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doomedandstoned · 6 years ago

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THE DOOMED & STONED SHOW

Season 4, Episode 4

On this edition of The Doomed & Stoned Show, it's already time for the monthly DOOM CHART COUNTDOWN, with host Billy Goate (editor in chief of Doomed & Stoned) joined by guest host Bucky Brown from The Ripple Effect. Together, they discuss the albums that landed in the Top 25 for the month of July from the Doom Charts.

PLAYLIST:

INTRODUCTION

1. Alice In Chains - "So Far Under" 2. La Chinga - "Killer Wizard" 3. Backwoods Payback - "Lines"

THE COUNTDOWN

4. Host Segment I 5. Svvamp (#25) - "Surrender" 6. Great Electric Quest (#24) - "Anubis" 7. Kaiser (#23) - "Earthquake"

8. Host Segment II 9. Shrooms Circle (#22) - "Trapped" 10. Haunted (#21) - "Vespertine" 11. Khemmis (#20) - "Flesh to Nothing"

12. Host Segment III 13. Alms (#19) - "For Shame" 14. Jack Harlon & The Dead Crows (#18) - "Witchcraft" 15. Orange Goblin (#17) - "The Wolf Bites Back"

16. Host Segment IV 17. Sleep (#16) - "Antarcticans Thawed" 18. BONGRIPPER (#15) - "Slow (excerpt)" 19. Seedy Jeezus (#14) - "Oh Lord (Pt. 2)"

20. Host Segment V 21. Red Sun Atacama (#13) - "Drawers" 22. Kingnomad (#12) - "Cosmic Serpent" 23. Saint Karloff (#11) - "Dark Sun"

24. Host Segment VI 25. ASG (#10) - "Survive Sunrise" 26. Forming the Void (#9) - "Transient" 27. Drug Cult (#8) - "Acid Eye"

28. Hos Segment VII 29. Black Elephant (#7) - "Cosmic Soul" 30. Fire Down Below (#6) - "Saviour of Man" 31. LUCIFER (#5) - "Faux Pharoah"

32. Host Segment VIII 33. Spaceslug (#4) - "Words Like Stones" 34. 1968 (#3) - "Screaming Sun" 35. Yob (#2) - "Ablaze"

36. Host Segment IX 37. Brimstone Coven (#1) "The Red Witch"

If you enjoy the music, please show the bands some love! Information about purchasing the albums featured on the show at www.DoomCharts.com.

Art: Nightjar art of Adam Burke

Incidental Music: Clouds Taste Satanic, Idealus Maximus, Psyrup, and Trippy Wicked and the Cosmic Children of the Knight

Please consider becoming a Patron of the Doomed & Stoned Show. Supporters get an exclusive podcast with new music each month. Visit www.patreon.com/billygoate to make your pledge. Thank you for supporting the music and the stories of the heavy underground!

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riffrelevant · 3 years ago

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Exclusive: BOOZEWA Premieres "Dingmanz" Song Off 'Developing Good Health'

Exclusive: BOOZEWA Premieres “Dingmanz” Song Off ‘Developing Good Health’

Article By: Leanne Ridgeway The Coatesville, Pennsylvania alternative heavy rock act BOOZEWA will be dropping their new three-track release, (more…)

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#2021 #Almost Honest #Alternative #Backwoods Payback #Bandcamp #Boozewa #Cavern #False Gods #Heavy Rock #Pennsylvania #Punk #Ritual Earth #Thunderbird Divine #Tour Dates

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marvelousbirthdays · 5 years ago

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Happy Birthday, lucifersbouncingballs

October 16-WinterShock with Darcy being connected to Bucky through the 1940s - either she got sent back to that time and then back or she started there, for @lucifersbouncingballs

Bucky Barnes is not having a good week. He's been drafted into a war he doesn't want to fight, his best friend is back in Brooklyn, probably getting beaten up, and now he's being called to Colonel Phillip’s tent. That can't be good.

His commanding officer is waiting for him outside, bristling. "This is highly irregular, Barnes, and I want it sorted out."

Bucky salutes in response, confused, and at the colonel's impatient gesture, goes in. There, standing at the desk, is the prettiest dame he's ever seen. She looks a little battered and her clothes are odd, but her face breaks into a smile when he enters.

