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bulletballet-arch · 3 years

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REALLY LONG CHARACTER SURVEY. RULES. repost , don’t reblog ! tag 10 ! good luck ! TAGGED. I took this from Minnie’s archived Bioshock blog. I’ve been looking for this meme all this month. TAGGING. @hammurabicomplex. @bluuxriising. @ Me - for Sal on @bulletsoverbensonhurst. @immaterialed (charlie) @soypeor (bella) @svmmercmance. @mrflayed. and you!

BASICS. FULL NAME : Eve Delores Littlejohn NICKNAME : Evie, Little Evie (by her maternal side of the family), Delores, Didi NAME MEANING / S Eve is from the ancient Hebrew name חַוָּה (Chawwah), which was derived from the Hebrew word חָוָה (chawah) meaning "to breathe" or the related word חָיָה (chayah) meaning "to live". Delores is a variant of Dolores, meaning "sorrows", taken from the Spanish title of the Virgin Mary María de los Dolores, meaning "Mary of Sorrows." Littlejohn is a surname that has historically been found in England and Scotland. With potential origins being either ‘to distinguish a beloved child that was not the eldest.’ Or, ‘a contradictory nickname for a large man.’ HISTORICAL CONNECTION? : She’s named after her grandmother, Evelyn Hollins.

AGE : 42 BIRTHDAY : June 2 ETHNIC GROUP : Black-American. Meaning she’s mixed with a lot (Some of her relatives are respectively Creole and Italian) but uses Black as a catch-all term. NATIONALITY : American LANGUAGE / S : English, Italian, Spanish, Latin, some French SEXUAL ORIENTATION : Bisexual ROMANTIC ORIENTATION : Biromantic RELATIONSHIP STATUS : Verse dependent, usually married -or connected- to Salvatore Scozzari in some way. CLASS : Upper-Class HOME TOWN / AREA : Brooklyn. Spent time between Bedford-Stuyvesant - with her paternal grandfather and Park Slope - with her maternal grandparents. CURRENT HOME : In her childhood home in Bedford-Stuyvesant. PROFESSION : Ballet Instructor. Former Professional Ballerina. ( Other verses see her as a professional thief. )

PHYSICAL. HAIR : Black. In terms of her natural hair, Eve has springy, 3C hair she seldom shows off because she was raised in a family where straightened hair was deemed presentable and professional. EYES : Thin almond eyes. Dark brown. NOSE : Straight and small. FACE : She has a prominent, high forehead, that’s accented with high cheekbones and a pointy chin. LIPS : Full. COMPLEXION : She has a light brown (tawny) complexion. SCARS : None major. TATTOOS : None. HEIGHT : 5′4″ BUILD : Eve has a slender build. One of those people who have been small and petite since childhood. Despite this, she also stays skinny because she is obsessively conscious of the food she consumes. The older she gets the more she weighs, however. USUAL HAIR STYLE : Her hair is cut short. Reaching her shoulders in a neat, even bob. She either curls it in a retro fashion or curls the tips. For work she wears it in a traditional, pinned bun. USUAL FACE LOOK : In public, she appears stoic for the most part. Any emotion shown (such as the length of a smile) is carefully calculated. She has to seem perfect. USUAL CLOTHING : Form fitting dresses. Incredibly chic and fashionable for the time. Shoes include heels - never open-toed, unless she has on stockings. Extravagant earrings. Jewelry that can include either necklaces, crosses, pearls, or dainty rings. Prone to wearing black sunglasses in public.

PSYCHOLOGY. FEAR / S : Thunderstorms, airplanes, creatures like weasels, snakes and ferrets, break-ins, men she doesn’t know, harm coming to her children ASPIRATION / S : Formerly wanted to become a major [black] ballerina in the elite world of ballet, now she just wants to expose more [inner city children] to dance through her job. Personally, she wants her children to change the world in some form or fashion, too. Eve also has good ideas on improving the community, but at the moment has no idea how to go about these ideas. POSITIVE TRAITS : Generous, compassionate, patient, protective NEGATIVE TRAITS : Strict, sullen, hard to read, represses her emotions, secretive MBTI : Advocate - INFJ-T ZODIAC : Cancer TEMPERAMENT : Melancholic ANIMALS : Lioness VICE / S : Pride & Lust FAITH : Christian. Grew up Baptist, but Catholic influences have been around her since childhood. Attended a Catholic High School in Park Slope, her grandmother Evelyn was also a practicing Catholic. GHOSTS ? : Yes and no. She feels that objects formerly owned by the deceased posses the essence of their previous owners and that they essentially live on through these pieces of property. AFTERLIFE ? : Yes. REINCARNATION ? : No, but it’s a romantic concept. ALIENS ? : No. POLITICAL ALIGNMENT : Democratic ECONOMIC PREFERENCE : She likes being where she’s at now. But honestly, being upper class is all she’s ever known. SOCIOPOLITICAL POSITION : Bourgeoisie, basically. The Littlejohn’s represent The Historical Black Elite. EDUCATION LEVEL : College level. FAMILY.

FATHER : William ‘Bill’ Littlejohn MOTHER : Linda Littlejohn ( nee Hollins ) SIBLINGS : None EXTENDED FAMILY : Amos Littlejohn (paternal grandfather) Liza Littlejohn (paternal grandmother) Evelyn Hollins (maternal grandmother) Giuseppe D’Aietti (maternal grandfather) and a wide host of cousins, aunts and uncles.

FAVOURITES. BOOK : Night Song by Beverly Jenkins. The Color Purple by Alice Walker. Some sort of old, French erotic novel that was published before she was born. MOVIE : Eve watches films along the lines of...Waiting to Exhale, Beaches, The First Wives Club and Fatal Attraction. She loves Made-For-TV movies from the time period. In regards to plays, her favorite one is Sunday In The Park With George. 5 SONGS : Meet Me On The Moon / Essence of Sapphire / No One In The World / People / The First Time I Saw Your Face DEITY : Persephone HOLIDAY : New Years Eve, Christmas, Thanksgiving. Major holidays during the colder season. MONTH : October SEASON : Autumn PLACE : The dance studio she works at. WEATHER : Sunny, but cool. SOUND : The voices of Anita Baker and Sarah Vaughn. A skilled hand running over piano keys. Soft trumpets. Running water. Cats making chipper little meows. SCENT / S : Perfume, floral scented lotions, her partner’s cologne TASTE / S : Caramel, the tang of dark chocolate, strawberries coated with either chocolate, or sprinkles of white sugar. Light Vinegar. FEEL / S : Performing in front of an audience. Hot water engulfing your skin after a long day. Satin - whether it be the fabric of her clothes or sheets, your fingers tightly intertwined with another’s, feeling your significant other’s chest raise and lower against your skin with each breath they take. ANIMAL / S : Cocker Spaniels, Afghan Hounds, Cats, Birds - she loves all ( well, a majority ) of animals. NUMBER : Doesn’t have one. COLOR : White, Pink, Gold.

EXTRA. TALENTS : Dance, Eve is trained in ballet when it comes to her main verse. She has attended ballet classes since the age of eight and ever since then she placed all of her focus into it. Similarly, Eve has always had the makings of a good artist - as a child she enjoyed drawing and had informal art lessons with a man who lived in the basement of her grandfather’s brownstone, but she never invested into that half of her. BAD AT : Singing, Being interviewed, Public Speaking (as in Speech Giving), Decision Making TURN ONS : Charisma, Leadership Skills, Temperature Play, Phone Sex, Heavy Kissing, Light Roleplay TURN OFFS : Public Sex, Tearing [ Her ] Clothes, Threesomes, Cruelty, Senseless Violence HOBBIES : viewing plays & some musicals, reading romance novels, shopping, working out (she was into the whole celebrity VHS tape exercise trend), playing tennis, decorating AESTHETIC : Vintage Black Glamour, Black Ballerinas, Champagne and Wine Glasses, Paintings by Melinda Byers and Edward 'Clay' Wright QUOTES : "I'm bad with words, I hope you're good in reading eyes." / "There are truths I haven't even told God. And not even myself. I am a secret under the lock of seven keys."

FC INFO. MAIN FC / S : Lynn Whitfield ( A Thin Line Between Love & Hate ) ALT FC / S : Kylie Bunbury ( Twisted ) OLDER FC / S : Lynn Whitfield ( Greenleaf ) YOUNGER FC / S : N/A VOICE CLAIM / S : Lynn Whitfield

MUN QUESTIONS.

