#Wyoming or Montana or something

[spicysucculentz]

currently having a fig tree moment

[savethepinecones]

wyoming mention!!

phil's bucket list

[piratesfromspace]

Just Like Old Times (Price x Reader + poly141)

Pairing: Reader x Price (& Reader x 141) Rated: Mature Word count: 2.9k Summary: A cottage in the snow. A Captain you knew in another life. His rugged and attractive men. Will you let them into your life? Note: This is a fic I wrote for @literatecowboy for the Secret Santa event organized by @bunnyreaper! I tried to make something soft and sweet and it's taking place during the winter, it's not smutty but if you like it, I can make a part 2 with some action 👀

EDIT: we have a PART 2!!

Content: ex-military!fem!reader, mention of food & alcohol, a little bit of angst but it’s mainly fluff, smoking, flirting, praise kink, sharing body heat

MASTERLIST // PART 2

It had been Laswell’s idea. 

The team needs to be ready for snow conditions, do whatever you think is best. You have 3 weeks. And I’m talking extreme weather, Price, not a little trip to your local ski resort.

Those had been the instructions Kate had delivered to an unphased Price.

He knew it was only a matter of time before this kind of mission would be required from them. Of course, the men of the 141 have already trained in the cold of England, have seen and tested the winter gear. But Laswell is about to send them somewhere at the very East of Europe, and there is a small difference between surviving winter in London and surviving winter in places where the cold could kill you in minutes if you didn't have the proper equipment or knowledge. Over there, more than usual, tiny mistakes could have big consequences. And Price would rather not have his team freeze to death because of a lack of training. 

It’s December and the month is cold already. But it’s nothing compared to the cold Soap feels when he steps out of the helicopter. It’s like Price has picked the coldest place he knows in America. He’s pretty sure they are somewhere in Wyoming or Montana, the only thing he can see are mountains all around them. Spruce and fir trees sprawl in dark patches contrasting with the stark white of the snow covering everything. He crosses the large glade to reach the tree line, as the helicopter takes off, sending the fresh snow flying in every direction. The sky is a light gray, and while the whole scene is stunning - makes his head spin with equal awe and wonder thinking about nature’s force and brutal beauty - it means there is no sun to warm his face. 

“Come on soldiers, let’s move, we still have a two-hour hike to reach our B&B!”

“You mean someone will be there to make us breakfast Captain?” Soap chimes, unbridled joy coming through his voice at the prospect of warm home-made meals instead of MREs.

Price has a hard time hiding a smile as he starts walking on the thin winding path, only recognisable for those who know it’s there. ”There will be someone, but I’m not sure they will cook for you, Sergeant.”

Ghost lets out a dry chuckle and follows the steps of their Captain, leaving Soap and Gaz a bit puzzled.

❄️

The sun is already setting when you hear loud voices outside, and soon after a series of knocks on your door. You’re a little stressed when you rise from the floor in front of your fireplace to go open the door. You have agreed to shelter those 4 soldiers for 3 entire weeks only as a favor to Price. An old acquaintance who saved your life, a decade earlier, before you left the field to heal your wounds - body and mind. The large wood cabin had been your home for a few years already. You keep it open for women like you, in need of time away from the world, although it’s pretty rare they come during winter time when the road is blocked by snow. It’s an old building, but well-kept and you made it as cozy as possible, all warm natural tones, plush carpets on dark wood floors, dark gray stones in the bathrooms. 

You welcome them with a soft smile, delighting in their surprise - seems like John had not told them he planned on using your cottage as a back-up base for this training expedition. John’s team members are not really what you expected: there is one Scott with a mohawk that seems simultaneously annoyed and happy to be there (he has terrific blue eyes), a young and calm brown-haired Brit (he’s really cute, like movie-star cute), and a behemoth with a literal skull mask (his size alone has your head spinning). You can’t complain about them though, as they are polite and friendly, praising your home - and for sure taking in the comfort and warmth one last time before heading off for days of rudimental camping in the icy woods. You don’t envy them, remembering that one mission you did in Siberia when you were still in active duty, that wasn’t really fun. They settle in their rooms easily and you all share a quick dinner you had cooked - except for the masked giant. The banter goes fast between them, especially after you offer them beers. You like being alone, but you have to admit they are fun to be around.

❄️

The living room is silent and dark, the only light coming from the fireplace across your couch. After dinner, you had trouble finding sleep in your room, so you went to read a bit in front of the fire. But you must have dozed off, because you wake up suddenly, gasping, arms flailing, sitting up immediately. Your frantic eyes, wide open, scan the room for the reason of your awakening, survival instinct going overdrive. Someone is standing in your living room, frozen in place on their way to the front door. It’s the behemoth with the skull mask - the scariest of them all, of course.

“Didn’t mean to scare you.” he apologizes. In the darkness of the room, it looks like his jaw is not even moving beneath the dark fabric covering the lower half of his face, like the sound just pours out of him or like he’s speaking directly inside your head. He might actually, you’re not entirely convinced the giant is not some sort of supernatural being John brought back from a cursed battlefield. It’s unnerving to say the least. 

“I’m sorry, it- it happens sometimes, I can’t help it, my instinct thought you were a threat…” you blurt out before realizing you may have offended him in some way by implying he’s not worthy of your trust. But instead of scoffing, he lets out a thoughtful hum, lowering his head to look at his boots, almost sheepish. 

“Don’t. Don’t apologize.” His voice is low, calm, and at the same time you can feel something else, sadness, maybe disappointment, in what or who, you’re not sure.

“Care for a smoke?” he offers after a beat of silence, nodding to the front door. You don’t smoke anymore, cut the nasty habit years ago. That’s why you don’t know what compels you to accept, but you’re not gonna be able to sleep now, so you follow him outside, grabbing your coat on the way. 

You half expect him to smoke through the mask, but he pushes the fabric up enough to reveal a strong jaw covered in light stubble, and plush lips. So he’s human after all. The slick and heavy storm lighter looks ridiculously small in his giant hand when he lights his cigarette. He takes a deep puff before handing it to you.

“Sorry, last one.”

Your fingers graze his, and you bring it to your lips to drag a small puff that immediately makes you cough.

“You ok?” he rasps, humor tilting the corner of his mouth upwards.

“Yeah, it’s been a while, that’s all” you provide. He hums in approval at your explanation. 

When you hand him the cigarette, you take a moment to look at his mouth, the way his throat works when he inhales, the way the silver smoke dances between his open lips and fades into the night sky. Something warms your gut when you realize his lips are set just where yours had been a few seconds ago. 

You don’t know what’s more attractive, this or the fact he doesn’t try to make conversation for the sake of it. He doesn’t bother to explain why he couldn’t sleep and felt the need to smoke at 3 in the morning. He knows you understand. You are just glad to bask in the soft noises of nature at night - wind in the threes, the hooting of an owl. Fuck, you’ve been alone up there for too long to thirst on John’s colleagues just like this, just a few hours after their arrival. You shake your head, driving out the thought, and take the cigarette again from his fingers.

❄️

The next morning, you wake up pretty early after a short night, only to find one of them - the pretty one, Gaz - is already fixing coffee in your kitchen like he belongs there. You honestly could get used to this. The thin long sleeves of his shirt are doing nothing to conceal the muscles underneath, rolling as he’s going about this mundane task of preparing breakfast. His kind eyes and soft voice when he asks for your choice of eggs makes your heart flutter with a yearning for this kind of intimate domesticity you had never really allowed yourself up until then. It’s kinda concerning, at this rate you’re gonna ask one - all? - of them to stay with you in your cottage instead of going back to whatever missions at the other end of the world. 

The rest of the day is not making you change your mind. Price had asked if anything needed their help around the house, and you gave them the tedious task of moving the gigantic pile of wood logs stocked at the other end of your garden closer to the house. It would have taken you days to do it by yourself. But by lunch time, the pile had dwindled to a fifth of what it was thanks to the hard work of the four men. The two younger ones were down to their long-sleeve compression shirts despite the cold, sleeves rolled up their elbows, showing off strong forearms, various scars slashing across the discreet swirls of black ink from old tattoos. Some disappear under the black gloves they are all sporting. Sweat plasters the fabric of their shirts to their shoulders and chests. You can’t deny they look fucking good. 

You had accepted Price’s demand without much after-thought, but now you couldn’t be more happy about it, ogling those four rugged men laboring away for you. Despite being older than his men, Price is far from looking bad. He’s built like a brick house, a healthy layer of fat covering muscles he’s been honing for two decades. Dark hair peaks from the open collar of his jacket, your eyes follow the line of the thin garment which is hugging his tapered waist, down to his thick thighs. Fuck. You remember what it was like to be close to him - literally and figuratively. He was your colleague, an equal, a couple years older than you but you shared the same rank. He was a mentor, a friend, a lover - only briefly, after that fateful mission where he saved your life on the field. You parted ways in good spirit after you announced that you wanted to retire, needed to get your head straight before committing to anything. Today, you ask yourself if maybe you could take this back from where you left it.

❄️

You want to train with us today, love? Just like old times.

Price had asked you the question the next morning and you had not been hard to convince. It was more about being able to look at them than to train your body, but they didn’t need to know that. Even if you keep a pretty healthy lifestyle, you can’t compete with elite soldiers, and by the fourth set of push-ups, your arms are giving out. You’re about to stop and reach for your water bottle, when Price notices. 

“Come on, you can do five more, I’m sure!”

You groan in response, but you go back in position.

“Breathe, love. Back a little more straight. Elbows in. That’s it… Good.” 

Price’s deep voice is calm as he’s encouraging you, gently correcting your posture.

“Don’t look down, chin up. Perfect, you’re doing good.” he goes on, and you cheeks warm under his praise, enough to make you forget the stinging cold. Your whole body is clenched with the effort, you’re letting out little cries with each push-up, your muscles are hurting, but you want nothing more than to make the captain proud.

“Just one more. Done! You did great darling, I’m impressed.” 

He helps you get up on shaking legs and when you almost stumble, he secures you upright against his chest, keeps you there for two seconds more than he should for it to not look intentional. When you raise your head, you’re suddenly so close to his face, blue eyes staring down at you with a glint in them you can’t ignore. You reluctantly part before reaching for your water bottle again, playing coy.

The three others are not oblivious to the little game between you and Price. You notice how they exchange knowing looks and little smiles whenever you both interact. Worst, they also seem to pick up on your love for being praised and soon enough they take every excuse to whisper how good your aim still is during target training, or how smart you are for knowing everything about the local fauna during your afternoon hike. It never sounds like they’re mocking you though, never feels like it’s not genuine. It’s not fair, really. At this rate, you don’t know how you’re gonna survive living under the same roof with four attractive men for three entire weeks. 