"At last, someone I recognise! Bucky, help a girl out here would you and explain what’s going on.”

Bucky frowns. He hasn’t heard his nickname since shipping out — most folks here call him Sarge — but despite her familiarity with him, he has no idea who this woman is. "I'm sorry, do I know you?"

At his question, her brows furrow. “Is that some sort of joke? Payback for how I kicked your ass at Twister last -” Her gaze falls on his left arm and she pales.

“I know your sister,” she says at last. “Has Becky ever mentioned me to you? Darcy Lewis?”

“Not that I recall, no.”

In the awkward silence, Phillips pushes through the flap. “Well, Barnes? Can you vouch for her?”

He’s about to say no, but they’re in the middle of a war. He knows — or at least suspects — what will happen to her if tells the truth. Besides, she knows his sister. Apparently. “Yeah,” he says instead. “She’s a friend of my sister. Don’t know what she’s doing here, though.”

The woman scowls, and it must say something about how long he’s been in the field that he finds that charming, too. “I’m as lost as you are. One second I’m at work in New York, working in a machine Stark swore up and down wasn’t functional, the next moment I’m here being interrogated by you lot.”

“Stark?” Colonel Phillips asks. “You work at Stark Industries?”

“Yeah, though my boss -”

“That would explain it,” Phillips mutters. “Man has the curiosity of an alley cat and the common sense of a gerbil. This sort of stunt sounds like something he would do.” He looks at the woman, who seems more calm now that she doesn’t seem to be at risk of being shot as a spy. “Now what are we to do with you? You understand that we can’t let you wander off, and Stark left for England. He won’t be back for a while.”

“A while?” She purses her lips, then sighs, as if coming to a decision. “Put me to work, then. I’ll go stir-crazy without anything to do”

“What do you do?”

“I’m an ... administrative assistant. I transcribe, compile, and file the notes of others. I’ve been doing this for scientific research, but they’re pretty transferable skills.”

After some hemming and hawing, Phillips agrees to let her stay, ordering Bucky to show her around and shooing them out of his tent. Once they are outside and far away enough from curious ears, Darcy halts him with a hand on his arm. “Bucky, you really don’t know me?”

“How can I? I don’t think we’ve met before.” He knows all his baby sister’s friends, and this bombshell wasn’t one of them. Of course, if he was still thinking of her as his baby sister though Becky was in her twenties, it was possible that he’d missed one of her friends growing up as well. How else would she know his sister’s name?

“Becky and I aren’t close, if that helps,” Darcy says, and though something about this whole thing doesn’t quite seem right, he pushes his doubts away. After the week he’s had, he could do worse than showing a pretty girl around.

“Nice to meet you, Darcy,” he says, tipping his uniform cap at her. “Welcome to Europe.”

She tucks her hand into the crook of his arm and smiles up at him. “It’s not how I thought this weekend would go, but thanks all the same.”

She ends up being quartered with an Agent Carter, who Darcy seems to hold in high regard from the very start, much to his and Agent Carter’s confusion. Once the shine wears off, the two women strike up a firm friendship and can be found working side by side in total accord or laughing together in a way that makes the men near them distinctly uncomfortable.

Her spare moments, however, are spent with Bucky. Between her work and his training, they have precious few moments alone together. They spend them getting to know each other, bonding over a shared love of music and stories of dragging reckless friends out of trouble. From the knowledge she seems to have of his childhood, Bucky cannot help but conclude that she is his sister’s friend, though try as he might he cannot remember her.

It’s a few months before he musters up the courage to ask her about how exactly she arrived at camp.

“There’s not much to tell. I was headed out to dinner when my boss asked me to get something from a machine in the lab before I left. I checked with Stark, he said go ahead, the machine wasn’t working anyway. I’m in there, trying to work the component loose, when there’s a shower of blue sparks and I lose my balance and ended up here — wherever here is.”

She doesn’t make it a question. Phillips still doesn’t trust her, and while Bucky has passed that point long ago, it’s easier to stay away from those answers. “What was the machine for?” he asks instead.

She rests her head against his shoulder and he slips an arm around her as she answers. “I don’t know, to be honest, but my boss says it goes along similar lines to our work and we are looking at - at transportation, you could call it.” There’s probably more to it than that. Sometimes the things Darcy says (or almost says) range from unusual to downright impossible — but either Bucky is getting used to it or she is getting better at holding her tongue.