Q1 : if you could write your character your way in their own movie , what would it be called , what style would it be filmed in , and what would it be about ? A1 : Recently I decided that if/when I try to write anything serious about Eve again, it’ll center on her being a jewel thief because it presents me more fun, and emotionally diverse, opportunities. That and I have a very specific cover image in my mind. Ideally, her adventures would be a series of books. I have no title in mind, no idea about how ‘it would be filmed’ ( although a style replicating 90s films would be excellent, film grain and all. ) but, I do have a bunch of plots in mind that I really don’t feel like typing out here.

Q2 : what would their soundtrack / score sound like ? A2 : Her score would have a vintage sound (or a jazzy Spike Lee sound, if you will) with instrumentals by Dorothy Ashby (a Jazz Harpist) the Ahmad Jamal Trio, Pharaoh Sanders, Yusef Lateef and Tarika Blue. For music with lyrics, the soundtrack would include the likes of Julie London, Sarah Vaughn, Ella Fitzgerald, and Dionne Warwick.

Q3 : why did you start writing this character ? + Q4 : what first attracted you to this character ? A3 : Whenever I make NPCs for my character’s lives I actually can’t just let them just be NPCs. I start thinking about them too much. Developing them too much. And then I’m like, ‘wow! I really like this character!’ Eve was a different character when I began writing her, and likely wouldn’t be considered the same character as she was previously, if I told someone in real life who knows about my writing (like my grandma) about all the changes she has undergone. Originally Delores was a university professor, because I thought it could lead to interesting interactions with college-age muses. And her previous history with the mafia was also something interesting to tap in. But then I started thinking about what was realistic, what wasn’t realistic, what did I feel comfortable/interested writing? What didn’t I feel comfortable/interested in writing? So as time went on, things would alter about this character. And the new things I came up with attracted me more.

Q5 : describe the biggest thing you dislike about your muse. A5 : I have a love/hate relationship with Eve’s quiet demeanor. On one hand, I think quieter characters need love and the ability to be fully dimensional but on the other hand, writing louder characters has always been more fun for me. But really, Eve’s guarded behavior makes writing her stressful in some cases with others because sometimes...if I’m going to be honest...people don’t know how to carry a thread and interact with someone of her demeanor effectively.

Q6 : what do you have in common with your muse ? A6 : We’re both black, we’re both into art (although our exact interests and aesthetics with art differ)

Q7 : how does your muse feel about you ? A7 : Realistically she would think I need to take better care of myself.

Q8 : what characters does your muse have interesting interactions with ? A8 : We skippin’ this question.

Q9 : what gives you inspiration to write your muse ? A9 : Films such as, “Waiting to Exhale,” “The Kitchen” and “Widows.” Books by Alice Walker, like “The Third Life of Grange Copeland” as well as her short story, “Roselily.” The historical mob figure Stephanie St. Clair.

Q10 : how long did this take you to complete ? A10 : A few hours.

#long post #dash games.#headcanons.

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tarantula-teeth · 3 years

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tagged by @angel-cowboy to put my music library on shuffle and list the first ten songs and tag ten people!

⭐️thanks c⭐️

1.) El Paso - Howdy

Sun's settin' over Mexico

And I can just see Juarez from El Paso

Can't wait to hear about LA

This weekend we're playin' hotel cafe

Well I wanted you to know if your evening's free

Hope you come to the show and the drinks are on me

2.) I am a poor pilgrim of sorrow - Old Regular Baptists

I am a poor pilgrim of sorrow

Cast out in this wide world to roam

Have no promise of tomorrow

I have no promise of tomorrow

I started out to make Heaven my home

I am striving to make it my home

I know I’m weak and unworthy

3.) Never-Ending Summer - Wes Reeve

We were racecar driving through the hills

When I heard the screaming of the wheels

Now were falling off into the fields

Everything was gone yeah, everything was still

And it’s different than I thought

Rewinding what we lost

It’s nothing like they say

When Sunday’s over we restart

We’ll never be apart

An endless holiday

4.) In His Arms - Jack Ingram, Miranda Lambert, Jon Randall

I've been a rolling stone, a tumbleweed

Waiting for the right one to come find me

But the wrong one always set me free

I wish I was in his arms tonight

Is he playing in some house band in Dallas?

Is he breaking horses in San Antone?

Is he all alone in the neon light?

I wish I was in his arms tonight

5.) Bus - Begonia

Grabbing a bus on the weekend

Digging for change but it's never enough

Out all night just to breathe in

Running away or just looking for love

All the space you try to fill in

It only leaves you in the dark

No more words left for speaking

Raising your hands to feel a spark

6.) Waste - David Vertesi

And there's a memory glistening in the wake

Where the ice gave way beneath me

A distant galaxy dangling in the dark

Hope it floats above the deep

And the only way out

Is where we fell in

But I can't swim

7.) Mothers and Fathers - Dom Fera

And I, oh I'm trusting in an ancient thing

And I, I gotta be fine holding on a single string

Tied to everything

We'll mourn for everything we know

We'll wonder if the sky moves passionate and slow

We'll sing a song of leaving, laughing while we're grieving

Happy to be breathing

And certain that we'll grow

8.) Devils and Angels (Hatred) - Rufus Wainwright

Hatred on the horizon

Must be assumed

For the ascension

I hear galloping

Scent of blood

Under the fire

Behind the flooding

Devils, devils, and angels

I'm gonna give myself away

9.) Fancy - Orville Peck

Mama washed and combed and curled my hair

And she painted my eyes and lips

Stepped into a satin dancin' dress

That had a slit in the side clean up to my hips

It was red velvet trim, and it fit me good

Starin' back from the lookin' glass

There stood a woman where a half-gown boy had stood

"Here's your one chance, Fancy, don't let me down

Here's your one chance, Fancy, don't let me down"

10.) As a Child - Madeline the Person

All that I wanted is to talk to someone who is dead

But unfortunately I can't call him so I sing instead

I'd never tell you to cover yourself in a lie

But I will still bite my lip harder so that I don't cry

And it burns for a while

And it hurts all the more when you carry the world as a child

And I burn for myself

'Cause I know that I should when it’s screaming at me to be felt

And we burn all the time

'Cause it hurts all the more when we carry the world as a child

And I’m going to tag @deaninahoodie @communistmishacollins @housenatural @hl5d @tenderdean @notcommittedtosparklemotion @gnc-spn @hotgirlgarak @samdyke @anyone who wants to

#obvi no pressure #and anyone who wants to #tag me in it’s I love hearing about people’s music taste

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itsyourchoicedevotionals · 3 years

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Deem As Necessary

“Then Jesus came from Galilee to the Jordan to be baptized by John. But John tried to deter him, saying, “I need to be baptized by You, and do You come to me?” Jesus replied, “Let it be so now; it is proper for us to do this to fulfill all righteousness…” Matthew 3:13-15NIV

Does a person have to be baptized to go to heaven? Talking with my grandchildren, I asked them, ‘have you been baptized, since you’ve first believed?’ ‘No,’ they responded, ‘why should we be baptized?’

Perhaps you don’t know what baptism is about either. God sent John the baptizer, to Israel to prepare the way for Jesus. He went out to the wilderness and people came to him from everywhere. He told them— “Produce fruit in keeping with repentance…” Matthew 3:8NIV this reveals, baptism isn’t a random act. Rather, after a person has become born again; living a new life; bearing fruit for righteousness; baptism becomes a outward display or ‘testimony’ to the inward work of grace.

In verse11, “I baptize you with water for repentance. But after me comes One who is more powerful than I, whose sandals I am not worthy to carry. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire.” John the Baptist makes it super clear, there’s two baptisms. One is “with water.” The second baptism will be done through Jesus, a baptism “with the Holy Spirit and fire.”

The church of my childhood didn’t baptize anyone. After, I was baptized in water, the KJV Bible became a clearer book to understand. When I saw the necessity of receiving the baptism of Holy Spirit, I began seeking someone who knew how to connect me to God’s power source. A minister said ‘receive the Holy Spirit.’ My entire life was changed right then.

The early church stressed the need for baptism by water in Acts 2:38ESV— “Peter said to them, “Repent and be baptized every one of you in the name of Jesus Christ for the forgiveness of your sins, and you will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit.” This gift of Holy Spirit was what Paul wrote about in Ephesians 1:13. If baptism by water was deemed as necessary by the early church, how can we deem it as unnecessary?

