strikercannon-archive

[strikercannon-archive]

birdiecannon​:

Striker’s griping is an apt accompaniment to Birdie’s tidying up, as habitual as is this routine regime, made strict by the eldest Cannon’s self conscious hyper-awareness of the grey growing in lieu of brown. “Fifteen minutes at least,” Birdie recites, memory serving well no thanks to this being a reminder as repetitive as the dye job itself, “twenny, if y’can stomach it.”

The difference between the two is that Birdie’s used to stillness. Striker might barrel his way through life like the bovine critters he lives to tend to, but Birdie’s as still as a grave. He clings to slow living now that he can, though the nighttime sometimes chases him with memories his then restless mind rushes to outrun. It rarely works, unless he’s guzzled his way into an intoxicated stupor. That way, while still haunted, his head’s too full of a familiar hungover ache to worry about the ghosts whispering from the throbbing edges of his groggy mind.

unmedicated something didn’t bode well when it came to a life of calm . raising two young boys , being thrown through the tornado of testosterone , slotted effortlessly into an existence which was constantly on the go , where lingering for any stretch of time was a death-sentence . if they stayed in tennessee they wouldn’t be having that conversation . if they had stayed in texas they would have been slung in prison or worse . the two boys , separated not just by their appearance — resembling each of their parents — but their dispositions , made the type of team that other brotherhoods yearned for . they were simultaneously everything the other lacked and everything the other needed . 

“ twenny ?! “ the male hissed , ammonia already stinging at the sensitive flesh at his scalp . “ an’ what’m i meant t’ do for twenny minutes , sittin’ here twiddlin’ my thumbs an’ watchin’ the tumbleweeds roll on by . “ fingertips twitched in their idle state , flicking against each other , catching the callouses at the sides against his tooth-whittled nails . “ ‘s gots t’ be somethin’ to keep me damn occupied . “ 

[strikercannon-archive]

alarazorlu​:

At first she simply stares at him because she isn’t sure if he’s kidding or not. Certainly he doesn’t look like the person who has the most on this planet, nothing fancy on his person but he also doesn’t look like someone who might be living out of his car or in a tent on some plot of land somewhere. So when he mentions that he isn’t fussy because he’s used to eating scraps out of the garbage, she can only laugh. “I’m sorry, do you say that you eat out of …” She leans forward a little bit and looks at him. “You’ve got a cow.” It might not mean much to most people but its a job and she’s sure that has to pay something that could afford him a loaf of bread at the super market. “Are you kidding me or not?” Now she was worried and the tale as old as day came to the back of her mind. The same thing that happened to every girl who would eventually get her heart broken. A damn need to fix and help him out. “I don’t know if I’ve seem them but you all seem like some hard working guys. Respectable and that’s and hard thing to find these days.” If there was one thing she took from him, it was that he was a good egg. A man with respect and who put people above him. “Did you raise your brother?” She asked with a tilt of her head as she looked him over and wondered how hard that might be. “My sister died. It’s why I’m here.” She shrugged and laughed a little bit. “You’re a good man, you know. I’m sure they appreciate you.” It’s almost a surprise when the food comes to be placed in front of them and she thanks the waitress before laughing at the mention of his brothers walking in on him. “They didn’t hear the sound outside of the door before they stormed their away in?” She snorts and take a bite of her food. “I once got caught by my grandmother and that was a traumatizing experience that it almost made me never want to do anything in her home anymore. She was surprisingly open for her age. As long as we were safe and using protection, i think that’s all that really mattered to her.” Wiping her hands on a napkin, she pauses to look at him. “So you’ve never been married and you don’t have children? I find that hard to believe that some pretty girl hasn’t tried to lock you down.” He may have not had much but he was a genuine person and these days that was the prize. 