“I wonder if anyone found it,” she adds after a moment. “If it was common, I wouldn’t have had to go reuse that one.”

“You are working in logistics,” he points out. “Doesn’t that also include storage?”

She twists to look up at him. “You know, that’s a good point. Now I understand Officer Bryant’s storage system, it should be easy enough to find it.”

He follows her to the tent set up for general storage. It’s not the armoury, which is far more heavily guarded, nor the ration supply, which is watched over by the cook’s helpers. The Warrant Officer there gives him a suspicious look, but is familiar enough with Darcy that they are allowed in.

Darcy snags a clipboard from a stack of boxes by the entrance and pores over it, muttering under her breath. “Stack M,” she declares at last, and leads the way to the stack in question.

Bucky helps her pull the top box down and open the box below. After some digging around, Darcy pulls out a piece of metal, holding it up to Bucky with a look of triumph. “Here it is!”

“Are you sure?” It looks like nothing more than a piece of shrapnel, albeit with a few more wires.

“Yeah, though it wasn’t twisted like this when I was trying to get it out. This bit was over here.” As she speaks, she is tugging at part of the metal that seems to be hinged. With one final tug, it pops into place and Darcy stumbles backwards, disappearing into a shower of blue sparks.

His startled cry alerts the guard outside, but though they search the cramped storage tent high and low, there is no sign of Darcy.

There’s a lot of paperwork to fill out, but Bucky can’t bear to do it and Colonel Phillips is more worried about possible German movements near the Italian town of Azzano. One missing woman — who they never properly documented in the first place — well, they have bigger problems.

~~~~~ Seventy years later

His memories are still patchy, but images of the days before Zola are far more welcome than what came afterward. One day as he settles into living at the Tower, he catches sight of a brunette crossing the road below and a little voice at the back of his mind says Darcy. He is halfway to the elevator before reality comes crashing back.

As if the sighting was a key to those precious few months, more and more memories of Darcy start to surface. Her laugh, her biting wit, the little sway she put into her hips when she knew he was looking…

Steve decides he’s moping and at the next charity gala, resolves to introduce him to the entire population of Stark Tower, to ‘bring him out of his shell’. This tends to involve Steve springing strangers on Bucky while he’s having a perfectly lovely time interacting with the buffet table.

“Buck, this is Dr Foster and her assistant, who moved into the Tower last week.”

Carefully balancing his over-full plate, Bucky turns to face the new arrivals. “Nice to meetcha,” he says distantly, still calculating whether another spring roll would fit or cause a minor foodslide catastrophe. The women murmur polite greetings and Bucky almost drops his plate, because one of them is Darcy, blue eyes sparkling in amusement at the mountain of canapes he has amassed.

Despite the amusement, there is no recognition in that gaze, nothing but polite curiosity, and they soon move on to other conversation partners. Ones that are not alternating between shock, elation, and disappointment in equal measure, the sheer force of the emotions rendering him speechless.

Steve looks at him cautiously after they have gone. “You alright there, Buck?”

“That was Darcy,” Bucky manages to get out.

“Yes, that’s what she said. Interesting name —” Steve stops as realisation sets in. “Like your girl in Europe.”

Bucky shakes his head. “Not like her. It is her. Except she doesn’t know me.”

“But how can she be here?”

Bucky shakes his head. “I don’t know. I don’t even know how she ended up in the backwoods of Europe to begin with. She turned up one day, blaming Stark.”

“Stark — you think Tony did something?”

“We assumed Howard at the time, but now — yes.” Bucky stuffs another dumpling in his mouth and chews mechanically, but the pile of food he has amassed is no longer so appetising. “I thought she was it, y’know? Right until she disappeared. Then we got caught at Azzano and none of it mattered any more.”

Steve claps him on the shoulder. “If it’s really her, then maybe this is a second chance. Even if she doesn’t remember you.”

“So?”

“So be yourself. Show her you’re the one.” Steve grins. “Be charming.”

Bucky thinks back to afternoons sneaking out of camp or finding a quiet corner of the mess hall, and a slow smile blossoms across his face. “I can do that.”

#WinterShock #Bucky Barnes #Darcy Lewis #time travel

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shireness-says · 5 years ago

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Swan’s Seven (1/?)

Summary: After two years behind bars, Emma's out, and she's got a plan in mind. Now to put together the perfect team... Let's stage an art heist. (A CS Ocean’s 8 AU) 1.9K. Rated T for language. Also on AO3.