Romans 6:4-11NIV explains what happens in the water baptism. Highlighting V5 “For if we have been united with Him in a death like His, we will certainly also be united with Him in a resurrection like His.” I’ve read of many incidents where God charged the water, like tiny electric shocks. People came out of the water, jumping and shouting declaring liberty from drugs. I witnessed one instance, (and I’ve heard of this many other times,) where God baptized the person simultaneously with Holy Sprit. They came out of the water speaking in other tongues.

Colossians 2:12-13ESV “Having been buried with Him in baptism, in which you were also raised with Him through faith in the powerful working of God, who raised Him from the dead. And you, who were dead in your trespasses and the uncircumcision of your flesh, God made alive together with Him, having forgiven us all our trespasses,” There’s an old song by Rufus McDaniel, “What a wonderful change in my life has been wrought Since Jesus came into my heart! I have light in my soul for which long I have sought, Since Jesus came into my heart! Refrain: … Since Jesus came into my heart, Floods of joy o'er my soul like the sea billows roll, Since Jesus came into my heart.”

Baptism Is righteous fulfillment committed to establish new life. If you’ve not be baptized, do so quickly. It’s your choice. You choose.

LET’S PRAY: Lord God help us to follow all the ways You lay out in the Word to amplify Your power and Your Presence in our lives, in the name of Jesus Christ I pray.

#Jesus Christ #lord of lords #Word of God #Holy Spirit #God #it's your choice #devotional #deem necessary #baptized #water #buried #highlights #raised #love #hope #faith

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anonil88 · 4 years

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A Green Night on the Town.

Is this a modern au? No. Ruby and Christina end up meeting the neighbors as William and Hillary. But Ruby wants to go to the bar and live a little, 👀.

Ruby Baptiste X Christina Braithwhite

Inspired by comments and posts by @dreaduquesne and @taylor144. I did do some research for this, the one song is from the 1960s but we are gonna pretend it's not. If you are going to be negative just for negativity sake please don’t. Wanted to post this before tonight’s episode where this ship may go down in flames. One more ep left after tonight *insert sad emojis*

Songs in order of appearance in story: Put on my Shoes by Mary Anne Fisher, I don't know by Ruth Brown, One Man's Poison by Liz Lands, It's Your Voodoo Working by Charles Sheffield.

MATURE RATING

LINK TO STORY ON ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN

Ruby sat in the Bentley checking her image in the side mirror. The red lipstick she reapplied was new and came in a gold bullet with roses carved into it. It was the shade Ruby and she got it on one of her shopping adventures. As Hillary of course. The matte color clashed with Hillary's choice of clothing but perfectly matched her pink dress with red and blue flowers stitched onto it. She wasn't only checking her face but looking out for unfriendly neighbors.

In the weeks she's been with Christina in the house, the looks she's gotten are usually not friendly. Kids and parents alike staring her up and down like she is trash. In her most unholy form of self they smiled "Fake ass white folks ," she thinks. They were lucky most white people did not want trouble knowing William lived with her openly. As openly as they could be, the city of Chicago has always cared less about couples like them but the people sure do care enough. Ruby glances at the door that sits far behind iron gates.

After her day out, William introduced her to some of the neighbors on another street who had kids. Kids who looked innocent playing in the streets. A group of men talking on the street flagged the Pontiac down making Ruby tense but William's hand rested atop hers in the middle of the seat. They spoke across her wondering where they could get themselves a car and a woman that. William chuckled and made small talk which Ruby side eyed her partner for.

That led to them both getting out of the car introducing themselves to these men and their wives as Hillary and William Davenport. An invitation for dinner came from one wife who kept commenting on the bump in Hillary's hair too nicely. Ruby heard a little bit of Christina's snark in Williams no and tampened that response with, "Sorry we have plans tonight." Which thankfully was accepted and before then they had no plans but now Ruby wanted to spend the night dancing to music, maybe singing just a little. As herself, after an exhausting day of keeping up with the Joneses or Smiths or whatever white slave master name they probably shared with a poorer distant cousin on the Southside. Damn she kinda missed the Southside. Christina had been before but not like this.

She sees a teenage boy dragging a trash can down the driveway next door but listens to the sound of feet making their way down the walkway. Slowly she puts the lipstick in her purse that will get left in the back seat because tonight she wants nothing to hold her back. Ruby watches Christina open and lock the gate with her back turned. Hair perfectly swooped to the side even in moonlight.

The tall blonde was in a green dress fitted at the waist that was far too fancy for whatever jazz joint they were bound to end up in. It looked new but Ruby swore Christina had too big of a closet, almost big enough for two people. William had a vest in a similar color, he wore a few days ago...well she wore Ruby guesses. Christina looks nice as she saunters towards the silver drivers side and Ruby bit the inside of her lip. There was something about the way the woman was so sure and confident in her walk, how she sat, or how she inserted the silver key into the ignition. Even when she was out dressing her for a simple night on the town. Those long hands just so handling the key before slipping...

Ruby swallows her jealous admiration and rolls her eyes, "Seriously?"

"What, is this too much ?" Christina asks, smoothing her fingertips over the leather of the steering wheel. She leans over Ruby likely too close and slips a vial of William's blood in the glove box. Giving Ruby an amused stare that makes Ruby roll her eyes even harder. Christina thinks of this as a game, one they both play. There are days she has already taken her potion and is dressed in slacks eating breakfast. Ruby will saunter into the kitchen dressed in a number that makes Christina wonder if keeping Ruby hostage would be so bad. Probably, if Leticia found out there would be a makeshift army outside her front door.

"Ha," Ruby laughs out loud and Christina smiles, "You fucking think, it's a jazz joint not the Ritz. Who in the Sam Hill are you trying to impress tonight?"

Christina lowers her eyes to Ruby's lips. She thinks of just exactly who she was continually trying to impress as covertly as possible. Ruby looks away and back realizing Christina is still staring at her like....that. She does it in William's skin too, those eyes sizing her up. Two piercing blue eyes always staring at her so deeply Ruby thinks she could burst into flames. No matter the face she does find it hard to look away.

"Don't look at me like that. I warned you about that, now drive." Ruby says crossing her arms in her lap listening to the engine come alive. Christina grins to herself but keeps her words to herself as she shifts the car into drive.

The night leads them to Vesey's where Ruby is plenty filled with free drinks. She already sang at the last spot with a band but her presence rouses the crowd that is already not slow at all tonight. The bar is more packed than normal and Ruby forgets to ask why. She did hear Sammy whisper across the bar to a man next to her something about a discreet open door to friends of Dorothy for once. As soon as her and her unlikely plus one arrived, Christina said she'd be fine on her own.

Ruby took that for truth but tried to read her half truth anyway. Christina held her own well but not like this...this would be a first. That was something Christina would say often "a first" with practically anything it made Ruby wonder if her secret-sometimes lover had any childhood or life at all before her sister came barreling into that mansion.

The whiskey is neat on her tongue as she tosses it back quickly before blearily grinning at Sammy. Tonight felt good and light and fun. No white eyes staring at her making her feel undone in front of them. Ruby in her skin surrounded by her kin and music that was sewn into her spirit. No matter how sad the lyrics could get the beat was full of life.

"And we have our resident songstress in the crowd tonight," someone on the small stage called out. Whistles came from the bar and the crowd mid dance at the stage. Andre, the young barkeep, winking at her taking her lipstick stained glass back behind the bar.

"I guess that's my cue Dre," Ruby raised her brows at him. He nods back, touching her hand sitting on the bar lightly. He sure was cute, she thought before slowly getting up from the stool. She makes her way past the packed house and in front of the band playing. Shouts and hollers come from the crowd as she holds out her hands.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, the Ruby Baptiste." The man pushes the mic in her hand and whispers good luck to her. She isn't a stranger to singing while drunk or singing well while drunk. Not even with a big audience but there is a feeling of nerves in her fingers as she grips the mic and slips it back in the stand.

"Hello Southside," Ruby says into the mic. Whistles get louder and someone bangs on the bar. This crowd definitely had some new faces in it but they were smiling or leaning against someone else like lustful animals. "Alrighty i guess y'all are entitled to a few songs."

Someone yells from a booth, "Yea, where you been Ruby left us on the south side for the north side."

Ruby laughs into the mic, " Y'all think I would leave this behind never!" She looks at the guitarist, "maybe you." Folks gossiping was always a trend her name sour on so many people's mouths.