staring back , striker’s expression was a blank canvas for a few beats before crinkling thick brows , scrunching his nose , and shaking his head once . “ i ain’t one to lie . “ was his response , tapping farm-hardened fingers against the tablecloth , “ bertha ?? she ain’t mine , not really . ol’ man puhlman bought her an’ i jus’ raise her , but she’s as good as mine . i ain’t got much more than a dollar tucked inside my shoe an’ a strong work ethic . all my riches goes on the boys , “ and he wouldn’t have it any other way . being spurned from their family home at little more than seventeen years old left the trio with little option than to scrape by , to earn money when they could , to ration food wisely and only use their dollars when all other options had been exhausted . minimum wage shared between three had always been destined for disaster . “ we don’t have much an’ i don’t earn much , neither , but it’s honest work . we grind our hands to the damn bone an’ only have enough t’ cover fuel for the trailer an’ maybe some grub while we’re at it . keepin’ my motor full of gas is a sport in its damn self , “ saying he raised his brothers was an understatement . being simultaneously a father , a brother and a friend had been no easy feat , alongside working and sacrificing everything to ensure a better education , a better life , for those born in his shadow . “ raised ‘em both . did all i could t’ make sure they turned out to be real southern gentlemen , jus’ like mama taught me . i hope i did a good job on that front , “ whatever ghost of a smile he had been harbouring was swiftly wiped from his features . the idea of being without his brothers , of losing them , was a shot to the heart , a bullet straight through the torso of a wild steer . “ i’m real , real sorry . “ he offered , although he knew it would be little consolation ; if that were him , striker would have torn the whole world apart for a chance at revenge . “ what you doin’ out here , then ?? was she a fan a’ roswell ?? “ thankful for the delivery of food , striker’s manner’s deserted him once he began tucking into his meal . it was as though he was a wild animal with no promise of his next morsel — bites were thrown down his gullet , sauce and crumbs caught in his handlebar moustache . with a half-full mouth , he responded , “ you would’a thought so !! i ain’t quiet . maybe we jus’ stopped carin’ . that’s even worse , though , your meemaw overhearin’ . “ swiping the back of his hand against his mouth the male continued , “ no wife . no kids . no nothin’ . i don’t get the attention of pretty girls too often . “ 

[strikercannon-archive]

monacolby​:

        eyes look but don’t linger as he turns. the first time was the hardest, but that skin was like a map which detailed every road that marked his life, each journey that brought him to roswell. he should be in texas, the product of a happy home. she’d change the way it happened, but then they might never have met. still, it feels selfish to want him to be here in any life. freddie cougar’s a new one, but mona doesn’t even feel the need to correct — she likes his version better. his senseless striker-isms are perhaps her favourite thing about him, and certainly the reason they first became friends ;  him with a penchant for spouting absolute nonsense, mona with a propensity to laugh at said nonsense so hard that she’d snort craft beer out of her nostrils. he causes it once more ( sans ale, this time ) with his comment about the breakfast club, or at least an avant garde student film version that mona’s now dying to see.  “ nah… it’s just like… kids stuck in detention all day on a saturday chatting absolute shit. set in the eighties. john bender’s super mischievous. you’d get on well with him. ”

       crap. she’d totally forgotten that he’s like, literally blind. mona almost says as much, but stops herself at the last second. it’d probably just hurt his feelings.  “ a huge pumpkin ? ” mona asks, eyebrows shooting up, feigned horror at his comment. “ are you calling me huge ? ” compared to a pumpkin, maybe. her faked offence soon withers, more interested in his outfit suggestions that correcting his assumption.  “ some cute lil’ shorts, huh ? ”  mona repeats, amusement in her tone as she leans in closer, dropping the phone back into her purse so she can close the distance between them and poke him in the chest. adoration isn’t quite the word for the way she looks at him, but it’s something akin to it. she’s hit with a wave of affection, that same innocent endearment she feels for nico, her hand instinctively moving to loop around striker’s waist.  “ oh ? my nails painted ?”  mona’s pretty sure she’s painted her nails no more than four times in the whole ten years she’s known him.  “ are you my stylist, now ?” her voice affects a gruff droll.  “ mr. cannon will see you in his office… ” 

what were they , after everything ?? him and mona had seen every inch of each other , had spent days in bed sharing the warmth of the body beside them , and now they stood as just ‘ friends ‘ , or as close to friends as they could get , given their history . each glance lingered a half-second too long , a cavern in his cheek as dimples settled and stayed there . god , what he wouldn’t give to be in the back of his pick-up once again , enjoying chow mein , spring rolls , and a large portion of ramona colby . “ land that on the list of movies you gots t’ show me , then . “ was his comment , voice rolling low in his throat at the prospect of spending time with her , just her , away from the prying eyes of those that knew him . away from the trailer park , they were awarded total privacy ; if they ever tried some of their lewd , stomach-churning activities in the bedroom of the cannon’s home-on-wheels , he would bet money — not that he had any — on a brother walking in on a rather ... compromising position . 

and then they were a toe shuffle away from one another . lips clasped shut , suddenly conscious of mona huffing his whiskey-mixed-with-smoke breath ( the beginnings of gingivitis if he wasn’t careful ) , not like she hadn’t tasted it not long before . swallowing a dryness in his throat , one he’d quench with everclear the moment he was through the frog door , the male shook his head ; “ y’know i di’nt mean it like that , colby . you’d look good in some cute lil’ shorts . you got the legs ‘fer it , “ the idea of mona in her daisy dukes , nails painted a bright orange , would last him through the evening . no need for his stack of seedy magazines . “ mr cannon , eh ?? kinda got a ring t’ it . how much you payin’ for a gig like that ?? “ striker’s forehead nudged against her own , sloped nose wrinkling at the bridge . they were close enough now that his struggling vision had no trouble making out every feature , from the bow of her lips to eyes more intoxicating than any home-brewed liquor . 

