#jackass au

[terrible-monkie-kid-aus]

Hi! I’m THE MAYOR and this is JaCKAss

I’m sorry but that man is just built for Jackass style stunts and shit.

[cosmictuesdays]

The Stubborn Mule

Or, what happens when I take a break from Jackass to mainline The Bear and get hit with the idea of a restaurant AU where the adrenaline rush of stunts is transferred to delivering Michelin-starred food. All the tattoos. All the scars. All the yelling, all the screaming, all the intense homoerotic camaraderie of such a high-pressure atmosphere. Full of moments like this. The complete inability to fit into a typical life and carving out the space to fit you and nobody from the outside world ever, ever, ever wanting to know what goes into making the final product they love so much. Of course the name of the place has to be The Stubborn Mule. Johnny Knoxville is the head chef who's attempting to do for American Southern cuisine what Noma's doing for Nordic cooking: turn it into art. The one part of the US where white people never forgot nose-to-tail eating. A deep, rich cultural history that the region itself and the country as a whole is still reckoning with and only beginning to figure out how to talk about it. Using food as a way to open up dialogue and take pleasure in the parts worth celebrating. And his voice would carry perfectly across a loud, crowded kitchen no matter what the ambient noise level. Tremaine owns the place, and Spike Jonze is another investor, possibly with a place of his own - and they both know a good thing when they eat it. Knoxville's big ambition is to get a full-on farm-to-table place, possibly with a dedicated farm, because one of the greatest grace notes of Southern cooking is freshness of ingredients. Also, it allows him to occasionally wear one of those cowboy hats. Bam is the sous chef, and more importantly, he's the guy who knows a guy. He knows all the guys. (Some women are guys. In this case, "guy" is a title.) You need sea urchin at ten PM? He can get it for you. You need a spare part for the fridge? He can hook you up. The usual laundry facility is all booked up? He knows a place. You don't ask how he knows these people. You're just glad he knows them. And if he goes, it's going to take a couple of people to replace him. Ryan, solid and dependable, is the head dishwasher. King of the dishpit. The support person for the entire system. He keeps out of the kitchen drama, he doesn't raise his voice, everyone knows they're relying on him for everything to run smoothly. The irony of him hating to shower translating into the AU as a delightful joke. And if he goes, it's going to take a couple of people to replace him, too. Steve-O is on sauces. He does fine, precise, careful work with very delicately balanced ingredients - the clown training translating over. Also, setting things on fire. Also, he's nicked and scarred all to hell, and he's capable of grabbing stuff out of boiling water without hesitation or long-term injury. Pontius is one of the line cooks, astonishingly gifted with precise knife work and absolute genius at plating up and presentation. Always with the most ostentatious knives in the rooms, and he's earned those blades. He'll also hiss like a panther if you ever come close to touching one. Dave, who always came up with the high concept bits, is on desserts. You need to think in high concepts for desserts. Ehren, who always delivers on good footage, is another line cook. His carrots are diced geometrically. His onions are sliced perfectly. And you can always rely on him to deliver, even if he's not necessarily the most creative one in the room. Wee Man is the maitre'd, and Preston is the restaurant's sommelier. They've both done back of house work and are happy to be doing other things up front, wearing well-tailored clothes and making pleasant talk with the people coming in, serving as the public front. The menu celebrates regional cooking, and it's always got a few jokes on it. For example, a dish that's "tongue in cheek" which uses different cuts of meat from a single given animal's head that's rarely on the menu because you only get one tongue per animal and is always savored when it shows up. Or some sort of slow-cooked squirrel stew served over a polenta-like nut dish. Or "turkey in the straw" where it's turkey served on a bed of ricegrass, stuffed with toasted ricegrass seeds. Because you need the nuts with the squirrel to complete the joke, and while ricegrass isn't native to the south, if you're doing Jackass, in any universe, you need to commit to the joke. Of course, only a little bit of the menu goes for that kind of high concept joke. The rest of it is simply jaw-droppingly good food.

[marypsue]

So if you follow me (and aren't just stopping by because you saw one of my funney viralposts), you probably know that I've been writing a bunch of fanfiction for Stranger Things, which is set in rural Indiana in the early- to mid-eighties. I've been working on an AU where (among other things) Robin, a character confirmed queer in canon, gets integrated into a friend group made up of a number of main characters. And I got a comment that has been following me around in the back of my mind for a while. Amidst fairly usual talk about the show and the AU and what happens next, the commenter asked, apparently in genuine confusion, "why wouldn't Robin just come out to the rest of the group yet? They would be okay with it."

I did kind of assume, for a second or two, that this was a classic case of somebody confusing what the character knows with what the author/audience knows. But the more I think about it, the more I feel like it embodies a real generational shift in thinking that I hadn't even managed to fully comprehend until this comment threw it into sharp perspective.

Because, my knee-jerk reaction was to reply to the comment, "She hasn't come out to these people she's only sort-of known for less than a year because it's rural Indiana. In the nineteen-eighties." and let that speak for itself. Because for me and my peers, that would speak for itself. That would be an easy and obvious leap of logic. Because I grew up in a world where you assumed, until proven otherwise, that the general society and everyone around you was homophobic. That it was unsafe to be known to be queer, and to deliberately out yourself required intention and forethought and courage, because you would get negative reactions and you had to be prepared for the fallout. Not from everybody! There were always exceptions! But they were exceptions. And this wasn't something you consciously decided, it wasn't an individual choice, it wasn't an individual response to trauma, it wasn't individual. It was everybody. It was baked in, and you didn't question it because it was so inherently, demonstrably obvious. It was Just The Way The World Is. Everybody can safely be assumed to be homophobic until proven otherwise.

And what this comment really clarified for me, but I've seen in a million tiny clashing assumptions and disconnects and confusions I've run into with The Kids These Days, is that a lot of them have grown up into a world that is...the opposite. There are a lot of queer kids out there who are assuming, by default, that everybody is not homophobic, until proven otherwise. And by and large, the world is not punishing them harshly for making that assumption, the way it once would have.

The whole entire world I knew changed, somehow, very slowly and then all at once. And yes, it does make me feel like a complete space alien just arrived to Earth some days. But also, it makes me feel very hopeful. This is what we wanted for ourselves when we were young and raw and angrily shoving ourselves in everyone's faces to dare them to prove themselves the exception, and this is what I want for The Kids These Days.

(But also please, please, Kids These Days, do try to remember that it has only been this way since extremely recently, and no it is not crazy or pathetic or irrational or whatever to still want to protect yourself and be choosy about who you share important parts of yourself with.)

[strangersatellites]

It had all started in Photography 101. 

All he had needed was one more elective added to his schedule for the fall semester to be considered a full-time student. It was Robin who had suggested photography.

Steve had never had that great of a memory to begin with, the numerous blows to the head from juvenile high school fights certainly doing him no favors. Sometimes the amount of time it took to jog Steve’s memory surpassed the time it would’ve taken to simply tell him the story as if he hadn’t been there himself. 

He was always able to grasp the memory eventually, but sometimes they were slippery in his mind. 

He and Robin had found that his memory was ten times better if he had something to look at. Sometimes that was a souvenir from a trip, sometimes it was a takeout menu with his order circled in red pen, sometimes it was a physical scar on his skin from some silly injury. But most of the time it was pictures. 

Steve took to taking photos of everything. His friends, his food, the landscape, a book with a pretty cover, anything he wanted to be able to remember.

The walls of his room grew to be covered with polaroids and prints, some staged, most not. Many blurry and out of focus, but in the moment just the same. 

So when Robin suggested Photography 101, Steve saw an opportunity to take something he did for his own benefit and turn it into something he really enjoyed, something he was good at. 

The semester was a breeze and Steve flourished under the attention of his professor. He was constantly drowning in compliments about the movement in his photos and his eye for composition. 

(Robin would tell him on several occasions that she had never seen him enjoy something this much.)

By the time the semester was coming to a close, he was left with one final project. The professor had been intentionally very vague in her description of it throughout the semester, so Steve was a little on edge. 

Sitting in the front row of the small classroom, he twirled the strap of his camera around his fingers while he daydreamed. The room slowly filled and the professor settled in behind her desk. 

About five minutes after class was supposed to have begun Steve noticed they were all still sitting in silence. Glancing at the professor he saw her brows furrow and a frustrated lilt to her lips as she looked at her watch.

What are we waiting for? 