~~~~~

A/N: Thanks for joining me for another MC! It’s going to be a fun one. Turns out, I hate posting schedules when I’m the one being scheduled, so these will be up when they’re up. Hang in there.

Thanks to my wonderful beta, @snidgetsafan. Love ya bunches, babe.

Tagging: @optomisticgirl, @spartanguard, @profdanglaisstuff, @captainsjedi, @thisonesatellite, @thejollyroger-writer, @let-it-raines, @teamhook, @kmomof4, @snowbellewells, @searchingwardrobes, @winterbaby89. Shoot me a message if you want to be added/taken off the list.

Enjoy, and let me know what you think!

~~~~~

It feels odd, changing back into regular clothes after two years in a prison jumpsuit. Not bad, obviously - orange was never really Emma’s color anyways — just… odd. The black leather dress still fits like a glove, she’s pleased to note, and her arms are looking better than ever. That little tidbit is almost enough to keep Emma from slipping her treasured red leather jacket over the top — almost. A girl’s got to have her armor and a signature piece, after all.

“You gonna behave yourself, Ms. Swan?” the guard posted at the release desk asks as she hands over the last of the possessions Emma was arrested with - a pitifully small handbag. Emma resolves to burn it as soon as possible — less for the bad memories, more because it barely holds two cards and a hundred dollars cash.

Not that she’s been blessed with such a generous sum. “Don’t I always, Marcie,” she chuckles darkly. “Besides, how much trouble can I get into with $32.17?”

$3.17 of it is in change. She’ll be lucky if she can get a cab to a train station with that kind of money.

“That’s what I’m worried about,” Marcie grumbles. She looks like she’s suppressing a smile, though; she always was one of the guards Emma got along with. “Get out of here, and don’t let me see you next year.”

“Yes ma’am.”

The sunlight feels different, too, as Emma walks out the front doors and down the path to the parking lot. It’s not that she hasn’t been outside in two years; even in New York, they get time in the prison yard, so that’s obviously not the case. But knowing that she can enjoy the sunlight in longer than one-hour spurts is a different thing altogether, and wholly intoxicating.

She’s so busy soaking in the sunshine and her new-found freedom that it takes Emma a moment to notice the figure waiting where the fence gives way to cars and asphalt: lean, dark haired, dressed to kill. Regina.

“Hot date?” the other woman drawls, not even bothering to look up from where a perfectly manicured thumbnail navigates her phone. Emma wouldn’t expect anything less from her partner in crime. Emma and Regina met six years ago while both attempting to con the same mark, and had been criminally inseparable ever since (and she’s still particularly proud of the fake charity cons they used to run on wealthy, pervy men, happy to toss a few thousand dollars their way without checking their credentials too closely in hopes of getting into Regina’s pants). In all that time, Emma’s never seen her look anything but immaculately put together in perfectly tailored garments, expertly paired with that air of casual boredom she’s perfected. Beneath the cold exterior, Emma knows, lies a terrifying loyalty, however. It’s probably not a coincidence that that fucker Neal Cassidy wound up arrested mere months after setting up Emma to take the fall for his crimes, still landing her an accessory conviction after his stupid watches were found in her trunk despite the police’s inability to put her at scene of the crime — and indeed, surveillance video proved she hadn’t been the one breaking into cases. But Emma went to prison, and Regina… well, Emma wouldn’t be surprised if Regina got a little payback, even if she’d never admit to it.

“I don’t know, depends on who’s at the insurance convention you’re attending,” Emma shoots back. The perfectly matched trousers, blazer, and vest certainly suggest business more than a casual afternoon; an uninformed bystander would certainly be forgiven for thinking Regina was Emma’s lawyer instead of a fellow conwoman.

Despite the teasing introductions, Emma still doesn’t hesitate to wrap her friend into a tight hug. “Missed you, Reg,” she whispers.

“Me too,” is the barely audible response, before Regina pulls back to briskly brush at her precisely creased pants. “That’s enough of that. I thought prison wasn’t supposed to make you go soft, E, control yourself. I’ll still give you a lift into the city, if you want.”

“I’m counting on a lot more than that,” Emma comments as they climb into the black Volvo — nice, but not flashy, hovering just below the radar. Just the way they both like it. Emma idly wonders who stole it. “I’m gonna need a place to crash.”

