#john's stumped 'ya know what'

[crackinwise]

Finally got the opportunity to binge watch this year's Halloween Baking Championship and I almost spit out my tea when in ep2 a guy got to choose his exclusive cake flavor nobody else could use and he said "ube cake," creating an absolute dead silence for like a solid 5 seconds lmao

[lay-z]

🎄 Day 14 – A Christmas miracle

A continuation of 🌲 Day 6 – A Christmas tree disaster, which means it’s set in the same universe! 

Synopsis: The tension is palpable between you three after the kitchen incident, but you’re determined to fix it for their sake and yours. Perhaps some Christmas spirit will help. 

Pairing: Simon Ghost Riley x fem!Reader x John Soap MacTavish 

Warnings/Info: NSFW, 18+ | military!Reader; established poly!relationship; throuple; cussing; hurt/comfort; humour; domesticity; threesome; fluff

Word count: 2.2k 

↳ back to 🎅🏼 Masterlist ☃️

@lov3-ly

They just won’t stop bickering.

Every little thing causes an argument, starting at who’s driving the truck. Johnny claims to know his way around and is the better driver, especially in the snow. Simon insists that he rented the truck, so he should be the one driving it. They make you chose, and you choose Johnny, because it makes the most sense, and Simon gets into the backseat, masking his sulking face with indifference. 

Once you get to a particularly pretty spot, offroad and untouched, where Nordmann firs grow, the trees who make the perfect Christmas trees, they first start arguing about which tree to cut until they ultimately ask you to choose again, which you hate to do, because you want to make the decision with them – which seems impossible at this point. When you do eventually decide on a pretty tree, deep green and two metres tall, Simon and Johnny argue about which axe to use. 

“Ye’re not carryin’ it right.” 

“How the fuck can ya carry a tree the wrong way, Johnny?!” 

You watch for another moment, vein throbbing hotly in your neck beneath your soft scarf as Simon picks the large tree up by its stump while Johnny carries it by the crown. The snow keeps falling peacefully around you and it could be so tranquil, freezing cold yet wonderful, but they just won’t cooperate like that.

“If you two don’t stop this goddamn bickering, I’m gonna lose my fucking mind!”  

Both men huff and grumble at your reprimand, breath puffing in clouds in the cold as they continue to shoot each other nasty glares as they heave the fir onto the truck bed. They stop talking to each other altogether and somehow that’s even worse. 

Sitting in the passenger seat, gnawing on your bottom lip anxiously and pissed off, Johnny reaches over, driving one handed while his other hand rests on your upper thigh, squeezing it gently. It makes you squirm and your pussy twitch in pleasure-pain; still sensitive from what you two had done but didn’t finish in the kitchen when Simon made you stop instead of join in – what you’d initially hoped for. 

Your panties are damp, completely soaked, and rubbing against your puffy folds as you shift in the passenger seat. You can feel Simon’s eyes burn into the back of your head and stare down Johnny’s hand on your leg, but the latter doesn’t mind as he rubs your thigh up and down. When you glance at Johnny, you can see his lips cracked into a small, impish smile, his crotch bulging with arousal, because he didn’t get to come earlier, either.  

Tease.  

You’re aware what he’s trying to do and it’s dangerous. Don’t poke the bear or it will snap. 

After they manage to put up the tree in the living room with little to no problems or arguing, you clean up after them; puddles of melted snow, scattered fir needles and large boot prints that lead from the front door to the living room. 

And then they leave you alone. Johnny disappears into the kitchen to store away the food and drink you’d brought up here before starting on dinner while Simon simply disappears again.  

Now it’s quiet in the rented cabin, way too quiet, so you put on some classical music on your phone, but it only adds to the somber atmosphere as you start decorating the Christmas tree with fairy lights and ornaments that you’d brought from home. The snowstorm has picked up again, too; icy winds howling outside while you can only daydream about being curled up on a thick fur carpet in front of the fireplace, sweating as you’re sandwiched between your massive boyfriends. 

A dreamy sigh escapes your lips as you take the last ornament out of its vintage box – a golden start that’s supposed to sit on the Christmas tree crown. 

Simon watches in silence as you decorate the tree by yourself, going by a particular strategy that he cannot figure out and yet the result looks put prettily put together.

It unlocks childhood memories that he though long erased from his memory; veiled visions of his late mother decorating a meek, little Christmas tree with homemade ornaments in their shitty flat in Manchester when he was but a wee lad, barely able to talk back then. She was always determined to give him and Tommy a piece of that holiday spirit, even though she was never able to afford any presents to put under the tree. And then, the vision turns rotten by the memory of his shithead father knocking the tree over and throwing it down the staircase in a fit of drunken rage.

Simon inhales sharply as his chest tightens with a mixture of raw anger and melancholy, and he swiftly blinks away those memories to focus on the present; focus on you, struggling to put the star on the tip of the tall tree. 

“Need any help with that?” 

You nearly pinch a nerve in your neck as you flinch, glancing over your shoulder as Simon saunters into the living room; hands stuffed in his pockets, broad shoulders slouched somewhat. 

As he comes to stand right behind you, he reaches out, then. One hand supporting your lower back as you keep stretching, standing on your tippy toes, while his other hand grabs the star from your hand gently. “Let me help ya.” He almost croons softly, as softly as he can with his gravelly voice, and you hold your breath as you gaze at his ruggedly handsome face while he places the last ornament on the tree’s crown. 

Then his strong arms come to wrap around you from behind, his nose nuzzling you lovingly behind your ear, “Looks nice. Good job, lovey.” 

His quiet praise goes straight to your heart, squeezes it tightly and makes your breath hitch as you keep peeking up at him subtly over your shoulder, watching the reflection of the fairy lights in his dark irises, turning them a molten bronze. Cupping your own palms over his rough hands resting on your stomach, you melt against his chest. 

“Thank you for putting the most important final touch to it, honey.” 

He hums against your neck, enjoying the silly pet name too much and places two chaste kisses below your earlobe that has your skin pebbling with goose flesh. “Never done that before, y’know,” he murmurs, kissing your neck again while one hand slips underneath the hem of your warm sweater, “Decorated a bloody Christmas tree or... even celebrated the bloody holiday properly.” 

“About time, then.” You retort, laughing through the pain you feel when his sad admission makes your heart squeeze and throb in your chest this time. “I wanna makes this special for us,” you say, turning around in his embrace to wrap your arms around his neck while both his hands slip beneath your sweater, tracing the curve of your spine.  

“I want this to become a tradition for the three of us. Y’know? Renting a cabin for the holidays and hide away for a few days to... relax and... enjoy each other,” you explain, eyes twinkling while your fingers play with the short hairs at the base of his neck. “Would you like that?” 

He nods slowly, sheepishly. A shudder runs down his spine as your nimble fingers run through his dark blond hair, though if he’s being true to himself, it’s more about what you’re telling and asking him that has him reeling and trembling internally. Building traditions together, all three of you. That includes him, too. Obviously. 

“I’m yours, too, yes?” He utters those words before he can stop himself and his eyes widen imperceptibly at the uncharacteristically needy tone of his deep voice, and he watches in horror as your brows furrow quizzically. “Ah–I mean–” 

You huff in amusement, brows relaxing again while your arms tighten around his neck to better convey the meaning of your next words, “Simon, you and Johnny are as much mine as I am yours, yes.” 

“Steamin’ Jesus! Can ye kiss already? I wanna see ‘sum tongue with it, aye?” 

You can practically feel Simon bristle as Johnny’s teasing tone of voice breaks the tender moment, though you can merely roll your eyes playfully as you peek around Simon’s broad shoulder. 

“Who’s the true voyeur here now, John?” 

Johnny chortles, completely unabashed as he leans against the wide, open frame that opens the living room up to the hallway. He’s grinning, cocksure as always, eyes shining brightly with mischief as he pushes himself off the frame to saunter towards you while Simon’s calloused fingers flex against your supple skin on your back as if he’s afraid you might move away. 

“I feel like we should pick up where we’ve left off earlier,” Johnny purrs, wiggling his thick eyebrows suggestively, “What say ye, Lt.? Wanna help me turn our bonnie lassie into a wee mess?” 

You brace yourself with bated breath for another argument, but Simon’s chest rumbles against yours as he regards Johnny with a softening gaze, and the curt nod he gives nearly has your knees buckling. 

Strong, calloused hands roll you over onto your back on the plush carpet, making you feel like a worshipped rag doll in the way they handle you, firmly yet carefully. Your vision is so hazy, you can barely tell who’s touching what right now. 

The living room reeks of sex; it’s stuffy and warm and you’ve never felt better, more at peace than ever. 

A pathetic moan is torn from your throat as Johnny sinks his fat cock back into your dripping cunt with an obscene squelch as Simon’s cum keeps mixing with his. He holds your legs open and up by the back of your knees as he kneels between them; dark hair sticking to his damp forehead as he grinds his hips slowly yet deeply, pushing his cock into your welcoming heat far enough to have his tip kiss your cervix, his girth stretching your velvety walls and having you arch your back into the sensations. 

“Tha’s it, hen, keep–ach, fuck–takin’ it like our good girl,” Johnny groans when you squeeze your core around him, sucking him in deeper until he must thrust more powerfully to even thrust at all. 

You reach out blindly for the other large man sprawled out on the carpet next to you. His broad, scarred chest rises and falls rapidly as he tries to catch his breath while your sweaty palm pats along his muscular arm, squeezing his bulging biceps with greedy need. 

“Si–Si–,” you whine and hiccup as Johnny keeps fucking your soppy cunt with deep, slow rolls of his hips. The big, blond man rumbles deep in his chest in return, answering your whinging calls as his head tilts to the side; dark, half-lidded eyes regarding you languidly.  

His mammoth hand reaches out to grasp your chin, thumb rubbing your lower lip to catch your drool and smear it over your burning skin while Johnny starts playing with your swollen clit, making your back arch and your lips part with a louder cry of pleasure. 

Simon slips his thumb into your mouth and pushes down on your tongue. “Need more, lovey?” He chuckles darkly as you suck on his meaty digit, eyes flickering up to Johnny, who laughs huskily. Simon’s cock twitches back to life, blood rushing and boiling in his veins as his pale skin keeps flushing. He pulls his thumb from your mouth, eyes crinkling with a smile as your tongue darts out to chase it. 

You lick your kiss-swollen lips as you nod, “Uh-huh.” 

“Insatiable wee thing,” Johnny groans, hips snapping to make your tits bounce and jiggle the way he loves watching. “Gonna milk us both dry.” 

“Fuckin’ hell, Johnny,” Simon huffs and groans as he pushes himself up on his knees, “’m lookin’ forward to it and she is, too.”  

Even in your blissfully fucked out state, you want to retort something stupid and witty, but when Simon suddenly grabs Johnny by the back of his neck to pull him into a deep, passionate – and very first – kiss, you nearly loose the last shred of your sanity.  

You watch in awe and shameless desire as Johnny briefly tries to pull away from Simon, but the latter has an iron grip on his neck and then Johnny leans back in with a deep sigh, reciprocates the kiss with wild fervour as you watch from below. 

They make out sloppily, teetering on aggressive and looking like battered warriors in the warm, dim glowing lights of the Christmas tree. All teeth and tongues. It’s maddening. It’s your personal present and secret wish come true, a Christmas miracle. You catch the way Simon dominates Johnny and your pussy clenches and flutters around Johnny’s fat cock still nestled deeply inside your gummy walls. 

You reach down between your thighs, replacing Johnny’s hand with yours as you start flicking the pad of your index finger over your sensitive clit, chest heaving as you enjoy the way your lovers finally start bonding the way they should.

[lisenberry]

Haven't done a Feral Friday in a while, and I'm a bit stumped on the current chapter of BDSM Price.

So, let's skip ahead to a bit I was able to write that comes further along in the outline. Just a tease at where we're going.

MDNI/18+/NSFW

CW: Dom!Ghost, nonparticipating Dom!Price, bondage/rope play, temperature play/wax, spanking/pain play, angst, sub drop.

Was this his way of apologizing?  Or was he trying to put you back in your place?

“Don’t look at him.  Look at me,” Ghost demanded, bringing you back to your center.

And John didn’t look at you, not when Ghost tied you up and hung you from the hook in the door frame, or when you sucked his cock hands-free while he lazily dripped paraffin wax between your shoulder blades. 

“Bloody hell, Cap.  Is she always like this?  This is what I’ve been missing?  Taught her to give a good head, did ya?”

No, John didn’t look up once when his friend took turns warming your ass and pussy with a crop, as strings of drool and slick soaked the floor from both ends of you.  There was no vibrator this time.  John never used one, didn’t have one in his box of tricks, so Ghost sloppily worked you over with his fingers and his tongue before slipping himself inside.

You were used to the stretch of John, but it was something new and different from Simon.  Far from the cold and sanitized nature of your previous encounters at Life Connect 141.  He barked out oaths and moaned praises like he’d been given a gift so exquisite, he would hide it under his pillow.  Carry it with him everywhere.  Wear it into the ground.

“I knew you’d be a gem, dove.  Such a sweet little toy,” he muttered, as he pulled harder on the rope that held your hair, arching your back even further.

His enthusiasm was so contagious that you came just like that, on his cock before he pulled out and painted your blistering ass with his spend.  You could tell the skin was split in places by the way the salt in his seed stung and burned as he spread it around like a salve.

If he touched your clit again, you wondered if you could come a second time at the fresh sensation of it.  But you were too tired to ask.  Too drained to speak.  Wrung out and soiled like a mop that had scrubbed the floor.

It was everything you’d wanted...once. 

And yet, it was John who reached out to hold you up, while Ghost carefully untied you.  Finally showing some notice, some attention.  Too late, you thought.  Once freed, you turned into Ghost instead, on wobbling ankles and numb knees.

“I’ve got you, dove.” 

He carried you to the sofa, wrapped you in your robe, and traced circles on the back of your head as you slowly came down.  You laughed into his shoulder as he joked about being ruined for the 141 for good after that and lit a cigarette.

But before long, he looked at his watch and kissed the top of your head. 

“That’s my time, hon,” he mumbled, lifting you up gently and helping you sit on your own.  The ache along your backside was not nearly as strong as the one in your heart.  It never was. 

“It was good to see you again, Simon.”  You smiled and squeezed his hand once before letting him go.  For good.

You sat there, awkwardly, in the living room you’d come to know so well while John followed him out to the hallway.  Their voices were too low to hear what they were exchanging.  A sudden, frigid dread crept along the back of your neck, despite the coziness of your thick robe. 

The chill turned to a quaking, as your teeth chattered, and you fought to still your hands.  An adrenaline crash, you recognized.  A sub drop.  You’d heard about them, but never had one.  Not with Ghost before, and never with John.

And now you were alone, with tears streaming down your face, and uncontrolled panic in your chest.

Before John could come back and see your sorry state, if he even came back at all, you fled to the shower and turned on the stream.  Willed it to heat up faster while you tested it with trembling hands. 

“You need any help in there, sweetheart?”  His voice was too soft, too concerned.  You couldn’t take it.  Not from him.  Not like this.

You didn’t want to think about what had just happened.  The consequences.  Why he’d done it.  Why you’d agreed to it.  You just wanted to go home. 

How’d things get so wrong?

It was you, you realized.  It had always been you. 

[ultravi0lence14]

Tongue Tied: Chapter Four

dean winchester x fem!OC

4.8k | angst, fluff, spn level violence

summary: getting a call about possible supernatural activity on a plane, dean winchester must face his greatest fears; airplanes and admitting his feelings for the sweet girl who stole his heart.

*based around season 1 episode 4

“Supernatural activity regulating through an airplane? Now that’s pretty peculiar.”

Dean had gotten a call. An old friend of the fathers had called them down to Pennsylvania for their help. A couple of days prior, a plane had crashed, killing the majority of the passengers aboard. Since this man was aware of the supernatural, he believed that something suspicious had happened. So with no halts in their step Dean, Sam, and Rosine found themselves driving the way to help John Winchester’s old companion.

As time went on, Rosine was starting to feel more confident in her abilities. This case would mark her tenth with the Winchester’s, and she could see how her skills and abilities were improving.

They had gone to places all over America, fighting off evil as Rosine learned more about what her gift had to offer. Whenever Sam or Dean was stumped on a case, Rosine would fall slack, getting a cryptic yet helpful clue that would lead them towards the culprit.

The two men could also see how her combat and survival skills had improved. She was getting thrown through fewer windows, and as time progressed, she even started to go hand and hand with some creatures without Sam or Dean’s help.

It truly was remarkable. And as Dean found himself listening intently to Rosine’s rambles, only hitting the hour mark on the drive, he couldn’t help but let a smile break out on his face. She was truly in her element, and Dean was so happy to see her grow into herself.

“I wonder what could’ve been behind bringing that airplane down.” Sam quipped, slightly turning his head so he could speak with Rosine. “Could possibly be a ghost, or just another plane crash.”

“Who knows Sammy,” Dean spoke, eyes still on the road as Rosine and Sam continued talking about their theories. Dean couldn’t help himself from thinking about dying via a plane crash, and the thought alone sent a shiver down his spine that he shook off.

Rosine noticed his behaviour, and decided then and there that she’d keep a close eye on Dean for the rest of the case.

Soon enough, the group of three made it to the warehouse where John Winchester’s old friend worked. Rosine was surrounded by planes, different parts alike and men hard at work doing something she couldn’t quite place around the aircraft’s.

The man — who Rosine learned was named Jerry, was talking to Dean about how he remembered him from when he and his dad helped his family with a poltergeist terrorizing their home. Rosine didn’t really hear most of the conversation, too busy marveling at all the plane parts that sent the physicist and engineer inside of her in a frenzy.

She was brought back to reality after Jerry mentioned Sam’s time at Stanford, speaking briefly on the subject before turning to Rosine. “I don’t remember John ever mentioning a daughter. Are you a cousin or something?”

“Oh no,” Rosine shook her head, her southern charm seeping out as she graciously smiled at the stranger. “I’m just tagging along with these two, helping with the business if you know what I mean.”

Jerry laughed at Rosine’s sad attempt at a joke, eliciting a short giggle from the girl. Dean just looked at her the whole time, feeling a weird fluttery feeling in his stomach as that melodic giggle left her lips.

“Well I'm glad there’s more of ya,” Jerry commented, leading the three into his office. “This one’s a doozy.”

Rosine was curious on what Jerry meant, until he started explaining his situation. Apparently, flight 2485 on the United Britannia airlines had gone down, leaving only seven survivors in it’s wake. Jerry explained how people thought it was just mechanical failure, something wrong with the aircraft. He said how one of the survivors was the pilot, Chuck Lambert, and how he’d been beating himself up believing that he was the reason the plane went down.

“You don’t think it was his fault?” Sam spoke, standing closely by Jerry’s desk as he listened intently to the audio recording he had of the call sent from the cockpit when the plane was going down.

The man shook his head, a solemn look on his face as he thought of his friend. “No, I don’t.”

Rosine watched as Dean explained how they needed a list of the passengers on the plane, including the names of the survivors and how they would need to look at the wreckage of the plane for any suspicious activity.

Jerry’s face seemed to become apologetic at Dean’s last request, and he explained how he didn’t have the ability to get anyone in to see the remnants of the plane. “It’s locked down in a warehouse,” he explained, watching as Sam looked over at Dean and Rosine with a passive look on his face. “The NTSB needs it for evidence. I can’t think of any possible way you guys could get in.”

The look on Dean’s face after Jerry finished speaking was full of trouble, and Rosine knew that whatever he had in mind was highly illegal. “Don’t worry,” he spoke with a blistering grin on his face. “We’ll find a way.”

“I can’t believe we’re making fake Ids.” Rosine was picking at her nail beds, the nervousness in her voice clear as day while she and Sam waited in the Impala for Dean. They were listening to the cockpit recording that Jerry had sent them, Sam attempting to isolate some of the vocals to try and see if anything suspicious could be heard.

“Don’t worry,” Sam reassured Rosine, hands fumbling with his computer as he attempted to find anything. “We’ve done this before, it’ll be fine.”

Rosine wasn’t reassured at all. Even more when Dean came back, doning three fake Homeland Security badges that had Sam giving his brother a skeptical look. “This is pretty illegal, even for us Dean.”

Rosine’s eyes widened at that statement, and she felt that the hangnail on her thumb needed to be bit off.

“Oh God,” she started, watching as Dean reached his hand out to the backseat to give Rosine her fake Id. “We’re gonna get caught. And then I'm gonna go to jail and become someone’s bitch. I won’t last a second in jail! And I definitely can’t become someone’s bitch!”

Dean just laughed, turning around and resting his arm on the front seat so he could look at the girl freaking out in the back. “Don’t worry Sweets. We go to jail, and I’ll make sure no one messes with my girl.”

Rosine didn’t even register what Dean had said, too busy giving him a matter of fact look before informing him that they’d be sent to different penitentiaries. Dean on the other hand was freaking out. Sweets? My girl? He was practically a walking sign that said ‘I’ve got a fat crush on Rosine Millan, punch me in the face for being stupid.’

The man was confused about his feelings as is, why does he have to complicate things for himself every single time.

