually meets the MCU.))
Inside Llewyn Davis (2013)
Oscar Isaac on the set of Inside Llewyn Davis
Hope shook her head slightly. âYou could try just saying thank you?â she offered, not particularly helpfully. She was struggling with it herself, honestly. Trying to find a way to tell Jessica how grateful she was for everything.
âFor both, I mean.â
âThatâs good advice.â He made a mental note to call Jim later. This was too much info to try and work out over text. âThanks.â He glanced her way and smiled--actually smiled. The realization caught him off-guard.

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âStraightâs fine.â She didnât actually know what she was talking about. But Jessica drank straight from the bottle and it worked out just fine. It worked out less fine when Hope tried it. She sputtered a little, coughing on the burning liquid.
Heâd seen that coming. She didnât look like a drinker. Was she even old enough? Fuck it, heâd started at eighteen. It was barely a shot. Sheâd be fine. Probably. Sheâd be better if she had something to water that down. Llewyn got a soda out of the fridge (they were the only thing Jack said he could take--Llewyn had only had one, not wanting to risk that Jack would be pissed even if heâd said Llewyn could take them) and held it out to her. âYeah, itâs shit. I know.â
((so does anyone want anything from Llewyn))
at least I know Iâll never sleep at night Iâll always lie awake until the morning light this is something that Iâll never control my nerves will be the death of me, I know
âWell, I donât know anyone on this floor named Jack, so Iâd say thatâs probable.â Â She grabbed the first aid kit sheâd put together for the - now thankfully rare - occurrences of Matt showing up bleeding on her fire escape. Â
âYou can sit down, if you want.â Â She said, gesturing to the couch. Â It probably wasnât the best idea, given that he was bleeding, but it wouldnât be the first time sheâd had to try to get blood out of it. Â And if he really was concussed, or drunk, and passed out at least it might save her from trying to haul his ass onto the couch.
She set out everything she thought sheâd need on the coffee table in front of the couch then pulled on a pair of gloves. Â âWhatâs your name anyway?â She asked while she checked there were no broken bones in his face. Â Next she set to work on the source of the bleeding. Â A little deeper and it might have needed stitches, but a couple of butterfly strips and itâd be fine.
He left his bag by the door but kept his guitar close as he sat down. Force of habit. His guitar was the only thing he owned that was really, honestly irreplacable. âLlewyn Davis,â he muttered as he pulled off his scarf. Had he gotten blood on it? Shit. Shit, great going, Llewyn. âL-l-e-w-y-n. Itâs Welsh.â
He shut up as she started checking out his face. Llewyn hadnât actually seen himself since he left the bar, but he suspected he had a hell of a shiner to go with that cut on his cheek. âIf this is some kind of ploy to get my guard down so you can rob me, I donât have anything worth taking.â He was trying to make a joke; he wasnât sure how well he was doing.
Oscar Isaac looking beautiful in Inside Llewyn Davis (+ a very cute cat)