Regina shoots her a sideways glance, full of skepticism. Regina Mills doesn’t do confusion. “Not running off to see brother dearest and whatever disgusting fairy tale he’s living in backwoods Maine?”

“Not yet.”

Regina hums in sudden understanding. “Ah. You’ve got a job in mind.”

“And I don’t want him involved,” Emma finishes.

“What’s the job?”

“I’ll tell you when we get back to your place,” Emma promises. “You’ll like it, though, it’ll be a fun one. And besides, it’s a favor for an old friend.”

Most of the rest of the 90 minute drive into the city passes in silence — not that Emma minds. It gives her a chance to run over the plan in her head again before she has to tell Regina. Still, they’re pulling up in front of the warehouse space that always manages to look just this side of abandoned. Regina had the business savvy at some point to buy up the building with some of the money she’d accumulated over the years, and last Emma heard, it was a thriving nightclub. Poison Apple. Terrible name, in Emma’s opinion, but she’s not the one running the place.

The inside is the same as always, full of exposed metal beams and carefully cultivated rust. Emma knows that at night, when this place is packed with revelers, the lights (what few of them exist) illuminate in bronze and gold shades, really encouraging the steampunk fairytale feeling in here. The unusual wishing well on one side of the room helps with that too, as does the apple tree growing under the grimy window panels that make up the slant of the roof. Emma finds those touches just as ridiculous as the name, but you can’t deny that there’s a theme going. And anyways, they can make good money pulling change out of the wishing well after the end of the weekend.

The apartment upstairs is much the same, minus the ridiculous fairytale decor. It’s been shined up, however, in a way that the club hasn’t been. Regina’s taste has always tended towards the luxurious and ornate, in a way that should be anachronistic against the metal and brick, but isn’t. The scrolled and gilded furniture is more comfortable than the minimalistic metal and leather Emma would have expected of an industrial space anyways, so Emma doesn’t have much space to pass any judgement.

“There’s a spare bedroom upstairs,” Regina says, tossing her keys onto the kitchen counter. Dark wood, white granite. Nice. “Make yourself at home.”

“What, with all my baggage?” Emma snorts.

“Fine, don’t then,” Regina snipes back, opening the fridge to toss Emma a beer. “Don’t come whining to me later about how I’m not being hospitable or some shit.”

“I’ve got a drink, what else do I need?” Emma collapses onto the couch. It feels good to finally toe her heels off, even if she can’t kick them across the room with a polished wood coffee table in the way that definitely cost more than the $32.17 in her wallet. God, what was the Emma of two years ago thinking with these torture devices?

Oh. Yeah. Horribly in love, planning to maybe use the heels to coax her date into a wild night of sex. That’d explain it.

“Oh, well, now that you’re here, what about that explanation? You said you had a plan in mind for some job?” Regina, of course, has somehow managed to conjure up a glass of wine for herself. Beer is for the peasants or something.

“The job of the century,” Emma promises.

“Yes, that’s great. The details?” Nothing is more entertaining than an impatient, pissed off Regina. It’s probably a miracle they haven’t killed each other yet.

Emma savors the moment for one more sip of her beer before finally spilling. “Zelena West. You know her?”

“Personally? No,” Regina snorts. “But Zelena West, pharmaceutical titan and socialite? Yes, Emma, I know of her. You’re the one who’s been in prison, not me.”

Emma ignores the jab. “You’re aware about her art collecting, then? The gallery she runs for the public?”

“Again, I haven’t been living under a rock, E.”

“And you know about the upcoming collaboration between the West Collection and the Big Apple Ballet? Big exhibit in BAB’s gallery about the intersection of dance and art?”

“Yes…” Regina trails off as the details finally sink in. “You’re planning an art heist.”

“Bingo.”

“A classic, certainly. Seems a bit of a risk, though, especially since you’re fresh out of prison. Why would you want to go after such a big fish right away?”

“Like I said, it’s a favor for an old friend.” She takes another swig of her beer. “It’ll be fun, besides. And it’ll work.”

“Yes, well, that’s left to be seen,” Regina grumbles. “Tell me everything, start to finish. Every motive, every step, every player, or so help me god, Emma, I won’t lift a finger to help you with this. I don’t intend to be caught attempting a fool’s gambit.”