[strikercannon-archive]

mattiehqs​:

“alright, i won’t hold your hand. but you should still come with me” mattie always thought it was a lot more fun to exprience spooky things with friends. plus, if she was being honest, she was feeling slightly scared, so if needs be she could always hide behind striker and come up with an excuse. “yeah, kinda. it’s a haunted house, there’s actors that are gonna jump out and try to scare you” she shrugs in reply, “do you think you’re up for it?”. 

since their chance meeting at the medical tent at pride , striker had considered the younger a companion . with his brother likely off sulking in a corner somewhere , this felt like the best bet at being able to experience a number of the halloween festivities before searching for his counterpart and heading off home . “ well , i’m tall enough t’ act like a human shield if y’ need any protectin’ , “ he answered , a dimpled smile spreading across his features , “ an’ besides , when have i ever chickened out of anythin’ that scared me ?? “ a hand gestured ahead of them , “ lead the way !! “ 

[strikercannon-archive]

tash-manian-devil​:

Massoud nodded, though he felt like Striker only said that for his well-being. He would’ve lived there too if he hadn’t saved up most of his money over the past years, getting into a perfect situation simply because he hadn’t worried about getting back into his own unsavoury business. “Alright, and can’t be that bad, if you’re living there… unless if you mean yourself,” he said with a grin.

They felt awkward for a short moment, unsure if there was more to say, or if they should move on. They had no sales today, no shift at the bowling pin. They could chill at home and make themselves some mac’n’cheese. Instead they shrugged. “Need help getting home, old man?” They asked with a smirk. It was friendliness for once.

was the trailer park truly not as bad as the papers ( and whispers ) made it out to be , or was striker simply grateful ?? however he looked at the situation him and his two brothers had found themselves in , it was leaps and bounds ahead of the alternative . camping out in the back of his pick-up truck beneath tarpaulin or catching the few winks he could in the moonshine stills of his childhood home were memories far removed from the single bed shared by three ; although nights were an unmediated tangle of elbows , knees and fists , he’d take a roof over his head that was his over cowering beneath an underpass . “ i’ll ‘ave you know i’m one real southern gentleman . ‘s what my mama used t’ say . “ thirty years ago , when she stared at those eyes that were clones of his fathers and clawed for something to confess out of love , rather than despair . 

“ i thought’ya said you weren’t goin’ nowhere near the trailer park ?? but if you’re offerin’ , sure , i could do with some company — i ain’t old though , missy — “ a finger wagged in tash’s direction , dark eyes narrowing and splaying with creases , “ — not one day over thirty-five , y’hear ?? don’t go tellin’ nobody no different . “ lost souls inevitably found a way back to one another , and it seemed that had been the case between the pair . besides , there had to be somewhere where the lost found salvation . who knew it would have been roswell , new mexico ?? 

[strikercannon-archive]

zibbylapointe​:

jackasses.

time:  monday, oct 24th 12:30am / 00:30am location: shocktober fest  status: closed to @zibbylapointe​ & @strikercannon

It’s a decision influenced mostly by a combination of the tequila in the Sleepy Hollow cocktails and bottles of pumpkin ale atop a foundation of already-poor impulse control. Shiloh and Beth have been known to terrorize innocent passersby at these events, hitting below the belt by jumping at a crowd who have just escaped one of the haunted houses, assuming they’d be safe beyond the exit signs. In one instance in 2018, they’d made a kid cry and had atone with enough sugar to probably keep the kid up all night. And enough cocktails to pay that kid’s parent a proper apology.

Now, the terrible two have set their sights on Striker Cannon. As he’s resting against a picnic bench for an all-too-short food break, Shiloh and Beth put their plan into motion. 

“Okay, okay,” Shiloh finally gets out after quieting the laughter bubbling up from their core. “Shh! Shh… Okay… Here we go, Bette.”

Hidden in the shrubbery made up to be a haunted maze, Shiloh counts down from three. Then they let out a blood-curdling, banshee shriek. The sound is a diversion made firstly to draw attention and secondly to cover up the sound of Beth’s footsteps now hurdling towards Striker.

Beth’s heart is pounding in her throat. She’s giddy and twitchy with it, dress shoes swiped from Jaden’s wardrobe and stuffed with socks to be made to fit shuffling among the dried leaves and trodden dirt paths of Shocktober’s esplanade. She can see Striker, unassuming, unsuspecting, chewing on a batch of witch’s fingers like the very cows he tends to. She has to bite back a snort when she spots the familiarity of that strong jaw working overtime. 