Everyone laughs in response and she laughs quietly to herself. She whispers to the band "Put on my shoes".

Ruby sways with the band as they start before leaning into the mic.

"Should I feel a little hot, you almost drive me insane, All your good intentions. Seem to wash right down the drain, put yourself in my place. You'll see what I mean and you'll know how I feel. And you'll feel, you'll feel a pain in your heart."

Ruby scans the crowd with her eyes, landing on random spots of the crowd that look more enthused then others. Her voice still gravels out...

"Baby I've been let down more times than I can remember how you cheated on poor lil me from January to December. Put yourself in my place. You'll see what I mean and you'll know how I feel."

Her hand cradles the mic as she throws her words into it. She knows that pain even if it is not her current romance. Her heart had been split open once or twice before. Maybe that's why she held her heart back in this thing with William, Christina, or as Montrose called them Chrilliam.

"And you'll feel you'll feel a pain in your heart. I've always been faithful and I've always been true but there's gotta be the death gotta be a change in you."

Fuck him, she thought throwing her anguish in het voice before leaning back up to scan the crowd.

"Put on my shoes for a day.

Put on my shoes for a week.

Put on my shoes for a month or two, know what I've been through."

If only she could make a spell or potion, so that Christina could understand. Understand why she gets so angry and frustrated with the woman in and outside of her own blackness. She finally finds the blonde blending in surprisingly well. Christina has a drink in hand leaning against the wall, watching her. Blue eyes sweeping across the stage as Ruby moves about the space. Instead of looking away Ruby croons out....

"Go on and have fun after all is said and done."

Someone bemoans out yes sing Ruby sing. Ruby watches Christina stare at her not breaking the tension between the two of them. If this was an empty house it would be much more obvious that Ruby had been stuck. Stuck on the way Christina clutched the glass in her hand to her lips. The way her eyes didn't waver or move from Ruby eyeing her up and down.

"Put on my shoes you'll get the blues the blues the blues if you put on my shoes."

The song starts to end and Ruby finally looks away. Her heart is beating so loudly it could probably take over for Gordy the drummer if they need be. If only Christina could know authentically how it felt to be in skin like hers. Not some misplaced gesture that could have gotten her dumb ass killed...if only.

Christina half listens to the short woman sharing the table with her. She did not care at all what the woman was saying but she fully understood she had no power in this establishment. Magically yes, but physically she was the outsider here. If someone wanted to sit at the same table in this bar they could. This bar was thick with smoke, heat, and loud. Christina observed it all, everyone seemed at home in this small establishment. A home full of strangers that couldn't cross into Lincoln Park with that same joy and comfort. She didn't understand that feeling but she also never really had a "home" to connect to. A comfort as distant as her ability to empathize with these people.

A taller full figured woman stands next to the shorter darker one before sitting down eyeing Christina up and down. Which Christina doesn't change her one note expression for. The shorter woman is still yapping on about something and Christina flits her eyes between the two. At some point the taller one leans in and introduces herself as Celia. Christina leans in a bit to hear her and nods. Celia has a cool confidence she immediately picks up on instead of the jittery energy in between them.

"Isn't this wild Cil I've never seen a white woman walk in this place alone," the short one finally says in between winds of her story.

Celia smiles at Christina and says lowly, "Alone is right." Christina sees something in the taller woman's eye and grits her teeth a bit. She isn't alone, not really, with Ruby in the same building. But neither of them is kept and Ruby doesn't often kiss her without the pieces of William stuck to her skin.

"What's he coming over here all fancy like for, she's just white. Not royalty." a man in the booth next to the table huffs out loud enough for Christina to hear. One purpose most likely she knows.

Christina turns and sees the owner of the bar walking over to the table with a tray holding a wine glass filled with red. A few bystanders jump out of his way or side eye him. This didn't seem like the place where people went to for a glass of wine. Sammy was his name, she remembers that from her own bits of research on her extended family. She has also heard whispers that he was or is linked to her cousin's father, in that way. He stops in front of her and places the glass on the table.

"On the house Braithwhite." Sammy purses his lips a little at her and she crosses her eyes at him. "A request from..." the stage he mouths. She softens her look when he walks away and pulls the glass to her. Sipping it she almost laughs, it's an awful merlot that tastes like pennies. The copper taste sits on her tongue and her eyes go wide. Slipping her hand into the pockets on her dress she feels for the glass vial that should be there. After a moment of panic she feels the cold glass pulling it out a bit to ensure it's still full. It is. She sighs relief into the glass and sips it again.

The music from the band is still blaring as the crowd in front of the seating area sways and moves back and forth. No singing comes through the air and Christina leans her neck slightly to find Ruby on the stage or in the crowd. It takes a bit before a wheezy laugh proceeds and sees a man on stage with Ruby. He is swaying behind her as she holds the mic singing into the mic,

"Could a heart so right be led so wrong if his love is weak would it last this long. I don't know but I hope and pray that he comes my way oh oh."

Christina grips at her own thigh with the hand still sitting in her pocket.

The horn player toots out loudly and Ruby turns around lightly pushing away the tall built man behind her. It was all in good fun as the band kept playing and he sidled back up to her slipping his hands back to her waist teasingly. She hears the band transition into another song while she dances on stage. Left, right, left, right. She feels her hips sway away from the fingers resting above her dress. She recognizes this song and shakes her shoulders along to the music that's all around her. Looking back at the crowd she can see the stares that she is receiving from the men in the crowd. It is all temptation and fire from many directions but Ruby shrugs to herself. She did not come for a man, she had one of those already, which was obvious others heard about. Her core tightens thinking of that man, so adept with the way he took care of her. Where is he? She wonders looking back to the table she sent that bottom shelf wine to earlier. She sees Christina but Christina is holding a conversation with a glass half full. A conversation that Ruby blinks at, a woman, a very pretty light skinned girl is undressing Christina with her eyes. Ruby knows she can't hide the look on her face and bites her tongue. It earns her an, “Ooo gurl what's on your mind,” from the guitarist who she sees her face flare with jealousy. He’s following her gaze to the table and whistles loudly. He never thought Ruby went that way, but he didn’t know a lot about Ruby outside of rumors.

Braithwhite never looked out of place even in a place like this. She just fit in well without trying like a chameleon making herself comfortable in someone else's home. If Ruby did not know some of Christina’s truths this would concern her, but not so much now. At least even at her most sordid she was honest. The green of the dress did stand out but it felt see through to Ruby. She was pretty sure the woman on the other end could only wish for the type of knowledge she had. The alcohol and revitalized confidence in her gives her half the mind to throw her shoe from the stage. Maybe knocking Christina's eyes, that were probably not bulging as much as Ruby's liquored brain saw, back into her head. Ruby thinks better than that and sits the mic back in the stand and clears her throat into the mic.

Eyes including those blue ones find their way back to the stage. Ruby glares a bit in Christina's direction then directs her words back to the crowd. "Aight y'all this is my last song for tonight, it's something me and the boys have been cooking up."

Ruby hears the band whistle and mumble about someone having her in a mood tonight. The four count from the symbol goes off and Ruby clenches the mic letting her voice seep out,

"One man's poison is another man's meat, what's good for Johnny will kill poor Pete."

People in the cloud clap at the new sound. Folks lean up off the wall to move towards the dance area or to move with the crooning in their spot. Ruby smiles with her words as they continue.

"I'm good at loving so make no mistake I was his gravy but I'm your steak. Kiss me baby hold me tight everything's gonna be alright."

Ruby sways her hips back and forth a bit. Christina feels her eyes getting heavy dragging up and down Ruby's frame. She catches Ruby glancing her way and licks her lips quickly before the woman turns away from her.

"One man's evil is another man's pure, kiss me baby I want your sweet loving tonight."

Ruby extends her leg on stage twisting it with the music as she dances with the fill of the band. Moving back to the mic she slides her hands around the tall skinny pole.

Christina empties the contents of her glass not moving her vision from Ruby. She's leaning out of her chair slightly, but tries to pull herself together. If the times allowed her to, she'd have Ruby right there on the stage and she guesses if the crowd wasn’t soaking in the way Ruby reeled them in. Ruby was full of magic and had an effect on people that Christina was sensitive to. Even the first time she heard her sing.