So she does. Emma’s had a lot of time to think through this, and has run it in her head countless times. She knows every inch of this plan inside and out — and by the time she’s done speaking, Regina does too.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this… but I think it might work.” The wine has long since been consumed in the course of their conversation, but Regina sounds like she needs another glass after being conned into that admittance. “You’ll need a crew though. This isn’t something we can pull off on our own, I can tell you that now.”

“Oh, I know that,” Emma readily agrees. She’d been prepared for this. “We’re definitely going to need a xerox, a code wrangler, and a can opener. Maybe a fairy fingers, for good measure.”

“Never know when you’re going to need a good fairy,” Regina agrees. “You’re going to need a good garage sale, too.”

“For sure. Someone who’s already tapped into that world.”

“So five, plus you and I… you really think we can pull this off with seven players?”

“I really do.”

“I’ll put out feelers tomorrow, start collecting resumes.” Regina stands, carefully straightening out her pants. “It’s good to have you back in the game, Emma. I was worried that once you got out, you’d run off to live some boring Rockwell life with your brother.”

“Not me. Once a con, always a con,” Emma toasts before finishing off her beer.

And that’s the truth of it, really — this is in her blood. The one thing Emma Swan is better at than anything is conning people out of their money. It brought her a family, and a purpose, and a challenge to face every morning. She’s not sure she can imagine any other kind of life, or that she’d want to. Day after day crammed into a cubicle just isn’t for her.

“Let’s go stage an art heist,” it’s easy to declare, easier than riding a bike, almost easier than breathing.

Emma Swan is back in the game.

#Captain Swan #cs ff #my writing #Swan's Seven #Ocean's 8 AU #the razzing on David will continue #because it's kind of fun

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dewarpr · 6 years ago

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#backwoods payback

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mercerrock · 6 years ago

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7 color silkscreen poster for my close friends in Backwoods Payback. Please check their various social media spots for dates and venues close to you. The tour starts on the 7th in West Chester and winds it’s way through the country.

http://mercerrock.bigcartel.com/

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reesewestonarchive · 6 years ago

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Anxiety ratchets up in Ryan’s chest. He’s not an anxious person, not really—only when it comes to Nakoa. It’s lessened, now, but, there are still too many ways for things to go wrong, after years of them going wrong, for Ryan to completely overlook it.

Also, Nakoa hates the snow. He bitches about it all three weeks of fall, he scowls out the window when it starts to snow, and all winter long he walks home through snow and ice and sleet and curses Minnesota for being so far from the equator.

So, Ryan can excuse the little bit of anxiety.

Nakoa’s faced away from him, hands in his pockets, shoulders curled in on himself, standing outside Lola and Kaleb’s back porch. He looks miserable, but he’s smoking a joint, so some of the tension in his shoulders should disappear soon. Dice holds his attention well enough that he doesn’t turn to ask where Ryan is, but Dice does take one glance at Ryan, crouched down, his hands in the snow, and says—nothing.

Ryan flashes him a grin, curls his hands in the snow and packs it into a ball. Creeps up on Nakoa, his heart pounding in his chest, and dumps the snowball down the back of his collar.

His reaction comes immediately, Nakoa shouting, “Motherfucker,” as he squirms out of his jacket. Dice laughs so hard his entire body shakes with it, and Nakoa flashes Ryan an angry look.

Behind him, Dice says, “’Tis the season?” through his smile.

“You wanna play like that?” Nakoa says, shaking his jacket, his sweater—an ugly Christmas sweater with dinosaurs on it, from Lola—out until the snow’s gone. It’s warm enough, but Nakoa’s cheeks are already pink, so he pulls the sweater back on over his head, tosses the jacket on the porch. “Bring it on, Jackson.”

He moves so fucking fast, though, around the side of the house. Dice lifts his hands and disappears inside the house, still laughing, and, after the door closes, Ryan’s left in the serene silence of backwoods Minnesota December.

The wind isn’t even blowing; just the sound of Ryan’s breathing in his own ears, his heart thumping in his chest. No tell-tale crunching of snow, or twigs breaking, just… silence.

And then a snowball hits him in the back of the head, exploding down his neck in a shower of ice, and he curses, trying to brush it away, gasping and arching his back, which just draws the snow further down.