She stood and dusted off her pants before clapping her hands together.

“Well,” she began, “I guess we can go ahead and get start–”

The door at the back of the room swung open and knocked against the wall with a resounding slam.

“Shit! Fuck! So sorry I’m late. Traffic was a bitch.”

Steve is so caught off guard by the man who just burst into the room that he barely even registers the words he’s saying. 

He’is tall and all lanky muscle, dark curls and jewelry, tattoos and the smell of smoke, chains and leather and everything Steve’s not. Everything nobody in this class is.

He’s even more caught off guard when his professor laughs and pulls the man into a tight hug. There are only five other students in this class, surely he’s not the only person confused.

He keeps an arm around her shoulders as she introduces him to the group.

“Guys, this is Eddie. He’s a family friend and he’s going to be your subject for your final project.”

Steve’s own eyebrows furrow as he tries to understand how this was the project she has been keeping under wraps. They’ve had plenty of portrait sessions this semester, with models and subjects of their choice alike.

The guy, Eddie, claps a hand to his chest in a dramatic show of faux humility. 

“Thank you for having me, Joyce. It's such an honor to be here.”

She smacks at his arm and carries on.

“So, Eddie is your subject and you have no parameters. The only requirement is that he is the inspiration for your shoot. This can look like a standard portrait session, this can be contemporary urban street photography, whatever you like. Eddie does not even have to be in the photo! He just has to be the inspiration for it.”

Steve's brain is already running a mile a minute, conceptualizing shots faster than he can keep up. 

Dingy bars, backseats of cars, details of his eclectic style.

But one idea sticks out from the rest. As Steve lifts his eyes to Eddie once more and meets his own twinkling with mirth and smirking back at him he makes his decision.

He’s going to take his mugshot.

*****

“I want to take your mugshot.”

They’re at the campus coffee shop. Joyce had scheduled a few hours for Eddie to meet with the other students during their class time so they could talk through their projects.

Eddie barks out a laugh. “What, man?”

Steve twirls his straw around his drink and tries not to bristle at the reaction.

“Look,” he starts, running a nervous hand through his hair, “I don’t really know where the idea originated but once I had it, it stuck. I just saw this vision of the shot in my head and it was sick, dude.”

Eddie leans back in the booth, one of his boots knocking into Steve’s foot under the table. He crosses his arms and tilts his head. 

“Thought this shoot was supposed to be inspired by moi,” he says, gesturing a hand towards himself. “You saying I look like I should be in jail?”

Steve groans and puts his head in his hands. “No. I already told you I don't know where i got the idea–”

But that’s a lie isn’t it. He knows exactly where he got the idea. It was somewhere between the chains dangling from Eddie’s jeans and the handcuff belt he was wearing the day they met.

He put his hands together on the table between them. “Okay. No, I’m not saying you look like a criminal, Eddie. I’m saying I think you want to look like one.”

Eddie blinks at him for a moment before his face breaks into a slow smirk. He huffs a quiet laugh and leans closer. “Guilty as charged, Stevie. Besides, I was arrested once actually.”

Steve gawks while Eddie laughs. He is unfairly attractive when his dimples pop and Steve is going to have such a hard time holding it together behind the camera. 

*****

Steve takes his shoots very seriously. Every detail has to be perfect, even the ones not relating to the subject of the photo.

So it is wildly convenient that his professor happens to be married to the chief of police back in Hawkins. 

One quick phone call from Joyce and Steve and Eddie were granted access to the booking room at the police station. You know, for the sake of realism. 

Steve’s setting up his tripod while Eddie takes a chalk marker to the placard and writes up his own booking ID, a long series of random numbers with E.M at the end. 

Steve would be lying if he said Eddie’s choice of clothing wasn’t exactly what he’d had in mind. 

He’s wearing a ratty, old band t-shirt for some group Steve’s never heard of. There’s his usual black leather jacket and the silver chain around his neck. His ripped black jeans and fingers covered in rings and black nail polish. 

It's perfect for the shoot. But Steve’s sanity is struggling.

He gets the camera and the lighting set up just as Eddie steps into place in front of the height measurement wall. 

Steve puts his hands on his hips and gives instructions.

“Okay, so I know you’ve done this before–”

“Hey! It was one time!”

“So you know how this goes. We’ll do one forward and then one to each side.”

Eddie shakes out his hair and rolls his shoulders back. He holds the placard up in front of him and levels the camera with a dead-eyed stare.

He looks good. 

Steve is less than shocked that he looks even better on camera.

He lines up his shot. Click.

Eddie turns to his left. Steve gets a little distracted by the line of his jaw.

Click.

He turns to the right and of course only now does Steve notice his ear piercings. 

Steve takes a deep breath and focuses.

Click.

Before he can even look through his shots Eddie is dropping the placard on the desk.

He’s halfway out the door before he grabs the frame and leans back in. “One second pretty boy, I have an idea.”

He’s back before Steve snaps out of his stupor at the nickname. This time, he has a pair of handcuffs swinging from his index finger.

Steve snatches them out of his hand. “Where did you get these?”

Eddie crosses his arms over his chest and shrugs. “I know a guy.”

He rolls his eyes. 

He’s already picking up the placard and setting up some detail shots when Eddie grabs his wrist and stops him. He freezes for more than one reason.

“Hey, uh. Not to step on your toes or anything, but I actually have another idea.”

Steve is about to start on his spiel about ‘not messing up his flow’ when Eddie rubs his thumb over the inside of his wrist. Gentle and reassuring. 

“Do you trust me?”

Honestly Steve has no reason to trust him, he’s basically a stranger.

A pretty one. His brain supplies.

But he does. Trusts him enough to let him take Steve’s creative liberties and throw them out the window apparently.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

Eddie’s smile is blinding. He turns Steve’s hand over and drops the handcuff key into it.

“Don’t lose this big boy,” he says as he snaps the cuffs around each of his own wrists.

Steve laughs, loud and shocked. He waggles his eyebrows at Eddie. 

“Well, now didn’t this take a turn.”

Eddie rolls his eyes this time and lifts his hands as much as he can.

“Don’t try to sexualize my creative prowess, Steve. I am a professional.”

He nearly trips on his way back to his place in front of the wall and Steve has to hide his laugh into a cough.

Steve’s back behind the camera, hands back on his hips when he asks, “Alright, what’s the plan?”

Eddie smiles and says, “You just shoot, Harrington. I’ll do the rest.”

He leans down to finalize his camera settings and line up his shot. When he finally looks through the viewfinder his jaw drops. Because while Eddie was clearly joking about being a professional, if Steve didn’t know any better, this shot would have him believing it.

Eddie’s got both of his pinky fingers tucked in the corners of his smile, tongue bitten between his teeth. His thumbs are raised along with his middle fingers, while he’s got his nose scrunched and one eye squeezed shut. The cuffs hang right under his chin and accentuate his silver jewelry in a way Steve never would have anticipated.

Click.

Click. 

Click.

The next is a close-up of the booking placard between his teeth.

His hands twisting to unlock his own cuffs.

He’s a natural, and Steve’s camera roll can attest to the fact.

It wouldn’t be until Steve was reviewing and editing the shots that he caught on. The booking ID on the placard looked long because it was. It was Eddie’s number.

*****

Steve got an A. 

He got an A, an endless stream of compliments from Joyce and a dorky hot boyfriend. 

The rest of the class went the route Steve expected them to.

Dingy bars, backseats of cars, details of his eclectic style.

But Steve’s mugshot series stood leagues above the rest.

Later in their lives, when one of their friends would see the photo in Steve’s wallet they would ask when Eddie got arrested and why.

It quickly became a game between the two.

He’s been arrested in high school for selling drugs (True.)

When he was twenty for public indecency.

At twenty-two for arson.

Thirty for contract killing. This one was followed up with the claim that he was in witsec and was now going to have to change his identity and flee the country.

But the real when and why Eddie got arrested is because when he was twenty-one Joyce told him there was a nice boy in her class that she thought he should meet.

[sanzosin]

need more of your nisha beats lilith au (because c'mon, she would, wouldn't she after that fight with jack?) !!! what happens after? the suspense is killing me

ohhh you n me ,sister....

i succ with actiony poses but i do like the swearing..ladehs..plez...behave ...>;P

pff naah..beat the shit out of each other!!!