“Okay, okayokayokay– h’ohh, he’s gonna kill us,” she hisses through a laugh successfully shoved to the back of her throat, where it scrapes itself out even as she shoves her jacket sleeves up against her grinning mouth.

They slip into position, easy and fluid as though two halves of a brain. Beth’s muscles are coiled and ready to spring to action upon Shiloh’s signal. And it’s one that can’t possibly be missed. As soon as they screech, Beth launches herself from her own hiding spot, waving her axe wildly in the air only to lightly bonk it on the back of Striker’s head.    ( @strikercannon​​ )

being one of the few individuals that called roswell their home able to drive a tractor , striker had volunteered himself to help out on the haunted hayride . it was rather disconcerting , a fully grown man operating farm equiptment dressed as a powerpuff girl , and yet the organisers hadn’t a choice — he was the most competent and , despite his terrible habit of nodding off mid-drive or slamming his foot down on the accelerator , he was the best they were going to get .

being the only driver , though , meant that his evening had been stacked , his schedule back-to-back with hayrides . after the first few rounds he had become immune to the jump-scares of haunted scarecrows and chainsaw-wielding maniacs in the corn , but he was far from being desensitised to any and all spooks . off-guard , he chewed his snack — courtesy of the event , a ‘ thank you ‘ for his service ; crumbs in his moustache , the male was oblivious until it was too late .

a shriek , one that would have been more at home being dragged from the throat of a young child , escaped his lips as he leapt from his seat . “ WHAT IN WAYLON’S NAME ARE Y’ — “ the jump threw him directly into the path of the axe , a light thunk to a skull that was more or less hollow inside . whipping his head around to spy his assailants , his cries of confusion were promptly replaced with that unmistakable cackle , that laugh that ripped from his throat and pitched like a batman villain . “ hoo-wee !! you got me good . “  ( @flyhighro​ )

[strikercannon-archive]

zibbylapointe​:

Time and time again has Beth scoffed at the delightfully cheesy line ❝ two hits: me hitting you, you hitting the floor. ❞ She loves how theatrical it sounds. Kisses on nicknamed fists that deal little to no damage whatsoever, arms flexing to put on the gun show. It’s a hilariously pathetic display of macho-man prowess she’d thought herself safely distanced from. That is, until that line runs laps in her mind when the shocking smack of paint prequels the surge of mucky ground soaring up to greet her falling frame. Beth coughs out the dust trying to burrow into her lungs and wheezes out a laugh.

Striker’s booming voice fights the ringing in her ears with unsurprising success. As his chucks slap-slap-slap him in a careening vault towards her crumpled limbs, the youngest Lapointe flops onto her back. Split second, split lip: Breaking the fall with her face had caused her teeth to bite down on plush flesh, and she greets Striker ( and her beloved camera ) with a bloodied grin. The stretch makes her wince, skin screaming to stop while it compensates with more blood, clotting along the steadily swelling cut in a rushed attempt to heal quicker.

“That,” Beth pants, tossing out the requested thumbs up with a lazy wrist, even as her voice returns to her, albeit scratchy from the dirt growing tacky at the back of her throat, “was awesome.”

forgetting they were filming ( arguably the entire point of the stunt ) he quickly turned the camera back to his face , capturing an unflattering angle of his nostrils and stubbled upper lip . “ she’s okay , folks !! jus’ a lil’ beat up in the kisser , but nothin’ a good hit o’ moonshine can’t fix . tune in next time t’ see shiloh moore wrapped up in some spare carpettin’ and rollin’ down the hill at sanders’ autobody . “ he was more the candidate for the blunt force trauma , for the close calls with animals large enough to crush him where he stood ; the trio each had their niche , and undoubtedly zibby’s was anything on wheels . thanks to a generous height that had cursed the tall male with knock knees , flipper feet and a skewed sense of balance , he had sworn off such stunts — ever since he’d attempted to skate at mona’s roller derby and cracked his head on the lacquered ground . how many concussions would it take before his brain melted to liquid and began dripping from his ears ??

in the knowledge that beth was okay ( and , consequently , in the knowledge that jaden wouldn’t be looking for a battle ) striker allowed himself to bellow laughter . pitchy , thundering , ear-piercing — it was an unmistakable cackle that rung out through the dunes as he offered up a hand for zibby , tugging her to her feet . “ atta girl !! you’re damn right that was awesome . how you feelin’ ?? ready t’ grab a drink with ol’ uncle strikes and review the footage ?? “ which was , no doubt , equal parts exhilarating and stomach-churning . 