“Wait, guys I think I’ve got something.” Sam’s voice rang through the fog in Dean’s head, and he leaned over to look at Sam’s computer right as Rosine leaned against the front seat, her head in between the two Winchester’s.

The youngest of the three had isolated the recording, catching onto a voice in the background of the tape that voiced the words ‘no survivors’ in a deep, demonic voice. It sent a chill down Rosine’s spine, the girl not hearing anything like this before.

“There were seven survivors though,” voiced Dean, looking confused over at Sam. The younger just shrugged, not being able to explain why the voice mumbled what it did.

As Sam and Dean went on a spiel about ghosts and spiritual activity on flights, Rosine couldn’t help but get a feeling that this wasn’t a ghost. She couldn’t understand the logic behind it.

Her first case was a ghost, and Sam had explained to her that they latched onto things. So why would a ghost be attacking a random flight? And what would it’s motive’s be for the attack?

“I don’t know guys,” Rosine spoke out into the car, watching as Sam and Dean turned around to look at her. “A ghost in this scenario doesn’t make sense. It’s just not adding up to that in my head.”

Sam and Dean just looked at each other, having one of their silent conversations as Rosine nervously waited in the back. After what felt like an eternity, Sam turned around and smiled at the girl. “Well there’s only one way to find out. Here’s the list of survivors, we should probably start talking to them.”

The next hour was spent at a psychiatric hospital that one of the survivors, Max Jaffey, had checked himself into. He spoke about being stressed, feeling crazy after watching a passenger get up from his seat and open the emergency door.

Max was confused, as one would be, for opening a door at that level of altitude and pressure would almost be impossible. Rosine went on a long ramble about that, sending Sam and Max to look at her confused as Dean just smiled at how cute she looked when she rambled.

Max had said that he swore the man had black eyes, and instantly, Sam and Dean knew that there was a demon behind this attack.

Dean had ruled out a phantom traveller, something Sam had proposed on the way to Pennsylvania. As Rosine walked towards the home of George Phelps, awaiting a conversation with his wife, she turned over to Dean, nudging his shoulder as a question held onto the tip of her tongue.

“What’s up Rosie?” The man spoke in a tense tone, not having forgotten his little slip up before they visited Max. He didn’t want to come off too forward, and he most certainly didn’t want Rosine to feel uncomfortable and run off because of his stupid actions.

With a sheepish smile on her face, Rosine turned her head upwards so she could look properly at Dean, sending a nervous chill down his spine. “This is my first demon case and I can’t lie, I’m a little nervous.”

Dean smiled at her truthfulness, loving how open she was even though she hadn’t known him for long. With a comforting hand on her shoulder, Dean slowed down until he and Rosine were a little ways behind Sam. “Don’t worry Sweetheart, nothing bad is gonna happen. Sam and I have dealt with this plenty of times, we’ll show you what to do.”

His enthusiastic behaviour sent a surge of confidence through Rosine. And she found herself feeling more relaxed as she followed Sam into the Phelps home.”

George Phelps’ wife had explained nothing short of suspicious to Rosine and the Winchester’s. Her husband was on a plane to Denver and coincidentally, he was terrified to fly. Sam had asked the standard, ‘has he been showing any strange behaviour’ comment to Mrs. Phelps, to which she just rattled off normal human symptoms that no demon would possess.

Rosine, Sam, and Dean left feeling less closer to a conclusion, but more confident that a demon was at play. In a final attempt to figure out what had really happened on the flight, Dean had suggested that they go check out the wrecked aircraft.

This had the three of them separating to go find outfits that would paint them as actual Homeland Security officers.

Walking into an eccentric boutique on one of Pennsylvania’s many avenue’s, Rosine found herself a simple black pantsuit with a white t-shirt to go underneath and some black heels.

She felt like she was back in the days when she had to go to science conventions at MIT, one out of the few girls in the chemical engineering department and feeling at peace when they all came together and said how much their feet were killing them from walking in heels all day.

When she made it outside, dawning her new look, Rosine ran into Sam and Dean with the latter seemingly more uncomfortable with his formal attire than his younger brother.

“I look like an idiot.” Dean quipped, tugging at his collar that felt like it was suffocating him. Sam just laughed, walking over to where Rosine stood and smirking over his shoulder. “Nah man, you look like a seventh grader at his first dance.”

Dean just grumbled, getting in the driver's seat and begrudgingly waving Sam and Rosine into the car so they didn’t lose any time.

Rosine led the way into the warehouse’s entrance, informing security working at the front desk that she was a member of Homeland Security here with her two interns, Sam and Dean.

The man believed her without a hitch, quickly looking at all three of their badges and showing them the way to the plane wreckage. It honestly surprised Rosine how easy that took, but she didn’t question it.

Going a different way than the Winchester’s, Rosine found herself looking more at the wreckage of the plane than attempting to find anything suspicious. Plane crashes always scared her, and the fact that over 100 people were recently just in this plane and died didn’t sit well with her.

She saw Dean move around with what looked like a busted up walkmen turned EMF reader, and she couldn’t help but giggle at the genius yet stupidity of it all. Before she could even tease him about it, Dean called over both her and Sam to show them the sulphur that he found.

As Sam explained to her that sulphur was a sign of demons, Rosine felt the familiar feeling of her body going slack. In an instant, her bones turned to jelly and she got a vivid image of alarms blaring, actual Homeland Security agents coming to the warehouse to find out that her and the Winchester’s were there instead.

With a gasp, Rosine came out of her vision, looking up to notice that she’d fallen in Sam’s arms this time. He helped her up, Dean placing a firm hand around her shoulder to help Rosine until she became more stable. They both felt the energy change as Dean got closer to Rosine’s body, but neither was going to say anything.

“Guy’s we gotta go.” Rosine rattled off quickly, attempting to move towards a back exit before Dean steadied her with his hands on her waist. He was worried. This vision looked like it took more out of her than the last, and he was afraid that whatever power she had was draining any energy she stored in her body.

“Why, what’s up?” Sam was frantic, this being the first time he saw Rosine have a vision. And honestly, it was terrifying. A loud blaring noise followed by red lights flickering around alerted Rosine to look at Sam and Dean, both stunned by the sudden loud noise. “The actual Homeland Security is here.”

In an instant, Rosine was following Sam and Dean as they ran towards the exit. A barbed wire fence stood in between them and the Impala. And Rosine could barely process how she was going to get over before Dean was throwing his suit jacket over the sharp edges at the top of the fence and jumping over.

Sam followed suit, and Rosine realized that she just needed to suck it up and go for it. Throwing her heels over the fence, Rosine climbed to the best of her ability and flung herself over the top. She didn’t realize how terrible her coordination was, and suddenly she was falling with no intention of landing on her feet.

A loud squeal ripped through her lips, and right as she was preparing herself to hit pavement, Rosine fell into someone’s arms as a loud grunt left their lips. Turning her head, she saw that Dean had fully caught her when she fell, holding her bridal style as Sam reached up to grab Dean’s suit jacket.

Hearing voices coming from the exit and realizing there was no time to stand around, Dean took off running with Rosine still in his arms toward the Impala.

A squeak left her lips, her arms wrapping tightly around Dean’s neck so she wouldn’t fall. In an instant, Dean was making it to the car and placing Rosine carefully in the backseat. As he pulled away from the building, Rosine slowly began to realize something.

“Ah shit,” she mumbled, getting both Sam and Dean’s attention. “I forgot my shoes.”

“Yeah that’s sulfur alright.” Jerry was looking at the dust Dean found at the plane crash under a microscope, double checking that what was found was really left by something demonic.

Dean had driven back to Jerry’s office, wanting a second opinion and also just wanting to check in with everything. Rosine still had no shoes, and thanked the lord that she decided to wear panty hose socks with her shoes for walking bare feet on these floors would be horrendous.

Jerry had left to check in on his employee’s, leaving Rosine to take a closer look at the sulfur under the microscope while Sam and Dean conversed about different types of demons.

Sam came to the conclusion that this demon was orchestrating havoc, needing a new way to cause mass destruction and death and landed on plane crashes. It had a shiver going down Rosine’s spine, the feeling that demons could be anywhere and being behind any type of harm made her feel uneasy.

As Sam told Rosine more about certain types of demons, Dean had got a call from Jerry informing him that Chuck Lambert, the pilot on the initial flight had gotten in another plane crash.

While Dean told Sam and Rosine, all walking towards the car, Dean couldn’t help but laugh to himself. “Demons and their irony. Wanna guess where this crash was?”

“Where?” said Rosine with a tilt of her head, looking like a lost puppy dog.

“A borough here in Pennsylvania called Nazareth.”

“Oh that is pretty ironic.”

The sight of Chuck’s plane crash was traumatic. A horrific scene that would plague Rosine’s dreams for weeks. After Dean had driven back to Jerry’s office, he alongside Sam and Rosine sat around the man’s desk as Sam explained something he'd found out.

“Funny thing about Chuck’s flight is that it went down 40 minutes into the flight. The exact same time the 2485 went down.” Jerry just looked at Sam confused, asking aloud what any of that means.

“The number 40 is around alot in the bible. Y’know, like how in Noah’s ark it rained for 40 days’” Jerry just looked at her confused, until Rosine elaborated on her statement. “It usually means death.”

Dean piped into the conversation, getting up from where he sat on one of the chairs in the office and moving closer to Rosine. “Sammy and I went back a couple of years and noticed that there have been six plane crashes in the last decade that have gone down after 40 minutes.” His arm rested on the back of Rosine’s chair, and she tried her hardest not to blush bright red.

Sam inquired about the fact that all those crashes had no survivors, except this one. And that the voice in the recording saying ‘no survivors’ meant that the demon planned on killing everyone on board. And now, since seven people survived the crash, it was attempting to take them all out one by one.

After leaving Jerry’s office, and going to the motel to grab their things and get changed, Sam, Dean, and Rosine found themselves driving down an almost deserted highway. Sam was on the phone with some of the survivors, making sure they didn’t get on a plane anytime soon, and Rosine was resting in the backseat with her blanket.

Her glasses were perched on her nose, and she found herself reading over all the loose papers that found themselves left in the backseat of the Impala over the years.

“Okay, the only last survivor left is Amanda Walker.” Sam spoke, putting his phone back in his jacket pocket after he finished his calls. Dean looked over at his brother from the driver's seat, nodding his head in understanding. “Her sister Karen said she’s going to be on a flight leaving Indianapolis at 8pm. It’s her first flight since the crash.”

Sam’s words made Rosine realize how far they were from Indiana, and she started getting worried about how they weren’t going to make it in time.

Dean pressed on the gas, making it to the Indianapolis airport in the nick of time. The boys discarded their weapons in the car, and with fast moving feet, Rosine followed behind as Sam basically sprinted through the terminals.

The two brothers tried to get Amanda off the airplane but to no avail. So at a spur of the moment decision, Sam decided they were going to go on the airplane themselves and exorcise the demon. Rosine was completely on board. Dean, not so much.

“Woah woah woah, hold on a second there Sammy. What the hell do you mean we are going to get on the plane?” Rosine could see the panic in Dean’s eyes. But she could also see the impatience and sass in Sam’s, the look in his face saying he was about to lose it if his brother went on another rant about why he drove everywhere. “Dean, there are over 100 people on that plane. Either you get on and help us exorcise that demon or Rosine and I will do it alone.”

With a huff and a sigh, Dean raised both his arms up to scrub through his hair. “Oh c’mon. Really man?”

“Yeah, really,” Sam deadpanned, making his way towards the ticket area. “Rosine and I will go get the tickets, you go back to the car and get anything and everything we need for an exorcism. Meet back at the gate in five.”

As the next five minutes ticked by, Dean Winchester found himself on a plane, strapped in and sending a silent prayer up to heaven. He had stowed away holy water, a rosary, and a bible for the exorcism. Now all he needed to find was his dignity to get through this plane ride.

Rosine was smack dab in the middle of him and Sam, her black zip up hoodie pulled tightly around her body so the draft from the plane didn’t seep onto her exposed arms from her white tank top. Dean needed to feel calm, and looking to his left to see the beauty that was Rosine clipping her now natural wavy hair into a messy half up, half down was slowly calming his nerves.

As the plane took off, Rosine noticed as Dean clutched onto the arms rests for dear life. The only time he spoke was to dismiss Sam’s feeble attempts at calming him down, and the other times was so he could hum a song Rosine couldn’t quite place.

“Are you humming Metallica?” Sam’s head slightly leaned over Rosine’s, and it started to click in her head what song the man beside her was humming. “It helps calm me down.” He mumbled, head facing upwards like he was trying to call out to God.

Mid freak out, Dean felt a soft and comforting hand eclipse his. Looking down, he noticed Rosine had placed her hand over his, giving it a light squeeze as she looked into Dean’s eyes and smiled. He couldn’t help but smile back, feeling his anxiety dissipate as the feeling of Rosine’s hand calmed his nerves.

“Okay, we’ve got a little over 30 minutes before the demon brings this plane down.” At Sam’s words Dean clutched Rosine’s hand tighter, and all she did was gently stroked his knuckles until his grip lessened. “The demon will probably latch onto someone vulnerable, full of stress.”

“Amanda is a perfect candidate,” Rosine spoke, her hand still clutched in Dean’s. “This is her first flight since 2485. She’s bound to be nervous and a little on edge.”

Sam nodded his head in agreement, looking over at Dean and suggesting that he go talk to Amanda and see if she was possessed or not.

“No, no way,” Dean rambled, his firm grip sending a shock through Rosine’s body. “What if we crash while I’m standing? I’m gonna go cabluey.”

“One, no grown man says cabluey, Dean,” Sam snarked back, watching as his brother just gave him the stank eye. “And two it will get your mind off of it. All you have to do is mention God. And if she’s possessed, she’ll totally freak out.”

In a short stemmed reassurance of himself, Dean reluctantly let go of Rosine’s hand, standing up and ready to go see if Amanda was their demon.

“Make sure to say it in Latin.”

“I know, Sammy.”

“It’s Christo-“

“Jeez dude, I know.”

Rosine laughed at their interaction, watching as Dean walked down the plane's aisle towards Amanda and Sam slumped back in his seat like a kid who just got scolded by his mom.

The two waited for a good five minutes, Sam informing Rosine that they had under 30 minutes before the demon struck when Dean came back to their seats to inform Rosine and his brother that Amanda wasn’t the demon.

In a last attempt to catch the demon, Sam, Dean, and Rosine walked up and down the plane with Dean’s EMF walkmen, trying to see if it could catch any activity on who the demon was.

When they started to lose hope, the co-pilot came out of the bathroom and the EMF went crazy. He turned to the wide eyed group of three, eyes a dark pit of black before he went back into the cockpit.

Dean had gone and found Amanda, informing her about everything and ordering her to grab the co-pilot before the plane crashed. The three hid behind a curtain, Rosine against Dean’s back as he tried his best to not hyperventilate at her close proximity. ‘Damn she smells so good’ Dean thought, mentally punching himself after for thinking like a 13 year old.

When Amanda brought the co-pilot around the curtain, Sam and Dean had jumped him, holding him down to the ground as Rosine started on the exorcism. In all their time spent together, the two men found out Rosine was weirdly good at Latin; a trick that would come in handy in a time like this.

Dean threw holy water on the man, and when he snarled back, Rosine felt her soul completely leave her body. She continued as the demon smirked, looking over at Sam and growling between widened lips. “Heard what happened to your beautiful little girlfriend. I heard she died screaming.”

Sam was stunned, briefly letting go of the man in his confused haze in wondering how the demon knew about his late girlfriend Jessica. In that moment, the demon lurched forward, sending Sam across the plane and knocking Rosine off her feet.

The bible scattered in Sam’s direction, and Rosine watched wide eyed as the demon flung Dean into her direction, smirking before smoking out of the man and into the air vents.

In an instant, the plane took a plunge and started descending down to the ground. People were screaming, everything was shaking, the lights were flickering, and Rosine hoped that Sam could grab that damn book in time.

Her heart was in her ass, trying to grab onto anything so she didn’t go flying across the plane. In an instant, Dean had wrapped his one arm around her body and gripped tightly onto the emergency exit with the other. Rosine was clutching onto his t-shirt, head buried in his chest as her body shook in fear against his.

Dean felt his heart clench at the feeling of Rosine’s trembling frame. And without a second thought, he let go of the emergency door and wrapped both of his arms around the girl. Dean was completely shielding Rosine’s body with his, his head on top of hers as his arms held her tightly to his body.

After another couple of seconds, the plane straightened out, the lights came back on and everything was well. Dean smiled to himself. ‘That son of a bitch did it.’ He thought, eyes slightly widening at the position him and Rosine were in.

Don’t get him wrong, Dean wasn’t complaining. But he didn’t know if Rosine was uncomfortable. And in an awkward exchange, Rosine lifted her head from his chest and looked up, a slight smile on her lips as she mouthed a thank you to Dean. Right as she let go of him, Sam came back to where they were and informed the two that the plane would be landing back in Indianapolis, and that he wanted Dean to find the nearest hotel so he could sleep until he was 50.

The walk from the terminal to the Impala was just filled with Sam’s recounting of how he had to crawl under multiple seats to grab the book, but neither Rosine nor Dean were really listening.

They felt the atmosphere around them change after that singular moment, and Dean couldn’t help but begrudgingly thanked the airplane crash for switching up the mode between him and Rosine.

[vanillablankcanvas]

Sable's Secret

Even with his eyes closed he could feel Sable freaking out.

Sable's voice shook. "Promise me you won't freak out."

"Sable, baby I promise."

He heard Sable try to control her breathing as she exhaled slowly and she placed something weighty in his hands.

"Okay, you can open your eyes now."

...

..

.

John Dory blinked in confusion at the object in his hand.

"Oh" he said softly as he recognised it.

Sable's heart dropped and her shoulders sagged.

"Is this pine?"

.......what?

"Eh?" Sable replied with the most elegance she could muster.

"You shouldn't be using pine that's just silly. Gets all bent all out of shape and cracks at the slightest breeze. Willow wood is where it's at! It more flexible."

Sable was utterly baffled by his reaction.

"It... you don't think it's weird?"

"That you have a wooden leg? Pffft noooo."

Sable's eyes darted around the room in confusion. Surely he's bluffing?

"Is this a joke?"

John Dory looked up from the leg to find Sable starting to visibly shake. He quickly placed the leg down on the table and held her hands.

"Sabe, I'm not joking...why would you think I'm joking?"

She couldn't look at him.

"You were really scared to tell me, weren't ya?"

She could only nod a little bit.

"What happened?"

She brought her gaze up to meet his but didn't reply.

"We were in the tunnels...."

***

Flashback to teenage Sable running through the tunnels with her parents. The Bergens had already discovered they'd escaped and were trying to dig them out.

Sable was running alongside her parents. The shaking from the Bergens footsteps and shovels cause the tunnel to rumble and Sable loses her footing and falls.

Just as a Bergen shovels through the dirt above her.

Right through her leg....

Flashforward a a year or two later

Sable is in a makeshift hospital in the forest. The Pop Trolls are trying to rebuild their society but she can't do much to help.

Only her parents visit her.

Not Summer

Not Sage

Not Sonnet

Not Scout

She fell into a dark place.

She was grey for a short time.

After that, the only thing she found herself being able to do was read. She found comfort in the books. She found an escape. This was her beginning towards her extensive education and her acting career.

***

"So when you didn't wanna go swimming?..."

"Yes"

"The long ass skirts?..."

"Yes"

"The 'always turnin up to stuff too early' thing?"

"I prefer not to have an audience if I am forced to use stairs."

"....No dancing?"

She turned to him sadly. Her ears drooped.

"That one hurt the most."

"So the reunion rumours...?"

"I did not refuse the reunion because I am, as they said, 'too good for my pop star past'. I physically cannot do the dances anymore!"

"Do the other Sugar Girls know?"

"No. You are now one of the very few who knows."

"I'm honoured."

Sable tried to smile but she really couldn't.

John noticed she had gone quiet in her thoughts.

"Babe, I've met Trolls with lost legs before. Heck, I've met Trolls with eyes made of glass, some with more scars than skin, one guy had half his stupid face missing, trust me it was an improvement! A wooden leg isn't scary."

"This-" she gestured to the leg "-Is an everlasting reminder of the most horrible time of my life. I was alone and afraid and-"

"-and you survived!"

Sable gasped. Tears began to formed.

"And you're here! You coulda thrown yourself in hole and never come out but you said 'not today' and look at you now! You're a smokeshow who kicks the ass of everything thrown her way. " He playfully punched her arm "Myself included!"

She wiped the tears before they had a chance to fall and leaned against his shoulder.

"Will you tell me what happened to your hand?"

John looked down to his glove. He sighed and slowly took it off.

"Well I guess you showed me yours, I gotta show you mine now huh?"

"Jonathan Dor-" she stopped short when she saw his exposed hand.

The hand did not look good at all. She felt like a hypocrite having thought that. At least her stump had been cared for and healed properly. John's hand looked like it had been crushed and had no care given to it at all.

"How?"

"For a while, folks from all over thought I was the last Pop Troll. They hadn't taken a liking to Pop yet so I had a bounty put on my head. They thought they could get ridda Pop for good. Some Yodeler was on my tail, got me with an ice pick."

Sable was shocked and blinked at him almost not believing him.

