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ive kinda wound up on an ongoing hiatus from tunglr and im sorry ive been bad at getting back to people lately im just in a weird place at the moment. not a bad place necessarily? just rp isn’t doing it for me like it usually does and i have no idea how to hold conversations right now and im in that mindset where i hate everything i write so. idk. im okay, im just gonna take a step back from things for a bit and try a refresh.

i love you all, i hope you’re well, drink lots of water, and ill be back to annoy the fuck outta you once im over whatever this dumb reclusive mood is.

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TEXT MESSAGE STARTERS, PART TWO ! 

Send one of the prompts below to get a response from my muse.

wrong/random number texts: 

( ✉ → sms ) found your number written on a wall… should i erase it?

( ✉ → sms ) [random name here]? is this still your number?

( ✉ → sms ) pretty sure you dialed the wrong number, but thanks for the 13 drunk voicemails last night.

( ✉ → sms ) you don’t know me but i’m bored and texting random numbers, so hi!

( ✉ → sms ) you FUCKING asshole, i hope you know how much i hate you!!!

sad texts:

( ✉ → sms ) can you please distract me so i don’t cry in public?

( ✉ → sms ) everything hurts lately

( ✉ → sms ) thanks for trying to cheer me up, but it’s not working.

( ✉ → sms ) what makes you feel better when you’re sad?

( ✉ → sms ) i just need to vent…

drunk texts:

( ✉ → sms ) im not DRUNK waht amkes you thijnk that

( ✉ → sms ) cna you pick me up… and brign some shoess… i cant find mine

( ✉ → sms ) the party was horrible but at least ikm drunk lol

( ✉ → sms ) whyj don’t oyu fuckign miss me????

( ✉ → sms ) all i wnat to do right now is talkk to you

angsty texts:

( ✉ → sms ) please talk to me. please help me make this work.

( ✉ → sms ) i don’t think we should see each other again.

( ✉ → sms ) when will we admit we’re no good for each other…

( ✉ → sms ) just know i cared about you. i really did.

( ✉ → sms ) i don’t think things can ever go back to the way they were between us

misc texts:

( ✉ → sms ) why do you reply so slowwwwwww

( ✉ → sms ) help me choose a pizza topping please

( ✉ → sms ) don’t listen to any of the voicemails i sent last night. i was drunk.

( ✉ → sms ) you haven’t watched my snapchat story all day. what are you up to?????

( ✉ → sms ) i’ve had the same dream about you three times in a row, is that weird?

( ✉ → sms ) why is april fool’s the only day of the year where people critically evaluate news articles before accepting them as true?

( ✉ → sms ) soooo, in your opinion, what are some of my best qualities? i need help writing my tinder bio.

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“you’re a dying thing that never quite dies. still desperate, still trying to keep going, to keep flying— to prove you’re alive.”

— the difference between surviving and living | m.a.w

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TAIMADOS.

       With only cigarette smoke between them, Javier studied the profile of his face, the line of his chin, the deep scars on his cheek. Perhaps he hoped to see something sharp there, but no matter how long he looked, he couldn’t find it. John was John, he would always be John for him, and that carried a weight he couldn’t label or frame into words. It meant it was true. 

       His eyes shifted towards the empty street, the artificial light, the hot and stinky fumes coming from the storm drains. It all seemed otherworldly somehow, as if they had stepped out of their reality for a moment, into some private and desolate world. If only it were that easy. If only he could bring himself to even wish for something like that. 

       “Yeah, I know,” he repeated, his hand slipping from John’s shoulder and falling dead beside him. Talking about feelings, about the worries he hoarded in his mind, it didn’t feel natural, not even with John. He felt way too sober to have that conversation, and yet, there he was, painfully aware he shouldn’t turn his back on it, they were already walking on thin ice. “It just don’t feel like that’s enough sometimes,” he scratched his nose and tried to brush off the heaviness of his words. “People keep slippin’ away, y’know?”

      JOHN LAUGHED.   there was nothing funny about it in the least and still he laughed anyway, clawing at some old memory of when conversations like this were unheard of between them.   between any of them.   another symptom of the same disease, slowly coiling its anxious tendrils around them, splitting them off from the herd as if they'd be easier to take down one by one until there's nothing left to claim fealty to at all.

      there wasn't much space between them as it was but there needed to be less, suddenly.   unceremoniously—and without warning—he crowded javier back against the bricks, all hips and swagger pulled from some movie idea of how this sort of back alley tryst was supposed to be.   another inhale and the cherry of javier's cigarette glowed bright for a second between them, illuminating both their faces.   there were no magical truths to be found out there, no secrets hidden in the shadows, but that didn't mean there was no place for it.   maybe it was all they had left.

      "yeah, i know."   he felt it too, the cracks forming in the foundation, the paradigm shift that loomed on the horizon.   change was coming whether they wanted it or not and there wasn't anything they could do about it but hold on to what was important.   he kissed him slowly, then, fingers light on his jaw, cigarette close enough it might burn them both if he wasn't careful about it.   it was supposed to mean something, to maybe right some wrong that had been done, but maybe all it was just existed on the surface: a final cry into the void, a promise sealed into it he wasn't sure he could still keep.