[strikercannon-archive]

talonayaz​:

she watched, trying – and failing – to keep her amusement out of her features as he worked through his frustration. prank calls seemed like a good idea – even though as they were doing it, she’d declined a call from a number she hadn’t saved like it were a muscle memory. talon regarded striker’s phone like it was something he’d mission impossible-d from the national history archives – and in truth, she wasn’t entirely sure he hadn’t. “we moved past it,” she said, vaguely gesturing to herself and the surrounding trailers, pointedly going around striker in her hand sweep. “you, my friend, are using something worse. i don’t know how t-mobile or whoever hasn’t sent someone to break your fingers until you sign an iphone contract. i know being a luddite is part of your charm, but i will pay you to join the modern world. i will. not well, but there’s money in it for you. i found like, three bucks under the couch in change. s’all yours, just say the word.” she flashed him a grin, leaning back and regarding him with a nod. “how’s your running form? i haven’t ding-dong-ditched since i was like, seven, but i think it would make me feel alive again.” 

in the last decade , ten years where the cannons had made roswell their stomping ground , striker had collected a fine collection of miscreants ; the male was far from a good influence , despite being a father figure to his two younger siblings . as much as he had fought to do right for his brothers , to ensure they were brought up with strong southern values and an unshakable work ethic , such a thing rarely translated to his gaggle of misfits , a gang of ruffians built from his own design . twisting the brick of a device in his palm , a thick brow cocked ; “ i ain’t no — wha’s that even meant to mean , anyhow ?? i jus’ ain’t big into these new fangled machines . i mean , why’d you even need to connect to the darn’t internet on one of those things ?? wha’s the internet even good for , anyways . i always said that thing ain’t gonna catch on , “ it was as though a fire was lit in those whiskey-brown eyes when talon mentioned her idea . within a second the male was impossible to tie down , already glancing around to spy the first sucker in their knock-and-run mission . “ well , i ain’t no olympian , “ the male commented , gesturing to his oversized shoes that wouldn’t look out of place at clown convention , his knock knees and lanky frame , “ but i learnt to run away from my crimes a damn long time ago . “ 

[strikercannon-archive]

simple as my mama said when i was very young,  she told me, “ not to worry, son, one day, you'll be someone . " but here i am at 21 as loaded as a stagecoach shotgun, i'm sorry, mama, please don't look at me.

when i got to oklahoma, i was 17.  my papa taught me how to work, and lord, he was mean, workin' all day in that august heat, and he taught me how to fish, my uncle taught me how to drink.

[strikercannon-archive]

if it was tits at stake , striker cannon had more to lose than most . his plaid shirt — his usual uniform , adjusted by a mere shift from red to pink — was carelessly unbuttoned a little too far and his headband ( with two oversized eyes cut from cardboard and glued haphazardly on ) pushed back artificial brunette to grant male better view of the decoration . he was sure , out of the plethora of costumed youths , he’d be one of the only individuals to not be asked for ID when he bought — or attempted to barter for —  a cocktail . “ now , las’ i heard , you ain’t s’posed to objectify people no more , “ wrinkled features were awash with genuine concern ; blame it on undiagnosed neurodivergence , but the oldest of the cannon three never had been adept at discerning joke from sincerity . “ i was all for us turnin’ up with mini skirts but the other guys shot me in the damn balls fer comin’ up with that idea . we’re lumped with the levi’s now , which means we jus’ pissed away our chances of winning nothin’ in the competition !! “ not that he’d ever won much ( outside of the clarkesville county fair jumbo crop contest ; his ribbon had been stolen from the real victor , yet he’d insist that still counted ) . tugging at the hem of his shirt , the male added , “ where we off t’ ?? i ain’t goin’ back to the tractor yet . i wan’ be able to enjoy this damn thing . “

status:   open @roswellstarters​

location:  21 + tent  / anywhere!

         “  halloween is literally the sexiest holiday.  it’s the one day of the year i actually want to objectify people.  ”     the admission is spoken to whoever is closest,  a cocktail in her hand -  the fourth of the night  -   that’s two sips away from needing to be replaced. adiya is holding it together for now at least,  for the only thing giving away her intoxication is the swaying of her limbs.      “  metaphorically,  obviously,  because,  you know,  objectification is  never  okay,  ”     pause,    “  but  if i see one more dude wearing a purge mask in a compression tee shirt i might need resuscitated.  ”   it’s then that her fingers drum on a fold up table,  bottom lip caught between her teeth.     “  alright,  i’m boozed up,   you ready to get scared titless tonight ?  ”

[strikercannon-archive]

mattiehqs​:

open starter / location: outside knock knock ( @roswellstarters​ ) 

“c'mon, it won’t be that bad” mattie says, at the two stand outside of the knock knock exprience, “i’ll hold your hand throughout the entire thing if you want”. tonight mattie wanted to do everything, she’d been excited for shocktober for weeks now, “and we can get food afterwards, i thought we could do the boat ride next”. 