He tried to flex his hand, but not much happened. "This thing kinda reminds me of when I was alone too but-"

"-but you survived. Just like I did. And look at us now."

He used his now ungloved hand to grab hold of hers and bring it to his lips for a gentlemanly peck.

"So you really don't care about my leg?"

"Nah, makes me love you more."

"John?"

"Yah babe?"

"You realise that is the first time you've said that to me?"

"What?"

She looked at him waiting for him to connect the dots.

"........I said the L word?"

"You did."

"...No I didn't"

"I heard you"

"...I take it back"

"John Dory-"

"-Nononoono, nope it didn't happen." he covered his ears.

"John!"

"Nopenopenope, didn't happen!"

"I love you too, you moron!"

He stopped and uncovered his ears.

He smirked as he ran over and scooped her up bridal style.

"Leg, shmleg! What is so wrong with you that you somehow love me back?"

Sable could only laugh as he pulled her close.

Yeah

Leg shmleg

There is also an NSFW reason she was hesitant to tell him if anyone wants to know 😏

[rockscanfly]

the stars are not wanted now

The headline was several days old by the date in the corner. The cheap paper was peeling at the corners from the wall it’d been pasted to when Charles ripped it down. His mind was carefully blank as he hitched Lenny’s canvas-wrapped corpse higher on one shoulder. He stuffed the ripped page into his pants pocket. 

It stayed there, smouldering, as he loaded Lenny onto Taima. Sadie was already seated on Bob, Hosea laid carefully behind her. Her eyes caught his, red and shining.

Charles was an hour into digging Lenny’s grave when it hit him: He was never going to see Arthur Morgan again.

Death’s messenger arrived in the form of the front page of The Saint Denis Times. TRAGEDY AT SEA! CARGOSHIP THE OQUENDO SUNK FIVE MILES OFF GUARMA COAST!

or,

Charles Smith, Sadie Adler, and the two deaths of Arthur Morgan.

Read below or at  AO3. 

                                                  ----------------------

In the life of Charles Smith, death’s messengers had come in many forms. 

The first was in the navy blue uniforms of American soldiers, their ghost pale hands wrapped tight over his mother’s arms as they dragged her from their tent, screaming and kicking. 

Ten years later it was in a letter, sent by an old neighbor. It contained his father’s wedding ring, a family photo, and no explanation. 

The way the whiskey had wafted off his father’s breath the night Charles left? There was no need for one. 

Then it had been the sharp crack of a gunshot—one, two, three. Sean, Hosea, Lenny. There was the frightened whinny of a horse mixed in, and the sick, rotten-fruit plop of Kierran’s head as it fell from his cupped, bloody hands.

This messenger arrived in the form of the front page of The Saint Denis Times. TRAGEDY AT SEA! CARGOSHIP THE OQUENDO SUNK FIVE MILES OFF GUARMA COAST!

The headline was several days old by the date in the corner. The cheap paper was peeling at the corners from the wall it’d been pasted to when Charles ripped it down. His mind was carefully blank as he hitched Lenny’s canvas-wrapped corpse higher on one shoulder. He stuffed the ripped page into his pants pocket. 

It stayed there, smouldering, as he loaded Lenny onto Taima. Sadie was already seated on Bob, Hosea laid carefully behind her. Her eyes caught his, red and shining.

Charles was an hour into digging Lenny’s grave when it hit him: He was never going to see Arthur Morgan again.

For twenty-seven years, careful restraint of his emotions had allowed Charles to survive. He’d never had the luxury of anger, of rage. An outburst from most members of the gang meant getting kicked out of the saloon, a fine, or a night in jail at worst. 

For Charles, a length of rope looped over a tree branch was never far. America hated nothing more than a mutt, and to her people Charles was a rabid dog best put down at the first snarl.

So Charles learned control and calm. He learned to bury, to smother, to take everything burning in him and shove it somewhere safe. To put his feelings aside until he was alone and could take them out and look them over with no nervous trigger fingers or hateful eyes waiting for the first excuse—the first bitter word, sharp gesture, first hateful look. 

Charles didn’t know what did it, what final burning hurt snuck into the tinderbox of his chest and sparked the blaze. If it was the seventh rock his shovel struck in the soft, sucking dirt, forcing him to fumble in the dark until he could haul it free and cast it out. If it was the heat, the chafe of sticky cotton on his damp skin. Could be it was the flies buzzing in his ears, or the way the sweat from his brow stung his eyes. 

Maybe it was the sickly smell of rotting meat already coming from the sacks wrapped around Lenny and Hosea’s corpses, or the way there was no money for coffins to bury them in. 

One moment Charles was digging side by side with Sadie, knee deep in the grave that would hold just one body of the second family that fate had torn from him.

And then he was kneeling in the sucking mud, hands fisted uselessly in the torn roots and crawling worms. Anguish tore howling from his throat, muffled against gritted teeth. Charles could taste copper coating the backs of his gums as he hunched in the dirt. His eyes clenched tight as his heart did its level best to tear itself from his chest, to strike out for a life less riddled with bullets, one that didn’t bleed loss like a butchered carcass or burn everything good up to ashes.

Charles was dimly aware, under the pounding of his own pulse in his ears, of Sadie’s soft cursing as she threw down her own shovel and climbed into Lenny’s half-dug grave beside him. The darkness behind his eyes became complete as she shuttered the lamp, plunging them into night. He flinched away as Sadie’s firm hand gripped his shoulder. “Don’t,” he growled. He didn’t want comfort. He wanted exorcism. 

Sadie just gripped him tighter, blunt nails digging hard into the hunched muscle of his shoulder. “I know,” she rasped, kneeling before him, sharp knees pressed to his own. A choked cry strangled in Charles’s chest as her skinny, whipcord arms wrapped around him, pressing him to her chest. 

“They’re gone,” he managed, gasping through the tightness in his lungs. He couldn’t get any air. “Lenny, Javier, Hosea—Arthur.” Charles made a fist, pounding senselessly at the dirt. “He, we—” Charles cut himself off, dug his nails deep into the flesh of his knee, and tried to claw the pain into his own skin. 

A beat passed. One of Sadie’s palms gripped Charles at the back of his neck, cupped the back of his head gently. “Charles,” she said, voice rough and small, gentle. “Charles, I know.”

And it’s possible she did. She was one of the more observant folks in the camp. He and Arthur hadn’t really been very careful. Nothing too blatant, no. But anyone could have read into the casual ease with which Arthur touched his shoulder, the way their knees almost touched as they sat by the fire. The way Charles would return from guard duty with his hair mussed, leaves of grass clinging to the back of his shirt, the trailing ends of his hair. How Arthur would sit on a stump, failing utterly to conceal that he was sketching Charles as he chopped wood or hauled water. 

Arthur was not a cautious man by nature. He often made Charles foolish. 

More important than any of their thousand tiny, dangerous indiscretions was the fact that Arthur had trusted Sadie. It was possible the big, soft-hearted idiot told her about them. Maybe one day Charles would have it in him to be angry about that, at Arthur for putting them both at risk without asking him first. Reckless, impulsive, trusting. 

Gone.

Charles leaned heavily into Sadie’s grip, buried his face in the sweat and dirt streaked cotton of her shoulder. “How did you live through this?” He hissed, breath hitching. It felt like nettles had grown in his chest, wrapping around his lungs, choking like weeds to a garden. 

Sadie’s arm tightened over Charles’s shoulder. “Sun hasn’t dawned on a single day I’ve wanted to live through since they killed my Jake.” A filthy hand pet his hair back from his face, streaking dirt through the sweat on his brow. “Two reasons I go on. I gotta put every O'Driscoll on this green earth into a hole in the ground. And ‘cause I got folks as need me, now.”

Charles buried himself tighter against her, hiding from the pain that wracked him. It was ridiculous. Sadie was half his size, if he was being generous. But pressed against her, her clumsy hand in his hair, her skinny arm not even half over his back—he felt safer. Smaller. “They don’t even want me.” 

Sadie laughed, a hoarse, half-hearted thing that shook her chest more than it did the air. “You think those boys are lining up to put me in charge? Or, hell, Grimshaw? It don’t matter what anyone wants, Charles. They need us.” 

“I needed him,” Charles keened. He sounded like a child. He felt like a child. And he’d never felt so helpless, so lost, since he’d been torn from his mother’s arms. “All of them.” Charles bit back a breath, forced it down. He grasped a handful of Sadie’s shirt, pulling her closer. “I feel like the only part of me that’s good died with them. I don’t. I don’t think I can keep doing this.” 

“John ain’t dead yet,” Sadie whispered fiercely. “And neither is Tilly, or Mary-Beth, or me. Even the rest of ‘em. They’re all the family we got, Charles. So cry it out. But then you gotta pull yourself together. I need ya.” 

No one had ever needed Charles Smith. 

No one who lived. 

Charle’s head was going fuzzy, light, in a buzzing, burning way. Maybe he wasn’t getting enough air. Maybe he was choking on his own pathetic sorrow. 

Maybe the pain of losing so much was finally going to kill him. 

“I should just leave,” he mumbled into Sadie’s filthy, mud spattered shoulder. “Suffering follows me, I think. Maybe if I just go you won’t die, too.” 

Sadie’s blunt nails dug hard into Charle’s shoulder. “You leave and you’re yellow or you’re a fool,” she said, shaking him. “The world doesn’t give a shit about any of us, Charles. You know this life we’re livin’ ain’t meant to be a long one.”

Something in that tickled him, in a sideways sort of way. He laughed, a weak, hacking thing that was half-cough. “How the hell is Uncle still kicking?” 

Sadie’s shoulder moved under his forehead as she gave a half-hearted chuckle. “Can’t die if you never do shit.”

“You’re right,” Charles admitted. The stupid joke had shaken something loose in his throat. His chest still hurt, but he wasn’t choking on air. “I’m sorry. I just—” Charles sucked down another breath. “I wasn’t ready to live without him.” 

Sadie just pulled him tighter, tucked his head up under her chin. Charles wondered, vaguely, what she saw when she looked out into the dark of the Lemoyne night. “I know, honey,” she sighed. “But you will. You have to.” 

                                     _________________________

Traditional Kotsoteka mourning is an involved process. Done right, Charles should have burned Arthur’s wagon and killed Peachblossom, Arthur’s white Roan mare, so he would be well equipped in the afterlife. 

But there was no body to bury. No grave in which to throw Arthur’s guns, or the bow he’d left strapped to Peachblossom’s saddle on that final, bloody day at the bank. It would have been a shame to snap into pieces, anyway. Charles had made the bow for Arthur, so the other man had always taken excellent care of it. 

Fact was, Arthur’s body lay somewhere at the bottom of the sea, and they were too strapped for resources to go burning wagons and wasting supplies for traditions Charles had never been all that good at following. So instead Sadie helped him shave the sides of his head—the left side, to mourn a fellow warrior. The right, because a fellow warrior wasn’t all Charles was mourning. 

Together, Charles and Sadie burned one of Arthur’s shirts. There was no wailing, no cutting of arms and chests. As the last few patches of blue cotton caught fire, Charles resolved that, a year from then, he would never again speak the name Arthur Morgan.

                             ______________________________

Six years and too many graves later, Charles was resting on a freshly hammered fence post when a giant, mean-looking mustang rode up the road to Beecher’s Hope. Charles was half-way to drawing his sawed-off when its rider called out to him. “Charles! Charles Smith!”

Charles would know that hoarse drawl anywhere. 

Charles jumped the fence, jogging towards the black-clad woman on her suitably terrifying horse. “Sadie? Sadie Adler?”

Sadie swung down from her saddle, running forward. Charles caught her around the middle, swinging her excitedly. 

“How are you?” Charles asked as he set her down, hands moving to her shoulders to get a look at her. She’d picked up a few fresh scars, some weather to her skin from sun and wind. But her eyes were just the same as they’d always been, lit with an inner fire.

Sadie smiled, that same bitter half lift of the mouth as six years ago. “Alive,” she shrugged, patting Charles roughly on the shoulder. “You?”

Charles shrugged back. “Better, now. A few months back? Not so well.” 

Sadie nodded, walking back to her evil looking mustang and leading it gentle as a kitten to the hitching post. Charles leaned back against the fence, digging around in his jacket pockets for a pack of cigarettes and his lighter. He lit one, settling it in the side of his mouth. Demon-horse secured, Sadie settled beside him, leaning forward over the fence to survey the homestead. Charles passed her a cigarette, holding the lighter out and flickering as she lit a burning ember in the early morning light. 

Sadie inhaled, brown eyes sharp and considering as she surveyed the half-built ranch. “So. You’re, uh. Livin’ with the Marston’s?”

Charles nodded, tucking the lighter back in his pocket. “Just John for now.” He caught himself, laughed. “Well, and Uncle.”

“That old fool’s still alive?” Sadie whistled. “Bless his heart.” Silence stretched out between them. Maybe it should have been uncomfortable, the way it would have been between any two other friends who had parted in bloodshed and hadn’t seen one another in six years. 

Instead, it was like a well-worn blanket, warm and comforting in the early morning chill. Charles hadn’t shared a peaceful silence in a long while. John and Uncle always seemed to need to fill the air with talk. The folks in Saint Denis too, and theirs had been a lot less friendly. 

Their cigarettes burned down to embers before Sadie broke the peace. “Any clue where John’s at?” she asked. “I got a job for him.”

Charles grunted. “Bounty hunting?”

“Only kinda jobs I run. For now, anyway.”

“He’s in town grabbing supplies. Won’t be back until late.”

“Well, shit.” Sadie cursed, scuffing her boot in the dirt. She frowned, kicking up little clouds of dust while she chewed on her lip. Charles turned, tucking his arms up atop the fence, settling against the sun-warmed wood. Sadie leaned in beside him, shoulder to shoulder, so the fringe of her leather duster brushed against his knuckles. They watched the horizon together for a few long moments, the sun slowly rising higher in the sky. 

Sadie let out a long breath, shifting restlessly next to him. In the corner of his vision Charles caught brown eyes flicking consideringly over at him, measuring. “You busy?”

Charles let out an inaudible sigh of his own. “I don’t do that anymore, Sadie.”

Sadie laughed, a little bitter, a little sharp, like a sip of bark tea. “You too good for bounty hunting? Well, excuse me.”

Charles groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Isn’t like that. I just. I’m trying something new.”

Sadie rolled her eyes. “Ain't no reason you can't help around Marston’s ranch and earn yourself a little money.” She gestured to the half-built house, the piles of timbers and sacks of plaster. “Hell, how you think John’s paying this place off? I know y’all ain’t making any sort of profit yet.” 

Charles massaged his temples, willing away the oncoming tension headache. Sadie wasn’t wrong. Charles loved John, knew he needed to look after him for Arthur—at least until John was settled in with his family. But there would be an after, one day. Charles had learned one thing in his thirty-three years: no one stayed. 

He’d be watching his own back again, probably not too long from now. And it's a lot easier to do that when you had money. 

Charles sighed, pulling his hands from his face. He hooked his thumbs through his belt. “What’s the job?”

Sadie grinned, bitter and mean. “Man murdered his family, looks like,” she said, pulling away from the fence. “He’s wanted in Strawberry. Not even that far of a ride from here.”

Charles walked over to the little campsite, pulling his rucksack from his tent. It was already packed. He hesitated. “Kids?”

“A little girl, around ten. And a boy, round three.”

Charles pulled his tomahawk from under his bedroll, tucking it into his belt. He grabbed some of the nastier arrows—the poison wouldn’t kill a full grown man, but it’d make him suffer. 

Some men deserve to suffer. 

Charles stalked over to Falmouth, mounting him in one swift motion. “Lead the way.”

Sadie swung up onto her monster. “Good man,” she said, kicking her boot against Charles’s own as she trotted by. “Let’s see how rusty you’ve got, Mr. Smith.”

As they rode, Sadie interrogated him. 

“Talked to John a little, ‘bout you,” she yelled over the thundering of hooves. The earth was hard-packed and dusty in the Texarcana heat. “Heard things weren't going too well down in Saint Denis.”

“They weren’t,” Charles called back. “I’d only been there about a year, anyway. Job was going sour.” 

“How so?”

Charles laughed. It wasn’t a pretty sound. “Folks were only going to put up with me beating up white men for a living for so much longer.”

Sadie tossed a grin over her shoulder, knowing and vicious. She and Charles had different struggles in their lives. But there was a baseline understanding between them. Most of the gang had been dangerous for what they did. Of the ones who lived, Charles and Sadie were dangerous because of what they were. “Novelty was about to wear off, huh?”

Charles shook his head, whipping wayward hair from his face. “Yeah.”

Sadie turned back to the road, steering Hera around a sharp bend. “Before that?”

The road widened out. Charles urged Falmouth forward, riding till the two horses were running abreast. “Was up in Canada. Helped relocate the Wapiti after...” Charles paused. He had left with the Wapiti immediately after the attack on the oil refinery. Hadn’t even gone back to camp for the rest of his belongings, just taken what was on Taima’s back and. Left.

Charles had no idea if Sadie even knew why Charles had gone, what Arthur had told her.

“That kid,” Sadie asked, breaking Charles’s train of thought. “He died, didn’t he?” 

Charles swallowed, the dust from the road cloyingly sweet in his mouth. “Yes.”

Sadie steered Hera over a wooden bridge, hand on her rifle as she scanned each side for signs of an ambush. “I don’t think I understand what all happened with them,” she said. “There was so much going on, towards the end. Folks leaving, Arthur sick, that damn fool plan with the train—How did Dutch even get those folks wrapped up in our mess?”. 

“Same thing that happened to all of us,” Charles offered. “Dutch talked a good game, riled them up over things they were already angry about, got everyone in over their head, and was the only one who didn’t pay for it.” 

The rest of their ride continued in contemplative silence, broken only by the necessary shouts and calls needed to wrangle their bounty. The murderer was holed up in an abandoned cabin just a little north of town. Hardly worth hiring bounty hunters for, really. Except that the Strawberry sheriffs had always been corrupt, not to mention lazy. Some things don’t change. 

Still, working with Sadie again was worth it. It’d just been them those long months Arthur and the rest were lost in Guarma, presumed dead. Sure, the rest of the girls were still around and they pulled their weight. But none of them were as talented in violence—save Karen, maybe. 

 But she was too far gone over Sean to hold herself together, let alone anyone else.

It’s when they’d divvied up the bounty and stepped into the Strawberry saloon that Charles remembered why those months had been so damn stressful. Besides the Pinkertons, the hopeless fate of half their family, the deaths, John trapped in prison—

Sadie Adler’s temper had always been on a short fuze. 

And Charles, fool that he was, had always had a weakness for brave, impulsive idiots.  

A big, mean white man took exception to Charles drinking at the same bar as him. Sadie snapped off a sharp warning, stepping around Charles and squaring up to the man twice her size. Then the mean bastard took exception to Charles traveling with, being familiar with, a white woman. 

Sadie took exception to his exception, and her exception took the form of a knife straight through the man’s hand and into the scarred oak of the counter. 

They were riding hard out of town, ducking the odd shot from the posse riding too slow behind them, Sadie whooping wildly and shooting flawlessly over her back when Charles realized: he hadn’t had fun like that in six years.

They lost the posse in the hills by turning off on a razor thin trail, stashing the horses under an overhang and laying down in the tall grass. 

They lay there, panting, laughing, exhilarated. The stars were bright in the sky, glaring down through the clear West Elizabeth sky.

Eventually Sadie sobered, hoarse laughter falling silent. Charles could see her from the corner of his eye. She was still staring up at the stars, hair limned silver in the moonlight. She chewed on her words before breaking the peace. “You didn’t say goodbye.”

Charles took a breath, held it. “We had to leave before the Army arrived,” he said. He picked absently at the grass, crushing it dry and summer-sweet between his fingers. “The Wapiti. They were mostly women and children, the elderly. The sick.”

Sadie huffed, turning on her side, propping up on her elbow to glare down at him, hair frizzled into a messy halo behind her head, all lit up by moonglow. “Ya could of wrote,” she insisted. 

Charles kept his eyes fixed on the night sky, on the stars in their cold, beautiful distance. “To who?” he scoffed. “We all knew the gang was on its last legs. By the time we crossed the border into Canada I’d already seen the papers. Interesting, how they left you out of it.”

Sadie went quiet. She collapsed back beside him, thumping softly in the bent grass. “Is that how you found out?” 

A copy of The New Hanover had been pinned to the wooden wall of the trading shack where Charles was selling pelts for food and medicine. He’d left for Beaver Hollow the next day. “Yes.”

Sadie sucked air through her teeth. “I went back, few years later,” she muttered. Her boot knocked against his, a rough comfort. “You uh. You did a good job, Charles,” she said. Her fingers sought his in the tall grass, brushing against his lightly. Like she was scared to spook him, maybe. “We watched the sun come up together. He woulda liked it.” 

Charles drew his hand back, pressing it over his heart. The hollow, dull ache that lived in his heart sharpened, brightened. A fresh cut on an old scar. “He’d have liked it better if he’d lived.” 

Sadie made a noise, propping back up on her elbow to lean over him. “You know that ain’t his fault,” she frowned at him. “The man was sick, Charles.” 