[theangrycomet]

Where’s the AU where Prowl was actually sent to the stockades for draft dodging and is a fucking terror to the guards and his cellmates for years trying to escape until they throw in this obnoxious yellow mini-bot in his cell.

Prowl is the only one who believes that Bumblebee is not a deception spy (this guy can’t keep quiet for 10 nanoclicks how the hell is he supposed to be a spy?) and Bumblebee latches on to him.

Prowl finds this annoying and tries to get rid of him until Bumblebee risks his chassis trying to cover do him- which no one’s done before. Cue the two bonding over the lousy cards they’ve been dealt in life and actually becoming friends.

The two escape about a year in and become absolute fucking menaces to anyone who crosses their path.

[dia-smthidk]

teehee Jax comic thingy (low quality goin crazy)

btw that “other rabbit” was some sock puppet rabbit I saw on an X’d out door 🌞

[jdsgothwife]

if i were a girl on jackass ♡♡ inspired by others i've seen on here

[mcgpoy]

jackass genderswap au part 5: michelle rodriguez as chris pontius

[echo-goes-mmm]

Kitty Elliot AU #4

Masterpost

Previous

Next

Warnings: briefly implied future non-con

New Master reached out for him, and Pet couldn’t help but flinch away. Horrified, he waited for New Master to grab his hair and throw him down, or to slap him, but the blows didn’t come.

Instead, New Master picked up the dishes. He gave Pet permission to explore, and was gone.

Pet- no, his name was Elliot now- breathed out slowly. His heart was rabbit-fast and he felt a bit dizzy from fear. 

He took a deep breath in, and the scents in the room tugged at his attention. Elliot gave in to the curiosity, treasuring a distraction.

He stretched his arms out, arching his back before rocking forward to stretch out his legs. It felt so nice to finally unwind his muscles. He was still sore from the traveling box.

He turned in place, wondering where he should start. The front door made the most sense, and he stood up on stiff legs.

Elliot sniffed the wood. Scents from outside wafted through the crack under the door, sweet flowers and strangers who had passed through. 

He could only barely pick up the smell of Old Master under the layers, and he shrank away from the door.

Was he really forgotten? Left behind by accident? 

Shame curled up inside him and laid heavy like stone. He wasn’t good enough, and Old Master was punishing him. He sank to the floor, curling his knees to his chest.

A whimper pushed its way up his throat, and Elliot swallowed it back down. He didn’t want to be put in the muzzle for being noisy after so long out of it.

He rubbed his cheek on the wood in mourning. Old Master wasn’t coming back for him. Even if it was a test, there was no way he could find him again.

Elliot forced himself away from the door and tried to focus on the smells inside. 

Wood and wood polish, spices and herbs, meat and fresh bread. His mouth watered, but he had already eaten for the day. There was no point in being greedy. Scraps would come tomorrow.

He wandered to the windows, and his eyes caught birds in the trees outside. Elliot liked birds. They were fascinating to watch, their wings fluttering and their beaks clicking. His eyes darted back and forth, and his tail began to swish as the birds sang.

Oh, to play with a bird. Their feathers looked so soft, and surely the meat would be juicy and fresh. They didn’t even know he was there, and it would be so easy-

No. He wasn’t allowed outside. 

Elliot walked away, brushing a hand over a chair and table. Such nice, smooth wood. 

The fireplaces smelled sweet and dusty. He guessed that New Master burned maple wood when it was cold. He liked maple smoke. It smelled so good.

There was a houseplant on the windowsill of the staircase window, and it smelled earthy. Sage.

The windowsills everywhere were so deep that he could sit on them, and Elliot could even lay down on the downstairs one.

Very nice.

The guest rooms all smelled roughly the same; strangers and linen and wood polish.

Elliot paused at the door to New Master’s rooms. He hadn’t properly sniffed them out earlier, but he would know soon enough when New Master dragged him in for entertainment.

He turned to go back downstairs to New Master when he heard the brass bell of the front door opening.

The hair on the back of his neck stood up. 

Elliot was torn. Was it Old Master, coming back? He should go and greet him.

Was it a stranger, come to see New Master? He should run and hide.

Stress and fear made his tail puffy, and he darted down the stairs, hopping up on the stairwell window to spy. He had to know.

It wasn’t Old Master, and disappointment coursed through him. Just a stranger- no, wait. 

This stranger smelled familiar. Elliot’s nose twitched as he watched from the windowsill.

“Ambrose, I’m here!” The stranger called.

“Hey, James,” said New Master from out of view. “You’re late again.”

“Sorry boss,” said James, unapologetic. “Where do you want me?”

Elliot’s tail swished as he realized why James didn’t smell so strange. He worked at the inn; his scent was everywhere.

Unease settled inside him. 

He barely understood New Master, and now James would be around too. 

Elliot slipped upstairs as the men talked. He quietly curled up under the bed and waited for James to go away. 

He curled his tail around himself. He groomed the fur, trying to make himself smell like himself again.

Footsteps thundered through the hall, and a broom scraped the wood with soft scratches.

Elliot flicked his ears in irritation. So loud. He just wanted some quiet.

But New Master lived in an inn, and he’d just have to get used to it.

The door to the room opened, and Elliot sat up. Should he come out? He didn’t want to.

The end of a broom suddenly came at him. He startled, scrambling out the end of the bed. 

James yelped from behind him, but Elliot didn’t look back as he ran downstairs and into the kitchen.

New Master looked up in surprise, and Elliot impolitely ran by to hide. But the stove was hot, and Elliot skittered to a stop at the first wave of heat.

Elliot whirled around to find somewhere else, but Master was in between him and the doorway, frowning.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. 

Elliot shook his head, pressing backwards into a counter. All his fur was standing on end, his spine tingling.

“What the hell was that?” called James. He was coming closer, and Elliot dropped to his knees, chest heaving.

“It’s only James,” cooed Master. He was holding a knife, and Elliot couldn’t take his eyes off of it.

“He works here,” Master continued, and the knife flashed as he brought it down on some meat. “He won’t hurt you.”

James entered the kitchen, and Elliot’s eyes snapped to him.

“What the fuck is that?” James pointed at him. 

Elliot tucked his tail between his legs, shrinking the best he could.

“His name is Elliot,” said Master, still chopping meat. “He’ll be staying a while.”

Elliot trembled. What did that mean? He wouldn’t last without a Master. He was a pet for goodness sake.

James stared at him. “You’re kidding.”

Master paused. “I assure you I’m not.”

“He’s- he’s a cat thingy!”

“The term is catperson, James. And he’s just as smart as you or I, so be nice to him.”

“...right. I’m gonna go finish upstairs.”

“Great, thank you.”

James left, and Elliot breathed in relief. 

But New Master’s words rang in his head.

A while a while a while- He’ll be staying a while-

Elliot smoothed out his tail, trying to physically get rid of his stress.

How long was ‘a while’? 

And how could he turn that into a ‘forever’?

taglist: @cupcakes-and-pain @secretwhumplair @paintedpigeon1 @whump-blog @whump-em

@thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @starfields08000 @littlespacecastle @mylovelyme @whump-cravings

@zeewbee @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @fanastyfinder @roblingoblin285 @whumpzone

@snakebites-and-ink @astrokea @latenightcupsofcoffee @tobiaslut @whumpsoda

@loserwithsyle @bitchaknso @taterswhump @fleur-a-whump @otterfrost

@hellodecisionparalysis @decaffeinatedtimetraveler94

[glitterinmyveinss]

// say yes to heaven //

johnny knoxville x reader

authors note: Johnny goes by PJ, some things might be innacurate apologies in advance, mentions of homophobic slurs (i can say it)

❥༄ It's a warm july evening, the sunset sky looks like cotton candy, the kids are still out playing, and me and pj are on the steps of his trailer drinking some cold beers. i've known pj ever since me n my mom first moved to Tennesse at age 5. i ponder back on that moment, the memory still fresh in my mind.

❥༄ "y/n! get your boxes from the back of the uhaul girl!" my mother shouted. i sighed and made my way from the empty field to the back of the van we came in while my mother put her belongings inside our new home. a boy around my age with dark chocolate hair, warm brown eyes, and a horrendous haircut came up to me. "are you my new neighbors?" he asked enthusiastically. i nodded shyly. "cool! i'm pj by the way. my trailers right there." i glanced over to where he was pointing. i noticed a brown trailer with white stripes, white steps, and various beer cans and cigarette butts littering the patch of grass in front. i turned back to him and introduced myself back. "my names y/n. my parents divorced so we moved here." "mine are divorced too! wanna be friends?" we've been inseparable ever since.