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She was going to murder someone. Â Specifically, she was going to murder whoever was yelling outside her door. Â She was going to murder him, and sheâd probably get away with it too. Â Sheâd ask Matt, since he was basically a walking encyclopedia when it came to law stuff.
Checking the peephole before she even thought about opening the door, Claire gritted her teeth and stepped back, opening the door only as far as the chain on it would let her.
âIâm not in the mood for random guys yelling outside my door in the middle of the night, and yet, here we are.â Â She was attempting to keep her voice down, mindful of her neighbors. Â âAnd thereâs no one here called Jack, so why donât you go wake up the rest of the building and let me go to sleep.â
It was only then that she noticed he was bleeding. Â And damn all her helping instincts. Â Letting a sigh slip from her lips, she stepped back, opening the door fully.
âYouâre bleeding. Â And either really drunk, or concussed.â Â She suspected both. Â âLook, Iâm a nurse. Â Let me fix you up before go waking the neighborhood up.â Â She stepped aside to let him in. Â âIf you turn out to be some psycho murderer looking for a chance to kill me, I wouldnât bother, youâd just regret even trying.â
In his defense, he stopped yelling the second he realized that he was knocking on the wrong door. Somehow. Was this even the right floor? Where the fuck...?
âSorry...â He stepped back. It was hard to tell if he was apologetic, defensive, or both--hell, he didnât even know. âI thought...â
Yeah, well, you thought wrong, jackass.
âIâm gonna go. Iâm...â Or he was about to, when she opened the door and offered to patch him up. Llewyn froze, half-leaned over to pick back up his guitar case, eyes wide and caught off-guard. The fuck? Was she being serious? Was this a joke? She didnât look like she was joking, not that he could always tell. It wasnât even an offer that he could say no to. He knew that gash on his cheek needed attention, but his sorry ass didnât have insurance. Patching it up himself? Yeah, thatâd end well.
â...okay.â He sounded wary a he stepped inside, unsure of how to respond to the offer. Llewyn grabbed his things and stepped inside. Everything about him screamed of discomfort--the hunch of his shoulders, the way he kept adjusting his grip on his guitar case, the way his eyes kept glancing to meet her gaze then darting away again. âUhm, thanks. Iâm not a pyscho murderer,â he added quickly. âI think Iâm just on the wrong floor.â
@dumpsterdivingnurse
Maybe he was concussed, or maybe heâd had more to drink than he realized. Or maybe he really was just such an asshole that he didnât see the problem with pounding his fist on the door at a quarter âtil midnight.
âJack! Jack, câmon, open the goddamn door...â Fuck, was he still bleeding? âIâm not in the fucking mood, man.â
((Tfw this blog got followed by a porn blog...for some...reason???))
âThatâs kind of sad. Maybe you should actually try being less of an asshole.â She frowned down at her knees. It wasnât like she was being particularly nice to him. Really, she hadnât been able to muster up the strength to be nice to anyone since prison.
Llewyn wasnât too offended by that, either. She wasnât wrong. âGot any tips for...â Something in the apartment started buzzing. Shit, his phone. â...not being an asshole? Hang on...â
Text from Jim. Potential gig later in the week. Halle-fucking-lujah. âWell, goddamn. Can I get lessons in expressing sincere gratitude while weâre at it?â
âShe almost killed me the first time we met. Yes, Iâm scared of her.â He didnât think it was an exaggeration. Sheâd kicked his ass, that was for sure. Llewyn found the bottle and passed it to her. âPretty sure she could snap me in half if she wanted to.â
âThatâs just Jessica. I donât think sheâs really all that bad.â Of course, Jessica liked Hope so there was that. âJust because she could snap you in half doesnât mean she will.â
He shrugged noncommittally. True, but he didnât trust her not to. Especially not when heâd probably give her a reason to at some point. He always gave people a reason to be pissed at him. âYou gonna have that straight, or do you want a coke?â

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Her lips roll into a thin line, pressing together to keep some or any of her amusement at the outburst from her face. Irene doesnât need to be roped into such a display, certainly not in a place like this. She catches his look ( like he would owe her, a stranger, an apology for what happened ) and only offers a nod in his direction, glass lifting gently as if to toast him.
The lifted glass cheers his spirits, but not enough to make him sing his usual closing song. He ended on âWild Mountain Thymeâ instead. There was a polite smattering of applause when he finished. He ignored it. Just get paid and leave before you can get lectured for cursing out one of the patrons...
All that went down the tubes when he walked down her table. He stopped. Kept going. Stopped. âIs the booze better than the atmosphere? Because Iâm only here because theyâre paying me.â
That was terrible.
âYou still play music for other people. Or try to.â She frowned and scooted back up to the edge of the fire escape to kick her legs out over it. It occurred to her that she actually didnât know that. At all. âSo, youâre an asshole. But not completely selfish.â
â...thatâs the nicest thing anyoneâs ever said to me.â
His tone wasnât sarcastic, for once. Not too sarcastic. Saying it was the absolute nicest thing anyone had ever said to him was a stretch, but it was up there. Top ten. Probably the nicest thing anyone had said to him int he past few weeks.