The answer to this torture of yours is revealed quickly. After a few days of acclimatization at your cottage, Price and his men are ready for a long expedition higher in the mountains, with just tents and even a short surviving-in-extreme-cold workshop. They will be gone for at least ten days. You watch them pack their gear and leave your place with a pinch in your heart you couldn’t expect when you first opened your door to them.

❄️

Days go by, pretty uneventful, until your heating system breaks down. It’s not the first time since you’re leaving up there, it’s not that scary but you’ll have to wait a few days for the repair team to come by. In the meantime, you resort to live and sleep in your living room, where the fireplace provides enough heat to keep you warm in the heart of the winter.

They come back the day after that, and when you see their silhouettes emerging from the treeline, just before the sun sets down, you can’t prevent your lips to form a smile so big it hurts your cheeks after a couple minutes standing in the biting cold. 

The fondness in Price’s eyes is not dulled by the news your heater is out of order, nor is the relief on Soap’s and Gaz’s faces at the promise of a solid roof and comfy beds after days of rudimentary accommodations.

You all work to prepare some food, and to bring a couple mattresses with all the duvets you can find in front of the fireplace - the only sane solution for you all to sleep without suffering too much from the freezing temperatures. It reminds you of your years of service, when you sometimes had to share a single room with your whole squad - you’re not missing the stress and the harsh living conditions, but you’re definitely missing the camaraderie, the jokes and fits of laughter, the bodies of trusted people around you. 

They leave you the couch - gentlemen that they are - the objectively most comfortable option, but once again you can’t find sleep. The piece of furniture is the farthest away from the fire, and you’re on your own, no one next to you to share body heat with you. 

It’s only because I’m cold. That’s the poor excuse you give yourself - and the one you whisper to Price - when you step down from your couch to seek a place under the cover next to John. He’s sleeping next to Gaz; Soap and Ghost are sharing the other mattress. You slide yourself against him, immediately melting into his chest, the man radiating heat like it’s his only purpose in life. He doesn’t even have to ask you if it’s okay to hold you against him because you plaster yourself to him and nuzzle against his chest, old habits taking over your sleepy brain. A sense of safety and comfort envelopes you at the same time his warmth does. You forgot how good it felt to be in his embrace, to be tucked against his broad chest, surrounded by his smell - manly, ambery wood, and the rich spice of his cigars. 

He chuckles silently as you settle at his side and let out a little content sigh. He missed that too, he won’t say it out loud, but having you like this, soft and pliant in his arms, it makes him wonder how he could be such a fool for not seeking you sooner. He suddenly wants to kiss you, to make you feel good, here and now, no matter the fact his men are sleeping just a few inches from you. Should he care? He’s not blind to the fact you spend a good amount of time leering at them since they’re here, and to the fact they are watching you back. He can not ignore the shameless flirting going on between all of you five actually. John has never really been in a situation like this, doesn’t know where this will lead him - where this could lead them. But he’s ready to follow you. He takes a deep breath before he talks. 

“Just like old times?” He asks, voice low, chest vibrating with it under your palm. 

Just like old times… The words echo in your head, echo in your heart. He gives you the opportunity to lead him - to lead them - wherever you wish.

“Just like old times.” You repeat back to him, before you capture his lips in a gentle kiss.

PART 2

[madnessr]

Vagabond

Vagabond — wandering from place to place without any settled home

Poly Lost Boys x GN Reader Synopsis: Forgiveness is a fickle thing. When four souls find each other, the world finds its equilibrium once more; until the absence of another tips the scale forever. What happens when a familiar face shows itself back at the boardwalk after twenty years of absence?

Warnings: slight angst, lots of historical information in the beginning

Word Count: 3k

By issuing the Declaration of Independence, adopted by the Continental Congress on July 4th, 1776, the 13 American colonies severed their political connections to Great Britain. 

You had been ten during the conflicts between America and Great Britain, young and impressionable. Your family came with Puritans, who set sail to America back in 1630. Unlike the Pilgrims, who had left ten years earlier, the Puritans did not break with the Church of England but sought to reform it. All that happened before you were born; your ancestors had settled down and spread their roots into American soil. 

You recalled little of the American Revolution; after all, you were very young back then, but you remember December 15th, 1791, vividly. Your mother couldn't stop crying that day, and your father had pulled out the oldest whiskey they had that day. America was finally severed from the tyrannical rule of George III. 

You came to understand the significance of those dates more as you aged, growing into a strong individual as you helped your family on their farm. You never intended to marry; it wasn't something you had ever desired or looked forward to. The same year you had gotten married was the day you lost your immortality; both events are related but not necessarily connected. You were introduced to the vampiric community in New Orleans, a city that used the day to sleep off the mistakes you made throughout the rambunctious night. 

You had lived through the formation of the Constitution of the United States of America in 1787 when the founding fathers sought to implement more structure into the now independent country. 

The infamous whiskey rebellion. American drunks apparently were not too keen about Alexander Hamilton implementing a liquor tax to try and raise money for the national debt; asserting the federal government's power back in 1794. 

Only nine years later, the Louisiana Purchase happened in 1803. The small land purchase for only $27 million created room for the states of Louisiana, Missouri, Arkansas, Iowa, North Dakota, South Dakota, Nebraska, and Oklahoma, along with most of Kansas, Colorado, Wyoming, Montana, and Minnesota.

Throughout the 1810s and 1830s, you had moved on from New Orleans and left for New York, seeking human connections and reconnecting with the younger generations. During that time, the Battle of New Orleans in 1815 and the Monroe Doctrine in 1823 seemed to fly past you. 

Then, signed on February 2nd, 1848, the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo finally brought closure to the Mexican-American war. At this time, you were no stranger to political conflicts anymore, and the stench of blood and sweat staining battlefields was, unfortunately, no stranger. 

Life moved on regardless, no matter the horrid realities life provided. For a short while, life had finally come to a stand-still, guns tucked away as the world in America resumed its development. Until April 12th, 1861, Confederate troops fired on Fort Sumter in South Carolina's Charleston Harbor at 4:30 A.M., A day that changed America forever, the beginning of the American Civil War. 

The Emancipation Proclamation, The First Conscription Act, The Battle of Chancellorsville, The Vicksburg Campaign, The Gettysburg Campaign, The Battle of Chickamauga, The Battle of Chattanooga, The Siege of Knoxville. The list continued, and the coppery smell of wasted humanity tainted the air, the wind carrying the cries of victims throughout the nation. 

The war ended in the Spring of 1865. Robert E. Lee surrendered the last major Confederate army to Ulysses S. Grant at Appomattox Courthouse on April 9th, 1865.

The number of soldiers who died throughout those four years eventually got estimated to be around 620,000.

Only 47 years later, on July 28th, 1914, the Austrian Archduke Franz Ferdinand was assassinated, beginning the cruel trench warfare of World War I. In early April 1917, America aided the effort to join a war to end all wars. You had entered the war effort, like everyone capable at the time; from soldiers to nurses, everyone gave aid. 

On November 11th, 1918, the war ended. Although the Allies won, you found no reason to celebrate. Not when mothers sold their homes since there wasn't a reason to have a multiple-bedroom house anymore, when graveyards overflowed with the dead, when people mourned their losses, when mothers' only answer to their missing sons was a notice declaring their child missing in action. 

The stock market crashed in 1929, kicking off the Great Depression that would last for more than a decade. 

On September 1st, 1939, Germany invaded Poland. Kicking off World War II and beginning one of the most brutal warfare's, Blitzkrieg. On May 8th, 1945, Germany surrendered. After the atomic bomb was dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, Japan surrendered on September 2nd, 1945, and the Second World War came to an end.

The war ended, and the surviving soldiers returned with missing limbs and broken spirits. You were a firm believer that humans were not meant to witness so much death; it tainted them; it dulled them. Although you were a vampire, a creature supposedly made for horror, you could not forget what you had witnessed in only the span of 21 years. 

You were 201 years old now, relatively young in the grand scheme of time, but you had lived through a few of the greatest horrors the world had ever seen. 

189 years of traversing the lands, you watched grow in a desperate search to find one of your own. Since you were turned and left New Orleans, you had not met a single vampire. You watched with sorrowful wisdom in your eyes as the world passed through you, virginity in people's expressions you wish you had. A gaze untainted by warfare, civil unrest, and brutality. 

Although you have met the occasional human to brighten your own world, it did not cure you. Your search was desolate—fruitless. 

Your feet had carried you to Santa Carla, the year now being 1963, and just as the five stages of grief had settled on acceptance. You bumped into a group of four rambunctious bikers that would change your life forever. That had been the first time you had met, and you had continued to live together, going on to live through the Civil Rights movement and grieving the assassination of Martin Luther King, Jr.

But on August 12th, 1967, you left Santa Carla. Your absence is only justified by a delicately written letter standing in your place. You had grown to love the boys, but you had lived differently compared to them. 

Marko and Paul were younger vampires than you, having been turned while The Great Depression was bulldozing America. Dwanye had been older, abandoning his immortality in the 18th century along with David. All of them possessed the innate ability to move on from the past, a talent you, unfortunately, did not possess. 

No matter how hard you tried, you could not find peace or excitement in the future. The uncertainty corrupted you, tormented you and your experiences, so you left. Not with the intent to abandon but to sort out whatever you had to sort out. Away from the prying eyes of those you loved, those who you did not want—couldn't disappoint.  

Santa Carla, the town you had never been able to forget. It was 1987 now; twenty years had passed since you had seen the four vampires. You had missed them—a melancholic weight having nestled its way into your heart ever since you left. You regretted the way you had left through a simple letter. A cowardly move; you were wise enough to understand that. But at the time, you couldn't bring yourself to say it to them. How could you? Look someone in the eyes, someone like you—your own pack that never did anything but love you—and tell them you were leaving? 

You didn't have the heart, and if you were a little more honest, you didn't have it now, either. But you missed them more than your hurt pride by walking what felt like a walk of shame as you wandered around the busy boardwalk. One thing you never could get used to was the constant shift in fashion, it felt like the ins became the outs overnight, and you never were able to keep up with it. 

Bright colors were the most fashionable now, with teased hair and loud makeup. You enjoyed it, your knowing eyes watching over the crowd. The smell of hairspray permeated the air, wafting towards you as you passed people. Bulky and oversized clothes were spotted throughout the crowds, some men and women wearing specific member-only jackets. Ah, it seems the surfer nazis still haven't given up on Santa Carla yet. 

The amusement park was new; back in 1867, the boardwalk had small shops littered around—like a market. Originally it mostly sold food and groceries, fish caught fresh from the sea, and farmers selling their produce. 

How has the pier changed so significantly? If it wasn't for the bold, attention-seeking sign that said Santa Carla Boardwalk; you would've thought you were at the wrong address. But stepping on those old wooden floorboards of the pier that occasionally creaked or sunk under your feet was an all too familiar feeling. The smell of salt, rotting seaweed that had washed onto the shore, and the fresh street food made you feel all too at home. 