❥༄ i set down my can with a sigh and put my hands in my hair. i've lived in the same trailer ever since, things never really got better for me and my mom. i started working at the local jcpennys working the beauty department but that's it, and Pjs been working with his dad at his auto repair shop ever since we were 13. pj turned to look at me, his brows furrowed and his eyes fixated on me. "what's troublin' you doll?" i picked my head up with a sad smile. i loved when he called me that. "whens it gonna get better peej?" i let out a dry chuckle. "i mean are we just gonna stay in this town our whole lives? living pay check to pay check?" he huffed and turned away from me. "i don't know y/n...why are you bringing this up?" "because i don't want that to be my life pj. maybe it was good for our parents but...don't you want different?" he took another sip from his can and a long drag from his cigarette and was quiet for a while. "of course i want different but it's not that simple y/n...plus the world needs workers like us and our parents anyway." i couldnt belive what he was saying. it was so out of character for him. he was never one to conform to society despite us growing up in the south where you'd get called a fag for just about anything. but people didn't care when it came to pj. he could be wearing a tutu and still look cool. that's why i didn't understand why he was giving up his future to stay in a town like this when the world had so much more to offer him, to offer us. "you know, i don't get you sometimes pj." i threw my can on the porch and sat up. "when are you gonna wake up y/n?" he shouted at me. i looked at him wint utter confusion painted on my face. he stared back at me with those piercing dark eyes. anytime i looked into them, it was like i was stuck in place, and like the rest of the world was no more, just me and pj. "w-what do you mean?" i spoke. he scoffed at me and continued, still shouting. "do you think it's that easy? that we can just leave this all behind and start a new life like that?" i huffed in frustration and crossed my arms, "that's not what i meant and you know it. i just meant that we both have dreams pj. what about your writing?" he turned away from me and shook his head, his eyes were even darker now due to his mood. i noticed there were imprints on his can due to his grip on it. "what about my writing y/n? you heard my dad." a while ago, pj shared with his dad his dreams of being a writer, and how he wanted to write for this magazine in LA, just to get his foot out the door. his dad didn't take it well at all and said he better get the wrench he asked for because writing won't pay the bills. i stayed quiet, not knowing what to say. pj got up to stomp his cigarette out. when he was done he locked eyes with me. he stared at me with such intensity, it made my knees buckle and my stomach flip. maybe it's a good thing he wore shades 99.9% of the time. i wanted nothing more than to reach out and hug him, let him know that anyone who doubted him didn't know what they were talking about. that me and him could make it on our own. but we were just friends. and he was even more stubborn drunk than he was sober. he turned to go inside then stopped. "you better get home y/n...it's getting dark." i felt the tears sting the corners of my eyes, like bees in the summer time. this wasn't the first time we fought like this, but it's the first time he didn't invite me in afterwards. usually he'd say something along the lines of sorry, or how he has some left over apple pie he needs help eating, really he would say any excuse. but this time, it was like he wanted nothing to do with me. "you're a coward philip and you know it." i shouted. "you have just as much potential as anyone else in this world to do something great, but you're scared!" he stayed with his back towards me, his fists clenched and his head low. "leave y/n."

❥༄ i stared at him until my vision became blurry with tears, which didn't take long. i've always been emotional. i ran away from him, in the direction of our old elementary. i always went there when things became too much to handle and i just needed somewhere to escape to. once i got there i sat on the old rusty swings that squeaked each time you swayed. i felt like shit. maybe i was too hard on pj. it's just that all i wanted was for me and him to have a good future. maybe the reason why i got so mad was because i imagined our futures would be us as lovers, not best friends. i wish i brought one of those beers before i left. i heard rustling coming from my left side and when i turned to look, i saw pj. i turned away and stared at the ground. it was quiet for a while while he sat on the swing beside me. "i'm sorry doll. i didn't mean to yell at you like that, you know how i get when i drink coors." i began to sob as i spoke, "no peej i'm sorry, i was too hard on you." i put my head in my hands and hid my face. pjs eyes scrunched up as he began laughing at me. "oh come on y/n, no need to bring out the water works. we're all good girl" he moved his hand and began rubbing my back. i sniffled and picked my head up, turning to him with a small smile that he returned.

❥༄ it was like that for a while. just me and pj swaying back and forth, till he spoke up. "you know i'm not a coward y/n..." i faced him and frantically began explaining myself. "i know pj i'm sorry it's j-" he cut me off. "the only reason why i'm not doing what i want is because... i wanna keep you close to me." i stayed staring at him. my eyes wider than usual, and my lips tucked between my teeth. "the magazine i wanna write for is based in LA. that means i would have to move there." i remained quiet. he turned to look at me. "come on y/n say some-" it was probably the alcohol more than me, but out of no where, i decided to kiss him. his lips were warm snd soft, i could still taste the cigarettes and coors on his breath. i felt euphoric and nauseous all at once. i pulled away awkwardly and faced him. "i'm sorry peej, i don't know-" he cupped the side of my face and pulled me in for a second kiss. after a minute we pulled away, but we were stuck staring at eachother, like one would disappear if the other dared to look away. "i'll go with you." i spoke, barely above a whisper. pj scrunched his face in confusion. "pardon?" i rolled my eyes at him. sometimes he was such an airhead. "i'll go with you to LA. just say the word and i'll go pj." he stared at me with a goofy crooked smile and picked me up from the swing. i squealed as he threw me over his shoulder. "let's start packing then. we'll get the first flight out as soon as we're done." even though i was upside down and felt dizzy, i couldn't be happier.

[tiannasfanfic]

Jackass

Eddie Munson x Reader (Fluff)

| Eddie & Steddie Masterlist | AO3 Link |

Summary: When the cast of a popular reality tv stunt show is hired to perform in Corroded Coffin’s new video, Eddie Munson finds himself an unwilling participant, as well as a new love interest.

Rating: General Audiences

Author Note: Gender neutral Reader, they/them pronouns, no Y/N. Strangers to lovers, Rockstar!Eddie x Jackass!Reader, early 2000’s setting. I’d like to give a huge shoutout to the Eddie’s Sluts Discord Server, particularly @strangerxperv and @kleenexwoman for their encouragement to turn this very stupid idea of mine into a fic. 🖤💜

CW: Slight Fuckboy!Eddie x Fuckgirl!Reader in the beginning; allusions of hooking up; surprise tazing; mention of a ankle injury (no details).

Word Count: 1,539

WARNING! The following show features stunts performed either by professionals or under the supervision of professionals. Accordingly, MTV and the producers must insist that no one attempt to recreate or re-enact any stunt or activity performed on this show.

One of the songs on Corroded Coffin’s latest album is a fun, upbeat rock song about doing stupid shit when you’re young. All four members contributed stories for it, as well as some of their friends, but while it was extremely fun to write, everyone just assumed it would fly under the radar.

We all know what they say about assuming.

The song quickly blew up upon the album’s release with audiences finding it funny and extremely relatable. The label quickly began promoting it as a single and a music video was ordered to be made.

While the guys had the initial idea of the video, which was to show each one of them taking turns doing the stupid stuff Eddie was singing about, the director took it a step further. The crew of MTV’s hit show Jackass are brought in both to ramp the situations up to ridiculous levels and execute them while Corroded Coffin performs in the background just slightly out of harm’s way.

Gareth, Jeff, and Grant are all hyped since they are big fans of the show, but it isn’t all that exciting for Eddie. He’s never seen it. The whole concept has always sounded stupid as hell to him, which is only reinforced every time someone makes him watch clips from it.

Even though you had consulted on a few technical aspects for the stunt choreography, you hadn’t been needed for the video initially. A frantic phone call from one of your producers changed that thought when they realized you had some of the safety gear they needed. Since this was vital equipment, the shoot had to be put on hold, so you quickly loaded it all up and high tailed it down there. You decided to stick around to help since they were a couple hours behind by the time you arrived.

Since you weren’t at the morning meeting when all the Jackass crew members were formally introduced to everyone on set, Eddie doesn’t recognize you and assumes you are just one of the few extras that recently arrived on set. But, regardless of who you are, he thinks you’re hot, and since performing always makes him horny, he decides you should be given the opportunity to help him relieve it.