Charles’s head hurt. His whole body did, in a cold, numb way. This wasn’t the burning, searing grief at the bottom of Lenny’s shallow grave. It was older, rooted deeper down. “Don’t,” he rasped. Grit from the road coated the back of his throat. “Just, don’t.” 

Sadie charged on, implacable. “You know he wasn’t gonna leave without John.”

The stars were so bright. Charles could feel the headache building, like a creature clawing out through his temples. “They could have left together,” he snapped at her. “We all could have left together, before the bank. All of that mess in Lemoyne—none of it had to happen. Arthur didn’t stay for John—he stayed for Dutch.” 

Sadie scrubbed her free over her face. “The man raised him,” she tried. The excuse was hollow, empty. Even she didn’t buy it.

Charles turned on his side, faced Sadie properly through the tall grass and moonlight. “Don’t give me that, Sadie. Not you.” 

“Fine, Charles! He was a fool!” She threw her hand up in the air, exasperated. “He was scared, he was foolish, and he loved Dutch because he was an idiot.” Sadie fixed him with a glare. “There, did that make you happy, big man? Speaking ill of the dead?” 

It didn’t. “I shouldn’t be speaking of him at all,” Charles said instead. “That’s not how—we’re supposed to let go. It’s been years.”

“You loved him,” she insisted.

“Look at how much that mattered,” Charles said, anger furrowing his brow, burning low in his stomach. Had he ever let himself be angry, with Arthur, with the choices they made? “What did loving him buy me, besides a heart that broke twice?”

Sadie’s eyes softened, understanding dawning warm and terrible. “I know that’s not how you really feel,” she said. Sadie reached out, again, with careful fingers. When Charles didn’t stop her she tucked the hair plastered to Charles sweaty forehead back, away from his eyes.

It was the first gentleness anyone had touched him with since he left the Wapiti for Saint Denis. Charles’s breath caught in his throat, trapped, terrified. Vulnerable. 

It would have hurt less if she’d socked him in the stomach.

“You don’t ride back from Canada, on your own, to bury a man who you hated,” Sadie continued. Her calloused hand settled on his jaw, thumb behind his ear. She held him steady, made him look her in the eye. “You don’t spend a year of your life helping his kid brother get his family back.”

“Arthur didn’t need me, at the end,” Charles managed. “Rain Falls needed me—and then they didn’t. No one did.”

“Why Saint Denis, Charles? You hated it there,” Sadie asked, resigned. She already knew the answer. She was being cruel, making him face it out loud.

Charles swallowed. No one had ever accused Sadie Adler of being kind. 

“I was waiting to die.” 

Sadie nodded. Yes, of course. “And all this with John? What next, once he doesn’t need you?”

Charles glared at her, mouth tight and stubborn. 

Sadie laughed in his face. “You and Arthur,” she sighed, shaking her head. “You were made for one another, weren’t ya? No understanding how to live in this world for yourselves.” 

“You’re one to talk,” Charles shot back. 

“I’m happy with my life,” Sadie said firmly. “I had love, but I never wanted a family. I just wanted Jake. He’s gone. So I’m doing what makes me happy.” She paused, staring down at him, considering. “What makes you happy, Charles? You’re the most competent, most stubborn man I know. What do you really want? You know no one could stop you from getting it.”

Charles shook his head. “I have no idea,” he admitted. He climbed to his feet, offering Sadie a hand. She accepted, pulling herself to her feet. She kept hold of his hand, squeezing tight.  

“Don’t stop looking,” she commanded. “What you were doin’ in Saint Denis, waiting to die? You’re better than that, Charles Smith.”

Charles shook his head, pulling Sadie into a one armed hug. Grief, Arthur, his life—they hadn’t solved any of it, laying out in a field and snapping at one another under the stars. 

But the wound hurt a little less, like a lanced infection. 

“I hope so, Mrs. Adler,” Charles said into the mess of Sadie’s hair. She chuckled into his chest, punched him half-heartedly in the arm. They separated, fetching and mounting their horses. 

They separated at the fork in the trail. Sadie headed east, back to her base camp just outside Valentine. She had work to do, bounties to catch. The world may have been more ‘civilized’ in 1907 than it was in 1899, but work was still plentiful for a rider and marksman of Sadie Adler’s skill. 

Charles rode west towards Beecher’s Hope, sun rising over his shoulder.

                                             --------------------------------

A/N: Charles and Sadie are my favorites, and they should have spent more time with one another. They're not exactly similar people, but they've been through many of the same trials. 

I also think they were both done a disservice by the epilogue. Charles's feelings regarding the gang's collapse are largely unexplored, despite him canonically being the one to have buried Lenny, Hosea, Mrs. Grimshaw, and Arthur. 

We also don't get a good explanation for why Charles ended up in Saint Denis as part of a fighting ring. Certain lines from Charles--"It seems like I was put on this Earth to hurt and to suffer myself"--have always led me to believe that he suffers from suicidal ideations. Him ending up in Saint Denis, surrounded by people who wish him harm, reads to me like a sort of 'death by cop' form of suicide.

On the subject of Charles's heritage: Rockstar is a trash fire, so beyond being half-Black and half-Native we have very few clues about Charles's culture and his history. I settled on a particular band (the Kotsoteka, or 'buffalo eaters') of the Comanche who would have had a decent amount of contact with Black Freemen post-Civil war. They live in Oklahoma and Texas, buffalo are a central part of their traditional lifestyle, and one of their mourning traditions involves shaving their heads in a manner similar to Charles's hairstyle change post-Guarma arc.

 I'm white and if anyone has constructive comments about my inclusion of Kotsoteka funerary traditions I'm happy to hear and act on them.

The Oquenda was the name of a Cuban trading ship from the 1870's. It was primarily used to transport indentured Chinese workers to the Cuban sugar plantations.

[willow-salix]

Why hello there

Is there anything you would recommend a babi witch like myself studying that has been missed from my list :>

Mah list (so far):

○ Witch vs Pagan vs Wicca

○ Types of witches

○ Grey witch

○ Black witch

○ Crystals + Properties

○ Sacred geometry

○ Pentacle + Pentagram

○ Sigils

○ Protection

○ Moon phases

○ Sabbats

○ Types of salts

○ Respecting nature

○ Graveyard etiquette

○ Spirit guides

○ Divination (runes, Tarot, Coins, etc)

○ Casting a circle

○ Candle magick

○ Colour magick

○ Closed practice appropriation

○ Herbs

○ Astrology

○ Tree of life

○ Auras

○ The five clairs

○ Energy/visualisation magick

○ History of starseeds

○ Astral projection

○ Methods of meditation

○ Grounding

○ Plant magick

Ooh OK! Here goes.

First and foremost, as a witch of twenty plus years, the most important thing I can tell you is to be yourself. If this is a belief system and way of life that you want for life it has to fit in with you and your personality.

Forget everything you see on Instagram, tictok or Pinterest, it's not about the aesthetic, it's about you.

There is no room for witch shaming on my blog.

And by that I mean that EVERYONE works in different ways, at a different pace and to different levels. Never compare yourself to anyone else or how they work. Never think that you aren't doing enough or that you aren't progressing enough.

You are on your own path and that is the right one for you, so you do it your own way. You want to stop and smell the flowers? Do it. You want to dip your feet in that stream? Go for it! You want to stop and rest for a bit? Best idea ever!

You should never feel pressured to do anything that you aren't ready for or aren't comfortable with. That includes such things as blood magic, working with deity you don't feel a connection with, working skyclad, doing any kind of sexual magic or anything that makes you feel off about it. It's YOUR craft.

Be kind to yourself, don't have expectations and don't ever think you aren't good enough or worthy.

This includes making your craft unique to you. Visualisation is one of the witches most poweful tools, the magic doesn't come from the expensive athame, insence or candles, its in the heart of the witch. The power comes from you. And visualisation is your key to that but so is choosing how to make it work for you.

Take me for example, I'm this loveable thundernerd witch, so that reflects in my craft.

In circle (mediumship development) we did a meditation and I was directed to the beach. So what beach did I go to...

"There's a lovely beach, I can feel the salt water on my skin, I can smell the salt in the air, there's a light breeze that's rustling the leaves on the palm trees all around me and in the distance I can hear the faint sound of someone playing the piano."

Hell yeah I was there. That's my happy place!

I need to ascend to a higher level of consciousness? Am I taking that golden winding staircase or am I calling John for the space elevator? What do you think I'm gonna choose?

I need to go lower, below the earth to go into trance? Hell I'm taking Alan's seat down.

Make it work for you.

Working with charms, that's a very important thing for me. I have lucky charms, trinkets and things everywhere. And they don't have to be pagan. I put a spell on my car to keep me safe and the car safe. Then I charged up a little TAG John and Virgil, they live in my car, Virgil is my co-pilot John is my navigator. They help me feel calm and safe.

Energy weaving is a big thing, I always do it that any energy I raise for something that doesn't already have a predetermined purpose, say for example it's full moon and I'm bouncing around outside, everything I raise I direct out to the earth as healing. I'll raise my arms to the heavens and say : I send this energy out to anyone or anything that needs it right now, I send my love and healing into the wind and trust that it will be taken to where it can do the mslt good.

Talking to other witches about how they do things and how they work is sooooo important. That's why I'm not in a tradition ( alexandrian, gardnerian etc) because I don't like having just one way to do things. That doesn't work for most people, they just won't admit it.

Trying different things to find a way that works for you is so much nicer and healthier than struggling to work the one way that you've been taught. So read, a lot, watch a lot of reputable youtubers (I recommend Tylluan Penry, she's amazing, a grandmother witch and a good friend of mine) and make your own choices. And remember that nothing is set in stone, we are ever evolving and every changing, if you feel the urge to try something new and work a different way, do it. You don't have to stick with it.

An astral altar, sooo important but something I don't see many people talking about. An astral altar is something you build in meditation.

You have your happy place, somewhere you feel safe and calm and protected (Tracy Island and the beach for me or my Nan and Grandads house as I remember it before they passed away) but it could be anywhere, a woodland, a house, a stream, a playground you used to love. Anything or anywhere.

Here you find a nice place that you like and you dream up /visualise your altar base, like a nice table, a tree stump, and rock, anything. And here you place all the items you might need, all the things you've dreamed about that you can't afford or the things you have in real life. And you place them all there. You keep that space, you charge it up, you spend time there and then, any time you are away form home or can't get to your altar in the real world for any reason, you have somewhere to go, somewhere to work and some where to commune.

Tools, I didn't see that on the list but might have missed it.

Anything can be a tool. That's the biggest lesson of all. Our pagan ancestors would have used whatever they had to hand, no tools were single use or bought for the purpose of their craft. A cauldron was cooked in all week, a knife is used to chop everything and then used to direct energy.

These days we have the resources (and don't have to hide) to be able to have specific tools that we use only for our craft, but they don't have to be expensive. Go to a thrift store or buy cheap on eBay, a letter opener is an athame, a single wine glass can be a chalice, a pretty bowl is your offering bowl, a single plate is an offering plate, mismatched candle stick holders. All valid and will work just as well. The tools are a focus, they are NOT the source of our power.

Another tip, make witchcraft part of your every day life. Make it as natural and normal as everything else you do. It's part of your life and should be treated as such.

Making coffee in the morning? Set your intentions for the day and focus on it as you make it. You want to draw positivity? Stir doesil (clockwise) that's attracting. Want to rid yourself of the bad mood you had yesterday? Stir widdershins (counterclockwise) that's banishing. Not got anything? Stir a pentagram and call it good.

Sigils, doodle them everywhere (if you want a quick lesson on how to draw them and make up your own, let me know). Charm the shit out of everything.

Whisper a food blessing before you make food or eat. Bring that abundance in.

Trail your fingers along a wall or bushes to feel the energy as you walk.

Everything is magical to a witch.

Read mythology stories, it helps us learn and helps us connect to the stories of our pantheons and deity.

And heres the biggest thing I can tell you. Don't worry about getting things wrong. It's how we learn and honestly there is no such thing as wrong as long as your intentions are right.

Wording of spells doesn't matter, the intention and feeling behind them does.

You can do a cleansing by saying : Blessed spirit, Father God, mother goddess, I ask that you bless this house/tool /space and help drive out any negativity. Spirits that reside, if you're good you may stay, if you wish me halm, then please leave.

Nothing wrong with that.

Or you do a me: Mother Goddess, Father God, I'm back. Help me out here please, I need to cleanse this shit. Yo, spirits, good guys, ya chill, bad shit, get the fuck out! I'm the witch I'm in charge, do as you're told *claps hands all over the place and follows up with a cloud of vape smokes because my intention is in my breath and I'm blowing that negativity away*

And last but not least. I'm sure you've heard "Ever mind the rule of three, what you send out comes back to thee" That's very true, try to only send out good if you can. But you're human and it won't always happen, you'll have bad thoughts and negative emotions, that's normal and fine. Just don't do it with nastiness in your heart.

"and if it harms none, do what you will."

There's a line here most people don't know... "do no harm. But take no shit."

Because the one person most witches forget to look out for is themselves. Being good, doing good and being positive is great, but not at the expense of yourself. If it harms you, don't do it.

Love and light, and bright blessings to you. X

[daintykeith]

DESERVING

Title: Deserving

Summary: A one-shot love story featuring Arthur Morgan and John Marston in which John struggles to understand Arthur's new behavior around camp.

Word count: 1.6k+

Notes: mild cursing | feedback is appreciated!!!

Tags: @southernlynxx @rdr-secret-cupid

I’m your secret cupid, @southernlynxx !!! I'm so sorry this took forever dear; the past few weeks have been totally insane and out of my hands to control. I chose your first wish and decided to mix it up with some good reassurance (happy) angst which i found fitting for the theme; 

John trying to understand & accept Arthur’s affection around camp! I hope you enjoy it, happy late Saint Valentine’s day!!!

P.D → I was inspired by this photo I took in my game! Totally worth it.

John never thought it would be like this.

At first, it was awkward—maybe bizarre. But that was just the beginning.

As the sun rose from the West, John walked out of his tent like a dead man; dark bags under his eyes and scratching his side, yawning without shame. Thirty minutes of sleep—or less—felt great. Just what he needed, right? Taking guarding rounds at night for the past few weeks to avoid him. Yes, that man. The one who had become his greatest relief and headache at the same time, Arthur Fucking Morgan.

While John agonized, Arthur was at his best. Refreshed, clean, and glowing like a damn pearl who had found its way to the surface, gleaming under the Sun—too shiny for John’s liking. Thankfully, his tormenting and seductive eyes were nowhere to be found yet. But, why was John avoiding him as if he was a pest? It’s complicated, you’ll understand later on.

John walked to the empty soup cauldron and grabbed the coffee pot next to it and a metallic cup nearby. He sighed as he sipped from the coffee he had just poured himself; feeling the smoke coming off his mouth like locomotor steam. He needed it to be functional, it had become his coal and main source of energy.

He stood next to the fire in the common area, waiting for Dutch to give a speech he had asked everyone the night before to hear. Why the hell would he give a speech so early in the morning when even the rooster hadn’t yet given his call to the sky? He wondered, staring his distorted reflection in the coffee in his hand.

It was a quiet morning, everyone who woke up, quickly waved at John and left to grab a coffee, or so it remained until the feared one appeared. He walked graciously without effort, his shirt had some buttons undone that showed his chest and collarbone, looking like a damn angel. He rinsed his face and John saw with detail from afar how every drop of water dripped down his face and neck. It made him thirsty. That man was no other than Arthur Morgan.

Arthur ran his hand through his hair and over his nape. To John, that man could’ve been the Devil himself walking on Earth, an angel who had fallen from Heaven for his ego. He was too full of himself, afly in making everyone blush in a moment’s notice. Before John could realize, Arthur was staring at the red in his cheeks and grinned, satisfied from his reaction.

“Damn you!” John whispered, looking anywhere but at him as he burned his tongue and narrowed his eyes.

Arthur, with his smug grin, quickly grabbed his coffee and sat next to the fire a few feet away from John, who didn’t know Arthur was just mesmerized with his foolishness, head over heels for a stubborn and reckless but loveable little piece of shit—a nickname truthful to his nature. A true rascal! Against his better judgement and all prognostics, an all-standing jinx befell upon him like rain in a desert.

He admired John from the ground, his strong jawline, the scars on his cheek that ran to his nose and the corner of his lips. However, his foul mouth didn’t catch up with his beauty—quick witted and far too fast for his train of thought that always got him in trouble. Arthur drank from his coffee and looked at John in the eye who, this time, didn’t turn their gaze away but held it dearly.

“What are you thinkin’ about?” John asked with his raspy voice, trying to sound uninterested but contradicted by the widened pupils in his curious eyes.

A walking contradiction, Arthur thought with a grin. “Wanna’ know?” He took a long swig of his cup and let it sit in his lap.

John hesitated for a moment.  "No." Nevermind.

The blue-greened eye man cleaned the corner of his mouth with his thumb and licked it and slightly blushed. "What a shame."

John couldn't stop staring Arthur, something had lit in the corner of his mind.

"Anyway, what does Dutch want this early in the morning?"

"Don't know, don't care."  Arthur rolled his eyes and looked at his feet.

John gulped, bothered by Arthur's sudden behavior to which he decided to blind the eye on.

"He's been acting... strange," John mutters, making a long pause.

He was right. Dutch had changed; it was the gleam in the eye he had always told them to not have—those of an ambition far too great, burned by being too close to the Sun. Everybody had noticed but kept quiet, making a silent agreement in not talking about the matter. John had a hunch of what it meant, but also kept quiet.

"No more than you; what's going on with ya'? Did the wolves eat the brain whole? You've been avoiding me!"

Did he notice? He knew he wasn't hiding the fact so well, but admitting it hurt his pride.

"The hell you sayin'?! No, I haven't!"

Arthur smiled in response, as if it was the answer he was expecting.

"Why?"

John narrowed his eyes.

"Why what?"

"You know."

He stood up, spilt the coffee left in his cup into the fire and slowly walked to John. His body swung with temptation, a fierce cat-walk with a daring look in his eyes.  John felt like his feet were stuck to the ground, unable to take just one step aside to avoid the storm walking straight to him. His metallic eyes were bewitched by  Arthur's; he sure knew how to charm him every damn time.

He didn't stop until he towered over John, trapping him with his voluptuous figure.

"Why are you so shy?" He whispered to John in the ear with a burning breath that heated and tinted his cheeks in deep red.

John forgot how to breath. He was so close that he felt their bodies touch and their minds collide.

"I, uh..."

"you what, dear?"

How shameless could the bastard be? Didn't he have any limit?

"I don't wanna talk here; let's go somewhere else." John imposed in a soft mutter.

"Alright."

They went to John's tent taking hands. They were cramped in such a small place, where their breathing burned eachother's skin and only a dim light shined through the entrance. A long pause arrived when the world had seemed to stop rotating and time had gone somewhere else, making everything but them oblivious and unimportant.

"I don't understand why are you doing this," John said with long sigh, finally giving in.

John rested his head in Arthur's shoulder, feeling his body finally relax after the tense moment.

"I thought we were a secret, ya' know?" he muttered, "a thing only you and I knew. Our thing."

Arthur combed his fingers through John's black hair, softly caressing the back of his head and humming in agreement.

"I don't seem to understand why you smile at me every time you see me or why you, like, want to touch me every time you can—or when you look at me like that."

"Does it make you uncomfortable?"

"No! I, ugh... I don't know."

Arthur chuckled. “I get it.”

John sighed in relief. Did it mean he would stop acting weird? I mean, Arthur would always be a bastard no matter how you look at it, but he called it an improvement.

“I'm sorry” he continued ”, but there's no stopping me in loving you.”

What. In. The. World. That's not what he meant!

“Arthur, you're not listening—”

“Every damn word, of course I do...”

“Then why are you doing this?!” John buried his head deeper, frustrated. “I'm an asshole, okay, I get it. But that's not a reason for you to do this to me.” Enchanting me, making me drunk with every word you whisper. Damn you.

“John, I—”

“I don't deserve it.”

A long silence between them came to be except for the more recurrent footsteps outdoors, stumping into the grass and dirt. John held tighter to Arthur, who stepped back only to take a closer look to his face, eye to eye.

“Listen closely, you little piece of shit.”

John flinched to the sudden grab by his collar, wanting to look away but Arthur only held his gaze closer.

"There's no denying that you are an idiot— but my idiot. I'm a fool myself, an old dirty bastard that's only getting older with every day that goes by, thinking that I'm the happiest man alive every damn time I look at you and even though I know I don't deserve it either. I ain't a good man, John. And you fucking know it." He grabbed his collar stronger as if it was a threat, with that dead look in his eyes that had seen the deeds their owner had done.

After Arthur realized what he did, he let John go.

“If it was about deserving, John, you would've never been mine."

He gently took John's hand laid it in his face, placing a gentle kiss in the back of his hand.

John couldn't speak a word. His mind had gone blank except for the beautiful image of Arthur lovingly playing with his fingers, laying kisses in the tip of his fingers, and the words that uttered in the corners of his mind, echoing Arthur's whispers.

"I'm sorry, John. But I beg you, let this damn fool love you and show it to you."

John placed his hand in Arthur's earlobe. As if both had read their minds, they looked into each other's eyes before leaning into a soft, gentle kiss.