It felt like you had never really left. 

Your appearance had changed quite a bit since you left Santa Carla, so you didn't expect either the boys or Max to really recognize you. But although you were willing to stay under the radar for the boys, Max was another story. He was a head vampire, a coven leader, and therefore needed to be notified of your presence. 

Entering Max's video store made you feel nostalgic, the same old grimy bell still hanging atop the doorframe signaling your arrival; you had been the one to put that there to originally annoy Max. You were surprised he kept it. The wooden floorboards and furniture gave off a distinct, homey smell. You had been there when the store was built, and the shiny coating across the floors now had grown mat, occasional wood panels brighter in color than before. 

"I never thought I'd meet the day I saw you walk through those doors again." 

Turning around, you met the stern gaze of Max. His outfit made you smile, a desperate attempt at blending in with the crowd. Max was always a stickler for blending in; if he had no intention of turning you; you had no business knowing who; or rather what, he was. 

"It's good to see you." 

"I'm flattered, but I doubt that I am the sole reason you returned." Max always carried that knowing tone, as if he's watched out every move you'd make before you made them. It reminded you that Max had a coven before the boys and you, one he rarely conversed about. Perhaps Max really had seen this turn out before, but analyzing that surprised expression, you could only assume who had left never did come back. 

"How right you are," You sighed, shoulders dropping as you hopped onto the cashier counter. It was before opening, meaning you and Max had some time to chat privately. 

"Twenty years is a long time," Max hummed, a low and almost chiding tone. "What made you come back?" 

"To us, it isn't," You weakly argued back. The cumbersome feeling, or rather an awareness that you were in the wrong, was nearly unbearable. You were smart enough to understand that denial was a fruitless endeavor, and yet you couldn't help but let those desperate attempts escape you. 

"For people waiting for you, it's an eternity." Max sighed in a calm but chiding tone. Although Max never did have to scold you the way he did with the boys, from not committing arson to preventing fights. Max instead focused his guidance towards you on a more emotional level, the morality; a bit ironic being taught by a vampire—but he did his best. 

You glanced outside, through the glass walls of Max's shop, watching the bustling crowd pass you. Twenty years to a vampire was nothing, but somehow the short span of time felt arduous. Why did you come back?

"I never intended on staying away forever. I knew that when the time was right, I'd return." You explained, stealing a quick glance at Max. The older man had a frown etched onto his face, eyebrows furrowed as his own gaze lingered on the rambunctious humans outside. So unaware of the constant and unrelenting passage of time. It was cruel to be immortal; the passage of time no longer hindered you. But emotions are bendable and are the only aspect of ourselves that remains from who we were. Emotions were mortal. 

"Santa Carla has changed, Y/N. It is not what you left behind; they are not the same as they were alongside you." Max recalled, his voice disapproving. 

You knew Max was correct; you knew deep in your wrenching and twisting gut. You jumped off the counter, your feet hitting the floor like gravity had shifted around you, sinking your body into the floor. "I know," you knew; perhaps the boys didn't even want to see you; they could curse you out and send your name to hell for all eternity. They deserved to do it too. 

But they loved you once, and perhaps you can't help shake the feeling that they might love you again this time too. 

Max sighed, walking over to his front door and twisting the closed sign around, and pronouncing the store now open. Each tap of his foot, synced with his steps, was like a thundering echo inside you. It prompted you to get up and to provide closure for the others. You reach the door, opening midway before Max leaves you with some parting advice. 

"I hope you find what you came here for, Y/N. But the time might be right for you now, but it might not be for them."

You nodded, not looking back as you walked out of the store. The air was warmer, humid from the ocean breeze mixing into the air, the notorious assassin for any styled and teased hair due.

Laughter was one of your favorite sounds. As cliche as that might sound, it felt rejuvenating to hear. Whether it was a loud cackle mimicking the call of a hyena or a high-pitched wheeze or whistle. There was a beauty in people's expressions, how their noses tended to scrunch up, or how others held their stomachs and nearly doubled over. Laughter was infectious, and you loved observing the dopamine spread to others. Strangers connecting over a similar sense of joy; there was a beauty in it. 

The boardwalk was filled with it, people brushing shoulders against shoulders as they walked. Groups cackling and shoving each other as they enjoyed the youngness of the evening. Music booming from different directions, punks blasting the newest rap or metal music, hippies tuning out to a gentle jam, but the loudest seemed to be a distant concert down the boardwalk and closer to the pier. Like a bee sensing some honey, you followed. Dodging the occasional passerby, ducking out of the way from shop owners lugging their merchandise around. 

The music got louder, and a small thread of excitement seemed to push you further, faster. Your small stroll transformed into a quickened step, your ears guiding you and your eyes following the crowd. The music was loud; a tight smosh-like pit had formed before the stage where people grind and brushed against each other to the beat of the music. 

Looking around, you scanned the faces of teenagers and young adults. There was an eager but dreaded nervousness to your gaze at the thought of seeing a face that looked familiar. But it wasn't your eyes that caught their presence, but rather your sense of smell. 

 Copper. 

Although it was harder to pick up when the wind stills its prancing, the occasional breeze led you further towards the pier. Away from the smosh pit, and where people stood to enjoy the music but not risk getting mulled over by a hormonal teenager. 

There they stood, strikingly familiar. Although some of the fashion had changed, most of their originality stayed intact. That tiny red flag tied around Dwayne's waist was something the two of you had stolen from a stingy bar owner back in 1964; Markos jacket still had all too familiar patches sewn into its denim fabric; Paul still wore those bracelets you gave him, and David wore the most prominent reminder of you, his oversized coat. 

The wind picked up around you, a cold and mocking breeze flowing through your hair and betraying your presence to the four men you had left behind all those years ago. One by one, heads lifted, smiling ceased, and laughter died. Although you had spent years preparing yourself for this moment, nothing felt so gut-wrenchingly real than standing before them. 

How do you look someone in the eyes after you've abandoned them?

How do you move past that moment when the world around you stills and halts. When you lose yourself in the blear of the world when mortality reaches its hand around your heart and squeezes. A vice-like grip, a feeling blooming within your chest so heavy–so unspeakable. When you see those eyes, recognize the sorrow behind them and realize you were the perpetrator. You were the one who put that agony, that sadness there.

The burden of your actions ties itself around your throat like a noose, tight and unyielding, as you realize the cruelty was done by none other than yourself. And there is no way, in any shape or form, you could reverse the damage you've done. Pain is immortal, it might yield to its throbbing, but it never forgets. 

A world with your boys back in 1967 exists now only in your memory. The four men, cold as the autumn waters, were your reality now. 

"Hello, boys."

[gh0stsp1d3r]

the cowboy boys and where they live with reader !!

Cowboy!rafe- lives on a large farm in Oregon with a vacation home in Indiana. Has a shit ton of animals, gets it by a lotttt of dirty money.

Cowboy!pope- lives on a small ranch in Utah. you both have a lil puppy along with your horses

Cowboy!jj- lives in a small lil cabin that always has something wrong with it. But being the handy guy he is, always fixes it. you both have a big dog who loves your horses. You guys travel around a lot though, never in one spot for long.

Cowboy!john b- lives on a old ranch in Wyoming. has a cow and some horses !

Cowboy!barry- lives in a small town in Montana in a cabin. has no other animals but takes care of the rich people’s horses for money.

[carelesswhisper41]

Update: the moment I stop being exhausted I'm pretty sure walking into the woods and screaming for 30-60 seconds will fix me 👍

Wayyyyyy too much real shit (tm) happening this week but it's wild how quickly I'm bouncing back from things that would have been total KO's five years ago! 🥊

[dangerousartisanwerewolf]

To all the Americans on tumblr rn...

I am not American, nor am I old enough to vote yet as I missed being the legal voting age for my province by only about a week- curse my extremely late birthday.

(which weirdly enough has also had such an incredibly tight election that they are still counting the votes right now even though it happened 2 weeks ago because the two parties are basically tied. }

but I am also very worried for you guys way down south. Hopefully America will put the right person into power this time and everything ends up being ok for you all. Not to be too cliché but I am sending thoughts and prayers and I hope you guys all stay safe down there. I honestly can't even imagine how you guys fell- I don't even live there and I've been feeling increasingly nauseous as the hours go by and I have had to offline for the most of the day.

Remember:

To take care of yourselves. Just in general, in whatever way you see fit

You absolutely do not have to live stream the election polling/results thing on TV, doom scroll election content the whole day long, watch the news, or consume any other election related content. As horrible as it feels to say this; the results will be the same regardless of whether or not you are watching it. Sometimes it is just better for you and your mental health to just log off of sm/screens for the night

If it all does feel like its getting too much for you, please log off/take a sm/screentime break

Most importantly, if you haven't already, please vote!!!! I am not American and am barley old enough to be considered a legal voter (Missed my own countries election *tears*) so I can't really help in terms of providing resources but I am sure there are all sorts that can help you I'm sure. I know that its getting late at night; some polls have closed already but not as many as you would think. I found out that most are actually open way later than I thought. As it turns out, some are even open til 1! You learn something new every day I guess!

Just Please, Please, Please go out and cast your ballot and make your voice known, with how close this is quite literally every voice matters!!! GO VOTE!!!

Poll closing times in case you need it (I only included ones that close 8pm and upwards because it is 7:30 at the time of writing this)

8 p.m. ET

Alabama

Connecticut

Delaware

District of Columbia

Florida (Polls in Eastern time zone close at 7 p.m. ET; part of Panhandle are in Central time zone)

Illinois

Maine

Maryland

Massachusetts

Mississippi

Missouri

New Hampshire (Polling hours vary by municipality and are listed by location here)

New Jersey

Oklahoma

Pennsylvania

Rhode Island

Tennessee

8:30 p.m. ET

Arkansas

9 p.m. ET

Arizona

Colorado

Iowa

Kansas (Polling locations close at 8 p.m. ET in all except four counties in the west)

Louisiana

Michigan (Polling locations close at 8 p.m. ET in all except four counties)

Minnesota

Nebraska

New Mexico

New York

North Dakota (Polls close at 8 p.m. ET in all but eight counties)

South Dakota (Polls close at 8 p.m. ET in the east)

Texas (Polls close at 8 p.m. ET for most of the state except three counties in the west)

Wisconsin

Wyoming

10 p.m. ET

Montana

Nevada (The polling location at City Hall in West Wendover closes at 9 p.m. ET)

Utah

11 p.m. ET

California

Idaho (Polling locations in the south close at 10 p.m. ET)

Oregon (Polling locations in Malheur County close at 10 p.m. ET)

Washington

12 a.m. ET

Hawaii

1 a.m. ET

Alaska (Polling locations close at 12 a.m. with the exception of Adak)

I'm not really sure what other useful info I could put as I don't know much about America or it's electoral system but I hope that helps.