Ruby grins as the band keeps playing and nods to them. Which they respond with air kisses. The crowd jeers as Ruby makes her way off the stage. A man's arm outstretched guides her off the stage even though she didn't need any help. Ruby can feel fire on her skin likely from Christina at the attention from a few gentlemen as Ruby passes them on her way to the bar for a glass of water. When she makes her way towards the seating area she teasingly saunters past the table she knows the blonde is sitting at. Ruby feels the eyes outlining her from behind and hears someone excuse themselves from a table behind her. She keeps walking to the bathroom she knew was at the end of the hall.

The sound of heels matching her stride as she opens and lets herself in the single person toilet.

Ruby swallows her moans while slowly tugging the long blonde hairs in between her fingers. Light tugs feeling soft rouged cheeks against her inner thighs. Lips kissing up against her thigh garters and stockings. Ruby exhales pulling Christina's head back up to hers.

"Is that what you wanted, sitting there pissed off because someone had your new toy."

Christina exhales feeling Ruby's nails scratch her scalp ever so. Her face is flushed, she can feel it, but she shakes out no lightly. "You aren't a toy," Christina pushes Ruby's hand away from her and leans over her. Less than inches away, "I guess I'm just a little jealous and it seems you are too."

Ruby scoffs but doesn't deny it, instead she drinks in the way Christina looks at her. With a vigor and a hunger that makes her thighs clench against the hand there. Fingers that sting in her memories from the car stroke up and down and Ruby does something she rarely does. She leans in and pulls Christina's lips to hers.

Christina revels in the slow tongue inching along hers. Ruby's hand on the back of her head, pulls her closer, and she slaps a hand against the tile wall surrounding the mirror. She likes this Ruby whoever this Ruby is. Unattached. Christina whimpers, feeling her head shoulders pushed downward. This Ruby who kisses her even without her being William. She also feels good in Ruby who is bound and only kisses William.

"You said you'd kiss whatever I wanted Braithwhite," Ruby gathers the blonde’s hair in her hands. Sinking her red fingernails into the blonde scalp, she opens her legs wider putting more weight on the metal sink. Ruby feels her breath hitch watching Christina sink to her knees while biting her lip at Ruby's words. Christina is undoing the snap of her garter while pushing Ruby's dress further up her thighs. It's almost around her waist, but this was not the place to just strip of it completely. Ruby leans her head back in relief feeling Christina inch the lacey cotton fabric around her hips down until they are off completely. She hopes Christina tucks them in her pocket at least.

Christina sighs pushing the lacey fabric into the same pocket holding William. She lightly bites into Ruby's thigh before moving to taste her fully. There is a low shudder and the grip on her hair tightens as she dips her head forward closing her eyes to fully immerse herself in Ruby. Ruby feels the hot coils in her stomach snapping and crackling. Her free hand moves from clenching her mouth to gripping the sink. She doesn't want to ruin Christina's dress but the heel of her shoe is pressing into the blondes back. A gasp like moan escapes her mouth as a shiver runs across her collar bone.

"Oh shit," the door next to them squeaks open and shut quickly, making both Ruby and Christina open their eyes. Christina turns her head upward to stare at Ruby. She can't say she feels any shame in her current position, but Ruby might. Ruby can only see the blue eyes peeking at her with concern and heat from the bottom of her dress. But, she feels like wetness on Christina's chin on her warm thighs. Ruby leans over to the lock on the door and twists it shut before leaning her head back on the wall. She regrips Christina's hair, "Kiss what I want."

Ruby moans out loud while music and a jazzy tune slips under the door.

“Your love is voodoo and I just can’t last. It's your voodoo working, voodoo working, voodoo working and I can't get a lick…..”

#christina braithwhite #Ruby Baptiste #ruby x christina #christina x ruby #lovecraft country #lovecraft country hbo #femslash #sapphic fanfiction #sapphic fandom #fanfiction #blues music

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idontwannabreakdown · 3 years

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Okay okay okay I wanna talk more about Waste My Hate since I’ve calmed down a bit

Like I love this song so much and what’s even better is that it shows exactly where I’m at in my journey to recovery and oh boy

So the line “oh bless your little black heart” is like absolutely perfect. Like as someone who lives in the south and has also been brought up in a mostly Baptist, born-again-Christian environment, I know that saying something like “bless your heart/soul” is the equivalent of saying “I think you’re gonna go to hell for the way you’re living” and I love this so much because I was constantly getting told that I was going to hell or getting the “oh, I’ll pray for you” and like wow I just feel this line so much

“Do I look like I need a new way to hurt?” Yesss!!! This is so perfect! Like I’ve already dealt with enough toxicity, I don’t need you coming back undoing all my hard work

“Ha, are you obsessed with me honey?” First the sass in this line is amazing!!! Second, often times toxic people do get obsessed with their targets, or at least the control they have over their target’s emotions. They’ll spend all their energy trying to make you feel shitty

“I sink to your level so you feel okay?” Oh my gosh! Yes! Toxic people can’t stand when you’re doing better than them in anything. They have to make sure everyone is just as miserable and toxic as they are so they can justify their actions

“Keep on pushing and pushing, hoping that I’ll push back” toxic people love starting conflicts. They’ll try as many different ways as they can to get you to retaliate

“Don’t shove down my throat what you’ve buried inside” I FEEL THIS LINE SO MUCH!!! Like as I mentioned I was raised in a very religious environment, not to mention that my mom and her husband are very toxic people. When they found out that I was out at school, when they found out I was gay and maybe genderqueer they lost their shit. They made my life with them a living hell. And now, two years later my mom decided to tell me that she’s gay too. So they basically took all their internalized homophobia out on me for three whole years. So like yes, I relate to this line so much

The whole bridge is amazing. Like “I’m not gonna waste my hate on you/ trying to ge me riled up, shame on you”. Yesss. Toxic people don’t care what kind of attention you give them. They love that they get under your skin. So like the best thing you can do is learn to not spare them your attention

This whole song is amazing and I love it so much

#icon for hire #ariel bloomer #shawn jump #icon for hire band #icon army #amorphous #waste my hate

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badolmen · 4 years

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tysm to everyone who has interacted with this fun lil fic - your likes, reblogs, and comments never cease to make me smile! who’s ready for the spooky season? @billy-hoepe @bonniebunz @softupshur and @bandtrees I hope y’all’re doing well and taking care of yourselves <3

Chapters: First, 2, 3, 4, 5

Billy had been to churches before. Old ones, new ones, small ones, big ones, bright ones, dark ones, and places of worship of every denomination. He had slept on pews and stone stairs when the doors were locked. He had spent many Christmas nights bathing in the warmth of candles and songs, the midnight mass providing respite from the bitter winter if only for a few hours.

He didn’t understand churches, of course. His mother murmured of being raised Baptist on occasion or spit angry curses at Catholic and Mormon ex-boyfriends. She would mutter negative sentiments to cultures and beliefs he had no concept of outside of his mother’s warped and hate filled snarls at the television.

Billy knew nothing of worship or prayer or faith.

Sometimes, in Mount Massive, he wished a god would answer his prayers. Sometimes he was sure there was no god listening at all. He wondered, on dark nights and rainy days, that if he had learned prayer the higher powers would listen, that if he had faith, any faith at all, he would hear a response.

The phantom that scratched at the back of his mind didn’t bring any revelations with the pain it caused – it was just static, a ghost and whisper of hate that drove ice into Billy’s thoughts when he tried to explore the concept of the being that shared the same corporeal form as him.

This church was old and big but marred with minor disrepair. The main tower was wrapped in blue tarps to keep out the rain, and the shingles shuddered in the wind. The red brick had been stained a deeper crimson by the moisture, almost seeming to bleed into the gray concrete below.

Blood, smeared across the walls and floors and the stink of rotting flesh and freshly dead meat and insects and flies and maggots and –

“Here we are,” The driver hummed, her car groaning to a halt on the street in front of the massive building. Miles said her name was Beatrice. “I’d walk you in, but…” She trailed off, eyeing the rivulets of rain cascading down her windshield. “Just go right in and head to the room behind the altar, at the back of the building. We gave Fr. Kos the heads up so he should be waiting for y’all.”

“Thank you,” Miles said, stiffly nodding to Beatrice. Billy could feel the tension rising in the man like a spring coiled tighter and tighter. Exhaustion, too. “You good to go Billy? Probably best to make a run for it in this weather.”

“Good to go,” Billy whispered, swallowing back the metallic taste in his mouth. Had talking always hurt this much? Dr. Wernicke complained that he talked too much in their sessions. Maybe he finally fixed that problem.