But while Eddie doesn’t recognize you, you instantly recognize him as soon as he approaches you. You can hardly believe it when he immediately starts flirting with you. Though, calling it flirting is putting it mildly. Even though he’s being incredibly smooth about it, it’s obvious he has only one thing on his mind right now. You are perfectly okay with this, however. You weren’t about to turn down the opportunity to get railed by the lead singer of a band you really like, and so you return his advances. Once lunch is called, it doesn’t take long before the inevitable invitation slides from Eddie’s lips when you ask what his plans were.

“I usually go back to my trailer to eat,” he says, licking his lips at that last word as he lets his gaze slowly wander down your body again. “Care to keep me company?”

His voice dripped with honey, his tone making the warmth between your legs grow. You smiled, opened your mouth to accept his offer…

And then your friends struck.

It all happened extremely fast, and with all of Eddie’s attention on you, all he knew was, one minute, you were looking at him with the sort of bedroom eyes that had the blood flowing to his cock already, and then then next, your body lurched forward into his arms as you let out a bloodcurdling scream.

You immediately jumped away from the now stunned Eddie and whirled around. That’s when he saw a man running away from you both while laughing his ass off.

“Ryan, you motherfucker!” you roared before taking off after the man. “I’m gonna fuckin’ kill you!”

Confused, Eddie watched you running away until some wild, boisterous cheering caught his attention. He looked over to see a small group watching the whole fiasco that consisted of the other members of Corroded Coffin and a few of the guys from Jackass. They had a video camera out and were all roaring with laughter as they recorded you chasing the guy named Ryan around the video set.

“Sorry Eddie!” called Gareth through his laughter.

This drew everyone else’s attention to Eddie. The camera pivoted towards him as one of the guys, a man named Johnny, jogged over to him with a good natured, but cocky grin on his face.

“Yeah, sorry about cockblocking you back there, Eddie,” Johnny said, his voice sounding anything but sorry. “But, man, we owe you a big one for that, we’ve been trying to get them with the Taser Cam for MONTHS.”

The Taser Cam, as it turns out, was your idea initially and you oversaw the planning and execution. It was one of the most popular skits on the show and that’s because you were a sneaky little shit with it. Even though they all knew you could be packing a taser at any given moment, they all had a bad habit of letting their guard down around you.

Even though they’d been gunning for revenge for a while, all attempts to tase you in return had failed miserably. This wasn’t entirely a problem since you all had a healthy level of paranoia and distrust for each other by now, it was just highly annoying for them all. You always managed to work out when they were trying to set you up, even if it was at the last second.

So, when Gareth made an offhand comment to Jeff about Eddie trying to get his dick wet at work again, and drew Johnny’s attention, he saw how engrossed you were in the man, he couldn’t resist. This really was the perfect opportunity, your attention had been entirely on Eddie, and Johnny recognized this as their big chance.

Eddie was so dumbfounded by the whole thing, he wasn’t sure if he should be pissed or impressed.

In the end, he does get you stretched out on the couch of his trailer just like he wanted, only not in the way he expected. It was the closest place to lay you down at so the onsite EMTS could look at you. While you were perfectly fine from the tasing, you had tripped while running after Ryan and now you couldn’t put any weight on one of your feet.

“It doesn’t look like a break,” said one of the paramedics as she finished looking you over. “Probably just a bad sprain, but you should have some x-rays taken to be sure. Need us to take you?”

“Nah,” you said, shaking your head. “Tremaine will strangle me if I take an ambulance for a non-emergency again.”

Eddie blinked a few times in surprise while Johnny and Ryan laughed.

“Yeah, he’s already gonna explode when he hears about this,” Johnny said, taking off his sunglasses to wipe tears from his eyes. “You just got released yesterday.”

“Right?” you sighed as the paramedics let themselves out. “Wonder how much longer this is going to put me down for.”

The whole situation was so ridiculous that it had rendered Eddie speechless, thus he had been uncharacteristically quiet since your tasing. But the current conversation piqued his curiosity.

“Released?” he asked looking over at you.

“Yeah, by my doctor,” you said, nodding. “I’ve been off work for, what?” You looked over at Johnny. “Two months now?”

“Almost, yeah,” he said, nodding, then burst out laughing. “Man, Ehren’s gonna be pissed. This means you and Bam can’t do the boarding segment next week.”

You looked over at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Why would Ehren be pissed?” you asked, confused. “He’s not in that one.”

“No, he’s not,” said Johnny, and then a grin spread across his face that gave Eddie goosebumps. “But I think you being off with another injury is a good reason for all of us to be a little more safety conscious, wouldn’t you all agree?”

You and Ryan burst out laughing.

“Safety First!” the two of you then cried out in unison and Johnny clapped.

As badly as Eddie hated to admit it, you now fascinated him. Granted, he thought you were batshit insane at this point, but that only piqued his interest more. He ended up being thankful for the interruption.

With as thankful as he was for that, it didn’t compare to how thankful he was later when he found out exactly how close he came to getting tazed instead of you. Since they had to be so sneaky and quick about the whole thing, Ryan almost missed. One inch to the left and it would’ve been Eddie who received the jolt of electricity.

A few weeks later when Uncle Wayne found out who his nephew was dating now, he started going back to church.

Unlike Eddie, he actually does watch the show.

[radaverse]

leaves this and dies

[b4mpyre-k1zz3s]

The Blue Eyed Bandit

When a wanna-be cowboy rides in all the way from Tennessee, he’s laughed out of town, but Y/N can see something in him that others can’t, especially when their town becomes the target of ruthless gang of bandits.

Johnny Knoxville X Fem!Reader

(Cowboy!Au, Angst, Fluff)

5.9k Words

Warnings: Extremely suggestive content, prostitution, flirting, drinking, bar fights, guns, stalking, blood, wound care, knives, makeouts, hickeys, description of injury, gun sucking, degredation, groping, (attempted) kidnapping

An: I’ve wanted to write a story about Johnny as a cowboy for a while XD This was inspired by a lot of things, but especially the Mexico episode of Viva la Bam! I specificly wrote this story to be set in the ‘1850s, though it’s not explicitly stated. I did more research for this fic than any other I’ve written before, on topics from wound care to desert fruits and breeds of horses! It was super fun to write so please let me know if you would be interested in something similar to this in the future!!

You were lucky. It’s odd to say that working as a prostitute in a parlor house would be the luckier of any number of options, but it was. Leaning against the dry, rotting wooden post that held up the roofed porch of Madame Evette’s Gentleman Parlor, your current place of board and employment, you rolled this idea of luck around your mind. There’s always worse options, like that brothel up the road that had half its staff wiped out in the last smallpox outbreak. Working here, you always had a hot meal, warm baths, proper living quarters, health insurance, and much more reputable clients. In fact, you had started to get familiar with your regulars because nobody new ever seemed to come there. Looking out at the high, sandy bluffs that framed the desolate, arid New Mexico landscape, you realized that this was a town that new people didn't want to come to, but whose citizens seemed to want to leave by any means.

Lost in thought, you hardly noticed when a man walked up to the creaky railing you were leaning against until he tipped his hat at you with a warm, half smile, “Howdy, ma’am.” It shocked you how cordial he acted to you of all people. Still, you met his eyes. “Hi.” You recognized him- one week ago, this wanna-be cowboy from out east rode into here of all places to pursue his wild west fantasy, and he was already the laughingstock of the town. Still, you humored him a little, “What can I do ya for?” While he was a little dorky, you recognized the charming air he had about him that none of your other clients seemed to possess as he made conversation, “Well, I was under the assumption that this is the place for a gentleman like myself to find some company and,” Holding out his palm flat to take yours, he spoke low and with an accent you couldn’t quite place, “I would be delighted to be graced with yours.” Part of you assumed this was some sort of cruel trick he was pulling, treating a woman like you as a common lady, but you gave him your hand anyways.

Just then, the Madame caught sight of this through the window and swiftly came storming outside with a broom, “Keep those dirty paws away from my girls!” The commotion seemed to draw a good deal of attention as some of the girls inside peered out the door in various states of undress to giggle at the spectacle going down on the porch, and then there was you, caught in the middle of all this. “This is a proper establishment! You can take those dusty boots of yours down to the whorehouse across the street!” She chased him out into the streets, and there went the cowboy, ducking down an alleyway, laughing to himself.