A lot of people I have seen have been posting about how they feel sick to their stomach's and that they can't get off the news and how they just feel terrible so...

Things you can do to distract yourself for the rest of the night (And possibly the next few days, idk how long it takes to count votes)

Have an early bedtime/take a late nap (Only go to bed after 9 at least though, otherwise you'll mess up your sleep schedule and make you feel worse.) Just sleep your way througb it if you cant help it.

To add on to point one I often use asmr if I can't fall asleep right away/to distract myself. My favorites are: Jaden Aliana Asmr, Oceans Asmr, Kaitlynn Reha asmr, and my absolute favorite Goodnight Moon ASMR (Check out her babble brook, 1920's, or valley girl series')

Listen to a podcast (I like Rotten Mango- informative true crime, Buzzfeed unsolved- funny true crime/ghost hunting, Look behind you- also true crime, and Chris Chan; a comprehensive history)

Never too late for some cleaning! Clean your house, bathroom, bedroom, closet, do a deep clean.

If your a student like me- do your schoolwork! I know you have some studying or homework that needs to be done! Get on it!! I use the pomodoro method if that does anything

Have a self care night- do an everything shower or fancy bath, make facemasks, mani pedi's ect.

Watch a movie or marathon t.v shows you love/that are comfort shows (Some of my comfort shows are; Bobs burgers, Gravity falls, the moomins 1990, the office, what we do in the shadows, black books, derry girls, moone boy, and all creatures great and small and M.A.S.H. Some of my comfort movies are; Little women, the cornetto trilogy, Emma, Legally blonde, Pride and Prejudice)

Never too late for some cooking! One of my favorite hobbies is cooking and baking (Mostly baking) Make some chocolate chip and snickerdoodle cookies, muffins, cupcakes or try a fun cake.

Go for a night walk! Just make sure you bring a buddy and some flashlights of you're in total darkness like I am right now. (Love me a Canadian fall! Already snow where I am so of course that means everyone now needs to immediately put up Christmas decorations lol. At least the lights are nice at night)

Spend time with loved ones. Call or text a friend, spend time with your family, roommates, whoever. If your on campus at a uni see if there's literally any activities or clubs open at this hour you can go to

Read. I know you have a tbr you keep meaning to get to

Go on a research rabbit hole about something interesting. Try to learn something new. Some topics to get you started relating to where I live cause why not; Try to learn about : The Animals of Canada, Indigenous cultures and peoples of Canada- ex: try to learn some Cree or Halqemeylem phrases, try to memorize all of our provinces and territories.

Get through any chores you still have to do

Make/do something creative: Play an instrument, record a song, make a collage, paint, draw

Play some music, listen to your favorite songs on loop (Spotify's still collecting data for wrapped!)

Download a videogame on your phone- just one to pass the time even if its total addictive trash. Some ones I like: Moomin town- Idle, relaxing, town building, slowpaced, free, Miriam webster quizitative- free, wordgames, has an end to it, Toca boca hair salon- not free, hair salon game, endless, Toca boca town- not free but there are dupes, dollhouse game, bird bnb- townbuilding, slowpaced, as well theres all sorts of cute isle cat games; I like the grocery store and cafe ones

Make sure to:

Drink water

Eat at regular intervals

take breaks from screens (It'll hurt ya eyes)

get some sleep at some point

Don't sleep all day (Try to get up at a normal time)

if you feel like you need- put screen time limits on your phone. Or as well, turn down the brightness if you feel you have to doom scroll.

That's all for now. Hope you guys are doing ok and that the results are what we are all hoping for. Just know that you are in pretty much everyone's minds and we are all thinking of you (Even if we don't live in America). Stay safe and take care of yourself and your mental health.

Love, thoughts, prayers, and support from Canada/Tumblr and have a good night.

Congrats if you managed to get through this absolute brick of text. I commend you. I'll probably check back in tomorrow.

[waywardxwords]

The Fix - Part 2

Summary: Everyone has a past, but yours seemed to haunt you. You've tried to move forward with a normal life, but the day comes when that's not possible anymore. When Sheriff Beau Arlen enters your life, you're certain he is going to judge you just like everyone else in town does. But something about Beau is different.

Warnings: Child abduction, brief mention of domestic violence, language

Word Count: ~2.8k

Beau had met you at the entryway of the elementary school within minutes, concern etched across his face in the way of worry lines that likely matched yours. 

“You alright, darlin’?” He asked gently as he approached with a tentative hand on your shoulder blade. 

Under the weight of his hand, you felt the ultimate collapse. Everything tumbled out of you in a way you didn’t expect (nor did he, by the look on his face). But either way, he used that hand to pull you flush against his chest and wrapped his other arm around your waist. He held you as you sobbed into the lapel of his brown jacket. The material was cool from the bitter wind just outside the door. 

“It’s gonna be alright,” he coaxed softly with his mouth close to your ear. “We’re gonna get her back.” You tried to nod and speak, but only shaky breaths came out. Beau pulled you to his side and stepped forward towards one of the agents. “Beau Arlen, Sheriff,” he put his hand out to greet the agent. 

“Matt Donahue with the FBI,” the man shook his hand. 

“What can you tell me?” Beau asked. He refused to break eye contact with the agent as he asserted his position of caring for the people in this town. 

Matt’s gaze moved back over you—your tear-stained and reddened cheeks, disheveled hair. He knew you wanted answers, but he also knew he couldn’t provide any right now. “Sheriff, as you know, the case of Jackson Lyle is ongoing. There’s nothing I can share right now.”

“I understand the Lyle case is off limits,” Beau spoke confidently. “But now, a five-year-old girl is missing. That changes things. Where are you at with a search party? An Amber Alert go out yet? At this point, Montana, South Dakota, North Dakota, Wyoming and Idaho should all be on alert. Have you talked to border patrol? He could be headed to Canada, for all we know.” 

“Sheriff, we are handling it,” the agent tried to assure. Something told you Beau didn’t trust the agents anymore than you did. 

“Then why the hell haven’t I seen an Amber Alert? As you know, agent—the first twenty-four hours are crucial. The decisions made now could make or break this,” he lowered his voice but you still heard him. 

“We are working on it, you have my word,” Matt sighed. 

“Your word doesn’t mean a whole lot ‘round this town,” he said firmly. “With all due respect, of course.” He added with a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He didn’t stick around to go back and forth any longer. He turned to you and wrapped his arm back around your waist again as he led you to the door. “Let’s go.”

“Where are we going?” You stumbled over your words but didn’t fight him as you braced yourself for the cold. The air practically took away whatever breath you had left. His grip tightened as you walked towards his truck. 

“We’re goin’ to the station. I have a plan,” his words were firm and his gaze didn’t waver from his truck. Your head whipped to look at him as he guided you. 

“Beau, they said to leave it be,” you didn’t know what the right answer was, and while you didn’t agree with leaving it alone, you also didn’t want to be in any trouble with the FBI. 

“Yeah, well, I say I’m the Sheriff and I can do as I please,” he opened the passenger door of his truck for you to step in. 

“My car’s here,” you thumbed to the parking lot where your truck was still parked. 

“I’ll have a deputy come by and pick it up,” he waved it off as he closed the door and headed to the driver’s side. 

You took a shaky breath. As he pulled open the driver’s side door, you stared blankly straight ahead out the windshield. Every bit of you felt numb, completely wrecked by the events that had taken place. 

“We’re gonna get her,” you realized Beau had been staring at you. 

“How? You heard the agent, they’re running this show,” to say you felt defeated would be an understatement. 

Beau slipped the key into the ignition and turned. As he pulled out of the parking space, his words were clear. “I’m doin’ a press conference,” he said firmly. 

This wasn’t the first time you had found yourself in the local police department, but this was by far the worst. A steaming cup of coffee had been set in front of you, but you didn’t feel like drinking it. You blinked as your eyes focused on the opposite white wall in the tiny interrogation room. 

The door opened, but you didn’t bother fixing your gaze. It wasn’t until he stepped into view and pulled up a chair that you adjusted your eyes. 

“I know you’ve been through this a hundred times,” he started slowly with a sigh. “But I need you to tell me what she was wearing today, and any descriptions. If you have a recent picture, that would be great.” Beau’s words were gentle—more gentle than you’d heard them before. Even though it was always clear Beau felt bad about your circumstances, this seemed different. 

“Do you have any children?” The words fell from your lips with little emotion, but there was a reason you asked and Beau knew that. 

“I do. A daughter,” he cleared his throat. “And I know if I were sittin’ where you are, I’d be absolutely lost. Hell, I’ve been there before.” 

Your eyes bolted to reach his gaze. “She went missing?” There was hope in your words as you realized she must have been found. 

“Sure did,” he nodded. “And we got her back. Just like we’re gonna get Bailey back, you hear me?” He seemed hesitant for the first time that day as he reached out and held your hand in his across the table. “I’m going to get her back.” He said firmly. 

You nodded once and broke eye contact. As you pushed the tears out of your eyes, you spoke. “She’s 43 inches tall. About 39 pounds. She had on denim jeans, with a daisy patch sewn on the pocket. A white daisy, with some green petals,” you closed your eyes as you pictured it. “Bluey sneakers…”

“Sorry, Bluey?” He asked, confused. 

You smiled through the pain of the moment. “It’s a cartoon. A little blue dog,” you continued. “She had on a long-sleeve pink t-shirt, I think it says ‘GAP’ on it in a darker pink. And a lavender puffy coat. I braided her hair today—one braid down the back.” You looked back at him to make sure he had captured it all. 

“You did good, sweetheart. You got a recent picture?” He asked. 

“Of course,” you fumbled through your phone and found a picture you had taken just the night before. Your heart nearly crumbled at the memory of playing hide and seek just after dinner. You handed your iPhone over to him and nibbled on your bottom lip. 

“I’m gonna send this to myself, alright?” You nodded at his question. “Jackson hasn’t tried to reach out to you, right? No family members? Anything?”

You shook your head ‘no’. “It’s been radio silence. I called the last number I have for him but it’s disconnected. I’ve tried his mom, sister, best friend…most didn’t answer, but his mom says she hasn’t heard from him.”

He nodded his head as he sent himself the photo of Bailey. “Alright, thanks for hanging with me, darlin’,” he gave your hand one last squeeze before he slid your phone back to you. Even in the haze of everything happening around you, your body couldn’t deny the feeling of warmth that simple squeeze cascaded through your veins. 

“Now what?” You murmured as he stood from his seat. 

“Now,” he started as he glanced at the door to the interrogation room. “I’m about to piss off the FBI and do a press conference.” He gave you a small smile. 