“Nakoa!” he gasps out, “asshole!”

His cackle comes from somewhere else completely, but when Ryan spins in a circle, he doesn’t see him anywhere. The red sweater should shine against the white like a glowing target, but it doesn’t.

Shit.

For a guy that hates snow, Nakoa’s too fucking good at hiding in it.

Another snowball hits him in the chest, and Ryan squints into the woods because, there’s no fucking way Nakoa’s working alone. He’s gotta have someone else. Cheater, Ryan thinks, as another hits him from the side.

“What the hell, man?” But as he’s scanning, he hears something behind him-running steps, maybe, and he turns just in time for Nakoa to plow right into him, tipping them both over into the bank of snow Ryan should’ve been hiding behind.

His exhale comes sharp, but Nakoa grins down at him. “Surrender?”

“I feel like you definitely got your payback. How the fuck did you move so quick?”

A look crosses Nakoa’s eyes, something sad and soft, but he shrugs it off. “So I win?”

Ryan thinks on it a second, then says, “I think I’m the winner, here.”

Fuck, it’s so good to hear him laugh like this, wide and open and carefree. A smile paints its way across Ryan’s lips, and when Nakoa tugs his joint back from his pocket, he says, “I love you,” in such a fond, pleased tone.

Nakoa just smiles at him.

Ryan taps his fingers against Nakoa’s leg, waiting while he lights and puffs, leans back on Ryan’s thighs and stares down at him, happy as can be. “You gonna move?”

“Nah,” Nakoa says. “Kind of like the view.”

“The least you can do is kiss me under the mistletoe.”

Nakoa lifts his head to look above them, up at the empty sky. “There’s no mistletoe.”

Ryan plucks the joint from his fingers, takes a hit of his own, and reaches up to tug at Nakoa’s collar. “I’m improvising.”

#my writing #from the roof of my mouth #:)

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squidproquoclarice · 6 years ago

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Hey I wanted to ask, cause maybe I can't remember or they never said, but why exactly did the Braithwaites give kidnapped Jack to Angelo Bronte? Like I understand why they took Jack, as payback for all the shit the gang was doing to them. And game wise they wanted to move the plot into Saint Denis. And while Bronte opens up some other missions (the party, the trolley) I don't really understand in-universe why they did it. Your thoughts?

#PlotReasons. ;)There’s actually some sense in it. They knew this would invite blowback. The Van Der Linde Gang may have underestimated the Braithwaites (and Greys), but Catherine isn’t going to make the same mistake. She knows this is a large gang of highly capable people, with those that ride out being a very pointed demonstration of the phrase “armed and dangerous”. They can pull big jobs and fight highly unfavorable odds and win. Person for person--because Sadie and to some degree Karen are also in this group--as competent and deadly gunfighters in both individual duels and larger scale gunbattles, they’re damn formidable. Even if you dismiss some of it as over-the-top exaggeration to challenge the player in combat with you having to take down something like 20 people in a mission, they’re still clearly capable of outfighting something like 3:1 (or even maybe 5:1 for top notch fighters like Arthur, John, Charles, Sadie by the point of Arthur’s return from Guarma, and probably Javier) odds on the regular. So Catherine probably knew they’d be coming for Jack, and this was going to get ugly. I imagine she warned her sons to stand off if a fight happened, but they didn’t listen. They might or might not win that fight, depending how many the Van Der Lindes brought (and yeah, they brought more or less everyone) but if she could still deny them Jack either way, that would be a win. Plus getting him into St. Denis, where they can’t as easily pull a fully armed open assault like they can on a plantation house, means Jack’s a lot safer in Bronte’s keeping. It also doesn’t hurt her to make a business partnership with Bronte and gain some goodwill with an increasingly important man in the region (much as I’m sure she personally loathes him) by cutting him in on some of this ransom action. All in all, it’s actually a piece of potentially smart business. It further protects her ransomable asset from rescue, and either creates or strengthens a business partnership in the big city. Given a different situation, Catherine could possibly have eventually become quite the criminal maven rather than merely a backwoods ‘shiner out of this.

#arthur morgan #jack marston #catherine braithwaite #angelo bronte #rdr2 #Anonymous

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