You and the rest of the girls spent the evening lounging about the well furnished parlor, drinking wine in your garters and stockings while you entertained tonight’s men. Despite what people may think, your interactions with patrons didn’t start in the bedroom- there’s some drinking and singing and fraternizing one would usually have to get past before the fun stuff started. But the whole time you were chatting up the fat cat town banker while he puffed away at his cigar, you couldn’t help but think back to your interaction with that cowboy from earlier. There was something different in the way he treated you- how he saw you compared to how the rest of the town did. Most of the men you tended to wouldn’t be caught dead in your presence outside of this place, but he felt no shame in the slightest to interact with you. In fact, he seemed to have taken a liking to you. The thought made your chest feel warm.

Then, out of the blue, there was this great commotion outside, loud enough to rattle the crystal chandelier that hung from the ceiling. Oh. This couldn’t be an earthquake- earthquakes aren’t usually accompanied by the whip cracking sounds of gunfire. Oh. This had to be a saloon fight gone bad. You nearly fell to the ground as everyone in the parlor flooded out the front door for a chance to bear witness to this spectacle, and of course you followed shortly behind because while you were a lady, you were never one to miss a good fight. There was always something or other going on in this town, whether it be a shootout or a bank robbery, so most people were sort of desensitized to it at this point. Dashing out onto the dusty streets, all indigo from the night, so many people crowded into the little tavern next door that you would’ve thought the cheap wooden floors would’ve given out from sheer weight. The place was buzzing. You weaseled in, squirming past people. At first, all you could see over the heads of those in front of her was the town bartender Steve, the one with the shaved head, cautiously emerging from where he had ducked behind the counter, all pale under yellow lamplight. The bar in front of him was completely splintered and half of the bottles that sat behind it were shattered, sticky amber liquid draining down the walls and to the floor. The whole thing was pretty damn tragic- you knew Steve, and by extension knew how he had been busting his behind, having practically built this place from the ground up and kept it running with only a couple saloon girls for help. It was his way of fulfilling a passion you always found to be pretty selfless: making people happy. Albeit, it was through alcohol and cheap bar tricks, he still took it seriously, like it was his baby, and in one moment it was destroyed.

As you squirmed closer to the front of the crowd, that’s when you caught it. A blur of mauve then step on a chair, step on a table- crash! A man leapt out of a window with an armful of cash, green bills fluttering in the air with the sparkling shower of glass. Immediately, you recognized him, but anyone in town could with one look at that purple mink duster with the strange heart symbol on the back that hung from his shoulders or with a glance at that face that was just made for wanted posters. But just like that, he disappeared into the night. And there, on the floor at the feet of the people who had front row seats to all this, was the cowboy from earlier, and he did not look good. Well, he looked good, but he looked unwell, especially with the slowly growing red stain on his shirtfront. “My, my, my…you gotta deathwish, boy? Or are you just plain stupid?” A man standing at the front of the crowd glowered down at him like he was horseshit on his shoe, “Ana’body five miles round’d know not to mess with them bandits.” If it wasn't bad enough, he had picked a fight with the leader of the meanest gang of ruffians in the west, this ruthless fellow that went by the name Bam on account of all the chaos he caused wherever he set foot and that subtleness wasn't necessarily his style. Of course he didn’t know what he was getting into, but the bandit king was gone, and everyone had forgotten about the cowboy that was still bleeding on the hardwood, so you ran over to the bar for a wet towel. Still shaken up, Steve handed you the bar cloth he was unconsciously gripping and, as the townspeople filtered out, you went to tend to the man in the ground.

“Whats’re name, cowboy?” It was pity that urged you to help him, surely. As you peeled away the dark cloth that stuck to his skin, his chest rose with heavy breaths. He watched with half lidded eyes as you dabbed away the blood that was steadily trickling from where he was grazed with a bullet, swallowing as your hands ghosted over a faded tattoo of a woman’s name on his chest before he murmured in a voice still hoarse, “Johnny.” Smiling softly, you finished up cleaning his wound, “Well, what you did back there was mighty brave, Johnny.” Now that you got a look at him, you couldn’t deny that he was a pretty well shaped young man. Cracking an exhausted grin, he let out a labored chuckle, still polite despite the circumstances, “Well thank’y, ma’am.” Gazing up at you with those blood loss dazed eyes, Johnny murmured, a little embarrassed, “I’d invite you back to mine, but I don't think it’d be your style, considering. I, uh- I’ve been sleepin’ in the horse stables for the past week…” There was something undeniably endearing about that fact. You helped him to stand as you went to pull yourself up, “Well, what about tomorrow? We could have lunch together.” Stumbling to his feet, Johnny drawled, “That sounds like a fine idea.”

So you dressed up nice that Sunday in a dress you “borrowed” from one of the other girls that worked at the parlor with you- this vibrant pink dress, the color of ripe red pitaya fruit. The usually lively streets of the town were deserted on Sunday mornings, and since you avoided leaving the parlor during the day due to the looks you got on the street, Sundays were the only day you really went out for fresh air. Johnny was already waiting for you in front of the bar, still in the same clothes as yesterday, bloodstains and all. Seeing you fully dressed for the first time in a sort of ‘you clean up well’ moment, he looked you up and down before a smile crept onto his lips, “Why aren’t you at church?” You shrugged, “I ain’t exactly the churchgoing type, and if I was, they don’t take too well to my kind. You?” The two of you began to walk down the dusty streets, the midday sun beating down and warming your skin. Johnny walked in step with you, inching a little closer, “Well, neither am I.”

You ended up at this little oasis up on a hill at the outskirts of town- one of the few green places left in this god forsaken place. Sitting down on the grass under a Blue Jacaranda tree, you set your woven basket that you carried the food in down and you caught Johnny nearly drooling as you opened it. It was all food you found lying around the parlor- fluffy pink and white conchas, warm boiled esquites, and a package of salt pork wrapped in brown paper and twine. Handing him one of the pastries, he tore into it like a starved man. Noticing your surprise at his eagerness, Johnny stopped himself and added bashfully, “Sorry…In- In all truth, ma’am, I’ve been livin’ off’a bar peanuts for the past few days…” It was believable- that cowboy was looking mighty thin. Of course, he went right back to eating.

The two of you talked for a while. He told you all about the mishaps that happened to him on his journey there all the way from Tennessee, a part of the old Southwest territory, and about how before he realized he wanted to move out west to pursue his cowboy dreams, he was a writer for his town’s newspaper. There was no shortage of stories with this man, and you couldn’t complain because he spoke with this vividness to his words that just captivated you. Johnny asked you about what it’s like in your line of work. You told him that you grew up on a farm and came here for a better life, some life that turned out to be. But as long as you had a clean bed to sleep in and warm meals, you’d be pretty content.

“So,” You started after a silence, “How’s that wound healin’ up?” Swallowing what was in his mouth, Johnny loostend the top few buttons of his shirt and pulled the collar to the side over his bicep, exposing the half scabbed over pink flesh. Maybe it was just an excuse to touch his chest, the intimacy made more so that you were leaning over his body as he sat up on his elbows, looking down at you. Fighting back a blush from creeping onto your cheeks, you blinked and met his eyes, “It, uh…doesn’t look infected, no.” As you pulled away, your gaze lingered on his still open shirt, “Is that your woman’s name- on your chest?” Johnny glanced down at the name scrawled on his tan skin, “Nah. S’my daughter’s.” Never in your days could you imagine a man as young as him a father. Still, you couldn’t help but ask, “So she’s waitin’ for you with your lady back home?” Shaking his head, he smiled gently as if remembering something fondly, “Oh, no- my little girl’s all grown up. And my wife,” he wiped some crumbs off of the side of his mouth, his voice falling a little serious, “well, she left me ‘bout a year ago this November.” You asked for an inch and he gave you a mile. At this point, you couldn’t deny that you were interested in him, but you still maintained your stuff demeanor, “Well, I’m sorry to hear that.” Glancing up at the sky, you shielded your eyes with your hand, “S’noon. Church should be letting out soon.”

Conversation was light as you walked back in town and he dropped you off at the parlor like a gentleman. You made a resolution that this would be routine- outcasts like you needed to stick together after all, or at least that was what Johnny said. It was cute, in a way, all this wisdom he had. As the two of you were chatting as you passed an alleyway, you saw something out of the corner of your eyes- this dark figure and a glint of something diamond blue that sent chills down your spine. But when you turned to take a second look, the shadow disappeared.