Beau had decided not to include you in the press conference, even though it was a fairly common practice to showcase the family members. He had said it was too dangerous, but he also didn’t want you in any trouble with the FBI. “I’ll take the fall, don’t you worry,” he had said to you as he headed for the front of the Sheriff’s office. “What’re they gonna do, fire me?” He had almost chuckled, but you didn’t know if that was a possibility. You couldn’t imagine Beau would actually risk his career for this—for you, the ex-wife of a con man he had been trying to hunt down for the last three months—but then again, you didn’t know Beau Arlen. 

You watched from the confines of Beau’s office where he had set you up with a television dialed in on the local news. 

He stepped up to the podium and looked as confident as ever. “Now we have Sheriff Beau Arlen with an important press conference,” the news anchor stated. “Let’s listen in.” 

“Afternoon, folks,” Beau greeted as he looked down at the notes in front of him. “We have a missing five-year-old girl tonight out of Big Sky and we’re askin’ for the public’s help in locating her. We’ll post this photo just after this conference, but she is five-years-old, approximately 43 inches tall and 39 pounds. She left home this morning wearing jeans with a daisy patch on the pocket, a light pink long-sleeved t-shirt that says ‘GAP’, a lavender puffy coat and sneakers with a little blue dog on them, called Bluey.” 

Your heart raced against the confines of your chest as he spoke and more tears yet again flooded your eyes. 

“She is in the presence of Jackson Lyle, who is considered to be armed and dangerous. If you have seen anything or heard anything, please contact the Sheriff’s office immediately,” he said. “We’ll be coordinating a search and rescue team in a few hours and are askin’ for the public’s help, and anyone who may want to volunteer. If interested, you can meet us at the Sheriff’s office at five o’clock.”

You felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude. The FBI had hardly attempted to coordinate with the public, but now the word was out and people could start looking for your daughter. 

“Here’s the photo, and this will be posted across news pages and social media here shortly,” Beau finished. “I’ll take any questions now.” 

“Sheriff, is this the same Jackson Lyle who has been on the run the last few months?” A reporter asked. 

“It is,” Beau replied. 

“What is the girl’s relation to Jackson Lyle?” Another reporter asked. 

“Jackson Lyle is her biological father,” Beau stated simply. There were murmurs from reporters in front of the podium. “We aren’t going to discuss anything regarding Jackson Lyle further. Our goal is to get this little girl home as quickly as possible. If you see Bailey Lyle or Jackson Lyle, please call our office immediately. Thank you.” He stepped away from the podium and the screen cut back to the local news. 

They didn’t miss a beat to show the photo Beau had shared—it felt surreal to see your baby girl on the local news. The tears fell from your eyes as they began to talk about the conference. 

“For our viewers who may not remember, Jackson Lyle is the man who was arrested almost a year ago now for drug trafficking and domestic violence,” and there it was. The painful past that made you want to vomit. You reached for the remote and muted the screen, your eyes steadied on the photo of your daughter. 

Almost instantly, you heard the door to Beau’s office open. Your gaze darted there and tried to focus on him, but it was a challenge through the tears. 

His firm demeanor fell when he saw you. “You alright, darlin’?” You shook your head back and forth. “I know it’s a lot, and I’m real sorry for that.” A heavy sigh fell from his lips. “But we need to get you outta here. We’re gonna go out the back to avoid the press.” You stood to your feet and wiped at your eyes with the back of your hand. 

“Aren’t we setting up the search party here?” You asked him, confused. 

He paused and diverted his eyes to the floor below his boots. “I just need to get you somewhere first,” he hesitated, and you knew that he was trying to skirt around whatever it was he wanted to say. 

“Beau…” you started, the pain in your voice strengthened so it was firm. “I’m joining the search party.” 

“I just need you to get in my truck,” his tone was pleading. “I need you to trust me.” His eyes bore back into yours again and you thought if you stared hard enough, you might be able to see his soul. 

Even though trusting people wasn’t really your thing, you nodded once and followed him through the door to the back exit of the building. His steps were long and quick, and for every stride he took, you took two. He threw open the driver’s door and you did the same to the passenger. As soon as you were in and your door was closed, he peeled out of the lot. 

Your eyes studied the side of his face. The worry lines he had acquired over the years, the freckles that matched his green gaze, plus some he had probably gotten from spending his days in the sunshine. His hair swooped to the side of his forehead haphazardly and you realized this day had taken almost as much out of him as it had you. 

“Beau, where are we going?” Your voice was soft but your tone was firm. You didn’t want to be mad at him—he seemed to be the only person taking initiative at finding Bailey. 

He didn’t say anything, and that scared you. But you knew these roads better than anyone, and you knew the direction you were headed. 

“Don’t you dare take me home, Beau,” you could hear your heartbeat in your ears. 

“I need you to listen to me,” he gripped the steering wheel tightly as he turned onto your private drive. “We need someone to stay at the house in case Bailey comes home. Havin’ you out there isn’t gonna change anything. I need you here. It’s the safest place for you.” 

“I don’t give a fuck about being safe, Beau!” Your voice raised as the anger boiled in the pit of your stomach. “All I care about is finding my kid. Did you sit at home when your daughter was missing?! And don’t you dare lie to me.”

“This is my job,” he emphasized. “And in order to do my job right, I need you here.” He shifted the gear into park. You noticed the two deputies already parked just outside your home. 

“You’re something else,” you scoffed, anger flowing freely. “How dare you.”

“You know what, sweetheart? I know you’re pissed. I hear you, and I’m sorry,” he sighed. “You can be mad at me all you want. Hate me, even, I don’t care. But I made you a promise that I’m gonna get your girl back, and I intend to keep it.” 

Your door opened and you recognized the deputy on the other side, it was Deputy Mo Poppernak. 

“Ma’am,” he greeted you with a nod. He was nervous, and you could tell Beau had prepared his team for this moment.

“You told me to trust you,” angry tears settled in your eyes and at this point, you didn’t think it was possible to have any tears left after how much you had cried that day. “I don’t trust anyone–you know that! How could you do this to me? He’s not bringing her back here, Beau. You have to know that. I need to be out there looking for her!” Your voice was broken and tired, but you begged anyway. There was no dignity left, and you didn’t care.

Beau reached across the center console area of his truck and grasped your hands in his. Slowly, so he enunciated every word, he said, “I’m going - to get - her back. You have my word.” He held your gaze for a moment before he looked just over your shoulder. “Get her outta here, Pops.” 

You tirelessly struggled against Mo Poppernak’s hands as he tried to ‘help’ you out of the truck. “I’ve got it,” you grumbled. As soon as your feet were safely on the gravel, the deputy closed the door and Beau flipped it into reverse. 

You prayed he knew what he was doing. 

Surprise! I’m dropping this a day ahead of schedule, because tomorrow is super hectic for me and I just can’t wait any longer (Team No Chill, over here). Thank you for all of the feedback, likes and shares on the last part. I hope I am keeping you hooked! As always, I would love any feedback you may have for me, or just your thoughts and feelings as you read <3. I appreciate you! New installments posted on Wednesdays and Saturdays! (Minus today, where I’m posting a day early [depending on where you are in the world when you read it!]).

A preview of the next chapter:

There were multiple deputies coming and going from your home. Mo seemed to be the constant—he was the only one who actually came inside. He wanted to make sure you had water and he tried to get you to eat (tried being the key word). But you were glued to the television. The search had begun, but they weren’t showing much. You had only seen Beau once on your screen, but you assumed they were trying to be inconspicuous with where they searched, just in case Jackson was watching. 

Matt, the FBI agent, had stopped by. You assured him you didn’t know anything about the press conference or the search. The anger you felt around Beau ditching you had mostly diminished. But now it was replaced by anxiety, fear and despair. 

Mo had been gracious enough to close Bailey’s bedroom door when he spotted you staring from the doorway with tears falling down your face. 

“She’s probably cold and tired,” you muttered as he approached. 

“It’s going to be okay, ma’am. We’re going to find her,” his words were meant to be comforting, but you knew he couldn’t make you any promises.

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[peterparkersnose]

Needy

Part 2 to Give In

pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

word count: 3.4k

warnings: smut (f receiving oral), broken leg, pain, depression, anxiety, longing, needy joel, reunion of sorts, cringe nickname from maria, malnutrition, descriptions of not eating and weight loss and physical changes due to that, brief grief

a/n hi i wrote smut. god help me, i hated writing it. i hope you guys like it, i tried to make it somewhat good. this takes place after the first game, or when the series ends. spoilers definitely. the middle where you don’t see ellie and joel for the four years there just living in jackson, right when joel comes back from saving ellie.

summary Y/N gets invited to Jackson by her Aunt Maria

masterlist

join the tag list

read time: 12 mins 25 seconds

After a few days you realized Joel wasn’t coming back. The sad realization sink in and really took its toll on you. FEDRA officers came to make sure you weren’t dead in your apartment, and with that made you go back to work.

Same day, over and over again once again. Take care of the babies in the QZ. Watch people get hung in the square. Eat the same, boring, disgusting meal FEDRA gave to you. Live in the empty memories that lingered all over town.

Tess was gone too. You figured they were both dead in a ditch or moved on to something better and bigger than this damn QZ. Part of you wondered if Joel just wanted an out; if he was sick of having you as a responsibility and left because of you. And it ate you alive.

It had been a month. You were still trying to reach your Aunt over the radio, just as Joel had been trying to reach his brother. It’s something the two of you bonded over the last few weeks he was here. Your Aunt Maria was located somewhere out west. You weren’t really sure where, but you knew she was still alive. You felt her spark. Ever since your mom and your uncle died when you were small, she had watched you until she was promised a ‘better life’ somewhere in… Wyoming? Montana? Idaho? You weren’t sure. She left you in the QZ because she thought it would be better for your safety. You were a preteen at the time, and for what it was worth it was probably a better idea than to track across country.

Sitting, scrolling through channels you hopelessly looked for Maria’s signal. She always used the lower frequencies, usually this specific one you were listening to. Just as you were about to click the machine off, you heard it.

“Lovebug?”

You gasped and cheered. Lovebug is what she called you when you were younger, a nickname of sorts.

“Auntie?” you called back, hoping this wasn’t one of your delusions seeping back in. “I’m here!” she called. You could hear a group of people cheering in the back.

She gave you a quick set of coordinates and cut off communication. It was brief and that hurt, but life finally had its purpose back. No more Joel, no more overthinking, no more hurting from how he left you.

-

You basically crawled towards the gate of Jackson. Unsure if this was even the right place, you hoped your topography skills were as good as you thought they were. From stealing four cars, foraging for gas (which there was barely any of) and walking over three thousand miles, you prayed this place was anything close to heaven. You had avoided getting bitten or scratched, but killing countless infected on the way. At least you would get to see your Aunt one last time.