“Alright then,” Miles grunted, car door opening and closing as he rushed the building. Billy tried to follow in suit but startled at the slam of the car door and tripped over his own wobbly legs while trying to scale the stone steps. Miles reached out, catching him before he collapsed at the top of the stairs.

With an exchange of thumbs up between Beatrice and Miles, the car sputtered away from the curb, leaving the two clinging to each other beneath the eaves.

The door was big, dark and solid wood heavy enough to make Miles’ face twist up in pain as he held the door open for Billy to shuffle inside. But the door closed softly, mechanism clicking in place the two stood in the warmth of the hallway between the church and the outside world.

“Man, forgot to ask if this is the back of the church or if the other end is…” Miles muttered, trying to find a comfortable way to hold his hands. Blood had seeped through his bandages.

“…think it’s this way,” Billy breathed, trying his hardest to keep his voice soft. It hurt less to whisper than to speak. He held open the inner door for Miles and the two treaded quietly across the carpeted floors toward the altar.

The church was empty and quiet save for their breathing and the quiet light of a few candles.

Billy’s eyes searched the many corners and peaks of the vaulted ceiling for cameras – Miles was probably doing the same as the pair slowly made their way toward the door beside the altar. But there were no cameras to be found. The fog that usually clouded Billy’s thoughts seemed to lift, or at least offer a shimmer of relieved clarity.

The door they were walking to opened, and the pair tensed.

“Oh, didn’t mean to startle you,” Billy couldn’t place the accent, but the voice was lighter than he thought it would be. The men or women in black who stood on the altar and wore colorful robes always had hard voices, sometimes even angry. But this man’s voice was soft and gentle. “I’m Father Kos – or Father Sebastian, whichever you care for, you are Miles and Billy, right?”

“Yeah,” Miles said, voice still tight even as his posture relaxed. “Yeah, I’m Miles, he’s Billy. This is Saint Gobnait’s?”

“Correct, come, this way. I’m sure you two will want to warm up,” The man in black stepped back into the room, gesturing that they follow. Miles paused, only for a moment, before stalking toward the entry. Billy kept close behind, eyes still wandering across the stained glass and statues of the building.

This room was warmer, but not by much. Father Kos had begun descending down a flight of stairs, black shoes clicking against the wood.

“Ah,” He sighed, noticing Miles pause again. “There’s a short tunnel to the rectory basement. Would you rather go outside again?”

“Yes,” Miles was quick to answer, curtly nodding to the man. Billy did not want to go outside again – the ice in his thoughts had made a home in his bones and every step felt like he was standing on nails. But he couldn’t tell Miles that fast enough, so he nodded in agreement.

“Alright, here,” Father Kos said, taking an umbrella from beneath his black coat. “Use my umbrella, it’s not far but it would –” He muttered a word Billy did not understand, before gesturing vaguely to the door that led outside. “Bah, never mind, follow me.”

The umbrella was small, so Billy stayed close to Miles’ side, careful not to jostle the man too much as they walked. Miles’ hands kept shaking, bandaged fingers struggling to get a comfortable grip on the handle.

Father Kos seemed unperturbed by the down pour, heavy black coat soaked, and glasses blurred by the time they reached the rectory, a small white building beside the brick church. The trio shook rain from their shoes at the doorway, a breath of blessed warmth working its way into Billy’s aching bones.

“Oh, is that the – Father! You’ll catch your death, go, go take a warm shower and get some dry clothes on –”

“This is Sister Francis, Sister, this is Miles and Billy, the one’s Carolyn’s Place called about,”

Billy shrank behind Miles, hoping to seem small. The woman was shorter than him, stout with a round face and liver spotted cheeks. Her voice was grating and hard, the static in the back of his mind hissed like water on an electric burner.

“I can introduce myself, Father. Go warm up the shower, and try not to track too much water in here,”

“Yes, yes,” The man’s lighthearted laugh calmed some of the building static in Billy thoughts. “What’s for lunch Sister?”

“McDonalds or Burger King; it depends on our guests,” Francis’ voice had softened, the crow’s feet at her eyes becoming more apparent as she smiled.

“I vote for Burger King – they have better fish,”

“Dully noted,” Francis sighed as Father Kos slowly made his way up the staircase. “Leave the umbrella by the door – goodness knows this rain won’t let up anytime soon,”

“That what the weather is saying?” Miles said, voice relaxing as the older woman limped down the hall.

“Yes, flood warnings – very strange for this time of year. Did you hear about the bugs down in Arizona? Flock of locust; they blotted out the sun just yesterday and then poof! No one knows where they went.”

“That…is strange,” Miles breathed, beckoning Billy to follow them as they made their way down the carpeted hall.

“The kitchen’s right there – don’t be in there when I’m cooking, Father might not mind but it’s a small space and I’d rather not smack you with a pan of potatoes by accident.” Francis said in a practiced tone, waving to the small oven and refrigerator for a brief moment before continuing the slow walk down the hall.

Billy didn’t bother looking in the room, his eyes trained on the back of Miles’ head. It was warm – cozy and comforting. The air smelled like dust and the faintest trace of smoke – and mixed with the blood and sweat of Miles’ jacket, it almost smelled like home.

#outlast #outlast fanfiction #miles upshur #billy hope #outlast whistleblower #outlast 2 #outlast ii #me. making segues to outlast 2: guys trust me its connected. just trust me. we'll get there eventually.

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cullxtheherd · 4 years

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Dirty headcannon game: J, A, C, O, B for Jacob

thank u for this ask anon - it gets a little rambly but in my defense i haven’t had coffee or sleep so ksjndksf we maaake doooo with what we haaave hebjhdfrdesfkjn

Dirty A-Z headcanon game!

J - Jelly (what kind of lube are they using? is it flavored? have they tasted it? do they prefer to use something other than real lube during sex?)

anon i think, personally, that if Jacob Seed has access to any kind of personal lubricant it’ll come in a sour flavor- green/apple, lemon, etc. i just don’t see him as a sweets type of person? maybe you feel differently idk. but to be honest with you i doubt lube is in massive stock or quantity at saint francis. and without being... Too Dark™: i’m pretty sure if Jacob Seed is making use of any form of lubricant (even spit) he likely has some type of feeling for his partner- other than convenience, that is.

A - Alone time (how do they get off when they’re all by themselves? do they watch porn, is it all in their imagination, do they jerk off, do they use toys?)

hoo babey i think Jake is definitely a guy that masturbates, but i think he is the type of guy that has that?? ingrained Religious Guilt™ about it. which lanskjndjkfns it’s funny to me because he has zero to little guilt at all about anything else he does i just think that?? based on my own interpretation of his childhood: he likely spent whatever years that weren’t clouded by abuse and addiction on his parents part, under the thumb of the Bible. i have theorized in his timeline [x] that the Seeds were likely Baptists due to the majority Religion in Rome, Georgia at the time of Jacob’s birth. i personally headcanon that his father was likely a Preacher before being overcome with alcoholism and after i believe he was likely a bible salesman who dragged his eldest son along. i believe that being ruled by a heavily religious iron fist, especially with strict doctrines about repentance and sinning??? y e a h. i think if he is rubbing one out it’s probably a quick, base needs experience: no toys, etc and probably followed by feeling Super Wrong About It Because God (even though he doubts the fuckers existence at all®). anyone who is catholic can confirm ksjndkjnfdjdnf

C - Crying (is it a turn on? a turn off? do they cry during sex? have they cried during sex? what was the reason?)

oof that is a grim thought to be honest and?? i doubt Jacob Seed cries during or has in the past cried during sex. now i’m not sure on the turn on/turn off situation because honestly i think it depends on the circumstances. i could certainly see during an unhinged and violent episode it being a turn on (in the sense that it is something incensing to an attacker, generally), but!! i just don’t write him as meanly in the bedroom as most people do, so: in a sane mind state no i really do not think it is a turn on for him. i think although he was raised roughly and rudely that ultimately he was/is a Southern Boy; as in: he loves his Mama despite her massive faults, he holds doors open for women (these days mostly in the PEG unless out of town), he is sweet on his sweetheart, he knows the lyrics to every Elvis song and Southern Nights by Glenn Campbell, he eats peaches (no not Staci, yes sExUaLlY), he likes his grits tacky not RUNNY, he haS A STNRNFSDJ SOUTHERN ACCENT???!?!?!?! UBISOFT HELLOOO??

you know what im done with this question my friend :)

O - Outdoor sex (have they ever done it in public? would they? where?)

yes very much yes. i think any sex that jacob seed is having these days is likely a spur of the moment act of convenience and is probably subject to back alley bangin’ more than he would ever admit. the game and the devs have told us a lot that the boys don’t really follow their own core doctrines and since Jake tells us plainly that he’s not so sure about God?? i’m certain he abuses his power as Herald to bend the rules for himself and often. but same applies here i think he likely suffers a big heap of Religious Guilt afterwards, even despite his doubt in religion and faith.