“ i’d be against holdin’ my hand , if i were you . i mean , you ain’t sure where it’s been , “ and , in all honesty , mattie would be glad for the naivety . nobody should be cursed with the knowledge of what striker cannon got up to in his own spare time . the promise of food , though , was one too vital to pass up . how long had it been now without a full meal ?? days , a week ?? picking through the trash of the crashdown hardly constituted real food . “ wha’s this one all about , anyhow ?? ain’t it jus’ some creepy house ?? these are two a damn penny back where ‘m from , “ 

[strikercannon-archive]

roswellwinter​:

an easy grin spread over winter’s lips before she nodded her head. “yeah- a decent amount. my closet might be a bit on the big side, but i like keeping it organized- an’ without cleanin’ it out regularly, it turns into a mess.” winter had always worked in extremes like that, looking for contentment and affection from places she shouldn’t find them. saying she had a bit of a shopping addiction was an understatement - she was more or less powerless to deny the call of something in a shop window she thought might make someone think she was pretty enough to ask out on a date ( or, rather, to catch the youngest cannon’s attention and make him ask to take her out on one, not that that had ever worked ), just like how her books, endless shelves of romance novels and fantasy lands she could pretend she was in, instead of a town like roswell, were all her ways of escaping, finding something she could delude herself with into believing that mr. right was just around the corner, and not another mr. right now. “if ya want, i can bring over a bag or two to puhlman’s tomorrow when i go to feed solar in the morning.”

“ you’d do that ?? that’s really savin’ my bacon , blondie — we’re kinda strugglin’ , ‘specially since i spent my last payout on colorful shirts for our halloween costumes . i ain’t even sure who these powder-puff girls are , “ all he did know was that he looked good in pink , and having swiped a pair of size eleven converse in the same petal-shade had been a good omen towards getting votes in the contest . were his brothers entirely sold on the ensemble ?? far from it , but nobody could fault the effort , and with plaid shirts conveniently in the correct shades they would have been dumber than they looked to pass up the opportunity . whether they won a monetary prize or a ten dollar gift card to the crashdown , any consolation would bring much needed light to a life shrouded in darkness . “ i’d take whatever you’re givin’ . don’t care what colour or how big the stuff is . you know us , barely survivin’ on a shoelace and some singles . i know whatever i bring home we’ll find use fer it all , even if we sling it at a yard sale or somethin’ . “ it wouldn’t have been the easiest of plans , given the glaring fact that they didn’t own a yard , but it was something ; if there was one thing you could count on the cannons for , it was making the most out of a sour situation .  

[strikercannon-archive]

fckemms​:

beady eyes do their best not to look sketchy post - shirt exchange with striker . neither of them could afford to pay the primo couple of dollar price tag attached to the garment . the cashier , luckily , seems to be in an oblivious state . rocking a pair of a few decade old foam headphones that looked to be attached to portable cassette player of sorts . wherever they’d been transported in time , they weren’t looking in males’ direction and that’s all that mattered . ❝ a fence did all that ?? ❞ theres a sort of skeptical look to his gaze . sure by now , at his ripe age , he could maneuver his way around a fence . ❝ you know those things are barbed right ?? ‘s in the name . best not to pick fights with ‘ em . ❞ there’s a glance back over shoulder , giving striker as much privacy as a grown man changing in the middle of a thrift store aisle could get , and to check that the cashier was still preoccupied . the last thing they needed was to be thrown out for petty theft .  ❝ you could probably come up with a cooler story . and if you didn’t change i bet we could spook some of the asshole landry kids at the park . unless you need medical attention . that’s pretty gnarly , dude . ❞

the cannon brothers were no strangers to petty theft ; striker had been the instigator , the teacher , putting the boys through the lessons of deft hands the moment they were old enough to think for themselves . he had instilled the rules deep within them — distract the cashier , scope out the cameras , buy something small so they weren’t suspected — and it was as though emmett was his younger sibling now as they traversed the aisles , tugging garments off rails until they found something that would fit his advanced and oversized frame . “ yeah , a fence did all that . y’know how fast those damn bulls go ?? if i di’nt launch myself over i would’ve been darn spit-roasted , an’ not in a good way !! “ a filthy laugh followed , one that had been brought from the dregs of his throat , peeling off the shreds of his shirt and replacing it with the tight-fitting tee that grazed his midsection and revealed the shock of peppered hair splayed across his lower stomach .  in the brief moment he was unclothed the scars of his body were revealed , threads of red and pale pink , bruises that were watercolour splashes of purple , blue and green . despite present evidence , his nose scrunched and he shook his head ; “ nah . barely a scratch on me . i’m good t’ go . seen worse , “ although , to those of sound mind , it was a shock his body was still standing . 