The people had their guns pointed at you as you expected. “P-please.” you pleaded with your hands up. You were sure to be almost unrecognizable. Hair was greasy and matted, you had lost a significant amount of weight, and your clothes were tattered. Even in the apocalypse you liked to stay neat, but at this point in your journey you had stopped caring.

“Maria—she’s my a-aunt.”

“I’m going to need Maria at the east gate along with a medic. Stat.” a person called through the radio. The doors opened slightly.

“Y/N?” you heard your Aunt cry. You raised your head enough to see her run towards you. She held you in her arms and cried. The medics were weary behind her, letting this sweet family reunion continue.

You hugged her and tried to hold on to her shoulders the best you could. There was something different. Blinking a few times to get the icicles out of your eyelashes that had formed you realized she was pregnant.

“Y-your pregnant?” you asked. She shook her head and smiled. “I have a lot to explain. I’ll come with you to med.”

They had a makeshift stretcher with a thick piece of fabric held together by two refined pieces of wood. A blanket was placed over you as they carried you across this town. From what you could see, you were in heaven. Dead, no longer here. This whole thing was a mirage.

“It’s real, I promise you honey.” Maria assured you. “H-how?”

“I can explain once your stable. You’ve been out in the cold for too long.”

You closed your eyes, praying it wasn’t for the last time.

Awake. Is what you were. You weren’t sure where, or how, but you were awake. It was dark outside. The little log cabin you were in had a curtain hanging to divide you from other stations and medical supplies. You tried to move.

Your leg was stiff. A large groan escaped from you as you tried to move it.

“No,” you heard from your side. A man sat there. He had dark hair that was longer than the usual cut. His thick black mustache sat upon his lip. He had a tanned skin tone and from what you heard, a thick southern accent that reminded you of Joel. What was a southerner doing so far North?

“Try not to move it. You got a small fracture. Nothing serious, but you will be in the boot for a few weeks.”

His eyes darted to the medical walking boot that sat against the wall. “Who are you? Where is Maria?”

He chuckled at your enthusiasm. “I’m Tommy, Maria’s husband.”

It started to click. “Oh,”

Didn’t Joel mention his brothers name was Tommy? Or was it Timmy. You couldn’t remember. A southerner out west, you doubted it was the brother Joel was looking for. God, why are you still thinking about him? Even now, after you nearly died crossing the country? Sneaking out of the QZ? You were ashamed that your first thought after a brush with death was Joel Miller.

“I let her get some rest, she was here all day. It’s a lot of stress you know…”

Tommy was baiting to see if you knew. “For the baby.” you confirmed.

He shook his head. “Crazy, isn’t it?” he said.

Tommy explained Jackson. How it was functional, safe, and everyone was happy. Maria was right, this was heaven. He explained that there wasn’t any availability in Jackson at the moment, but Maria insisted of inviting you after she found out she was pregnant. Tommy explained something about jealousy and families, but it didn’t make sense to you. Apparently he had just gotten some family back, and Maria wanted hers back too. Since there was no availability, you were going to be staying with a girl in her house. Her name was Ellie. She was quite a few years younger than you, but Maria thought your personalities would get along well. You trusted your Aunt’s judgement, but was concerned when you found out you were to be living with a fifteen year old.

“Get some shut eye. I can help you move in tomorrow. It’s gon’ be difficult on that boot.”

-

It was early morning and Tommy was walking back to his house. Jackson was almost silent, besides for the early birds chirping in the trees and the sounds of the chefs getting ready for breakfast in the nearby mess hall. He stopped in front of Joel’s house and sighed. The large, two story garage behind the house is where Ellie lived, and where you would be staying until they could build you a house. But building a house took time and resources. He prayed that you and Ellie got along. It was either living with Ellie or Joel—Ellie definitely seemed like the safe choice in that situation. Joel wasn’t too friendly to strangers.

Slowly, he entered his own home. Maria was asleep on the couch, cradling her stomach. Tommy watched his beautiful wife for a moment, watching her chest rise and fall. She seemed so peaceful in that moment. Maria was due in a few weeks, and Tommy knew he wouldn’t have the luxury of this for much longer.

“Maria,” he whispered, stroking his hand over her hair and gently waking her up. She jolted awake, like most people did in this world, and was at ease when she found out it was just Tommy.

She put her coat on and grabbed the one she had gotten for you and followed her husband to the medic ward.

“Good morning,” Maria announced, dropping the coat on your stomach. This woke you. Groggily, you looked up at your Aunt with a displeased face. Tommy reached for the boot in the corner. You slowly moved your legs off the bed, groaning in pain. “Are you sure you don’t have anything for the pain?” you gasped. “Not for pain like this, I’m sorry.” Maria assured you. Tommy slowly guided your leg in to the medical boot and tightly strapped it close.

All night you had prepared for the depression that was going to follow with this damned boot. Not being able to move around, depending on others. It hurt too much to start to care about someone else, let alone have them take care of you. You hated to admit it, but this town could be gone within the span of a day.

“Now, you won’t need crutches. Give it a go.” Tommy said, extending his hands to you. They were coarse and dry, and that was a bit off putting to you. The second you put pressure down on your leg it felt like fire was streaming in your veins. Maria noticed your face tense and your hand grip harder on her husbands forearms. You sat back down on the bed, subduing your pain somewhat. “Shit,” Tommy sighed. “Do you think it was worse than we thought? Could the doctor have measured it wrong?” Maria whispered to Tommy. You heard bits and pieces of their conversation after that, but all you could focus on was your leg throbbing.

Ultimately, the two of them decided to get a wheelchair for you to use temporarily and be on strict bed rest. Yay.

“I dunno how I’m supposed to…” Maria said, grunting as she began to lift the handles of your wheelchair. “Don't!” Tommy yelled, stopping his very pregnant wife from potentially harming herself or the baby. “You wait here, lemme get Joel.”

Ice seemed to jolt through your veins when he said that. “Joel?” you asked suddenly in an alarmed tone. Tommy raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, he can help us get down the steps.”

You froze as Tommy began to walk away. You looked up at Maria.

“What’s his last name?”

“Miller. He did spend some time in the Boston QZ… maybe you’ll recognize him.”

No no no no, no no no. This cannot be happening. This is a fever dream, you convinced yourself. This isn’t happening. This isn't real.

“You alright?” Maria asked, looking down from behind you. She was concerned at your lack of response. As she asked that, Tommy began to return. And along side him walked the man you had to convince yourself you weren't in love with.

Maybe he wouldn't recognize you.

You had lost a significant amount of weight. You sliced off half of the length of your hair while you made your journey just simply because it was annoying. Maybe he wouldn’t recognize you. You prayed he didn't. Oh god, what if he thought you were the weird stalker girl who followed him here simply because she wanted to be with him? That’s terrifying. Stalkers existed in the fungal world, but you weren't one in the real world.

“This Ellie’s new roommate?”

His voice filled your skin with goosebumps. Not looking up, you kept your eyes glued on your feet in the wheelchair footrests. “Yup, she’s all yours.” Maria said chipperly, giving Joel jurisdiction to the wheelchair handles. Tommy counted down from four as the two men struggled to make a clear way down the wooden steps of the medical ward. Hearing Joel grunt brought back to many explicit memories, it honestly made your core begin to warm. Joel wheeled you all the way to a house. “Your gon’ have to build a ramp,” Tommy teased Joel. Joel sighed, picking up the wheelchair once again in synch with Tommy as they struggled to make sure your wheels didn’t bump the old, cracked wooden stairs of the house.

As they wheeled you inside the house, the two middle aged men were out of breathe.

“You know…” Joel said, catching his breathe by holding on to the side of his wall. “Those damned brick stairs are gonna be hell. If she wants, she’s welcome to my couch until she’s well enough to walk.”

As Tommy spun around your wheelchair, your eyes met with Joel’s for the first time in over five months.

And he recognized you. Oh, he totally recognized you. His facial structure seemed to shift as he realized that the girl he just offered to live on his couch was you.

“Alright,” Tommy said, not realizing what was going on. His smooth voice luckily interrupted the longing look you and Joel were sharing. “I’m gonna go fix you up some breakfast from the mess hall. You good from here?” You nodded your head slowly.

“Don’t bother, I got plenty here.” Joel offered. Your eyes widened, realizing he wanted to get you alone with him. “You sure?” Tommy questioned. “Go find your wife, take her to a nice breakfast.” Joel suggested. Tommy agreed and promptly left the house.

Joel sat in an old recliner across from you. Your finger scratched at the old medical sticker stuck to the wheelchair’s arm.

“How did-” “Are you-”

The two of you let out an embarrassed scoff. “You go,” he offered. “No you-” you insisted. After bantering for a few seconds, Joel broke the awkwardness.

“How did you find me?”

You sighed. So you did come off as the stalker-ish, jealous girl. “It’s not like that, I promise you. M-Maria is my aunt, the one I was trying to find when…”

“When I was searchin’ for Tommy, yeah.” Joel finished your sentence. “She invited me here, gave me coordinates. I didn’t know you were here until five minutes ago, Joel.”

His name sounded weird coming off your lips after filling your head for so many months. Joel let out a sigh of relief. “You look different,”

“Yeah, well two months across country with almost no food and no ammo can change a person.”

He sighed. “And you…?” he asked, gesturing for you to ask your question.

“Are you mad?”

Joel chuckled.

“Your wondering if I’m mad?”

“Well yeah, I mean we didn't necessarily end on good terms.”

“Good terms?” Joel laughed. “I thought about that damned kiss for months, Y/N.”

A smile sparked to your lips, but slowly left when you remembered. Tess.

“And where is Tess? I’m sure she would be happy to see me.”

Joel’s eyes darted to the floor.

“She didn’t make it,” he said bluntly.

Memories flooding back of the good times you and Tess had made you sad. She was gone. The closest thing you had to a friend was Tess.

“Well,” Joel said, breaking the awkward silence. “Would you like some breakfast? Better than those sardines…” You chuckled a bit.

“Will you help me?” you asked, looking now up at Joel. He nodded, reaching out for your hands. He pulled you up, and the wheelchair rolled backwards. As you tried to steady yourself, the movement of the wheelchair put you off and you began to slip. “Shit,” you yelped as your boot hit the floor. Joel them promptly picked you up under the armpits and held you up unnaturally high. Naturally, your good leg wrapped around his waist, as the other one did its best attempt at following your other leg. His hands rested under your butt, one hand grasping on to it. You now looked down at him as he held you. “Giving me flashbacks,” you chuckled, a hand coming to steady yourself on his back. The other hand traveled just below his hairline on his neck. It was within seconds that Joel’s mouth was on yours.

He was eager. He hadn’t been with you for a good seven months. He needed something, even if it was just a taste of you.

“Fuck,” he muttered, pulling away. “I missed that.”

Your hand had traveled up his head, now grasping his graying hair. Both of your breaths were heavy. “Joel,” you whispered. “Please.”