That next morning, you and some of the other girls were relaxing on the porch in your frilly underclothes and chatting because you had no clients and, in your line of work, that is what you call advertising. Every now and then a man passing by would whistle at you and you’d have to go up to the rail and flirt with them a little, standing just where you did on that day you first ran into Johnny. His plight still occupied your mind. Poor guy- his daughter left him and so did his wife. He’s probably a very lonely man. Before you could get to thinking about how you would be more than happy to help him out a little with that loneliness, your attention was drawn elsewhere. It seemed that you were too slow to notice the panicked looks and the people starting to make themselves scarce until a hush fell over the street and the air was so tense you could cut it with a knife. Just as you could’ve sworn you could hear yourself sweat, that’s when you saw him.

This hulking, dark mass looked like a vulture on the prowl as he sulked past a roadside fruit stand. There was no question who this was. Your blood ran cold at the dark chuckle that reverberated through the bandit king’s throat at the poor, shivering man who owned the stand as Bam snatched something out of one of the baskets full of fruit, not bothering to pay for it. He was subtle and silent there, something nobody had ever known him to be. Flicking his Bowie knife out of its leather sheath, the silver blade glimmered under the hot southwestern sun like sparkling hot oil as he wasted no time carving the skin off of that pitaya fruit. Though his eyes were concealed under the shadow of the brim of his hat, you felt Bam’s chilling gaze on you from that predatory grin he wore as sticky, red juices bubbled up around the Damascus steel, smearing across his blade and dribbling down his fingers. As if to emphasize a point, he dropped the now discarded peel to the ground and brought the knife to his lips, a serpent-like tongue flicking out to lap at the last traces of sweet nectar from the sharp, glinting edge.

And he smiled at you.

A cool wind blew through the air as you and Johnny sat down at the top of the hill that Sunday. “You know, ma’am,” Sitting with his legs out, cowhide boots stretched out in front of him on the grass, he turned to you, “I never caught your name- your real one, I mean.” Glancing up from the basket, you shook yourself from your thoughts of your encounter with Bam that last week, swallowing before you replied, “It’s, uh- it’s Y/N.” A warm smile spread across his face as you spoke, the corners of his eyes crinkling up. “Y/N. That is a mighty beautiful name.” That warm feeling- that same feeling as before, swelled up in your chest as you stared out onto the golden desert that seemed to stretch on for miles in the early morning sun. “Johnny.” You cleared your throat, “Is this how you expected it to go? Life, I mean.” God knows that you didn’t. You came here looking for a better life. What a sham that was. It was rare that you really got to feeling sorry for yourself, but sometimes, and especially after what happened, it was hard. Feeling nauseated, you hadn’t touched a crumb of the food you brought for the both of you, while Johnny had eagerly gotten through more than half the basket by the time you spoke up. “If you’re askin’ me if I thought I’d end up a cowboy, traveling the land and rightin’ wrongs, I would say yes.” He added hurriedly, a little embarrassed, “But, so far in this town, that ain’t exactly what I’ve been doin’...”

“So, you’re not gonna stay?” Unconsciously, you had inched just a little closer to him, nearly laying your head on his shoulder as the two of you talked. This clearly didn’t pass under Johnny’s notice as his voice fell sweet like honey against your ears, “Well, I didn’t say that. What I mean is, “ He turned toward you slightly, so close to your face that his lips nearly brushed against your cheek as he spoke in a low, slow voice, “all I’d need is a reason to stay.” You only then just noticed how, with the way your face was tilted towards his, your lips were nearly, almost touching. And then they did. But it felt nice- different from the sloppy men who had stolen kisses from you before. It felt soft, and natural. Almost upon contact, Johnny sat back with wide eyes, surprised at his own impulsive actions, “O-Oh lord…” His voice got real quiet, nearly wavering, as he blushed softly, “That may’ve been the least gentlemanly thing I’ve ever done.“

You stopped him, placing a hand against the soft fabric of his dark, half unbuttoned shirt front and leaning back in to gently press your lips to his, your eyelashes fluttering shut. Johnny’s warm muscles were initially tense under your touch but as he relaxed into the kiss, so did his body, letting out a soft groan against your lips. You had never made a man blush before, much less react so earnestly. Reaching out to you, the cowboy’s hands found purchase in your clothing, calloused fingers tangling into your calico dress as he hurriedly undid the brass buttons. Your heart fluttered in your chest and your head swam from the passion and desert heat as you started to think that this was maybe what love was supposed to be. Johnny’s breath came out in hot pants against your newly exposed skin as he hungrily sucked mauve blotches onto your neck and chest, his facial scruff tickling a little as he practically devoured you. But he was gentle with it. So sweet and gentle.

Nothing could have pulled Johnny away from you then, not even the gunshot that cracked out loud in the town below while the two of you were still caught up in the heat of the moment, so you were the one who had to pull his face away from your bosom by his hair. You could feel his breath fanning out against your skin as you sat up to get a better look at the commotion. Howling and cackling like twin coyotes, off rode the bandit king away with his fair haired cohort, arms full of loot from their latest hit- the town general store. They had swiped a small fortune in gunpowder, dynamite, and tobacco. Of course, this drew the townspeople away from church early, especially when one of the two young men who owned the store ran out, shouting and brandishing a shotgun. He fired three or four shells in their general direction, but his shots didn’t come near the hides of the bay mustangs nor the bandits that rode away on them, kicking up dust.

Johnny went back to the horse stables that night and realized just how much everything was looking up for him. He had a roof over his head, the favor of a lovely woman he would quite frankly lay down his life for, and hot meals every night courtesy of the man who owned the stable, a fellow by the name of Chris who he had gotten to know pretty well. In fact, besides the town bartender Steve, he was his only friend, but it was hard to count Steve as a friend because he was always tacking extra tequila shots onto Johnny’s tab while he distracted him with some trick he picked up in the circus. Still, he could let that slide because business was business. Chris, on the other hand, was just a sweet guy who loved horses, and he had taken such a liking to Johnny’s horse, Noami, that he let him sleep in her horse stall there free of charge.

So that explained why he was in the stables in the middle of the night, laying back against her shiny, chestnut coat as she slept with her head against his chest, snoring softly. Funnily enough, it was the horse sleeping against him that woke up first when a dark figure hopped the front gates into the stables. Blinking awake after she stood up, Johnny sat up curiously to catch sight of the silhouette opening stall doors. He thought about Chris- all those nights of charity and companionship, just for him to let some two bit their run off with his buddy’s pride and joy? Oh, no way in hell he was going to let that happen. A flash of emotions went through his mind as he threw himself to his feet and stood up to block the front gate. Johnny’s voice was nearly a growl as he gazed across at the bandit who was currently trying to make off with Jezebel, Chris’ prized palomino mare. “Y’aint leavin’ with her.” Though he didn’t initially recognize him, Johnny put two and two together quickly.

Bam was dead quiet, only visible as the tombstone shape he made in the darkness as he got low, light glinting off of the silver spurs affixed to his heels. Then, all at once it was as if the cowboy had taken a steam engine to the solar plexus, while in actuality it was a black suede wrapped fist that had knocked the air from his lungs. Still, Johnny stayed on his feet, coughing hard and hitting him with a poorly placed uppercut that knocked that hat clean off of his head. Bam sputtered, his mouth now bloodied and dripping onto the sand as he ducked down, taking a step to the side as his right hand reached for the gun afixed to his hip. It was no wonder the bandit king would fight dirty. Before Johnny could duck away, cold steel collided with his orbital bone in a skillfully placed pistol whip and he was knocked out cold. As the cowboy’s body fell limp to the ground, Bam huffed and spun his trusty piece around a finger before slotting it back in its leather holster, shooting a look at the man below him that spelled out that his resistance would not go unpunished.