[strikercannon-archive]

Johnny Knoxville in Daltry Calhoun (2005)

[strikercannon-archive]

alarazorlu​:

The brunette nodded her head. “Steak is cow and after meeting the love of your life, I might actually forego it for a while now.” Apart from a dog or cat, she never formed some sort of attachment to an animal that was otherwise slaughtered and served. She could see how it wouldn’t sit well with the man which brought her to her next question. “Have you ever considered going vegetarian or vegan?” A lot of the people she knew who’d chosen that life style had spoken about animals. Though, she understood the counter argument was that animals and land had to be destroyed to plant many vegetable fields such as avacados. Peering up when the waitress arrived, she quickly looked over the drinks before echoing the same order he’d chosen. “A beer as well, thank you.” Wine seemed a little too much since she was wearing old clothes and a pair of rubber boots fitted for walking in a shit covered field that was the home of a cow. Beer was fitting for where they were and she didn’t mind it too much. It wasn’t her favorite but it was refreshing when the situation demanded for it. Closing her menu and placing it on the corner of the table, the brunette folded her legs at her ankles as she looked over to him. He was an open-book that she wanted to get to know more as his life seemed like it could be would fit some odd but amusing book. He certainly had the personality for it. Her head fell into a nod of agreement when they disgusted the audacity of people to be mean for the sake of it. “some people need to be put in their place and that isn’t always easy because there’s a lot of people who can’t take criticism and won’t learn.” Which was infuriating to her but stupid people seemed to raised stupid people. “Exactly. Life is hard and people should just try their best to leave the place better than they found it but that isn’t always the case.” She tried to sympathize sometimes because she understood the ease with being mean, especially after a hard day. Given that she hadn’t been handed the easiest cards to deal with, her tendency to snap after a long day was high but not impossible to curb. “I get that angry people don’t have the easiest life but you never know what someone is dealing with.” Peering up at the waitress once she returns with their drinks, she begins to name off her order. “The club sandwich.” She points to it before handing off the menu. Awaiting for Striker to do the same, she smiles back at him. “Okay, second question, what’s the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to you?”

when it came to striker , there were no secrets . perhaps he was simply born that way , candid and unashamed , unabashedly himself regardless of ridicule , or perhaps it was a symptom of growing up with his brothers . upon leaving tennessee — grabbing all their earthly belongings and shoving them into the back of a pickup truck — they had sacrificed any semblance of privacy , sharing a single bed ( rotationally , or occasionally sharing ) and existing in the same few feet for the last decade . at alara’s suggestion , his nose scrunched ; it wasn’t dismissive , but instead a silent affirmation that he would , if only he could . “ ‘s jus’ not somethin’ i can do . i’d damn love to , but me and my brothers jus’ eat whatever we can get our hands on . usually they’re scraps from places like this — “ a gesture to the extraterrestrial-decorated interior that surrounded them , “ — out the trash or people offerin’ leftovers out the goodness of their hearts . we ain’t fussy , y’know ?? an’ since i’m the oldest , i always take last pick , “ it explained why , despite his advanced age , he stood lithe and slender , each muscle traceable through translucent skin . the full bellies of his siblings had always taken priority ; surrendering his own needs and preferences was a small price to pay for the happiness of birdie and lance , and he’d make that decision again and again without question . “ you seen my brothers around ?? one’s a blondie , one’s as tall as a damn shire horse . i always said to ‘em they better eat every damn crumb on their plates ‘cus i worked damn hard for the food we ate . “ the very act of sitting across from a beautiful woman in a restaurant , of all places , was a luxury striker could seldom afford . if mean people were born from hardship , then why wasn’t striker a demon walking the earth ?? he had a kind heart , soft eyes beneath the crinkles , a sweet smile that had been knocked and chipped more times than he could count ; a good man wasn’t born , a good man was carved by his choices from marble like a michelangelo sculpture . although he was littered with imperfections , there was a legacy that awaited striker cannon once his body finally decided to expire . hardship was faced with a tenderness that the oldest brother hadn’t ever been shown nor taught , and had never been faced with the same anger or cruelty it had been dealt . the beer was lowered onto the table between them , and forgetting his manners — not that he had any to begin with — the male lunged for his glass , glugging down a hearty portion of the beverage before pulling away and reciting his order , a foam beard punctuating his request for the chicken burger and fries . a bark of laughter had him recoiling like a bullet against the seat , “ i got too many o’ those to count !! d’ya know how many times my brothers ‘ave walked in on me screwin’ one of the wild pony regulars ‘cus i forgot to put a sock on the door ?? “ a palm slapped the table as he guzzled more of his drink . 