Their kisses never tasted sweet. It was rough, with sweat and blood that was so common in there lives. Neither of them deserved the sweet taste of paradise, but they were making one of their own.

“You make me feel like a fool, Arthur.”

“You too.”

John wished this moment lasted forever. He wanted to enjoy the moment when their souls had gotten closer, but a voice outside called.

“Arthur, John, Where are you?!” Dutch called, irritated of waiting.

They separated and held each other's gaze for a moment.

“We should go,” John whispered tenderly as he rolled he eyes.

“Let's go,” Arthur chuckled.

Arthur gently held John's hand before heading out of the tent, ready for the world.

[blinder-secrets]

#18 & #19 - John

‘Don’t look her in the eyes. She might steal your soul.’ & ‘Neither one of us is drunk enough to have this conversation.’

prompt list

The room is loud when you enter, filled with laughter and heavy-handed chatter. It isn’t usually a quiet den when occupied by the full Shelby register, but they do seem lighter than normal, chipper like they’ve won something. Why is none of your business, though it does bode well for you in terms of tips. 

‘Ere she is,’ Arthur booms at your arrival. ‘Our lovely y/n.’ 

You didn’t have to say anything; simply appearing as you are, with a freshly filled bucket of ale, is enough to get a warm welcome from them.

‘As ordered, Arthur,’ you reply, thankful to set the thing down. ‘Who’s first?’ 

He holds his glass up without comment. As you take it from him John catches your eye, like he always does, but you look away quickly - you’re working after all. You can’t let yourself get distracted, especially by the likes of John Shelby. The spilt beer wouldn’t be worth it.

You put Arthur’s drink back in place and pick up Johnny Dogs’ in turn, happy to be filling their next round for them. It isn’t the easiest job, but it has its perk, and waiting on the Shelbys’ private room is one of them. Generally, it's a gentler pace in here. They don’t bark orders at you when you’re busy, or question your knowledge of spirits. If they’re talking serious matters, they sit quiet and let you do your duties around them, and when it’s a social gathering like today, they talk to you like a friend.

‘I was wondering, right,’ Arthur starts, looking at you with already glazed eyes, ‘how something as pretty as yourself, stays sane in a place like this?’

Your eyebrows lift. ‘The Garrison, or Birmingham?’

John snorts. He’s sitting back in the bench, his hands linked atop his lap. He’s doing practically nothing, yet you catch yourself looking, and then looking again.

‘Here,’ Arthur grunts. ‘The Garrison.’

‘She’s hardly gonna say anything, is she, Arthur?’ John answers for you. ‘You own the bloody place.’ 

‘Yeah? Well consider it a survey, ay, for my dearest employees.’

Tommy sighs from the seat on your left, showing interest for the first time since you’d entered. ‘She likes it well enough, Arthur, or she wouldn’t be here.’ 

‘I do,’ you agree with smile. ‘I like my job.’

He lifts his hand, gesturing to them that see, you do just fine here. 

‘The men don’t bother ya?’ Arthur continues, insistent in his curiosity. 

It’d be a lie to say yes; sure, there are exceptions, but most of the men are smart enough to watch their words here. Half of them are too scared of the Shelbys to do anything other than order a drink and leave, and the rest make the assumption that any woman present is already spoken for. 

‘Men are always a bother,’ you answer, opting for the lightest route, ‘it’s nothing I can’t handle.’

‘Yeah,’ John chips in, boisterous in their company, ‘don’t look her in the eyes, they say. She might steal your fuckin’ soul.’ He grins, pleased with the chorus of half-laughs around him, and then settles his gaze upon you again. 

You would laugh with them, but you find yourself frowning slightly. He’s always been keen on you, but never so forward, and never so strangely assumptive. You can’t place your finger on it, but there’s something different about him today.

‘Alright, John,’ Tommy says, leaning to tap his cigarette into the nearest ash tray. ‘She’s still on the job. I’ll have another, love.’

You smile and take the glass he’s recently emptied. ‘And stealing poor men’s souls isn’t in my contract, is it Mr. Shelby?’ 

He shrugs. ‘What you do in your own time has nothing to do with me.’

Before you can reply, John’s speaking again, and watching you closely. ‘Speaking of,’ he says, ‘ what’re you doing later?’

                                      ----------------------------------

After recovering from the initial embarrassment, and the flushing of your cheeks, you’d told him nothing: you were doing nothing, so, yes, you’d meet him for a drink. God know’s what you were thinking when you did. 

It’s been two hours since then, and an hour since your shift finished, though it doesn’t feel like it. You’re keeping his company in the now empty private room and, to your surprise, you're enjoying yourself. 

‘You want another?’ John asks from opposite.

You shake your head. ‘I don’t really like beer.’ You only drank the last one out of politeness. 

‘Ay?’ He frowns deeply. ‘Why din’t you say?’

‘You didn’t ask.’ He’d put the glass in front of you the minute you’d sat down, and then again with the second. ‘I’ll have a gin though, if you’re offering.’

He grins, leaving with a slight spring in his gait. Whether it’s from the amount he’s drank, or the fact you are willingly prolonging your time with him, you don’t know. But when he returns, fresh drinks in hand, he’s still smiling. 

‘I told them I’d get you out with me, you know, an they din’t believe me.’

‘Really?’ You can only assume they refers to his brothers. ‘Why?

He shrugs, landing clumsily in the bench-seat. ‘Thought you were above us.’

You laugh once, not believing that either of the older Shelbys would think that. Or even that they’d think that you would think that. In fact, it’s hard to believe that the Shelbys thought anything of you at all. They had no reason to.  

‘Thats... so far from true, John,’ you say, stumped for a better response. 

‘That’s what I said.’ He tuts, looking down to pick a cigarette from the box in his palm. ‘Always fuckin’ doubting me.’

You smile, half-resenting how easily he made you do that. ‘Doubting your charm, I’m sure.’

‘Exactly. No faith in the sport.’ He lights the cigarette, taking a long drag like he’s hungry for it. You can’t stop yourself from watching, it’s so captivating that you forget to challenge him on his last statement; too mesmerised and lazy from the drink to ask if sport meant women, and if women meant you. 

He pulls you back into conversation by asking, ‘If you had to pick, yeah, between us Shelbys, who’d you pick?’

You blink. ‘For what?’ 

‘Y’know...’ He shrugs, attempting to play it off, leaving you to fill the blanks. 

You scoff and reach for the gin. You don’t remember sitting down with a schoolboy, but the more he drinks the worse he gets. ‘Neither one of us is drunk enough to have this conversation’, you tell him, laughing from behind your glass. When you take a sip, the alcohol singes your throat and for a second you miss the sourness of beer. 

‘What if I am?’ he says back. He’s serious, like he’s offended.

‘Then you don’t hold you alcohol well.’

‘Go on,’ he insists, ‘tell me.’

‘Why? What does it matter?’ 

He tuts and takes another drink. His cheeks are rosy, his lids heavy. The cigarette burns away between his fingers.  After a long moment, he says, ‘I thought you could handle yourself, you know.’

You recoil. ‘What d’you mean?’

‘With men. You’ve gone all shy with me.’

‘I definitely have not.’

‘Then why won’t you answer?’ he asks. ‘Pick one.’

‘Fine.’ You set your jaw, holding his gaze for a second. There’s no smooth way out of this, no answer that’ll save face. ‘You.’

It takes every ounce of strength to stop his stupid boyish ego from grinning, you can see it in the fidget of his lips. ‘There,’ he says, ‘that wasn’t hard.’ 

‘Do you feel better for it?’ you sneer back, rolling your eyes as you reach for your drink. In your mind, picking him was the obvious answer, the only answer, he’s the only one your age. At least, that’s the reasoning you decide to stick with.

‘Yeah, actually.’ He’s finally allowed himself to smile; it shows itself as a smirk, lazy and draped from cheek to cheek. ‘I win.’

‘No you don’t.’ You snort a laugh. ‘This is all hypothetical. If I had to pick, you said.’

‘Yeah, yeah.’ He brings the cigarette to his lips again. ‘You had to, you did, and I won. Easy, innit?’

‘You’re ridiculous.’ He was getting cocky, each quick remark adding fuel to his already steaming locomotive. ‘Picking you over them doesn’t mean anything.’

‘I’ll believe you when you can say it without blushing,’ he answers, barely missing a beat. 

You eye him carefully. It didn’t feel like you were blushing, but there’s enough alcohol in you now to betray your senses like that. Instead of answering, you finish your glass, and put it down firmly once it’s empty. He cocks an eyebrow.

‘Well?’ you start. ‘Aren’t you going to get me another?’

‘You’re changing the subject.’

‘I am,’ you agree. ‘But if you want me to stop being shy, I’m gonna have to get a lot drunker.’

He doesn’t hesitate; he shakes his head once, but gets up regardless. He’s either too intoxicated, or too hopeful, to question what you were implying. And, honestly, you’re glad - you haven’t worked it out either yet. 

[photolover82]

The Masked Singer Season 4 Episode 2: Group B kicking it off... with a twist!! Guesses and Commentary

Hello my fellow Masked Singer guys and gals! It's that time of the week again (albeit I am a bit late, but let's go with it), time for Ana's Masked Singer recap woohoo! *insert fanfare here* This episode was such an insane one not gonna lie, Group B came in with a bang like wow... let's just get into it because it's a crazy episode in it of itself.

Firstly, I gotta point out the contestants of Group B, which this time were 6 unlike A and C which only have 5 contestants total.. and those 6 are (order from left to right, top row first then bottom row in the image below) Crocedile, Gremlin (the purple fluffy guy), Seahorse, Whatchamacallit (the blue and red hair cousin It thing), Baby Alien, and Serpent.

Alrighty so this elimination is gonna be a bit different than usual because it isn't the norm of what usually happens with these sorts of things (I'll tell you what I mean in a sec)...

So the first contestant unmasked for Group B actually wasn't eliminated (I know what you are thinking... "whaaatttt Anaaaaa that makes no sense")... but actually he unmasked himself (whatttt?! yeah you read that right, he legit was hot and suffocating and he seemed super over it and just took it off by himself... yup, that happened like what mind blown!

Anyways the mask who did this was...

*DRUMROLL PLEASE*

THE GREMLIN

Performance: He sang Stand by Me by Ben E. King and honestly it was meh, it was really breathy as if he forgot some of the words, I don’t know if he was overcome with emotion (because he dedicated it to his friend who passed away) or what, I felt kind of bad but I low key feel like he was going to go home regardless, but on the bright side I love the costume and it was a great song choice for his range. He has a very raspy voice... like almost like a smoker’s voice and I can kind of tell that he’s an older man, but I couldn’t recognize the singer. 

So the Gremlin ended up being revealed to be.... 

*DRUMROLL PLEASE*

MICKEY ROURKE 

Ugh this upsets me because I don’t know who he is so I really couldn’t guess him correctly. I searched it up and apparently he’s an actor and director and was in Iron Man 2, which I’ve never seen like ever. But yeah, he did good, he looked kinda drunk not gonna lie and I guess he was suffocated and got over it. 

Alright now that that’s out of the way, let’s get to my favorite part, the remaining 5 contestants: 

1. THE SEAHORSE

Performance: I really love Seahorse, she’s one of my favorites of the night and so far in the season in general. Her performance of Rihanna’s Only Girl in the World was amazing and I definitely knew who that voice is...

My guess and I am so sure about this guys is singer, songwriter, American Idol alum... 

TORI KELLY 

Dude like that voice is so recognizable... but also because of the clues: 

Emotion Ocean= she’s super emotional when it comes to songwriting, like she legit said in an interview that she cries a lot

Tea Party= she hosted tea parties with her fans in 2019 (well before all this ofc) 

Rainbow Frog= sang Rainbow Connection with Kermit the Frog 

Judges’ Guesses: 

Jenny: Halsey (say what now? This doesn’t sound like her... is Jenny ok? This episode she’s been messing up with guesses more than Ken... you’ll see what I mean) 

Nicole: Hailee Steinfeld (meh, that’s ok I guess, but not quite) 

Robin: Bebe Rexha (he was onto something when he said country but then he said this, but this is the closest guess of the 3)  

2. THE SERPENT 

Performance: This one is my other favorite of this group. His performance of “I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles)” by The Proclaimers was absolutely stunning, I got chills! If it is who I think it is, I love him (partially because I think I know who it can be) 

I think the Serpent can be actor of the iconic Broadway sensation Hamilton aka Aaron Burr, Sir:

LESLIE ODOM JR. 

Dude like I feel pretty good about this guess because of the voice and the clues:

Map of the Caribbean= reference to the beginning of Hamilton where Alexander Hamilton is from

Jr. References= he’s a jr. 

Between medicine & music= he played a doctor on Murder on the Orient Express in 2017

Number 31118 (this was from the Sunday before the premiere but still worth noting)= 3 albums, 11 stage productions, 18 years on Broadway OR bible verse Romans 3:11-18 which was written by Paul, a character he played on Rent

Judges’ Guesses:

Jenny: John Legend (See what I’m saying? Jenny, what are you doing man? That is not John Legend, like they don’t sound alike at all) 

Ken: Daveed Diggs (Wow! Ken got it kinda close, I’m proud, that’s an achievement for him we gotta give it to him) 

Nicole: Leslie Odom Jr. (WOOOO!! Yesss Nicole!!) 👏🏼

3. THE CROCODILE 

Performance: I also really liked Crocodile and his performance of It’s My Life by Bon Jovi was great! I feel like I know who this is, and I am pretty familiar (well, more or less) with 90s and early 2000s boybands and this one is someone in that realm I am so sure of it... 

Ok so being more specific, I think it’s boybander from The Backstreet Boys: 

NICK CARTER 

The voice and the clues were a dead giveaway:

The Vegas vibes in the clue package= he performed in Vegas with Backstreet Boys 

Water clues (the water slide and happiest in water)= he was born in Orlando, FL home of the theme parks and FL is also some of the Gators so it would makes sense with the costume

Grew up in Hollywood= moved there when really young

Judges’ Guesses:

Ken: John Hamm (and he’s back, that was a terrible guess)

Nicole: Nick Lachey (so close, but not quite)

Robin: Donnie Wahlberg (um, Jenny agreed, how does she not know that this ain’t your husband?!) 

4. THE WHATCHAMACALLIT

Performance:  His performance of “I Wish” by Skee-Lo was good, not my favorite, but I didn’t hate it. I am kind of feeling that it’s an athlete due to the height and also how he speaks. 

So this guess is an idea I got from the Internet (subject to change because I have no clue about sports players): 

Rashad Jennings?

The only thing I got from the clues was:

Dancing with Stars= he won DWTS 

Clues IDK

Orange Jelly= ?

The clock with the Bear Mask on the 5= ? 

Swinging Keys= ?

Judges’ Guesses:

Nicole= Swiss Beats (meh idk) 

Ken: Damon Lillard (I like this guess, tbh.. I kinda agree with it being a sports player)

Robin: Tyler the Creator (that would be cool but I don’t think so) 

5. THE BABY ALIEN

Performance: His performance of Faith by George Micheals was good too, better than I expected for the costume ngl. I had pretty low expectations but I am pleasantly surprised. He isn’t my favorite by any means and I am also a bit stumped by him especially because of that fake Russian accent, but I am in between 2 people at the moment....

The 2 people I am in between are either Ventriloquist Jeff Dunham or actor 

JASON SEGEL 

It kinda sounds like him and the clues are a bit confusing but there’s one I understand too:

Tony Awards Reference= he’s been on Broadway 

The mask’s a puppet and Segel is a big fan of puppets (He was also in the Muppets movie) 

CLUES IDK 

Space clues= ?

Friends Reference (2nd Gear)= ?

Ferris Beuller references= ?

Judges’ Guesses:

Jenny: Ralph Macchio (meh I guess that’s good) 

Nicole: David Schwimmer (not bad, but idk it doesn’t really sound like it)

Ken: Freddie Prinze Jr. (ya, no) 

Alright so that’s it! I am so sorry for it being late, but better late than never... I’ve been pretty busy so hopefully this weekend I will have tonight’s episode recap up... THANK YOU FOR READING AND I WILL SEE YOU IN THE NEXT ONE *blows kiss* byeeee! 

[cauliflowercounty]

You’re Not Alone Pt. II

Warnings:  None!  Some Fluff/A Little Angst.  Enjoy!

Clyde’s been home for a while, but doesn’t have a job yet.  The reader sees a listing on a bulletin board and makes a move. 

----

Adjusting to life without his hand was frustrating for Clyde. In the first few days he was awake and still in the hospital, his arm was still very swollen and hurt, but you were with him as much as you could be.  He appreciated that a lot and loved finally having you near him again after months of wishing, infrequent letters and day dreaming.  You only left for your work and to get a change of clothes while he was in recovery.  You were there when the doctors said he could be released from the hospital because there hadn’t been any complications with the operation and no blood clots, thank goodness. The doctors told him he couldn’t be in better health, but whenever the doctors told him that, Clyde always thought “besides the arm” to himself.  After being released from the hospital in the car hime, Clyde was excited to go home for the first time in a long while, but the thought also made him sad because of how different things would be.

The moment he stepped back into the trailer, he almost started to cry.  Nothing had changed.  The furniture was still the same.  The decor was a tiny bit different.  There was a new framed photo of you and him on the shelf, the TV was newer, and there was a vase of fresh flowers with a welcome home card in the coffee table.  Even with these slight differences, it was almost as if he’d never left, but he knew that wasn’t true because he had a missing hand to show for it.

“Welcome home,” you’d said to him, reaching up to kiss him on the cheek with a warm smile.  “What are you thinking about, Clyde?” you asked, knowing he’s got something heavy in his mind.”

“Darlin’ I don’ know if I can do this...,” he replied.  “I feel so weak...  I don’t think I can ever take care of myself...  Nobody’s gonna want a one-armed employee.”

“You aren’t weak, Clyde.  I know you and you are one of the strongest people I know.  I know it feels strange and a bit hopeless now, but it’ll be a process.  We’ll work this out together. I’m sure of this.  One step at a time, Clyde,” you reassured him, saddened that he was hurting.  You’d led him back to the bedroom where you snuggled all through the night for the first time in forever.  Clyde felt like he never wanted to let go.

After that day, you both rolled into a routine.  You’d both get up.  Clyde would take his meds and take a shower, taking extra care on cleaning his stump.  He’d put on his compression garment and change clothes.  All of this was an adjustment and it took a while to get used to doing with only one hand.come out to the kitchen and help you prepare breakfast, smiling each time you’d make the bacon extra crispy like he likes it.  After eating together, you’d go off to work and kiss him goodbye.  You’d come home after work and tell him about your work stories, which he always listened to intently, laughing at your jokes.  Of course, you’d always as him how his day was, too, and he shared as much as he could.  Sometimes, he’d go to the store or try a new hobby, all of which almost never worked out. Sometimes, Mellie or Jimmy would come by to check on him, but he days were long for Clyde.  You’d noticed he was getting twitchy and bored, and you begun to think of ways to change that.

“Have a great day, y/n!” your boss says as you leave work after your shift.  You wave at her as you head for the door, but a poster on the bulletin board catches your eye.

“Hey, Mariana?” you call as you step closer to get a better look.  “Can I take this poster?  I think Clyde might wanna look at it.”

“Go for it,” she replies, walking away.  You say your thanks as you remove the paper from the board, folding it neatly.  As you drive home, you’re smiling to yourself, trying to think of a way to tell Clyde your idea. Soon enough, you pull into the driveway and park your car.  You rush inside to see Clyde watching the TV, beer in hand.  

“Darlin’!” he smiles as you come over, giving him a proper kiss on the mouth. He pulls you down to sit next to him on the couch, and you wrap your arms around him “How was your day?”

“Work was normal, but I have something to tell you,” you say.  “Can I turn down the TV a bit?”

“Must be serious,” Clyde jokes as you reach for the remote.

“So. I was leaving work and I saw... this on the notice board.  Take a look,” you say, producing the poster from your pocket.  Clyde puts down his beer on the table and takes it from you and unfolds the paper, reading carefully. “The bar off the highways’s owner is retiring and he’s selling the space.  I was thinking we could go and check it out tomorrow for our Saturday outing.”

“Why?” Clyde asks, a bit puzzled.

“I thought you might be interested in buying it.  Getting back to work.  I’ve noticed you seem sad lately.  As much of a quiet stoic man you are, I know you like to see people. And I know that you’ve always wanted to learn to make a good drink,” you say, trying to convince him.

“I don’t know, Darlin’...  My hand and all...  I’m afraid no one ‘d come to a bar owned by someone like me, especially if I’m the bartender ‘n’ all,” he mumbles, looking down at his prothesis and raising it to you.  You sigh.

“Clyde...  I know it’s hard, but you’ve adapted to doing things so well so quickly.  You’re a quick learner and I’d think this would be really fun.  I don’t want to force you to do anything you’re not comfortable with, but at least consider it?  I don’t like seeing you all mopey,” you smile, wrapping your arms back around him, tucking your head in the crook of his neck.

“Alright...”

“Hmm?”

“I’ll come and take a look at the space tomorrow. You’re right.  I should be gettin’ out more and this is just a first step,” Clyde agrees.