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someone on tumblr: there’s so much beauty in being soft and emotionally vulnerable

me: ya. i’ll stay ugly

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VAQUERON.

THERE’S FAMILIARITY CAUGHT BETWEEN HIS BROWS.   even the sloshing of mud from passing townsfolk cannot break this growing fixation.   where did he know this man from ?   why were the curves of his lips painted with the feeling of boyhood memories ?   nostalgia haunts him, chilling deep to the bone.   the horse falls from the height of concern as jesse begins to shuffle backwards, trying to gather his bearings in a sudden surge of emotion.   john fucking marston.   it felt like it’d been a damn lifetime since that bitter feud between van der linde and deadlock.   but god, he still remembers the regret that threatened to choke him when he chose to follow ashe into the dark instead.

“     you, uh  —  remember me?     ”          he questions.   like they hadn’t spent a good amount of time together in the past.   jesse argues that it was a different time, that they were just kids, and so many things have changed.   it felt like it’d been an eternity since marston had even entertained a thought in his mind.   surely he’d been forgotten since then too.          “     you still runnin’ with the boys ?     ”          perhaps not the best place to carry on a conversation like this, considering he currently sat atop a stolen horse.   north was his best option, but all he wanted to do was stand here, caught in the moment.

      THE GHOST IN HIS MEMORIES doesn't take too kindly to being replaced.   the question alone tells him that he's on the right path to something—something old and forgotten, something he'd never imagined might resurface.   a messy-haired boy with a smile too big for his face and ideas even bigger, a boy with trouble written all over him, a boy he might have followed to the ends of the earth if things might have happened differently.   if he hadn't left.

      valentine isn't the place for old grudges to resurface, especially not in the middle of the main road through town.   he knees old boy forward before he really thinks about it, before someone behind him can really get to yelling, and spares the stranger a glance from under the brim of his hat that may as well ask every question he's got in one fell swoop.   "how 'bout you follow me?"   his suddenly-genial tone says something different as he moves again, heading towards the stables.   "we'll get your horse sorted out so you ain't cracking her teeth none."

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COACHGUNNER.

@feckugly // starter call.

She eyes him up, and just barely does her mouth curl – annoyed. 

“Well, one of us is gonna have to change – and it ain’t gonna be me.”

      IF HE LOOKS AT HER TOO LONG it’s because he’s not entirely sure what to make of her.   “you okay there, miss?”   it’s not genuine concern, but he feigns it well enough when he needs to.   “seems you’re wearing it better anyway.   some of us ain’t really got all that many options, though.”

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OUTLOYAL.

EVEN STANDING BEFORE EACH OTHER, there’s a level of distance that grows between them.   as if this were some thinly veiled trick, meant to mess with the other’s sanity.   an undertow waiting, patiently, to pull them under.   but memories continue to flutter by, igniting a sad sense of longing deep beneath arthur’s ribcage.   though his time away from this reality had been immeasurable, time has only touched john’s face, hardening it to face greater evils along the way.

“     i really can’t tell you why.   don’t got a solid answer for myself, if that give y’any comfort.   just woke up on that mountain, spent my time tryin’ to find someone i knew.   didn’t wanna get my hopes up that you were still livin’, but i guess somethin’ is working in my favor for once.     ”          the distance remains between them, a necessary precaution still.   however, there’s a growing itch that arthur suspects he won’t be able to ignore for long.   one that longs to close the gap between them and pull the other man into an embrace.   for now, he’ll reason that the rifle between them remains a steady threat.          “     y’look older   —   wiser, i guess.   maybe.   ain’t some dumb kid no more.   is it   —  just you ?     ”

      HE DOESN'T DESERVE THIS, whatever it is.   good or bad, right or wrong, holy or evil: he doesn't deserve either the pain or the reward.   arthur's voice is what he remembers it to be and it strokes some old, hurt part of his mind that's locked it away so long as to forget it entirely because remembering it is more punishment than he's willing to put himself through.   it crawls down inside him, circles tight around his chest, threatens to squeeze all the life out of him and hell, maybe that's how this dumb old story ends, with the life sucked out of him by his own desperate longing.

      "it's just me."   the words crack, thick in his throat.   the longer he studies him the harder it is to say it's not arthur, but it's been so many years already and his memories have had the chance to filter in and wash over all the reality with the warmer tones of remembrance that he can't trust them.   "you been gone a long time.   you been dead a long time."   he's seen his grave, up on that mountain.   he's sat up there in silence for hours at a time, wishing for something that can't ever happen.  and now, here he stands, as if to grant him all those silent requests.   it's bittersweet and cruel.   "were you dead?"   arthur doesn't look like he's aged a day, but he has to ask.   "or were you just staying away?"

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TEMPRFLARE.