[strikercannon-archive]

ashamoss​:.

If there was a place that seemed just left of out of place for Asha to have considered a regular haunt, it was probably the Wild Pony. At least, for surface to surface. The type of place only locals went to, but even at a local level, it had a certain type of clientele. But, the people who loved it, loved it. Asha was one of plenty that did. Even if it was a learned love to after getting used to the rifles or locking eyes with the taxidermied fox that sat on a shelf far out of reach of the patrons, but stared you cold dead in the eyes with each sip of beer or liquor you drank. It was a place of its own, and maybe that was why Asha took home in it so comfortingly listening to the same open mic acts when they had them, or breezing through the jukebox until she finally decided she’d had enough for the night. 

She hadn’t exactly missed the guy mixing what could, at a certain point be considered a potion of alcohol in the vein of a 5 year old mixing together bathroom products they’d found, or a teenage boy mixing all the soda at a drink machine, but it was hardly her business or her problem. So, even in her little corner she’d taken up residence near the jukebox, picking songs when she could, and allowing the breaks between to give anyone else a chance until she decided time was up and it was her turn again, she was almost surprised when he’d came marching over. The smacks against the jukebox only putting a frown on her face, as if it was a cherished piece, and not just another old beat up thing within the bar. Though, she was surprised by his question. “Oh, uh, yeah, I think so.” She dug her fingers into her pocket to fish out any change she had left. Her fingers prodded at a couple of quarters, before they reeled them out. “I only have a couple quarters left.” She held it out in offering. “I was gonna choose a couple more songs before I called it a night, though. Quarters are yours if you split them with me? Unless you’ve got bad taste. I should vet you I think before I give majority of the plays.” 

a softening of his gaze followed the offering , something as sacred to him as a morsel of food or fresh clothes for his back . music , throughout it all , had been something of which striker could always return , the dulcet tunes of johnny cash , waylon jennings , roger miller and gram parsons soothing any ills like a lullaby through the night. with such darkness clouding his life , every moment of respite was cherished . taking the quarters in his palm the male relished the cold metal , feeling the weight in the centre of his hand , an unfamiliarity that was rarely granted when he found coins on the street or if somebody neglected to collect their change from the bottom of a vending machine . “ well , tha’s mighty kind of you , “ he responded , before a palm slapped his chest in overexaggerated offence , “ i ain’t got bad music taste , you watch your mouth !! i’ll have you know i was born not a horseshoe’s throw from the home o’ music down in tennesse . i ain’t never got to go to nashville , but i sure as hell felt it — my brother used t’ be plenty good at playin’ too , but he ain’t doin’ that so much anymore , “ 

as much as he would have loved to visit nashville , with the fluorescent cowboy boots and country bars littering every street corner , it simply hadn’t been viable , with merely a dollar tucked inside his shoe and a dwindling tank of gas to get him and his brothers as far away from harm as possible . birdie’s love for song had died years ago ; the threats to their life from their father had never been fulfilled , but that hadn’t meant that nothing died when shotguns were waved in their direction or guitars were smashed for simply existing , to ‘ teach them a lesson ‘ . taking one of the quarters and feeding it into the slot , a half-crescent hand shielded his selection as he flicked through the options , a slither of pink tongue poking beneath the overgrown scruff of his upper lip in thought . a press of his fingertip began the crackling voice of willie nelson in his prime , the beat of ‘ whiskey river ‘ ringing out beneath the hubbub of chatter , breaking glasses and darts bouncing off of boards . “ how’d you like them apples ?? “

[strikercannon-archive]

tripp’s trailer park !  ( closed for — @talonayaz​​​​​​ )

“ these darn’ed things . they never damn work . why’d we ever move past the need for pigeons delverin’ messages ?? way more reliable than these damn emo-gees . “ when striker was younger , back in the dark ages of man , mobile phones were the size of your head and came complete with antennae — now he was stuck with his old-school nokia ( complete with snake ) , but such a relic fought against the signal-jammers surrounding the military base and scrambling the connections of nearby devices . fighting the urge to swing his phone like a discus to the other side of the park — likely retrieving it unscathed , knowing the indestructibility of the thing — he turned back to talon , surrendering the brick to their mercy , “ — an’ i really thought prank calls were gon’ pass the time . you got any bright ideas ‘bout how to cause some trouble ?? “