B - Bondage (do they like it? do they not? do they prefer to be the one being tied or the one doing the tying?)

ebhjgdfdfjdgk okay so if you go to the several places (grandview, surrounding cabins, etc) where Jacob “trains” people you will find that most, if not all, of the beds/couches/etc have leg and/or ankle cuffs affixed to them and some even have a chain and leash bolted into the floor. i think Jake is big time into control in all aspects of his life, especially the bedroom. i do think that the confinements in the training rooms are more used as a system of degradation, though and not solely nsfw purposes. i have said in the past that in my interpretation this man absolutely hates being nude in any form in front of others due to his extensive scarring/rashes and i just don’t think his object is to absolutely rail the shit out of the poor souls coming through his doors- although, don’t get me wrong i’m sure on occasion it happens, but also skjkdfj let’s not forget that when Jake has left his men/soldiers to do things in the past (THE COOK IM LOOKING AT YOU) they often go? over the edge and get way out of control aND honestly if you haven’t read the notes where the cook is: they say jake needs more bodies/soldiers but that the cook decides to burn these sinners anyways; it’s a direct avoidance of orders- this likely happens all over the whitetails and it is likely something Jacob doesn’t take kindly to. why? well when you’ve trained your flock on a cocktail of abuse and torture you don’t exactly instill absolute trust in your soldiers- some will, eventually, disobey and i’m sure with a bunch of half crazed, militarized guards around....sexual assault is going to happen, unfortunately. i do think that if there is some kind of? consensual/sexual relationship going on that restraints can and likely will be a part of the bedroom - maybe not always because Jacob strikes me as the kind of guy that prefers to? work with his hands. annnddd now for the part we aren’t ready for: i think if Jake really trusts his partner that he will allow himself to be bound in certain ways (he’s going to need a quick way out of any PTSD inducing scenes for everyone’s safety). just imagine this man has his partner in the cowgirl position and he says:

“𝑷𝒖𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅 𝒎𝒚 𝒏𝒆𝒄𝒌 .”

bye im leaving

#hbasdhjfdg goTTA GOOOO #&: character alphabet (J is for Jacob)

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hecohansen31 · 4 years

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Definitely and Officially a Groupie:

(A/N): Hello there, lovelies!

Since @codyfernmorelikedaddyfern has created her own punk-goth band I have been unable to properly sedate my inner groupie, so I had to absolutely write this, hoping that you’ll like it and the boys won’t be pissed with him (back off I got Dorian before any of you!)

Also they have an official tumblr page @fitfouraking !

Hope you’ll like it and any feedback, as always, is welcome!

WARNINGS: Mention of Sexual Stuff, Dirty Talking, Tits and Topless Discussion and Being A Groupie.

You had discovered the “Fit Four A King” through the same way they had become popular: a cover song of “Killer Queen” you had found as you were browsing hopelessly and aimlessly on YouTube.

They didn’t only have good voices and were pretty good with instruments, but they were also quite handsome and Frederick ‘Fred’ Dawson could move his hips as Freddy Mercury himself, although you couldn’t focus much on solely one boy, because as you found yourself crushing had onto one, another caught your eye.

You loved Baptiste’s confidence, the way he fucking owned the stage and was smug about it, meanwhile, on the complete opposite spectrum, you loved Dorian’s attentive sounds and the way he shrank away from any attention making him quite the mystery.

(Although you followed and maybe… stalked… the Instagram profile of his cats, and knew them all by name, alongside being able to recognize them through hundreds of thousands).

Fred was an easy-living guy, he honestly seemed the life of the party and always managed to make you laugh a bit during his interview, with some of his ‘dumb boy persona’, for example once he had been questioned about whether he liked to bring girls back on the bus or not.

‘… why would we bring girls on the bus? That’s considered kidnapping!’.

And finally there was Damian: Fred might have danced like Freddy but Damian was a rock god in itself, in the various abilities he owned (you sometimes swore that he would learn new ones just to amaze others and to sneakily present them) and the aesthetic he had build around himself, all red eyeshadows and Latin chants.

You had always frowned upon on band-obsessed girls: you certainly had had quite your share of beloved bands, but none of them had hit you like “Fit Four A King”.

They seemed to be your new obsession and when you had discovered that they would be playing in your city, you had immediately pushed one of your friends to join the concert.

‘They are fucking too scream-o for me, (Y/N)…” she had mumbled, but in the end she had accompanied you (under a good amount of blackmail, justified as ‘convincing’) and you had finally managed to see ‘Fit Four A King’ in concert and had even gotten yourself a backstage pass for a signing.

The backstage signing would be happening that afternoon, mostly because Baptiste had joked that Damian ‘was an old guy and needed his beauty sleep’, in one interview where he had also confessed everyone that Damian also slept with his head onto specific silk pillows for his hair.

(The fans who used to throw him their bras had then moved to throwing him silk pillows).

You were excited for the signing, even more than for the concert, because although you couldn’t deny that they were an awesome band and hoped they would go far in their career, you had slowly come to love them as people, through the huge mediatic involvement they had with their fans.

Still, when only a few people were before you and your friend you found yourself not knowing what to say, a bit panicking about the thought of meeting your ‘heroes’.

Should you have just stayed silent?

Or should you have just told them that they were an amazing band?

And maybe added that they had helped through your worst moments?

Would that be considering too much?

Would you have been considered a bitch for not saying anything?

Your friend had to tolerate all your bullshit with an annoyed smirk, before she suggested smirking lightly ‘why don’t you get them to sign your tits? That is some groupie shit’.

You had blushed from head to toe, and immediately shook your head, but a devilish smile had appeared onto your friend’s face and continued as only one person stood to you and the band manager asked you to come closer.

You thought you wouldn’t say anything, you would only talk if they asked, already forgetting the proper spell of your name and…

“Hey! My friend, over here, wants you to sign her tits!” your friend shouted once it was your turn and immediately you froze on your stop, simply turning around to chastise your friend with a cold look.

Certainly it wasn’t the first proposal they had received (Dorian had gotten once a g-spot stimulator ring from a fan at these events and Damian a condom, not to talk about all the used or not panties Baptiste got…) but you couldn’t help but blush, being on the shier spectrum than your friend.

But even more worried that they would kick you both out, because of such affirmation.

But the manager simply sent a look to the band and more specifically to Baptiste who in return focused his pretty eyes onto you, making you blush ardently, as you gripped tight the CD in your hands, almost breaking the plastic.

“Is that so?” Baptiste’s voice was rougher than it seemed in videos and in real life it had a warm tone that brought you to feel almost enveloped by his arms.

“… ahem… I…” you stuttered shyly, pushing away your hair from your face, meanwhile you tried to find a solution to this awful situation.

“… because I wouldn’t object to signing such a pair of awesome tits”.

Hadn’t it been Baptiste fucking O’Malley, you would have hit the guy across the face for such a phrase, but Gosh… if you weren’t feeling flattered by what he had just said.

Dorian, beside him (they always put them together in this kind of situation, since they brought out ‘the best’ out of the other), just shook his head, more to hide a light blush onto his cheeks than to actually reprimand the man.

And suddenly you couldn’t help but feel a bit high onto all those attentions that you immediately nodded eagerly, and gently lowered your shirt for them to have more space where they could sign, Baptiste immediately brightening up, as their manager laughed out loud.

And you felt a few of the girls who were behind you glaring, but in that moment you were a bit too focused on lowering your body so that Baptiste could sign it with more ease, meanwhile the other boys went to sign your CD.

“… to whom should I sign it to?” he asked with a twinkle in his eyes, meanwhile he adjusted himself onto the chair, pushing his body closer to yours, meanwhile you gave him his name and he signed it, mouthing lightly the words he was writing “… to (Y/N) keep on being an amazing babe and may this not be permanent”.

You smirked, although you were well aware that you would have to wear turtlenecks for at least a week.

(Should you have washed it off or just considered it a permanent tattoo, now that your idols had touched you?).

But it was worth it, with the way Baptiste’s fingers brushed “accidentally” against your chest, sending you lightly in overdrive.