“Yes!” You exclaim, kissing him again.  

“I think this’ll be really good for me,” Clyde smiles.  “Thanks for suggestin’ it.”

~~~

After you both get up, you head out in the car towards the bar.  As he pulls up to the bar, you can see Clyde’s getting more excited.  Stepping out of the car, you both walk up the stairs outside and go up to the door where Clyde knocks on it. You smile at him and encouraging look and he takes your hand in his. An old man opens the door wearing a worn down grey shirt with a couple holes in it and a pair of army green cargo shorts.

“Hey, are you John?” Clyde asks.

“Yep,” the man says, taking a drag from his cigarette.  “

“We saw your flyer about sellin’ your space. Is it still available?” Clyde asks as John eyes him a bit, which makes Clyde worry.  Had he already sold the bar? Were they too late?

“You look familiar,” John says.

“I do?” Clyde asks, almost squeaking.  

“You’re one of them Logans, ain’t ya?” John exclaims, pointing a finger at Clyde, and Clyde nods his head, thinking he already blew it.

“I remember... A while ago your brother Jimmy came in and told me all about his brother in the military...  Seems you’re that brother,” John explains, a slight smile on his face as he recalls his encounter. 

“Right you are and this is my girlfriend, y/n” Clyde responds, relieved that that that interaction didn’t turn south.

“Come on in, you both.  Don’t be shy,” John says, leading the way.  Inside you immediately see the bar that sticks out from the wall near the entrance, but the space opens up to reveal a large space with the occasional wood column that includes some sitting areas and a couple of pool tables.  The walls are wood and have beer posters on them. Some of the surfaces look a bit dusty.  

“Nice bar you got, John,” Clyde comments.  

“Yeah, She got some good bones.  The location’s good, too.  There’s people who come in as regulars and then the passer by from the highway.  It’s got AC an’ everythin’” John explains, pointing around the place to show it off.  “What do you think?”

“I think it’s great,” Clyde smiles.  “What’s your impression, Darlin’?”

“I can see you being really happy here Clyde... but it’s your decision, really,” you smile.  “How do you feel?”

“I feel good.  Hey John, can I see the back?” Clyde asks, pointing to a door marked with the sign “employees only.”  John nods and beckons Clyde behind the bar.  You wave him on to tell him to go without you. He disappears with John through the door, leaving you to walk around the main space.

As you look around, you can really start to see how Clyde can make the space his own.  He could put some neon signs up and add some nice lighting to the back, so it’s not so dark.  You look to the side and see a dusty old jukebox that hasn’t been used in 10 years, but you can imagine Clyde fixing it up and filling it with Bob Seger, classic rock, and old country music. The chairs are a bit run down, but you know someone who can reupholster them at a discount.

You look back to see John and Clyde emerging from the back with smiles on their face.  They’re laughing and John sticks his hand out for Clyde to shake, and Clyde takes it eagerly.  

“I’ll be hearin’ from you Mr. Logan,” John says.  “Travel safe.”

Clyde rushes back to you and takes your hand excitedly, taking you back out to the car.  As you climb in, you can feel the happiness radiating from Clyde.  

“What happened?” you ask, knowing what happened already, but wanting to hear it from him.  You smile, looking at the lovable goofy smile Clyde has plastered on his face.

“I just bought a bar,” Clyde says.

“Oh my god!  Clyde!  That’s so great!” you exclaim.

“... and I have you to thank for it.  Thanks for encouraging me to do it.  I got his phone number in my pocket and we’ll talk paperwork in the next few days.”

“That was fast!  I didn’t expect you to make a decision today!  Clyde I’m so happy for you,” you gasp, pulling him towards you for a hug.  He wraps his arms around you and kisses you gently on the cheek.  You giggle as you feel his beard tickle you as it brushes against your skin. 

“I think this was a good decision,” Clyde smiles.  “This means I’ll be workin’ again... and maybe you could come work with me too?”

“Really?  You’re serious?” you say, a bit surprised.  “You want me tow work with you?”

“Of course.  I love you and I’ve already spent too much time away from you and people who work at bard have crazy late hours ‘n’ all...” he reasons.

Clyde!  Of course I’ll come wrk at the bar with you!” you say to him, grabbing the sides of his head, kissing him on the lips this time.  You break away, both of you smiling like idiots.  “So, Mr Business owner.  What’s next?”

“I was thinkin’ a name for it,” Clyde replies.

“Oh?  Did you have any ideas?” 

“Duck Tape,” Clyde says after a few moments of silence and the name makes you both grin, knowing this’ll be the best thing you’ll have done together yet.

[sonatanotwo]

This suddenly seems much shorter than how it feels in Quoll writer... huh. Um. Anyhoo. Oh man. I can post rp np, but posting a fic has me anxious as all heck. XDDD  SO. YEAH. I started this like.... so long ago... Sometime in July of 2015... Yeah. I. Suck at this. XDDD Um. Anyhoo. This chapter could still end up changed in the future... but I think it’s fairly locked in at this point, but who knows. lol I should stop stalling.

So. Here is the first chapter of this... thing. The title it has is only tentative so I’m gonna... not mention it. XD //drops it and goes to like... hide// /)__(\;;;;;

"Thunderbird 2 to base... Mission complete, I'm on my way home."

"F.A.B. Thunderbird 2. ...You okay, Virgil?"

"Yeah, just tired," Virgil replied Gordon over the comms as he flew towards Tracy Island—home. He'd been out on what had meant to be a simple mission, but of course, it had been anything but simple, in the end. Exhausted, Virgil was incredibly glad to be on his way home, though he still had one obstacle to deal with.

"Ah, one of those, huh?"

"Yeah, one of those," Virgil replied, unable to not crack a small smile, in spite of it all. "I'll tell you about it later. How about that tropical storm? How're things looking from the ground?"

Thunderbird 5 had been monitoring a tropical storm forming for quite a few days now. While it didn't look like it was going to be upgraded in strength, it would still pack a pretty good wallop on their island. Virgil had expected to be home long before then, but of course, it wasn't going to work out that way. John had kept him informed of the status from above, but that didn't exactly tell him what he needed to know.

"Not too good. The sky is looking pretty dark and the waves are really crashing against the island. Think you'll beat it?"

"It's not looking too likely, but I should be okay as long as the runway stays clear. Keep an eye on it for me, would ya? If it'll be more like taking a swim than a landing, I might have to have a change of plans."

He had a few options if going home wasn't viable. He could keep above the storm and just wait it out or see if Lady Penelope wouldn't mind a visitor for a day or two. Neither were as appealing as getting home and falling into his own bed, however. There was little else he wanted more right now.

"Sure thing, Virg."

"Thanks, Gordon. Keep me informed. Thunderbird 2, out."

Once Gordon's hologram vanished from his dash, Virgil returned his full attention to the various indicators in front of him and the darkening sky through the cockpit windows. Well, there were those storm clouds. Things were about to get a whole lot more bumpy.

As if on cue, Thunderbird 2 shuddered from turbulence as she flew into the storm. This was hardly the first, nor would it be the last time Virgil flown through such weather. Thunderbird 2 was designed to handle harsh storms, but it didn't mean it was easy flying, by any means.

Gripping the yoke, Virgil did his best to keep her steady. It made no sense to climb up above the storm considering he was coming up on being only minutes from Tracy Island. At least, it made no sense unless he heard otherwise, although he was starting to wonder if his plan to land hadn't been his best idea. Even this, however, would be easier than his last tricky landing, so he wasn't inclined to abort at this point

Intending to call in again that he was about to land, the comms crackled to life before he could activate it. It was definitely Gordon contacting him again, but Virgil couldn't make heads or tails of anything that was being said. As harsh as the storm was, Virgil wasn't sure why the signal had suddenly distorted so badly. Perhaps the island comms equipment had taken some damage? Reaching up to flick a switch on the comm controls, Virgil quickly returned his hand to the yoke.

"Gordon? You're going to have to repeat that, for me," he replied distractedly, eyes on his instruments, as he was starting to descend to make an attempt at landing.

"Th—nde—"

The signal this time dissolved into nothing but static, much to Virgil's frustration. Reaching up again, Virgil stopped short of the buttons he'd intended to press as something happened.

Every indicator on the dash suddenly spun madly, as Virgil felt a violent shudder run through his ship. Lightning? No, he had the new and thoroughly tested lightning shield up—it wasn't a lightning strike. The lights in the cockpit flickered and then suddenly, blinding white light filled his vision, forcing Virgil to close his eyes.

For a moment, it felt like the world had gone completely topsy turvey around him. He felt disoriented in more ways than one by time he pried his eyes back open. How long had his eyes been closed? He couldn't say. It was like he'd completely zoned out which was easy to believe as his head was absolutely spinning. It even took a moment to realize the shrill sound of a warning alarm really was blaring in his ears.

It had to have been pure instinct that made him cut the rockets and fire the VTOLs, pulling Thunderbird 2 into a sharp turn, just narrowly managing to avoid crashing into the island cliff face. The proximity alarm fell silent.

Allowing Two to hover on her VTOLs, Virgil sat back, releasing a breath of air he hadn't even realized he'd been holding. His head was spinning and his knuckles white, still clutching onto the yoke for dear life. It was rare that Virgil was shaken, but whatever the heck had just happened, had him literally trembling. Nothing like that had EVER happened in the hundreds, upon hundreds of times he'd come in to land, even in bad weather. He could not think of any explanation in the slightest for what had occurred. It wasn't like he'd blacked out. He knew what that was like and that sure hadn't been it. Not to mention, whatever it had been, it had definitely affected Thunderbird 2 as well.

His thoughts were interrupted as the comm suddenly sprang to life, the signal once more clear and a frantic voice on the other end.

"Thunderbird 2! Base to Thunderbird 2! What just happened? You nearly crashed into the island, Virgil!"

Okay, maybe the signal wasn't so clear. Either something was wrong with the comms or his ears, because something sounded decidedly off. Then again, considering what just happened, was that really so strange?

"I don't know... I..."

"Whoa, Virg. You don't sound so good. You better land."

"Y-yeah... F.A.B."

Virgil purposefully killed the comms, wanting to ensure a moment to himself as he rubbed his face with both hands. He was feeling worse, rather than better. What was wrong with him? Maybe something really was up with his hearing, given his head was spinning. A concussion? Although, he didn't remember hitting his head on anything and he didn't seem feel any bump on it either. Virgil also was fairly certain he didn't have near enough a rough a jolt to do it either. Did he have a migraine, perhaps? His stomach was definitely starting to feel rather nauseous, which certainly gave the thought merit, but what about what happened to Thunderbird 2? It had been affected just as much as he had.

Well, he figured he would try to work out what just happened later, for now he just needed to land, given he didn't know if anything was wrong with his ship and that storm was only getting worse.

He started to circle Thunderbird 2 around to make a second approach, but found himself bringing his the large craft to a stop midair once more.

"What the...?" he muttered aloud, staring through the narrow windows at the island below.

Even through the rain, he could see the island wasn't Tracy Island. It bore a resemblance, sure, but this wasn't it. Beyond puzzled he brought up the GPS and ended up looking even more stumped. No, these were exactly the coordinates. This was where it was meant to be it. This was meant to be home, but it just wasn't.

Had something happened to his GPS? It didn't seem to be malfunctioning, but surely it had to be. What other reason could there be for this?

What was going on?

There was a runway below, however and given his head was spinning even worse now and he was struggling to keep Thunderbird 2 steady, he really had no choice—he'd have to set her down there. Aiming to set her down as inland along the runway as he could to get as much shelter from the incoming storm as possible, he somehow managed it.

Almost feeling like he would actually be sick at this point, he decided he needed at least a moment of fresh air. As soon as he at least felt a little better, he'd contact Thunderbird 5. John could then get a fix on his location and they could try to figure out just where he really was and how broken his GPS was.

Virgil practically stumbled from his seat onto the elevator. Stepping onto the runway, he was met with sea spray and wind. Rain hadn't started yet, but it would only be a matter of time. Unfortunately, the fresh air didn't seem to be helping at all. Leaning back against one of his ship's landing struts, he stared down the runway, noticing several figures had appeared and were running towards him. Was that good? He wasn't even sure, but he didn't take a chance, touching his wrist controller to have the elevator ascend.

For a brief moment, Virgil even thought he heard his name being called, but he couldn't stay on his feet any more, his head was just swimming. He let himself sink down onto the runway and closed his eyes, despite hearing voices now above him. He just couldn't pry them back open.

[soundsof71]

Do you ever post any Taste/Rory Gallagher? I tried looking through tags, but couldn't find anything - though that could also be Tumblr being its usual nightmare self.

Well, friend, ya stumped me! I’d heard Rory’s name but knew nothing about him (or heard him that I’m aware of), and had certainly never heard of Taste!

It turns out that our boy Rory had a stellar 1971, with his second solo album called Deuce, two Taste live albums, (Taste Live, and Live At The Isle of Wight), and finishing ahead of Eric Clapton to top Melody Maker’s poll for Best Guitarist!

As you know (and I discovered), he’d left Taste as 1970 ended, and the tale is a sad one, combining the usual record label nonsense of the era with the Irish Troubles. Taste, and Rory in particular, had gone from having vocal supporters in John Lennon and Eric Clapton (opening for both Cream’s final shows at the Royal Albert Hall and Blind Faith’s US tour) to a final show in Belfast on December 31, 1970 as a dozen car bombs ripped the city apart. 

Rory was 19 when the band started, and 22 when it all came crashing down.

An amazing telling of the tale here: The rise and acrimonious fall of Rory Gallagher’s Taste: Cork power trio Taste blazed onto the blues scene, propelled by Rory Gallagher’s incendiary guitar. Fours years later they blew up in a maelstrom of betrayal. (Read on - a genuinely fantastic read, even for folks like me who aren’t familiar with Rory!)

Taste was only around for a few years, so not a ton of photos, and most of the ones I’ve seen around the web are already on tumblr. I did find a couple I haven’t seen here yet, including a couple from that amazing 1970 edition of The Isle of Wight Festival:

And one from 1975 that I think looks pretty cool:

And a more tender one:

I found all of these on the Pinterest of a user named Fenna Bosman, and none seemed to point back to tumblr images. If any of you have better sources, by all means let me know!

Anyway, YOU surely have a lot more to tell ME about all this, so feel free to drop me a line! My chat’s open if you want to keep it private, and I don’t post non-anon Asks without permission, so let me know what else I should know!

PS. Coming soon: more answered Asks!

[ofravensandgenesis]

Meme Tag Games!

Thank you for all the lovely tags!! :D <3 This is quite belated but between some health happenings, the weather deciding to turn the thermostat way up (and the house AC went out), and other stuff, I got swamped for a while there. Here we are now though! :D Tagging anyone who wants to jump in on any of these, namely FC5 GFH tag game; OC Fighting Style; and WIP Day. Continued below the cut because this got long:

FC5 Guns For Hire Meme Game

Tagged by @chyrstis​ and @amistrio​ for the FC5 GFH meme, thank you for the tag!! :D <3 We have full length responses with some banter with the human GFH in particular here. I was kind of stumped with how to answer this for Joshua in what he might say as a GFH since his verse is very tailored for him being the Deputy and all the psychic shenanigans. Eventually I got over that and this is basically an AU where there’s another (unnamed here) Deputy who IS slated to be The Deputy that Joshua is trying to help (and convince to do less murder) to explain how he fits into a verse as a Gun For Hire. Psychic shenanigans still happen in this AU of an AU ofc, just it’s perhaps less prominent. We’re skipping over possible musings of relevant sidequests for Joshua relating to the Seeds in this for the sake of time, though I acknowledge that it’s something to explore, likely would impact the endgame with the Heralds, cult, and Joseph depending on the Deputy’s choices of doing a Kill or No-kill run. This verse also assumes that Joshua, the Deputy, Whitehorse, Pratt, and Hudson all got away or were not present for the helicopter crash. Other characters minor and otherwise who are alive in Joshua’s main fic verse ACABH are the same as in that story thus far, such as Rae-Rae and Ryan being alive. We’ll also presume the Seeds are all still alive at the time of these dialogue lines.

Deputy Joshua Raguel Rook

(All images used were public domain and/or labeled free for reuse under creative commons license. Above image was sourced from [here.]) With Fangs for Hire

Boomer: “Hey there boy, how’re you feeling today? Got some venison strips saved for you, you eating enough with all this running around?” [cue more small talk and praise for Boomer about how Boomer’s doing such a good job and Joshua feeding Boomer bits of cooked meat. Will likely sing snatches of cheery dog-themed songs he’s heard when in the party with Boomer and there’s no enemies nearby.]

Peaches: “...I hope that’s not people-meat in your teeth, Peaches, you know how Miss Mable feels about that, it’s bad for your health. I’m also not quite brave enough to want to brush your teeth—though maybe Dr. Lindsey or Wade can offer advice on that. We’ll get you some nice fish instead, that’s a good kitty.” [He’s a bit more shy around Peaches than Boomer bc cougar, but an effort at friendliness will be made.]

Cheeseburger: “...that is one big bear. He’s a sweetheart though. Just...hoping he doesn’t make a mistake of who he’s barreling into. It’s not like we’re wearing team colors or anything.” [Cheeseburger is a sweetie and Joshua likes him, but also: bear. Joshua’s a bit wary around him, but will still feed Cheeseburger salmon when able. May crack a joke paralleling Cheeseburger going “Only You Can Prevent Cult Gun Fire.” Will not crack this joke after any Jacob-region events though.]

With Other Guns for Hire:

Sharky

Sharky: So amibro, I was thinking, you know how those Angels are all dead in the head and stuff? How are they still shuffling around, is the Bliss like a zombie plant or something? Joshua: ...no, that’s more in line with the aliens that Larry keeps going on about I’m sure. Something about brainmelting and bendy straws, I got lost when he started mentioning Navier-Stokes equations for how the...resulting brain juice would be redirected. [Shuddery noise of disgust.] I’m not sure if he’s serious or just fucking with me and referencing Guy’s zombie movie series at this point. Could be either or. The Bliss is more like...like...uh. Like if you lost the keys to your car, but the car’s your body. You get me? Sharky: Damn, remind me never to OD on the stuff, I lose the keys to my car all the time. Sometimes I can’t be bothered to find em and just jiggle the lock so I can hop on in to hotwire the car because I’m in a hurry, you know? Ladies love a man who’s good with his hands, and who’s good with time and can improvise. You think that’d work on the Bliss car keys? Joshua: Maybe? Not everyone seems to be as readily lost to the Bliss at the same amounts. Personally I’d wager you’d be able to find your way back to your body no matter where you were in the bliss if we stood you near a signal fire. Sharky: This is why we’re friends man! Ride or die! ...also can you help me find my keys with that trick of yours, I lost ‘em again. Joshua: Yeah, though did you check under your bed? Also, maybe hang your regular set and a spare set of keys on a hook by the door so you can always find them, just in case you’re in a hurry.

Hurk

Joshua: Hurk. [Said in a Mild, Judgmental Voice of Impending Doom From A Friend kind of tone.] Hurk: Hey man I didn’t do nothin’ to deserve that tone of voice now don’t you start on me. Joshua: How can you say that when you and Sharky went and invented zipline grenade-golf without me last night? And blew up part of the mini-YES-sign. Hurk: Oh man you were talking up Lindsey and with the way the two of you were smiling and laughing, we figured you might be getting lucky so like the proper supportive wingmen me and Sharky were, we left you gentlemen some of our finest booze and sticky green. You did find it didn’t you, I’d hate to waste the gifts of the beneficent Monkey God from above as He Who Likes To Par-tay Above And Here Below On This Earth did command me never to waste beer or the good kush and to always help a brother out who’s trying to hook it up with their fine persons of choice. Joshua: Hurk I’m not— [sighs in accepting and fond exasperation.] It’s not like that with me and Charles— Hurk: Ooooooooooooo, you’re on a first name basis already! I knew you had it in you! Get it man, get it good! I’m not into that, you know I like the ladies strictly, but I will support your endeavors no matter the sex of your fellow party-goer as leader of Hurk Gate and the Bro-iest of Bros. Joshua: Hurk oh my god, I’m not trying to sleep with or romance him. I’m—he’s not looking for that, at least not with me certainly, and I—...just, thanks. I still have most of the beer and weed leftover if you and Sharky are up for graffiting one of John’s billboard signs though. You in? Hurk: Hell yeah man, and oo, you did get some then, Josh you sly dog! Joshua: I DID NOT! [Meta-clarification: Joshua indeed did not, for reasons to be revealed at a later time in the main fic.]

Sharky, Hurk, and Joshua, if one bends the mechanics so they are all in the party together at the same time:

Sharky: Pfhahahahaha oh man did you see the look on those Peggies’s faces when we came just crashing down the mountainside in that burning car? It was priceless!

Joshua: What better way to set fire to mass amounts of Bliss fields than with a moving fireball? Sharky: I know man it was great! We didn’t get too singed or nothin’! We gotta try that burning trash-ball idea next time though, like building a snowman but with fire! A fireman! Ha! That was the easiest fifty bucks of my life, cuz. Joshua: Hold up a tick now, what. Hurk: Sharky man that’s against the betting code! You’re not supposed to tell! Joshua: Oh, you cheeky bastards were betting on if Sharky could convince me to drive the car down the hill, weren’t you. Hurk: Man it’s always a crap shoot with you, specially around cars. That’s what makes it fun, sometimes you get all “guys that’s not safe,” [said with a poor imitation of Joshua’s voice complete with a very terrible southern, Georgian-style accent before Hurk switches to his normal speaking voice to continue,] —and other times it’s just “hold my beer.” You’re not going to go all prim and proper on us now are ya? Joshua: I can’t believe you two. Gambling in Hope County, I’m shocked, shocked. Sharky you owe me half, I’ll buy you a beer first round. Sharky: Hell yeah man! Hurk: Wait a second did you two just con me? I’ve been robbed! Police! Joshua: Hurk I *am* the police, one of them present at least. Hurk: Oh shit son, you right. Help I’m being oppressed by the system!