He nodded and slowly put you down on the couch. Your leg hit the ground with an oompf. He stood in front of you. The bulge in his pants was very prominent.

“May I?” he asked you, coming down to his knees. Joel was never this respectful back in Boston. He would take what he wanted when he wanted, with your consent of course. He never asked for permission because he was always confident that he had it; and he did. Something in him had changed. It was very obvious that it did. You weren't sure if it was Tess’s passing, the brutal crossing of the country, or the argument the two of you had before. But something had definitely changed.

With the confirmation he was granted, he slowly lifted your butt off the sofa to remove your pants. Once your pants were by your thighs he yanked them off. One leg stayed trapped over your boot. There was the Boston Joel coming back, seeping through this new shell of a man he was. Your panties were soaked per usual. “Always so wet for me,” Joel muttered, pushing your stomach back on the couch. He took his middle finger and pushed your panties aside, but also coming back and giving a quick swipe between your folds. A soft moan came from your lips. You adjusted yourself so that you were on full display. Your hips rocked back as Joel wettened his fingers from you. His other hand rested on your thigh, holding it firmly as his thumb made soft circles on your inner thigh, dangerously close. You stirred as he finally inserted two fingers. “J-Joel…” you moaned, clenching around him.

“Just like that,” he said, slowly pumping in and out. “Good girl.”

The praise was almost enough to send you over the wall. He never gave you anything like this back in Boston. It was always to satisfy himself. You feel like this time Joel really, truly cared. He moved his hand from your thigh to your lower back, moving yourself closer to his face. His thumb brushed circles around your clit. “Do you want it?” he asked you. You looked down to his eager eyes. They seemed to melt at the sight of you. You shook your head. “With words…”

Boston Joel’s dominance had returned. “Y-yes.”

“Manners?” he asked, giving another deep circle around your clit. “Please, Joel. Please.”

You knew he liked when you used his name. “Good job,”

His tongue softly darted to your folds. A plethora of slurred swears and moans came from you as he began to eat you out. The sucking and slurping noises were almost pathetic; Joel was so needy. Both of his hands rested on your thighs, tightly holding on. As he took a second to re gain some air, his lips moaned against your clit. That was almost enough to make you cum. He licked his lips, and went back in. This time he could tell you were close. You were already contracting and he could feel the release building up in your core. “Come on baby, beg for it.”

“Let me cum Joel, please! I-I… please!”

He pulled away and kissed your folds. “Since you asked so nicely,”

His tongue seemed to dissolve inside of you as your orgasm began to hit you. “So good, good job baby. Ride it out.” he said, moving away from you. His thumb delved into your clit that made your legs begin to shake. “It’s okay, you got it.” Joel re assured you, holding down your knee on your injured jeg so it wouldn’t hurt. Once you came down from your high, he helped you put your pants back on. Slowly, he helped you get up and pulled your pants back up to your waist.

Holding you in his arms, the two of you stood.

“God, how I missed this.”

“God, how I missed you.”

-

tag list: @dani5216 @uwiuwi @alohastyles-x @mandoloriancookie @maddieinnit0 @alexxavicry @scoliobean @avengersfan25 @nyotamalfoy @milly-louise  @undeniableadrenaline @evyiione @qualitypudding @jmillerswife @mxtokko @randomstory56 @misshoneypaper​ @sloanexx @jbcalway​​

[martiancount1877]

jokes

What do Barack Obama and George W. Bush Jr have in common?

They both love Dick.

---

What do Israeli Jews have in common with Palestinian Muslims?

They both hate Turtle Necks.

---

How many Jews does it take to screw in a lightbulb?

None, the shabbos goy will do it.

---

Why did Eve give Adam a bite from the apple instead of something nicer?

Man hadnt yet invented the housewife.

---

How many hours does it take to walk across Alabama, Arizona, Arkansas, Colorado, Idaho, Illinois, Indiana, Iowa, Kansas, Kentucky, Louisiana, Michigan, Minnesota, Mississippi, Missouri, Montana, Nebraska, Nevada, New Mexico, North Dakota, Ohio, Oklahoma, Pennsylvania, South Dakota, Tennessee, Texas, Utah, West Virginia, Wisconsin, and Wyoming, respectively?

No idea, I fly over.

---

There are plenty of fish in the sea, they said.

I'm no ichthyophile.

---

What do you call a gay country fella with a thick booty?

Hubba Bubba

---

How much beer does a dolphin drink?

5 cans

---

What game do Dwayne Johnson, the Pope & Ellen Degeneres play?

Rock, Papal, Scissors

---

What does a gay Cholo and Asian men have in common?

They love doing their éses

---

How do transpeople cross the road?

One splat at a time.

---

Nothing worse than getting fired,

from a canon.

---

What's John Oliver's drunk irish cousin's name?

Seán O'MacLiver

---

What do women and transwomen have in common?

Nothing.

---

What do proud and out gays and indians have in common?

They love holding hands with men.

---

Recently a family of indian immigrants got food poisoning at an lgbt restaurant.

---

What do they call jokes in india?

Delhihihihihi

---

Fin

[olderthannetfic]

/724781513472868352 I resonate with this on a deep level. I get told at college all the time that I don't look LGBT+ (they refuse to say queer, respectability politics is a helleva drug), I don't act it, no queer person is into my major or my hobbies, and it's weird that I'm queer but not into astrology or dressing more aesthetically ("are you a cottagecore or a dark academia gay?" I'm neither I'm a me) or playing Pokemon because outgrowing Pokemon is for cishets. People talk about gays/LGBT+ not being able to drive or do math or sit normally and then act like I'm some kind of ridiculous weirdo for not laughing at what they assure me is a true statement that does not apply to them or to me. People encourage me to experiment with my style or hair and "come out of your shell". I am informed I need to listen to certain musicians because all LGBT+ people are into them. It's weird that I'm not. It's even weirder I don't like The Owl House or hate Steven Universe or keep up with Heartstopper like the good queers do.

Basically it all boils down to, "Why can't you be more normal? Why can't you be like us?"

Because I'm not. My dad is a Pashtun Muslim and my mother is a Bukharan Jew. I have lived in the Deep South half my life and Wyoming the other half. My media interests are unrelated to queer rep and wholly based on liking the plots of things. I grew up on oldies and TV shows like Starsky and Hutch that my parents loved, pirated and played on repeat. I don't believe in astrology, I'm not a witch and I'm not an atheist with a Christocentric worldview who assumes all religions are Christianity Lite. I don't listen to the correct musicians mostly because I discover music entirely by accident and have a mishmash of genres and bands in rotation. Pokemon fell off and I'm not into it. I would sooner die than dye my Pashtun red hair that people made fun of me for as a kid. I like wearing button downs, clean shirts, nice jeans and my Magen David. None of this is incompatible with being queer. No one is going to kick me out of a gay club for not having played Pokemon Violet or listening to Tracy Chapman or trusting in science over crystals for healing.

And I really hate that after years of being avoided and pitied in high school by jackass backwards rednecks for being weird, I got to my dream university, the university in the most liberal city in Montana, and get the same fucking treatment.

Commenters like the one anon mentioned remind me of all the people who act like I'm doing it wrong. What is 'it', in that sentence? Living my life. Being queer. And when it crops in fandom - and I've gotten it sometimes for writing queer characters who are like me, Southern and into uncool shit and not sharp dressers and religious - it just makes me want to start screaming.

I am queer. I am not incorrectly queer. I am who I am and therefore, because I am queer, that is a correct way to do queerness.

Some gripes about Gen Z are overblown but this weirdly narrow view of what queerness is allowed to look like or be is 100% as awful as other generations say it is and it's fucking exhausting to live through. I don't have to sit differently in order to be doing queerness right or be unable to drive. I exist and I am queer and that is all I need to do and be.

I wish fandom was different from real life. I wish it was more open to the reality that queer people have a multitude of backgrounds and lived experiences. We're facing enough shit IRL, can't we just have one place where we're NICE to each other?

--

As a 40+ queer, I'm laughing myself sick at the current crop of "required" queer interests.

In my day, it was oldschool cis gay male culture for the men (think being obsessed with Bette Davis) and But I'm a Cheerleader and Dykes to Watch Out For for the women or something.

Not that you have to like any of those things either. It's just hilarious how clueless people are about what's a temporary trend that will probably be different in 5 years.

[atomicwinnerdreamland]

I didn't expect "Table News: 104 Ways to Ruin Our Planet" to be coated with Valentine's Day energy, but it is :D This is probably my fav interaction on there:

California: I got the video [of Gov falling], who wants it?

Gov: Et tu, California?

California: Dude, I tolerate you at best.

New York: Gimme that vid, imma play it at Times Square.

Poor Gov, even California wouldn't wanna be friends with him :( but on a side note, California and New York are gossip buddies and I just KNOW they have those nights where they eat dinner together in each other's rooms and talk about the latest tea. Sometimes these turn into dates ☺️ they are too lovely omgg

To add onto the episode (and kinda off-topic), but get yourself someone that'll love you the way Louisiana loves Florida: Flo was saying something ridiculous like, "Make the guy that punched your mayor your new mayor" and Loui added onto it by saying, "Yeah you right, my Mayor stopped a fight at a show." Loui is always ready to add onto Florida's shenanigans; they love each other so much i swear-

And Montana/Wyoming arguing about the flooding (they're adorable) and the West Coast wanting the water... lowkey I wish someone would want me the same way the west coast wants water

This Table News was so Valentine's Day coded, at least that's how I see it lol. Happy Valentine's Day to you 💗

[yippeeometer]

Idk if these are considered rare pairs, but here are some of my fav rare pair ships :D

FlouiSconsin (FL/LA/WI)

FloYork

TexYork

Texas/Wyoming/Montana

*you don't have to answer any of these, please do not feel forced to :D*

gonna answer all of them try that on for size

FLOUISCONSIN:

u just know theyre the ones throwing the new years party and its literally insane. typa guys to craft a massive stone boulder so they can actually say the ball dropped on the new year. typa guys to be researching haunted things on ebay to make halloween parties realistic.

their nights out should be classed as an olympic sport. Yeah you may have won a gold medal for sprinting but 1000% 3 drunk guys being chased by a zoo animal they accidentally let escape are faster than you.

something tells me they'd be the scariest people to sit near. theyre always giggling. always watching. what can they possibly be talking about.

they own like 2 pairs of real shoes between all of them and then just various non matching crocs

since sconsin has to be soooo far from the other two they just constantly have him on facetime. all day. theyre joining in on midwest arguments they know nothing about. theyre tattling to the south as soon as any drama goes down.