When Johnny woke up, the first person to come to his aid was the stable owner himself. Chris picked him up under the armpits, lugging his half awake self over to a wooden chair in a corner and leaving him there as he went to fetch some medical supplies from his home next door, leaving the door open as midday sun flooded in. Blinking awake, the first thing Johnny did was look around to see if maybe what had happened last night was a bad dream and that the horse was still waiting in her stable, which was especially hard given the purple swelling around his left eye, but her stall door was wide open from the previous night. As Chris returned with a leather medical bag, Johnny coughed, his voice gravelly, “He- he got away with Jezebel…” This was a low point for him. It seemed that no matter how or when he tried to intervene, there was nothing this cowboy could do, even for the man who had shown him such charity. Kneeling down and threading catgut sutures onto the curved needle, Chris seemed forlorn, yes, but there was an appreciative inflection to his voice as he stitched up the split in Johnny’s cheek, “But he could’ve gotten away with a lot more if you weren't here. I’d say that makes you a hero in my book!” Turning it over in his head, he decided that maybe he had a point with that, but he still wasn't going to tell Y/N. She didn’t need to know. As the needle pierced the cowboy’s skin, he winced, sucking a breath in through his teeth. As Johnny peered down at the dried blood that certainly wasn't his that still remained on his knuckles, he swallowed hard, his voice still tense and very grave, “I’ll get’re back for you. Promise.”

So you heard no word of the stolen horses the next morning and went about your day without a care in the world, tending to clients as usual. You were especially busy that night, feverishly going from man to man, doing your thing and racking up quite a sum in commissions from all the whiskey you pawned off. In fact, you were so focused that you nearly jumped when you heard your name, “Y/N.” Madame Evette tapped you on the shoulder, drawing your attention away from the client you were currently entertaining, “Room seven. There’s a gentleman waitin’ for you upstairs.” It struck you as odd because while men who wanted to skip all the fluff wasn't that uncommon, it didn’t happen every night. Apologizing to the fellow you were talking to with a red lipsticked kiss on the cheek, you turned to hurry up the creaky staircase, making clicky noises against the wood in your little heeled boots.

Wandering down the hall of rooms upstairs, you cracked open the door of room seven to darkness inside from a put out lantern. Oh, poor guy- he must be shy. That makes the whole no canoodling thing make more sense. As you closed the door behind you, you noticed that there was just enough light from the moon trickling in the open window that you could still see a general outline of the man sitting in the wooden chair at the far corner of the room with his knees about a mile apart as you approached him, doing your little flirty routine, “So, what can I do ya’ for, handsome?” Wordlessly, the figure gestured down with two fingers and you knew what he was asking for, especially after he shifted his hips to sit lower in the chair with a huff. Getting onto your knees, you positioned yourself between his thighs, the floor chilling the skin of your bare legs. Reaching out, you started to undo his pants, and while the downstairs parlor was consistently noisy, the soft metallic clinking of a belt buckle was the only noise in the otherwise silent room. Your lips fell open and your eyes suddenly went wide at the sudden, unmistakable ice cold feeling against your forehead.

It was the muzzle of a revolver. The voice that rumbled out of the man above you was nearly a snarl as he spoke through his teeth, “You make one peep an’ I swear to god,” he pressed the tip harder against your head for emphasis and you could swear you heard a smirk in his voice, “I’m puttin’ this bullet in your fuckin’ skull.” Your heartbeat pounded in your ribcage as you felt your head swim and you thought that this is what it feels like to be a jackrabbit caught in the jaws of a coyote. Quivering, your gaze nervously trailed up his body, and you could feel the color drain from your face when your sight fell upon his glinting, all too familiar vulture eyes, flickering like blue hot steel. Click. The bandit king slowly pulled back on the hammer, his hand so close to your face you could see his fingers curl around the mother of pearl handle and read the words etched into the barrel as he tightened his grip with his finger on the trigger. And he chuckled this deep, predatory laugh, grinning down at you with a mouth full of fangs as he spoke slow, deliberately, “Now you’re gonna stand up nice n’ slow with those hands b’hind yer back- and you are gonna be real quiet.” Frozen in fear, you couldn’t move under the shadow that looked over you even if you wanted to keep your brain inside your skull, which you really, really did. “Y’takin’ me fr’a fool, whore?” Bam’s thick accent deepened with agitation as he spit his words, nearly barking, “I said,”

“Stand. Up.” A gloved hand roughly tangled in your hair and yanked you up on shaky deer legs, forcing you to weakly comply much to his satisfaction with the gun still snugly pressed against your forehead. Standing maybe six inches away from you, you picked up on the distinct scent of alcohol and tobacco on his breath. With how his gaze lingered at your lips, you could tell he was getting an idea of something else he could do with that gun, but he just nodded, relenting just slightly at your compliance, “That’s it, girl. Now turn around.” Standing up after you, Bam jabbed the revolver between your shoulder blades making you arch your back as he harshly grabbed your wrists and deftly bound them with the red bandana he wore around his neck. Pulling the gun away from your spine for a second, a warning shot cracked out through the ceiling that made you jump, your eyes nearly bugging out of your skull in fear as you yelped. But your terror was funny- so damn funny to Bam as he pushed you along, the burning hot muzzle returning to where it once was.

The scene downstairs was absolute chaos after that bullet went through the ceiling. Startled patrons and half clothed women scrambled outside, flooding into the streets and attracting quite a bit of attention, especially from the cowboy that was lingering outside the horse stables before he was set to retire for the night. Even though every instinct in him told him to stay away based on the outcome of his previous heroic efforts, Johnny’s body lurched forward almost involuntarily, dashing towards the chaos that Madame Evette’s Gentleman Parlor had become. Pushing past frightened patrons, he stormed in right as Bam was walking you down the staircase as you stumbled in front of him. Your panic-stricken eyes met Johnny’s (or at least, the one eye that wasn’t swollen shut) as he stared at the scene in front of him, his tone stern but his fear giving way to a trace of vulnerability in his voice after he swallowed hard, “Let her go.” The man behind you tugged you back hard by your bound wrists as the gun relocated to your temple, wedging you in place between the weapon and where the bandit king rested his head on your shoulder, nuzzling against your cheek. “Oh, no way…” Bam held eye contact with Johnny as purred into your ear, speaking melodically as he taunted both you and him, “I gotch’re woman…an’ I don’t feel like givin’ her back.” Adding insult to injury, with his torso pressed snug against your back in a crude imitation of intimacy, his free hand, which was sitting on your hip, slid up your body posessively, reaching to roughly fondle your chest as he let out a low, predatory growl, his gaze challenging the cowboy across from him.

If you could’ve seen the white hot fury in Johnny’s eyes. Blinded by rage, he didn’t even consider using the pistol tucked into his holster, instead lunging to tackle Bam to the ground. You slipped out of his tight grasp just in time, clamoring to safety on your hands and knees on the hardwood floor as the cowboy just wailed on the guy. The struggle between the two was like watching two bighorn sheep with their horns locked in conflict, a blur of instinct and emotion, all rabid and teeth and fists. Letting out shuddering breaths, all you could do was watch the violent scene in front of you with your heart pounding out of your chest, not daring to move an inch. The only thing that could’ve pulled Johnny off of the man beneath him was when the town sheriff stormed in, grabbing him by the back of his shirt collar and throwing him off of the bandit king, or what was left of him as he lay limp on the ground. He was beaten to a pulp, almost literally- just a wheezing, bubbling mess of blood and bruising with a few teeth missing. Pulling Bam up by his sweat soaked black curls, Sheriff Tremaine held him to dangle in the air, glaring at the man in his hand with unadulterated disgust, “You’n you’re little gang’re goin’ away for a while.” There was no doubt that he had witnessed the brutality the cowboy inflicted, especially with the blood still dripping off of his still raw knuckles, but it seemed that he would let it slide this time, glancing to you and Johnny and tipping his hat, “We’re gonna get to roundin’ up the rest’a these bandits.”

Without a proper leader, the most fearsome gang of criminals in the west were left with nothing to hold them together, letting the sheriff's men easily pick them off and throw them in the slammer where they rightfully belonged. Life, for once in that godforsaken town, was peaceful. And Johnny? Well, after he was credited as the man who took down the bandits, he was hailed as the town hero, especially after he helped rebuild the bar and returned Jezebel to her stall at the town stables. Even Madame Evette had taken a liking to him, permitting him to come and go to the parlor whenever he felt the need to visit you- on the condition that he got a new pair of boots.

[jitteryjive]

Breaking news. local autistic animator goes to the toon realm he animates as a special interest. several made happy one man named chester having a grand time

[midnightfire830]

So I just discovered The Amazing Digital Circus and I. Am. Ob-Sessed!!!!!!

And apparently my weird ass immediately started simping for the tall sarcastic asshole.

Literally this man is a copy paste of Cuphead and I’m not suprised that I simp for him. TwT

I’m so basic.

So yeah! Here’s a quick drawing I made of Jax. Yay!