Nick Rye

[This conversation happens after Seed Ranch has been taken, along with the AU detail of capturing John’s plane Affirmation at the same time, preferably early on, while John is still alive.] Nick: Hey Joshua I was talking to Sharky— Joshua: Oh no. Nick: And he had an idea that wasn’t half bad. Not a good one, and you’d be liable to get killed or captured, but I got stuck thinking on it and wanted to ask: What d’you think would happen if you dressed up like the Father and just pulled a whole Mission: Impossible face-a-roo switch? You can do that imitation of how he speaks and everything, I’ve heard you do it before. And with how high the Peggies are most of the time, they’re so far out of their gourds they wouldn’t notice the differences. Joshua: You mean aside from his brothers and sister noticing he’s suddenly an inch shorter, twenty years younger and the wrong brand of crazy? Nick: Just go off about there being an edit to God’s Plan or something, and you could get makeup or something going on with that age thing. People do all kinds of wizardry with foundation and stuff, though you’d have to ask someone else on that. Maybe Addie or someone she knows? I don’t know if they have aging-up tricks compared to aging-down though. It could work! Might be a quick way to end the fighting if we can just stuff Joseph into a car trunk and then stash him in a bunker somewhere while you’re pretending you’re him. Joshua: Nick my tattoos are different and I’m not going to convince people I’m Joseph if I have to do one of his shirtless walkarounds, NOR am I having sins and Bible verses carved into my hide to complete the look. I don’t think we have any special effects or make up artists in the county who specialize in convincingly fake scars made out of latex or something. Nick: I don’t know, that Guy Marvel might have someone. Or, had someone. He has to be able to afford all those special effects somehow. Joshua: I’m not going anywhere near that guy with a ten foot pole man, he weirds me out. Also consider: I’d have to talk to Jacob, John and Faith as Joseph. I don’t want that kind of responsibility of herding that conversation at the family dinner. Nick: Hoo, good point. So...how is that family bullshit coming along then? Joshua: I have no idea, I’m just winging it, like you are. Nick: [who’s currently flying a plane, thus the slight pun] Heh. Good luck with that then, and let me know if you want me to paint something special on John’s precious little Affirmation next time you take it out for a spin to spite him. Joshua: I’m sure I can think of a thing or two.

Adelaide

Adelaide: Honey you need to take a breather one of these days and just take a load off, if you keep up the way you’re going you’re going to end up looking more like your dad sooner rather than later. You should swing by the Marina sometime and have a yoga session with Xander, really helps get the blood pumping and limber you up if you know what I’m saying. Joshua: [Snorts in amusement.] Is Xander trying to convince you to eat more kale chips instead of potato chips again? Adelaide: Rook sweetie, I love Xander but there are some things a woman won’t put in her mouth, and kale chips are one of them. Joshua: I’ll swing by sometime to help out with the kale chips then, and maybe get in a yoga session at the same time. It’s been a while since I chatted Xander up what with the county going pearshaped. Adelaide: I’ll never understand how you two can eat those things. Ugh. Gives me the willies. Joshua: *I* eat them dipped in homemade spicy nacho cheese sauce. I have no idea how Xander eats them straight and still claims to have working tastebuds.

Grace

[For context: This conversation is based on the AU’s detail that Grace’s father has survived the previous attempt on his life prior to the start of the Reaping.]

Joshua: Did you crack open the extra care packages we dropped off yet Grace, or did your dad get to ‘em first? Grace: You referring to the chocolate bars you stashed in there? I got my share of them out in time. Joshua: Good, I was a little worried when you told me they were missing last time. Thought they might’ve been lifted without me knowing beforehand. Grace: He’s a sly one when sweets are up for grabs. Now if you can do something about the shortage of decent coffee… Joshua: What’s that? A reason to piss John off today and raid his personal stash? Say no more!

Jess

Jess: So. Joshua: So. Jess: Just like old times but with more fucked up cultist family bullshit than before, huh. Joshua: [Sighs.] Yeah. Jess: That’s rough, buddy. Joshua: Least I can steal shit en masse from the cultists and no one else minds right now. For the life of me though I can’t figure out where all of the snacks from Lorna’s went when the Peggies hit her place. I think they ate ‘em all. Jess: [Noise of disgust.] Those two-faced fuckers going on and on about how bad commercially produced food is and how everyone should get back to basics, but there they go snatching up all the frosted cakes and maple bars like it's baby’s first shoplifting spree. Joshua: I know right? Even if they do believe the end of the world’s coming, that’s still rude to clean the store out on the first go around—leave some snacks for the next bunch of looters, god damn.

In Combat

[Note: due to Joshua’s verse details, this comes with the assumption that were one to play in a version of his universe, the Deputy would have a kill/spare mechanic and thus also an option of doing a No Kill run and variations on that spectrum, which Joshua’s mechanics would support more so. This would likely also mean some additional options for the other guns-for-hire and creative use of their canonical loadouts and abilities. Joshua’s setup would overlap with Boomer and Jess’s via the Spotter and Concealment abilities, and he’d be equipped with a bliss dart gun and a scoped hunting rifle. Also melee options and such.] Seeing/tagging an enemy: “Hey look, another whack-a-mole.” / ”Fashionably challenged mountain-man zealot sighted.” / “Enemy sighted.” Seeing/tagging multiple enemies at once: “duck, duck, cultists.”/ “The Rapture called, they don’t want these Peggies back.” / “multiple hostiles in the area.” Bliss darting/knocking out a Peggie at range: “Nap time.” / “Another one bites the dust.” / “Down they go!” / “A little dirt nap never hurt any Peggie. Won’t hurt their outfits any either, a little dirt brown looks better than all of that mayonnaise-white so many of them wear anyway.” Knocking out a Peggie with a non-lethal stealth takedown: “Lights out.” / “Rang this one’s chimes hard enough he’ll think it’s time for morning service on a sunday when he wakes up.” / “Sleep tight.” / “She’s/he’s down.” Sneaking: “Feels like a tuesday.”  / “...” / “Five bucks says I can pickpocket the guards and they’d never even know till later.” / “Moving position.” / “Good to go.” Upon witnessing the Deputy killing an enemy: “Was that really necessary?!” / “...shit.” / “Maybe we should disengage and drop back out of sight instead of this.” / “What the fuck!” Reviving an ally/The Deputy: “Don’t you go dying on me! Stay alive, you’ve got so much to live for!” / “Come on, let’s get you patched up, you’re gonna be okay!” / “No no no! Don’t you dare die! Not today!” Hurt: “MOTHERFUCKER!” / “Ow!” / “God damn it, I just patched this shirt! And myself!” / “This is NOT my fucking element, fuck!” / “Why are we even in a situation where we’d get shot at?!” Downed: “Could use a little help over here!” / “Bleeding out, help!” / “...mom?”

Driving

When asked to drive: “...you sure? I really think someone else driving would be a better idea under current circumstances, but okay. Just don’t go making a habit out of this. Please. For everyone’s sake.” / “No.” [This is followed by outright refusal to sit in the driver’s seat.] / [Optionally if Sharky and/or Hurk are around] “Ugh. Just...gotta pretend this is driving through a Clutch Nixon. With live gun fire, instead of just fire-fire.”

When the Deputy/someone else is driving recklessly: “Iwantoffthisride” / “I’m going to have to pick upholstery out from under my nails later.” / “JESUS TAKE THE WHEEL.” / [Recites a Hail Mary.] / “Having a good time! NOT.” / [If it’s Sharky or Hurk driving] “This is the kind of reckless driving I can get behind. Through regular past exposure therapy.” Changing radio stations: [If it’s being changed to Eden’s Gate stations] “Can we not? I’ve heard this music so many times it’s old as hell, however catchy.” / “They did do a good job on the music, I gotta say. More ominous meaning to the lyrics right now in particular though.” / [If it’s being changed to Resistance Radio stations] “Road trip time! Watch out for moose in the road.” / “Hell yeah, crank those tunes!” / “I’m glad we have regular music to listen to still, it’d be such a drag to have to go without it.”

Idle

- [General] “What’s up? Everything going alright with you?” - [General] “I heard of a good fishing spot where the rainbow trout [or other game fish depending on situation/mechanics] are really biting today if you want to take a breather and just do a bit of fishing.” [this dialogue only triggers if the Deputy hasn’t filled out the map yet for fishing spots, and adds one to the map with a notification.] - [General] “Hey, there’s a prepper stash over yonder, if you want to try your hand at getting at it. [This dialogue only triggers at random if the Deputy hasn’t polished off all the nearby Prepper stashes already. Marks a nearby prepper stash on the map and gives a notification.]

- [General] “You know what surprises me? That the Project didn’t try to shut off the power plant to at least portions of the county. Sure lots of people are preppers or woodsmen and such, but electricity makes everything easier for us. Weird, ain’t it? They have the technicians for it I’m sure. Guess we should thank our lucky stars they either didn’t think of that or decided it wasn’t worth it. We’d be straight out of ice cold beer then, Whitehorse would hate that.” - [If the Deputy is taking the no-kill route] “Hey I just want to say...I appreciate you trying not to kill people, even if some of these cultists are absolute motherfuckers who deserve it. We might be able to stop all their prophecy crap dead in its tracks if you keep this up. And...you know. Thanks for not killing my crazy relatives? I think. They’ve done a lot of bad shit and they need to answer for that, but...the right way, not backwoods murder. We’re better than that, I hope.” - [If the Deputy is taking the killing route] “I get wanting to kill the Seeds and the cult...but this isn’t going to end well, even after we’re done. I wish you wouldn’t, but I can’t stop you if this is the choice you’ve made. ...I’m sorry I can’t be of more help to you. I...hope you’ll be alright, in the end. But I don’t think you will be.” [Recall that Joshua Knows What Will Happen To The Deputy if they take the canonically-based killing route. He leaves before the final confrontation, and curiously Whitehorse, Pratt, and Hudson don’t show up in the final scene either—ie, whichever route the Deputy chooses, they survive elsewhere (coughcough Joshua’s secret bunker cough.) The scene with Joseph still happens more or less the same, only the Deputy leaves alone if they choose Walk Away, and ends up alone with Joseph if they choose Resist. Also interestingly enough: Dutch isn’t present on the radio, nor in his bunker. His fish have been taken too. Joshua didn’t have the time to grab everyone, so he tried to grab the ones he knew for sure would die, and warned the others that he foresaw not surviving the Collapse or aftermath, like Mary May and Jess Black, or who suffered serious injuries like Grace. His buds Sharky and Hurk he bribes with beer and weed to hide out in their bunker or hang out in his while this goes down. Boomer, Cheeseburger, and Peaches are all herded to safety (yes there are mechanics for that in the standard AU verse, we shan’t delve into them here though bc spoilers tho.) The others he tries to warn, but whether he managed to get to them and some of the other latter people mentioned above in time or not is uncertain.] - [If the Deputy switched from a killing route to a no-kill route and all of the Seeds are still alive, Joshua sounds relieved] “Hey, I know it’s...it’s hard to hold off pulling the trigger when someone who’s hurt so many people is in your gunsights, but...I do think bringing them in for actual processing through the legal system—a proper trial without bullshit—is the better way. For all of us. Thank you.” - [If the Deputy switched from a no-kill route to a killing route, sounds slightly devastated] “...Why?” - [If the Deputy is doing a “neutral” run of killing significant numbers of cultists, but is sparing the Seeds as they go] “...I appreciate you not killing the murdery head-cult-family members, but…you think we could maybe lighten up on killing the rank and file? They don’t have the big names and they aren’t the leaders, but those are still people. They are responsible for their own actions, not saying they aren’t, but many of them are redeemable. Not all of them, but...maybe we can just lay them out in the infirmary for a good long while instead? Nothing permanent. The bad ones though can fall off a cliff.”

- [If the Deputy is doing a “selective killing” run of not killing rank and file cultists, but is in the process of killing all the Seed Heralds. Joshua sounds conflicted.] “I appreciate you not killing the followers, though some of them are definitely bastards who shouldn’t be allowed to walk free for the shit they’ve done, but...you think we could...maybe not kill the Seeds either? The Seeds are the primary responsible parties, not contesting that, but maybe we can just kick their asses and arrest them instead? It might help dampen the chaos somewhat, maybe we can use ‘em for leverage. We certainly could hide them somewhere secure that the Peggies wouldn’t be able to find ‘em. It’d be easier to talk Joseph down too, using his siblings as leverage.” [See above for killing route ending details.] Also? We’re driving in separate cars. Don’t turn on the radio, stay away from the others. You’re still brainwashed, and dangerous.” [Joshua is disappointed in the Deputy for not having stuck to some manner of universal moral principle.] - [If friendly, and the Deputy is on either a no-kill playthrough or has switched to a no-kill route,] “Hey, you wanna play a game of checkers, or chess? Take five for a bit, if you got the time?” - [If friendly, and the Deputy is on either a no-kill playthrough or has switched to a no-kill route,] “Hey, not to be mushy or anything, but...thank you. For being you. It’s inspiring to see someone’s able to take the higher path when everything’s falling to pieces all around us. Makes me have a little bit more faith in humanity, too.” - [If friendly, and the Deputy is on either a no-kill playthrough or has switched to a no-kill route, and has been on said no-kill route for a decent amount of time,] “Hey, we grabbed some really good produce this time around and sent it on over to Casey. Told him I’d tell you to swing by, and asked him to save some for you in case you were interested. They’ve got some fresh beef for burgers and sandwiches, pumpkin pie, apple pie, loaded baked potatoes, and all kinds of other tasty stuff for a cookout. The Ryes are coming round to help pitch in and organize it all as a little morale boost party. Wanna come? You deserve to put up your feet and relax, and I’m sure I’m not the only one who’d appreciate your company if you felt like joining in. If you’d rather not, I can sneak food to you if you want quiet time to yourself. It’s all good, just tell me what you want and where you want it.”

Location Specific:

- Near where the police station was, if it’s been burned down: [Sighs.] “While I’m not missing the paperwork that got torched, there was a nice feel of history to the old place. Wish they hadn’t burned it down, fuckers. But, well...the Project and the Seeds have good reason to have no love for police and authority figures among others, even before all this horribleness and the leadup stuff came down. So I can’t say I’m surprised they did.”

- Upon entering the Spread Eagle, if friendly: “Finally, a place where everybody knows our names instead of yelling “Deputies!” at us all day! Wanna hit up the arcade? I’ll buy the first round if you get the higher score.”

- Seed Ranch, outside if it hasn’t been liberated, inside if it has been liberated: “Never going to understand why some folks want real airy houses with so much dead space as their main living quarters. Feels more like a knickknack museum you’re supposed to look at, not a home you’re supposed to live in. He’s got all this Eden’s Gate paraphernalia in those glass display cases, and I don’t doubt John’s fervent in his beliefs, but it feels more like a rich boy’s hunting and vacation lodge cobbled together with a vague idea of home. You saw the doghouse out back, right? What’s the point of having a dog live outside if you’ve got ALL this space, it’s all finished wood floors, and you’ve made sure to train ‘em and raise ‘em properly so they know not to chew on the furniture? It’s lonely, that’s what this is. Joseph chides John and all that about learning to love, but it’s a case of the blind leading the blind there.” - Outside St. Francis Veterans Center: [Before the Veterans Center is liberated, if Jacob has captured the Deputy at least once, so the song “Only You” is played around the Center, and the melody starts to be audible in the distance as the group approaches.] “Yeah hey, I’m going to go the other way now and wait for you over here where I can’t hear the song of madness, ‘kay? Maybe you should avoid it too.” [This is followed by Joshua refusing to go too close to the Center, sans possible AU story missions.] - Anywhere near Joseph’s Island: [The first time the party gets near Joseph’s Island,] “Uh. No. I’m not going near that place twice any sooner than we need to.” [Watch Joshua be willing to jump out even into deep water and swim away if the Deputy tries to approach the island with him in tow on a boat.]

OC Fighting Style

Tagged by @chyrstis​ !! Thank you for the tag!! :D <3 This was another fun one to fill out (and shorter than the above but you know what we’re stapling all of these bad boys into one post bc Why Not.) Have an aesthetic picture of a Jacob sheep skull upon a sheep skin for the fun implications of what that says about Joshua’s fighting style. xD Ram skull image after some searching was sourced from [here], with a creative commons license for free-to-reuse, with some limitations.

Rules: bold = often (or always), italics = sometimes, default = rarely, strike = never

fight honorably / fight dirty / prefer close-quarters / prefer range / chat during / go silent / low pain tolerance / high pain tolerance / attack in bursts / attack steadily / go for the kill / aim to disarm / fight defensively / bait an opponent’s first strike / strike first / provoked easily / provoke their opponent / tease / get visibly frustrated / shout while attacking / use strategy / focus on their battle / experience conflicting thoughts during battle / rush in recklessly / try to read their opponent before fighting / fight wildly / fight calmly, apathetically / fight with anger / fight with excitement / fight because they have to / fight because they want to / fight without regard to wounds / run away when wounded / hide wounds / take a blow to protect another / prefer a blade / prefer a gun (non lethal rounds/tranquilizer darts) / prefer a bow / prefer a shield /  prefer a spear naginata / prefer a personalized weapon / prefer psychic abilities / prefer brawling / their greatest weakness is physical / their greatest weakness is mental / their greatest weakness is emotional / transform for battle / fight as they appear / rely on strength / rely on speed / use everything they have / hide their full potential / exhaust quickly /  high stamina / doubt their strength / proceed with caution / behave arrogantly / brag after landing a hit / belittle their abilities / use psychological tactics / use brute strength / avoid civilians / strike down civilians / damage surroundings / avoid damaging surroundings / signature fighting style / making it up as they go / mastered skillset / learning their skillset / fancy footwork / sloppy footwork / messy fighter / elegant fighter / accept defeat / refuse defeat / beg for mercy / compliment their opponent / insult their opponent / use unnecessary movements / move efficiently / barely move / prefer to dodge / prefer to block / defend their blindside / has no blindside / use all available advantages / strictly use one main method / play around / hold back / fight ruthlessly / show mercy / wait for opponent to be ready / strike when opponent isn’t ready / fear death  / fear pain / fear killing / has PTSD / avoid fighting / has lost a fight / has won a fight / has killed / refuses to kill / want to die standing / would succumb slowly

WIP Day

Tagged by @chyrstis and @hawkfurze !! Thank you for the tags!! :D <3

An excerpt from the current WIP chapter for ACABH: ————————— Weak. He was so weak, barely able to move right now, and he didn’t even know why. There was pain, a lot of pain, a feeling like his bones were on fire and about to crumble under pressure at any moment—but he’d been through worse. In this instance, he could recall that he’d fallen through the sky for a brief tumultuous time before gravity had stepped in, leading to him landing hard upon the road, as if making up for the lack of physics earlier. —————————

[rcris123]

It is the Christmas’ Eve! and I happen to be @sadieadler​ ‘s Secret Santa this howdy season for @rdrsecretsanta​!!! I hope you enjoy your gift I had a lot of fun writing this! It’s some John almost drowning whump and big brother Arthur. 

They all knew why John didn’t swim; happened when he was 12 or 13: bucked off the horse and into a rapid; nearly drowned. Arthur may still be nibbling him for his inability, but that night he let John sleep next to him. Kid was shivering like he’d break apart any minute.

And just ‘bout the same happened now, some 15 years later.

Cougar, sprung from the bushes. They were just crossing the river. Searching for game. Krampus, John’s horse, bucked him off and ran across. He was just a moment too late shooting that cougar, John was swept by the current downstream.

“Arth-”

“Don’t yell, Marston! You’ll only drown quicker!”

Arthur jumps right out of the saddle. His knees buckle under him by the force of the rapid.

He swims to John, or at least attempts to, ‘cause the current is insanely strong, feeling as if it does whatever it wants with his body. Muscles are already sore, stinging from strain and cold. It was still winter, dammit.

He catches John’s hand at last, fights to pull him under his arm so that he can try and keep that fool’s head above water. He seems half conscious already.

Reaching the shore was a struggle, and the shores nearest to them were steep and rocky. But he can’t swim with Marston like this to the other side. At least there wasn’t a waterfall yet.

“UP!” He pulls John out of the water first, then himself, his feet still swept away.

“Hey...” John looks at him half lidded, voice thick, soupy. He starts coughing violently.

Arthur pushes himself up so he can offer the other some back support while he coughs up the water. Strong pats between the shoulder-blades follow suit. It becomes violent and he could hear the dryness of that throat as each breath came with a wheeze.

“C’mon, don’t drown just yet-” Pats are gentler. Marston heaves, letting his head fall backwards for air. “That’s it. Breathe deep...”

No reply, not for a long time, just ragged breathing trying to even itself out.