FLOYORK:

they serve couple-that-isnt-divorced-but-should-be vibes. theyre SICKENING omg two of the most insane people youve ever met.

we dont play around enough w the true extent of flo's madness he'd probably fill york's room w rats bc he heard that he likes them and york, matching his freak perfectly, would find it romantic. everyone else looks on in horror.

flo turns up at northeast meetings like an in-law at family gatherings to watch the drama. he definitely has a twitter account called 'weird shit my husband's family has fought over'

two strange guys with strange passions for animals. theres a collection of gator-sized sweaters in their closet that york gives flo whenever they argue (frequently)

'youre a snowbird' 'youre a leaf peeper' have you considered youre insufferable.

TEXYORK:

i acc love this ship youre never alone when yippeeometer is at the shipyard

theyre gonna be a slow-burn but in the sense that york's natural way of speaking is in one-word sentences and texas (daddy issues galore) would instantly be freaked out. local northeast man now befuddled how his flirting is not being picked up on.

oh god theyre sooooo awkward around each other. southern hospitality vs 'i can f*cking do it myself' northeast. match made in hell. hate them. no one knows how to communicate but also its sooo not casual when he begged u to come down to his ranch so he could teach u horseback riding. was it casual when he stopped the whole 'more than a city' shtick bc he wanted to show ONLY u around.

abnormal behaviour galore.... daddy issues galore..... typa guys where theres two wolves inside them (must protect him) (ab to get soooo vulnerable around him)

TX/WY/MT

cowboys!

typa guys where their only way of flirting is through the medium of horses. this is my horse shes called angel. yeah she fast. want to ride my horse? no seriously you have to ride my horse. u can even wear my hat when u do it but its totally chill or whatever....

its actually not chill they all compete at rodeos against each other and they WILL make it ur problem when it ruins the relationship.

farmer men..... farmer men..... grrrrrr what a yeild of crops..... just got some cows...... u can see them if u want...... u can stay in my bed.....

montana would have such fun with mr. 'pay attention to me or i die' texas and mr. 'no one look at me or ill kill myself' wy. sat at the table trying to maintain eye contact constantly with one whilst completely ignoring the other to not make the whole relationship obvious (its the most obvious thing in the world.)

[s-e-v-e-n-24]

May you share your Arkana headcanons?

:)

Ok so

They're both idiots when it comes to crushes. Idiots who would rather pine then Actually confess, and also, complete and utterly oblivious to any of the ways the other might try to flirt. Blame it on the regional differences and being bad at being social. So you end up with 2 people who, by all reasons, could just confess, but Won't. I like my ships stupid your honour/hj

When Montana is flustered, half the time it's completely internal, and the man just stares. There was a point before they became friends, that Arkansas thought he had it out for him

They gift eachother things! Like crows and magpies! Montana is the Treasure state, he's got a gem collection. Every so often Arkansas will open his door to find a pretty little gem sitting outside it. Arkansas is the diamond state. He gifts Montana little jewlery, like earrings. If they were to get married Arkansas is absolutely making their rings

They are "unconventional" beauty. Hooked and/Or crooked noses, moles, wrinkles, etc. Arkansas has starting to grey hair, to me. Montana's has random lighter brown/Gold strands

They are both Built. Not in a bodybuilder way, in the "Looks soft but is very strong" Way. Like bears? It's 3am forgive me the exact words fail me. Anyway, point being, they are both people that wouldn't expect to be picked up by a partner abd they can both very much pick their partner up

Montana is the 4th largest state. He's gotta be at least a head taller then Arkansas

Cowboy Montana. I don't think I have to explain. You get it. Man has a ranch still

Arkansas is more mechanically inclined, fixes their cars n such, and things around the house

Montana speaking both French and Spanish. Arkansas gets called "Mi tesoro" And "Mon cher" but most often, "Mon diamant"

They are the "My witch girlfriend" (Arkansas) "Me doing whatever the hell she wants" (Montana) Thing

In pre confession era they ramble so much about eachother. Texas and Wyoming are So Sick Of It. They're so lovesick. It's terrible. They're both so awkward about it too. Arkansas is tripping over his speech, Montana kinda just freezes like a deer in headlights. They have habits of gifting eachother things and immediately running away. Once they can be more normal, that mostly goes away. Except for one someone accidentally does something too romantic and now it's a whole Thing (50% chance the other person did Not notice)

They are both sort of quiet people. Don't prefer to do restaurant type dates

They patch eachother up <3 Look being immortal doesn't improve your fine moter skills and a tendency to be a dumbass. Sometimes you get burned while trying to fix something. Sometimes there are reasons you don't hike alone Montana

Hugeeeeee simps. Pre dating they are accidentally distracting eachother all the time

Montana getting Arkansas to teach him stuff (He is not paying attention on how to fix a car. Look he WAS. But now Arkansas is guiding his hands and his mind blanked. Lord help him

Montana loves the cold! Practically immune. Does own winter gear, but rarely uses it if he doesn't have to. Arkansas hates the cold. Living heater x living freezer

There probably is more, but my memory fails me

[misery-has-no-company-now]

For angst purposes (and loosely based on Nevada Joins the Table) -

Gov has a lot of control over these states; far more than any other. The higher the percentage of federal land in the state, the more control he has over that state.

Nevada practically has to agree to everything Gov wants. He barely has any choice in his life anymore. Gov practically owns him.

The top 5 states (Nevada, Utah, Idaho, Alaska, and Oregon) can actually easily be summoned by Gov just by him saying "(State), come here." All the 10 can be summoned by Gov actually but the lower 5 (Wyoming, California, Arizona, Colorado, New Mexico) are tougher to call like that since they have more power to refuse but the upper 5? No choice. Whatever they doing, it doesn't matter. They are forced to stop it and appear in front of Gov. Nevada and Utah have on multiple occasions been called in the dead of night when they were fast asleep (yes Nevada needs his beauty sleep) to 'see' Gov and they had to go. In front of the other states, Gov just pretends that with the exception of Nevada, he cannot summon any of these other states without Florida's help. But when no one else is there, he uses the power he holds over them thanks to the federal land he occupies in these states freely as he pleases.

Gov also uses this to his advantage by forcing these five to agree with him on whatever he says doing the meetings, much to their (and everyone else who knows') anger.

They spend many a night crying in each other's arms due to the helplessness that engulfs them daily. Sometimes there's also bitterness towards and resentment against the other states who are 'more free' than them. But it's not like they can do anything about it anyway, though the other states sometimes try to help them by convincing or forcing Gov to not do something he wanted to towards them/make them do something he wished for.

Since some of the states on this list were amongst the last few ones to be admitted to the union (like Idaho, Wyoming, Utah, New Mexico, Arizona, and Alaska), they didn't realise for quite a long time that Gov's power over them was not normal, and that most of the other states had a lot more control over their land and themselves. Nevada and Oregon are kind of older in terms of statehood (so is California but he's not in the top 5 so didn't feel the effects this much) and thus they knew from the start that this was not right; but obviously again there was nothing they could do. It just hurt them more since they were aware of the freedom they were denied.

Literally all these states are in the west. Except Washington and Montana (and I guess Hawaii too but she doesn't consider herself as in the west since she joined the meeting of misfits so...yeah), all the western states are in this list and highly under Gov's control (maybe that's why the west decided to take turns in being the leader, because none of them wanted to be around him for longer than they needed to be, and that's why Washington went first). Gov finds it more convenient and easier to deal with have meetings with the west and all the western states (including the other two) are kind of scared of him and his power even if not all of them show it.

Since New Mexico and Wyoming are my go-to angst states (aka the ones I apparently love hurting the most), even though they have more control due to a smaller percentage of their state being federal land and Gov technically should have less power over them, he has hurt them and threatened them so much (like with atomic bombs in New Mexico's case, implying/outright announcing that he might take away their statehood and make them a territory under his charge again to both of them, then in Wyoming's case reminding him how much the others forget that he is a state - and now Gov is one of the few who remembers their existence, etc.) that he exerts a lot more authority over the two of them too.

All of this is largely why the West is so messed up :( [in their heads, I mean]. That's all I have for now but feel free to add on. Unfortunately for these states, I consider the west the best for angst (:

[nowhereisnearmyhome]

The Cowboy by James Tate

source and transcript under the cut

Someone had spread an elaborate rumor about me, that I was in possession of an extraterrestrial being, and I thought I knew who it was. It was Roger Lawson. Roger was a practical joker of the worst sort, and up till now I had not been one of his victims, so I kind of knew my time had come. People parked in front of my house for hours and took pictures. I had to draw all my blinds and only went out when I had to. Then there was a barrage of questions. “What does he look like?” “What do you feed him?” “How did you capture him?” And I simple denied the presence of an extraterrestrial in my house. And, of course, this excited them all the more. The press showed up and started creeping around my yard. It got to be very irritating. More and more came and parked up and down the street. Roger was working overtime on this one. I had to do something. Finally, I made an announcement. I said, “The little fellow died peacefully in his sleep at 11:02 last night.” “Let us see the body,” they clamored. “He went up in smoke instantly,” I said. “I don’t believe you,” one of them said. “There is no body in the house or I would have buried it myself,” I said. About half of them got in their cars and drove off. The rest of them kept their vigil, but more solemnly now. I went out and bought some groceries. When I came back about an hour later another half of them had gone. When I went into the kitchen I nearly dropped the groceries. There was a nearly transparent fellow with large pink eyes standing about three feet tall. “Why did you tell them I was dead? That was a lie,” he said. “You speak English,” I said. “I listen to the radio. It wasn’t very hard to learn. Also we have television. We get all your channels. I like cowboys, especially John Ford movies. They’re the best,” he said. “What am I going to do with you?” I said. “Take me to meet a real cowboy. That would make me happy,” he said. “I  don’t know any real cowboys, but maybe we could find one. But people will go crazy if they see you. We’d have press following us everywhere. It would be the story of a century,” I said. “I can be invisible. It’s not hard for me to do,” he said. “I’ll think about it. Wyoming or Montana would be our best bet, but they’re a long way from here,” I said. “Please, I won’t cause you any trouble,” he said. “It would take some planning,” I said. I put the groceries down and started putting them away. I tried not to think of the cosmic meaning of all this. Instead, I treated him like a smart little kid. “Do you have any sarsaparilla?” he said. “No, but I have some orange juice. It’s good for you,” I said. He drank it and made a face. “I’m going to get the maps out,” I said. “We’ll see how we could get there.” When I came back he was dancing on the kitchen table, a sort of ballet, but very sad. “I have the maps,” I said. “We won’t need them. I just received word. I’m going to die tonight. It’s really a joyous occasion, and I hope you’ll help me celebrate by watching The Magnificent Seven,” he said. I stood there with the maps in my hand. I felt an unbearable sadness come over me. “Why must you die?” I said. “Father decides these things. It is probably my reward for coming here safely and meeting you,” he said. “But I was going to take you to meet a real cowboy,” I said. “Let’s pretend you are my cowboy,” he said.