   ❛   you  know  I  don’t  believe  you  .   ❜  

   ❛   you  boys  need  to  cool  it  or  a  night  in  the  cell  is  going  to  forcibly  cool  it  for  you  .  marston  you  sound  like  a  fucking  child  …  two  wrongs  don’t  make  a  right   &   retaliation  is  just  as  guilty  as  an  attack  .  I’ve  let  you  off  plenty  so  do  me  a  favor   &   actually  lay  low  this  time  .   ❜  

      "SOUNDS LIKE YOU'RE ON THEIR SIDE."   as if police don't have better things to do than choose between varying degrees of lawlessness.   she's right, though (and isn't she usually?), and he bites his tongue rather than rising up with some straw man argument just to waste her time.   he changes tactics, instead, pulling a mostly-empty pack of smokes from his pocket as he settles against the side of her vehicle.   "look.   if someone's looking to punch me in my face for no reason how'm i supposed to just walk away?"

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OUTLOYAL.

“     YOU KNOW WHAT?   i do have some goddamn spatial awareness   —   more than you ever did.   ‘cept this was just about the only thing acceptable on craigslist.   don’t know about you but i ain’t too keen on pickin’ up a case of bedbugs.     ”          his words are growled out in a mixture of frustration and strain.   normally, it was john alone that could draw that out of him, but the weight of the mattress is pressed hard against his back.   another failed attempt to angle it enough to wedge through the bedroom door.          “     we could bend it.   like a taco.     ”

      “LIKE A TACO?”   were incredulity a fucking chainsaw he’d have a wall off and the mattress inside already.   "morgan, we could fold this damned thing into a fuckin' paper crane and it'd still have its own zip code."   propping it up like this is better than trying to wrangle it through the doorway, but the heat is oppressive enough that even this short exchange dares to choke the air out of his lungs.   "twenty bucks says this won't lie flat even if we somehow figure out how to get it in."

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SYNTHMAMA.

It is a creeping dread, the realization that is felt. Its weight is sharp, claws sinking into shoulders, scraping along the vertebrae that compose the spine just as sharply as the rope that digs around arms & coils TIGHT. The brim of the Stranger’s hat is cast low, providing a swathe of shade for the little expanse of skin not obscured by a dark & dusty bandana. 

Gloved fingers curl in tight, tight enough that the knuckles pop and a tremor wracks the limbs before finally – the tension bleeds away. A pause, interrupted by the heavy drone of cicadas, and finally a left hand comes to rest against the arched neck of the horse of the man responsible for getting the drop on the Mysterious Stranger. 

‘But you already knew what would happen, didn’t you?’ A voice chides in the back of the mind. ‘This was never going to end well. Not for you. Not for anybody.’

“Questions.” The voice is pitched low, careful and measured; ragged in the throat to the point that it’s little more than a whisper. Fears twist, winding and winding until all that’s left in the stomach is a gnawing pit. “Questions, and answers. I’ve seen your face. You’ve seen my work. Was only helping.”

      "...HUH."

      he hasn't got words for the situation yet beyond that.  he's less pleased with himself now and bewilderment seems to creep in at the edges to replace it, half curious and half confused.   something feels...strange about it all, like a gun going off without warning.   there's something to this that he can't quite see and maybe that's for the best, too.   some people just aren't meant to see the world for what it is, himself especially.

      "seems you put an awful lot of work into helping, mister."   he lets the last word hang like an accusation, but he just sits up in his saddle again and squints out into the distance.   dust clouds loom in on the horizon, closer than they'd been earlier in the day, and he seems to have made a decision without thinking too hard about it when he swings himself down off his horse, rope still held tight enough to make a point.   

      knots are easy with enough practice and john's always been good with his hands.   one at a time he drags the stranger's arms behind his back and ties them off with the same length of rope looped around him, cutting it free once his wrists are secured.   "i bet there's a good bounty on your head, hey?   how's about you and me head to town, maybe pay the sheriff a visit?" 

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TAIMADOS   ★. 

      IT WASN'T EASY OUT THERE FOR ANY OF THEM, but that was the choice they'd made with this life, one way or another.   when it was good, it was GOOD, and that feeling spread through the club like a virus, infected everyone with a shiny veneer of hope and dedication.   but the good didn't ever last as long as dutch wanted it to and then they were back to digging through the dregs of their stores, searching for any scrap of light they might still have hidden away.

      john, with his neck still sore from sleeping on the couch wrong again, knew all too well how little light was left.

      "you feelin' lonely, javier?"   the question wasn't nearly as barbed or as funny as he'd intended it to be once it hit the warm night air and it fell flat between them, too much of something real tied up in those words.   it wasn't that javier was WRONG, but john didn't know what he expected to do about it when things were so steadily fragmenting already.   feeling alone was just...part of the job.   part of life, now.   they weren't the ones in charge, and they definitely weren't the ones making decisions for the group that seemed to put them deeper in debt instead of ever paying out.

      he plucked javier's cigarette from his mouth without asking and took a long drag from it, watching the lights of the convenience store down the block flicker.   "you've got me," he said on an exhale, quiet enough it might as well be a secret.   "if you ever feel like you're alone.   you ain't."      @taimados

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trying to give john an o.verwatch verse is just replacing m.ccree’s serape with a denim vest and calling it done.

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Dutch: He’s our son now

Hosea: I don’t think it works like that

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in ANY VERSE on this blog where john isn’t with abigail, it’s only because they have at some point mutually agreed to part ways amicably.