“I... owe you my life.”

“At least 3 times over...”

“C’mon...” John coughs one last time, and falls on his back with a thud. And it’s the first time he gets to see the cliff-face they gotta climb to get outta there. Boadicea somehow found her way just above them, her head propping down to look at them. She was nickering concerned.

“Comin’ right up, girl.”

Arthur pulls himself up; muscles pop as they’re pulled into motion. The groan is mandatory at that point. He extends John a hand; man takes it and stumbles onto his feet, only to then lean heaving on the cliff-face.

“Now you think we can climb that?”

A puff, lips purse in thought.

“We can try to make our way back to the crossing...” Arthur muses, looking for it; it had to be upwards from where they were.

The river sloped gently downwards, not enough to create a waterfall but enough that you couldn’t climb it back up through the water -  he says that like they ain’t just got swept by it... A sigh. There didn’t seem to be any edge they could try and shimmy by or any ledge low enough that they could try and climb back up from.

A scratch of the beard. He whistles for Boadicea and she nickers pitifully as she’s unable to reach down to them. Another purse of lips, followed by another sigh.

John was wheezing there, wet and scared, as if this was it and he was to die here.

“It’s gonna be alright, John.” Arthur leaned in to pat the man’s shoulder. “Maybe I just need to get out of here and try fetchin’ a boat or something.”

John woke from his trance and grabbed the fabric of his shirt. He ain’t wanna be left alone... He gets that... It’ll probably be dark by the time he gets to return and then it’ll be cold and the man’ll end up freezing. That and who knows what other animal decides it’s a good idea to get a bite outta this fool.

He leans on the rock himself:

“Remember that time Person tried to teach you how to swim?”

“Yeah...”

“You screamed like a dying animal until Dutch got a hold of you, put you on count and took you out for a bit.”

“Can you believe he just rode out with me to preach about how we needed to stick together? I felt like shit.”

“And you returned with a bag full o’candy.”

“Dutch is good at parenting when he wants to!”

“Nah, you just always was a lil’ special, ain’t you, Marston?” Arthur chuckles only to be thrown of balance by a shove.

He keeps laughing, quietly. He’s always been his little brother...

A pat on the back:

“Gonna get us a boat.”

That inhale John took was sharp. “Get here quick, will ya!”

“Sure!”

It was quite the feat getting across the rapid as he was, muscles sore and chest heavy from having dragged John out. Boadicea nickered even before he called for her. Legs up and the girl giddies to a gallop and somewhere in the back of his head he’s sure he heard John shriek after him to come back faster. It was going to be night, cold’s gonna come and even now Arthur’s feeling the wind bite through his wet clothes.

He ain’t thought that, being in the Grizzlies, finding a boat was like looking for a needle in a haystack. But he’s gotta get back to John somehow.

He goes as far as Berryville and somehow he gets to find a local with a canoe, but at this point he ain’t even knowing if this was the right river anymore and if it wasn’t how is he going to get that goddamn boat from he to whereever he left John. Luckily he still has a good memory and he remembers that rock-face

Not really how exactly to get back to it, and in the fading light it only got harder.

He somehow harnessed the canoe to drag behind Boadicea and he tried his best to track his steps back.

There was howls in the distance. His poor girl wasn’t fast, anything faster than a steady lope and she stumbled or got dragged behind. And finding a path that ain’t been run over by weeds, stumps, bushes or sharp rocks was a whole ‘nother discussion. He was almost certain he’ll find John frozen or eaten when he finally reaches the clifface.

He hears that hoarse neigh of Krampus; that stallion was most probably the ugliest beast he ever laid eyes on, possibly one of the flightiest too, but that was reason enough to stick with its rider. The moon was high on the sky already, barely shining ‘cause it was barely a waxing crescent. And there sure as shit were wolves nearby. Boadicea was getting nervous.

“C’mon girl, not far now.”

She nickered back.

At last the waterfall.

“HEY! SOMEONE OUT THERE!?” John shouts, panic stained in his voice.

“It’s me!” he hollers back.

He dismounts and tries his best to untie the canoe as quickly as possible:

“How’re you holdin’ up?!”

“Freezing!”

“Least you ain’t dead yet!” Arthur pushes the boat into the rapid and tries his best to jump in and paddle across without getting swept too far away.

“You think you’re funny?”

He doesn’t reply to that, sweating himself to row. He more or less crashes in the other side, propping himself in the paddle as he turns around to row back. John stiffly gets in after a moment’s hesitation but before Arthur can get to make a snide remark on that.

Muscles pop with each movement, it aches, yet with a heave Arthur pushes the boat out into the water again, and it’s swept away with force. It rocks. John grips the edges of the boat as it threatens to topple over. Movement’s quick; Arthur leans to steady the boat, anchoring the paddle in the riverbed as best he can, forcing the boat to drag along. He can’t look at John, instead arms move from side to side, rowing forward with all he’s got. But there’s little strength left and the canoe’s a man heavier now. Movement’s agonizingly slow and they’re slowly but surely getting turned starboard.

The river narrows downstream.

To John’s panic, felt in the way the boat rattles under their weight, Arthur decides to let the boat turn. The current sweeps them down; he keeps rowing sideways. The water’s carrying them with speed and fury.

“Arthur-”

Canoe crashes into the shore, the tail swaying downstream still.

He jumps off and lends John a hand; it’s grabbed with both arms as the man stands up, struggling, shaking.

He barely steadies when finally on the other side, clinging to Arthur like a scared animal, wet and cold and barely out of death’s grip. He can’t help patting John’s back rigorously, which brings him back to reality.

“It’s gonna be a’right, John.”

“Y-Yeah...” man huffs out. “I- Thank you, Arthur...” They let go of one another as Arthur calls for the horses. “And... I’m sorry... For all this.”

“I got you...”

“Thank you... Brother.”

[theonewiththefanfics]

Pour Some Sugar On Me (one-shot)

Synopsys: A red dress, an innocent smile and lips like sugar- that’s enough to make Roger lose his mind. And the Reader will use everything she has to her advantage.

Pairing: Ben Hardy! Roger Taylor x f!Reader

Genre: SMUT, fluff

Warnings: SMUT (m going down on f, fingering), swearing, drinking

Word count: 3035

Inspired by Def Leppard’s song Pour Some Sugar On Me... honestly such a fucking banger! If ya want, listen to it while reading this ;)

       The house was packed as Y/N and Roger walked inside, her smaller hand tightly held in his calloused one. People cheered and hollered when they noticed Queen’s drummer walk in their midst with his beautiful lady by his side.        “I’ll get us drinks, love!” he yelled over the booming rock music and saw Y/N nod in response.        “I’ll be somewhere on the dance floor!” and with a wink, she was off. The blond bit his lip as he watched her hips sway in that tight little red number that hugged her ass so perfectly it was like the material was a second skin.        She’d worn it just for him. That much Roger was definitely aware of because Y/N knew just how fast it set him off, just how quickly the crimson dress with the deep V-neck cut and barely-there straps made him hard. When she’d walked down the steps of their apartment and he’d seen what she was wearing, Roger had actually bit on his knuckles to keep the groan in.        “You’ll be the death of me, darling,” he’d murmured pulling her body right next to him and nipping at her earlobe.        “But wouldn’t a death like this be just oh so sweet?” Y/N’s voice was sultry, and if Roger hadn’t sworn to Freddie he’d be at the party, he would’ve just ripped the garment off of her and bent her over the counter.        “The sweetest,” he muttered a reply, before detaching and grabbing the car keys. 

       The ride to Freddie’s place was one from Hell. The whole time he kept his hand on Y/N’s thigh and the dress seemed to grow shorter and shorter with every passing minute; it’s like the cloth itself was somehow shrinking and teasing him. There was even a moment where he almost swerved on the road, as he felt her fingers skim against his bicep.        “Love ya, Roggie,” Y/N muttered pressing a kiss against his shoulder.        “Love ya too, darling.” He’d never been happier to reach a destination because one more minute and he would’ve crashed the car.        As he made his way through the crowd, in one hand, he held Y/N’s preferred- gin and tonic- in the other he had the same order.        “Great minds think alike,” she had remarked on their first date when the waiter of the restaurant had come up and asked what they wished to order.        Getting through the mass of people was practically impossible, but somehow Roger managed to do it with minimal spillage. And then he almost dropped both glasses when he saw Y/N dancing.        The flashing lights roamed over her body much like Roger’s gaze. Her legs in the burgundy heels looked delectable, her waist was cinched and just screamed for Roger to dig his fingers in the flesh, and that smile… that smile was vile and cruel and horrible because there was no way they’d be able to sneak off for a quickie. Not when she was dancing with Freddie. Fuck, he was fucked. And he was so fucking glad for it.        They’d met after one of his shows. Y/N actually hadn’t been a fan of theirs, let alone a groupie. Her best friend had dragged her to the concert, the bribe being free drinks and food, and she’d never been able to say no to that.        Roger had noticed her immediately when he’d made his way on stage, and throughout the performance, he kept eye contact with pretty much only Y/N.        “He’s looking at you!” Stevie had yelled in Y/N’s ear, her grin bright and infectious.        “Who?” she screamed back trying to be louder than the crowd.        “Roger Taylor!”        “Who?”        Stevie rolled her eyes. “The blond one! The drummer!”        And sure enough, when Y/N turned back to face the stage he was staring right at her.        Instead of the usual response he got when a pretty girl caught him glancing, she had snorted and shaken her head. Even when he’d winked at her, he got zero acknowledgement.        So, he played more vigorously, kept his eyes on her, but Y/N didn’t budge. She deliberately watched just Freddie, John and Brian, and when they took their bows, Roger’s blue orbs blazing, almost frying a hole in her head, she finally gave in and threw him a wink. That’s when his heart did this weird flip thing.        At the afterparty, he sat in one specific place where he could observe the people coming in and out of the door, but no sign of the Y/H/C haired beauty. Despite the numerous women twirling around, Roger wasn’t interested in anyone apart from the stubborn girl who wouldn’t give him the time.        He huffed and stood up to get another drink when his feet stumbled. There, by the bar and chatting away with Brian was she.        Roger’s brain wasn’t thinking, it was no longer in control as his legs moved on their own accord and brought him to stand beside her.        “Hello, love,” he spoke up expecting for the woman to turn around, but she didn’t. She just put her hand up in a wave and downed a shot.        “Your turn Bri.”        Fuck, her voice. Did everything have to be so appealing about her?        “Ya know, when someone says ‘hi’ usually you say ‘hi’ back.”        “Ya know when someone doesn’t reply it means back off?”        Brian laughed at how Roger was at a sudden loss for words. He wasn’t used to people rejecting him.        “I uh I saw you at the concert,” he tried to make conversation once more. “You were in the front row.”        She simply shrugged drinking another shot and biting on a lime. “Friend’s a fan. Promised me free drinks, though I didn’t think she meant ‘get us into the after party and then disappear with the bassist', oh, uh what’s his name uhhh John. Your friend Brian offered to keep me company while the two go at it.”        Great, Roger thought to himself, even John was getting it on while he was still busting his ass. He leaned on the counter on her other side and smirked. “And what if I kept you some company?”        “I don’t know,” she spun around on the chair and rested her elbows against the table. “You must have a pretty good excuse to pull me away from the riveting conversation I was having.”        “What? Interplanetary space dust?” Roger cackled and looked at Brian who rolled his eyes.        “Actually, how quantum effects allow black holes to emit exact black body radiation. Hawking’s theory.”        Once again Roger was stumped. He hated Brian’s smug grin and the fact that she was mirroring it so perfectly.        “So no,” she said standing up and smoothing down her skirt, “not just interplanetary dust.”        And with a ‘thank you’ to Brian she was sauntering off, but before Roger missed the chance he yelled after her, “What’s your name?”        All he received was a wink. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”        Now, on most nights it was the name he cursed and moaned. The thought of that made him giddy.        “You trying to charm my woman, Fred?” Roger asked as he approached the pair and handed over Y/N her drink. Deliberately, and he knew it was so, she let her tongue wet her bottom lip before it wrapped around the tiny black straw and her rouged mouth took a sip.        “Trust me, darling, she’s the one who’s charmed me and half the guests here,” Freddie’s laugh was loud and boisterous; Roger just rolled his eyes and shook his head.        He knew the effect Y/N had on people, how all eyes turned to follow her as if she was the sun and they were sunflowers. She had this innocent demeanour. As if those lips of hers weren’t pure sin and her eyes weren’t hypnotizing. In a second, she could bewitch anyone she wanted, and they’d fall to her feet and surrender their heart. For whatever reason, she’d gone for Roger.        Y/N kept looking at him the whole time as he and Freddie spoke, catching up as the two hadn’t seen one another in a while. When she bit down on her straw and smiled at him, the drummer pinched the inside of his wrist to keep his mind in a decent place. But then she downed her drink.        In one big gulp, the G&T was gone, and a little sliver dribbled down her chin, trailing a path on her neck and disappeared in her cleavage.        “Fucking hell,” Roger whispered, his blue eyes wide as Y/N threw him a wink.        Freddie having seen that just rolled his eyes and patted his friend on the back. “Just use protection, kids.” Then he was off to mingle with the other guests.        “Something wrong, Roggie?” Y/N asked in a sweet tone that sent blood straight from his brain to his little brain as she swayed her hips from side to side.        “Nope,” he answered pulling her close to him and pecking her lips, “nothing at all. Only you looking as sinful as ever while tasting like dessert.”        In response, Y/N pulled Roger down by the open lapels of his dress shirt and gave him a passionate kiss while grinding against his front.        “What are you trying to do to me, woman?” Roger groaned in Y/N’s ear as his palms settled on her hips, tightly pressing them together. “Do you want everyone to see just how hard I am?”        She smirked feeling the bulge against her thigh. “Now, Roggie, isn’t that meant just for me?”        “Of course, it is, but when you act like the devil you are in front of the crowd, how can I control myself?”        “Mhm,” she hummed kissing his neck, “so it’s my fault now?”        “Always, baby.” Y/N’s satisfied smile was blissful.        Her hand trailed down Roger’s chest and slowly but surely disappeared under the open shirt.        “Darling,” his voice had dropped a few octaves and was laced with a warning, but Y/N only smiled at him, her Y/E/C eyes glinting with mischief as she raked her nails on the toned abdomen.        “Fucking hell, you really want to ruin me, don’t you?”        She only smiled wider when Roger squeezed her ass and slid his palms up her back.        “I mean, you can tell me to stop and I will,” Y/N said it in such an angelic tone both of them could feel his member twitch in the constraints of his pants. “But I don’t think you want me to.”        Her other hand was making a dangerous dip, and before Roger could react, she was palming him through the jeans. He was lucky that the music was as loud as it was, otherwise the whole fucking house would’ve heard the obscene moan that left his lips.        “Was this your plan all along?” he groaned in her ear, hiding his face in Y/N’s neck as she didn’t stop her motions. “Work me up? Tease me? Everyone thinks you’re so fucking innocent, you’re such a good girl… if only they knew… if only they realized what a minx you are…”        And when he pulled back, he saw the biggest smile on Y/N’s face he’d ever witnessed. “Then what are you waiting for?”        Quickly he grabbed her hand and led the way out of the large room. He tried to keep his palms from shaking and knees from buckling as they made their way towards one of the many bedrooms, but Roger was struggling.        On their way up the stairs Y/N snatched a drink from someone’s hand and downed it, but before the liquid could completely make its way to her stomach, she pulled Roger towards her and smashed their lips in a kiss.        He could taste the rum and coke and what seemed to be vanilla as his tongue licked in her mouth, gently teasing the roof of it before tangling with Y/N’s.        “Delicious as always,” Roger smirked as he pulled back.        “I think something else might be sweeter…”        “Why don’t we find out then?”            The door opened with a slam as he pushed Y/N backwards, their lips attached for each and every step as they went inside before he closed the door by lifting her up and pressing the woman against it.        Swiftly Roger turned the lock and smirked. “Don’t want an audience, do we?”        “I don’t know,” she purred, “I like it when everyone knows who you belong to.”        “You, baby,” he kissed cupping her cheeks. “Never doubt that.”        It took Roger less than twenty seconds to zip open Y/N’s dress and have it pooling around her ankles. His jaw dropped at the sight. A deep crimson bralette cupped her breasts and pushed them up together while the garter belt was connected to the black stockings, a red thong the only thing covering the rest of her.        “You like it?” she gave Roger a little twirl because Y/N was fully aware of the impact she had on him, and if there came a time, she didn’t tease her man to no end, it would be the day the world explodes.    “Remind me why exactly did I not rip that dress off while we were still home?”    Y/N smirked wrapping her arms around his neck and leaning in to bite at his earlobe. “Because you promised Freddie he’d get to host our engagement party.”        “Yeah, fuck that,” his hands sneaked around her thighs and he squeezed, telling her to jump.        “I’d rather you fuck me,” Y/N gave him a wicked grin as Roger turned around and threw her on the bed, her body bouncing a bit with the motion.        “Oh, love,” he undid the rest of his shirt and discarded it somewhere on the floor. “I fully intend to. But first, I need a taste.”        She whined at his words, but the noise was soon replaced by soft moans as Roger slid the thong down, putting it in the back pocket of his jeans with a smirk, and let his tongue lap around Y/N’s soaking core.    “Like fucking candy,” Roger muttered before diving back in and licking a long stripe right from her centre to her clit.        He worked her for a good few minutes before reverting his lips to the soft skin of her thighs and replacing his tongue with his fingers.        “How many, baby?” he asked, teasing her entrance mercilessly, dipping them in but not fully.        “Roger please,” Y/N whined, and she tried to grind her hips down, but he was stronger. When you play the drums for years, you grow some arm muscle and right now, she was very much so upset about it, because the palm pushing her waist down was very much so in control.        “Words, love,” Roger nipped the inside of her thigh. “How many?”        “I don’t care, just fucking do som-“        In a single move, his middle and pointer finger slid inside. He curled them upwards in a ‘come here’ motion, and Y/N’s eyes rolled to the back of her head.        “If only you could see yourself,” Roger muttered to her, though she was gone. The pleasure of his digits moving in and out accompanied by the delicious rubbing his thumb did on her clit had thrown her brain into another dimension.        “Fuck, you’re clenching so hard, darling,” Roger moaned trailing his mouth up from her hip, then her stomach, her chest, where he left a few blooming marks until he reached her neck, which he assaulted as much as possible before finally moving to her lips.    Her lipstick was already smeared all over her mouth, as it was around Roger's, and the knowledge of that made him grin.        Y/N’s fingers weaved in his blond mop, pulling him impossibly close, and she revelled in the still lingering taste of herself on his tongue. The sounds in the room were obscene, and even when the doorknob jiggled, someone else trying to make their way in, neither cared. Roger was too immersed in how Y/N’s walls fluttered around his digits, and dreaming of the moment he could be inside her while she was trying to keep her loudest moans at bay.        “No, love, that won’t do,” he gently scolded her as Y/N bit down on her knuckles to keep the scream in when his finger brushed against that spot deep inside. “Wanna make sure every fucking person here knows who’s making you feel this good.”        Y/N’s lips tugged up in a smile. “I’ll scream only if you scream.”        The drummer squeezed his blue eyes shut because those words were about to make him cum in his pants. “All in due time, sugar,” he said clearing his head. “But wanna hear you first.”        Now she didn’t hold back. Y/N moaned and sighed his name, and much to Roger’s satisfaction, especially when he got to that particular spot, she choked on a breath before groaning loudly.        “Come on, darling,” he cooed at her in the same tone he spoke to her when Y/N was in a sour mood, and he was trying to figure things out. “I know you’re close. Let go, love. Wanna see you drench my fingers.”        And he didn’t’ have to wait long. With her nails digging in his biceps and teeth biting down on his shoulder, Y/N’s orgasm obliterated all of her senses. She couldn’t feel how hot his skin was or the soothing kisses Roger placed all over her neck and cheeks and forehead. Nothing but white burning bliss existed.        Her body, and especially legs shook at the aftermath, and she couldn’t wait for the next day, when a pleasurable ache would settle between her legs.        “You good, baby?”        How Roger could go from a merciless tease and a fucking sex god to a concerned lover with the eyes of a puppy was beyond Y/N.        “Better than good, love,” she replied releasing a satisfied hum as he gave her a kiss. “But kinda wanna be even better.” With that said her hand cupped his still confined bulge. “What d’ya say?”        “Your wish is my command, sweetheart.”        And her lips as she kissed him were sugar sweet.

Pour some sugar on me Oh, in the name of love Pour some sugar on me Get it, come get it Pour your sugar on me Pour some sugar on me Yeah! Sugar me!

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A/N: The inhuman screech I let out when I saw that Avengers: End Game had a new trailer was so loud it scared the birds outside! My insides ar shaking!!! Tony’s back on Earth!1!!@! AAAAHHHHHHH

P.S. feedback is always appreciated

P.S.S. my tags are always open/ requests are closed for now :(