Then you moved onto Dorian, almost sure, he wouldn’t do it, with the way he blushed and kept his head away from your chest, to avoid staring at as blatantly as Baptiste had done, meanwhile he asked what you preferred that he wrote onto your… ‘ahem chest’.

You were still high over the realization that your favorite group was giving you all that attention and you just had to suggest him to write the three names of this beloved cats, since you loved them almost more than him, making him raise his eyes at you in a joking reprimand.

‘Those three assholes honestly would scare you in a few minutes’ he retorted, as you softly tutted your tongue against your palate, smirking softly at him, definitely more at ease now that you had shown that you weren’t just some crazed groupie.

‘Maybe one day I should meet them’ you immediately thought your joke had gone too far, but he simply smirked at you, reddish cheeks but firm eyes.

‘… maybe you should’.

You were too shocked, but your feet brought you to Frederick, who smirked at you although his eyes held no sex-crazed twinkle unlike Baptiste: although he was known as one of the most transgressive of the band, he turned out to be a big dumb baby.

‘Can you draw a little lipstick mark?’ you asked him, well aware of the similar tattoo he had ‘… so that we can match’.

Your tongue was now definitely loose and Frederick rushed to do it, excusing himself for the shitty drawing, and his even shittier signature.

‘I am a guitarist, there is a reason behind that!’ he joked, meanwhile he softly pushed back his reddish hair, making you want to almost brush your hands through it, then he leaned against you to properly imprint a kiss mark, going as far as to draw his line with the mixture of lipstick he was wearing, lightly tickling you with that amazing hair.

You were brought back by the harsh way Damian grabbed your arm, his eyes and hands as frigid as he was rumored to be: a loner with a pendant for songwriting, started at such a young age in the music industry, he had become a true prodigy.

But he hadn’t wanted any of that shit.

Till he found ‘Fit Four A King’.

“Almost done, here, wouldn’t want you to catch quite a cold” he muttered but there was no true worry in his voice, just a simple teasing that brought you to immediately make yourself shy for him “… you don’t mind if I write you what I want, don’t you?”.

You immediately shook your head, no objection to whatever he would have written.

He smirked and brough the pencil onto your skin with a few rapid but precise strokes, in a way that made you completely unaware of what he had written, but you smirked and thanked him all the same, as he had an expecting smile on his face, slipping something in your CD.

But as you thanked the guys again and moved along, you couldn’t help but want to read whatever Damian had wrote on your chest, maybe a song lyric or maybe some lousy joke or some Latin chant…

But what you discovered… was definitely more interesting.

Your friend smirked as you turned to her, asking her to let you know what he had written.

“Join us on the bus after the end of the performance and we will have another signature event, just for you xoxo Damian”.

Shit, you were definitely and officially a groupie, now.

#original characters #oc #punk goth #punk band #rock band #baptiste o'malley #dorian harrison #frederick dawson #damian greene #fit four a king #Michael Langdon #Duncan Shepherd #Jim Mason #Xavier Plympton #Michael Langdon Reader #Duncan Shepherd Reader #Jim Mason Reader #Xavier Plympton Reader

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idealuk · 4 years

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Redoing this to utilize the cut.

anonymous “asked”: Non-binary women are just women who want to feel special. You're white, and you didn't get the attention you thought you deserved, so you decided you were non-binary because you think it means you get any sort of fucking opinion on what it's like to actually be a mlm or wlw. You are a fetishizing creep, and I don't care if you think I'm being vile, because I think you're the sort of person who makes fandom spaces feel unsafe for actual queer people, and that's worse than anything I could do.

My answer: I turned on music on Random to listen to any thing while I typed this and an Ani DiFranco song came on.😂 Only answering this (notably with out tags) because I genuinely want to be directed to where this toxicity you say I spew exists (especially knowing what fandom you’re coming from). That and it’s truly ironic that you accuse me of making other people feel unsafe while you are actually attacking me while wearing a virtual mask. I don’t need to do this, but, if you still think that you’re right after reading the following, and continue to make time to come at me, you’re the one trying to make people feel unsafe …

I was disowned by my biological father before I was even born.

I have Cerebral Palsy.

My biological grandparents raised me as their own because my biological mother, their eldest, is a bipolar sociopath and they didn’t feel like I was safe with her (she’s tried to kill me multiple times throughout the years if you need that decoded).

I was 3 when I was insisting that I was Batman, not Batgirl, for Halloween.

I was 7 when I convinced my mother to take me, instead of going back to school after a dentist appointment, to see Calendar Girl, because I heard that there was going to be a naked woman in it, and was very intrigued (not that I told her that).

I was also 7 when I started growing breasts, the first person, by far, I knew to get them who wasn’t older than me, and, what should have made me feel special actually had me reeling, because it just felt wrong.

I was that tomboy that my dad (who already had three prissy cis girls before taking custody of me) had always wanted, but, because of the CP, we couldn’t bond over sports, so we bonded over mature jokes and mature arguments/outright fights.

Having to calm him down from spontaneous panic attacks from a heart condition on the side of the road on the way home from school were a weekly occurrence, ones that, if I didn’t handle just right, would turn in to him violently lashing out.

I was 8 when a friend told me what ‘gay’ meant and birthed a confusion in me because I still liked boys.

I was 9 when I was sexually assaulted by a school attendant (a man inappropriately hired to help me and the other disabled kids do things like go to the bathroom) in a way that blindsided me like nothing else would*.

That woman I told you about? That first week? We were 8. She was in that bathroom with me. We survived that happening to me together after only one year of friendship.

I was 10 when an other friend told be what being bisexual was at a birth day party and clarity and panic rose inside of me (I had always been my Baptist Church’s darling).

I was 11 when I had to live through her, my heart, telling me that her mother was moving them back to Kansas and then I had to cope with her leaving me.

We kept in contact by phone and the internet once that was more of a thing. That didn’t stop the empty pit feeling I got when my sisters would berate me for not just getting over her. “She’s just a friend who moved away. It happens. Move on”.

It was around this time that my parents sent me to a therapist cheap enough to afford because of her age and she then spent a few years blaming me for all of my family’s problems. Even my mother agrees with this looking back at our group sessions and knowing more of what I was going through at the time (I saw her a few years after I stopped seeing her professionally at a town festival, when I looked more like her age, and she hugged and greeted me like an old friend - I groaned, knowingly, with the friends that I was with as soon as she was gone).

I was 13 when my heart made me listen to Lifehouse’s entire debut album over the phone before they were all over the radio and told me that it all reminded her of me. I know now what she meant, and, years later, song after song, it still holds up (”Into The Sun” is playing right now).

I was 14 when she came back to town for a one-day visit and I was the only one she, an able-body girl so pretty that she had modeled since she was a baby, had wanted to see (granted, we had been inseparable before, but it’s not like she didn’t still have other friends in the area) and we spent the afternoon high on each other’s laughter when our dynamic had always been either intuitive banter, drag-out fights that ended with a single sincere look in to each other’s eyes, or the ability to sit for hours in comfortable silence.

It was also when I was 14, a few months later, that I came out to a friend. Also, when I was 15, a few months after that, because he was too drunk and actually high to remember that first time (half of my ~4,000-kid school knew by my Senior Year, and the other half didn’t care to know, and I didn’t care either way even though my family didn’t know yet).

I was 16 when a Model Summer Camp ex had been sent to me through text “because you’ll [I’ll] know how to let him down easy for me [her]”. I did what came naturally and got back strange vibes in response. I have a theory that she was catfishing me to gauge my feelings for her. Either way, it was weird, and would lead to destruction by inspiring me to take matters in to my own hands years later.

I was 17 when I heard a love song a certain way and was metaphorically knocked to the ground with feelings. Not hers - I couldn’t ask for that much - but mine. I finally saw what had been in front of me for the last nine years. Yeah, that’s right, I was that idiot. I started getting cagey with her when we would talk (we had become the kind of friends who could go months with out talking and then talk like the other had just been in an other room for a few minutes - this didn’t change - it simply got very ... measured).

I was getting multiple life-threatening surgeries because of my CP throughout all of these years.

I was 18 when I came out to my mother. I had a family birth day party about an hour away from my house, because that’s how far away the town where most of my family lived there at that time is, and my parents spent the whole ride back mocking my cousin and who is now his husband (then his boyfriend). I dragged her to my room when we got home and started yelling at her things like “You can’t say shit like that because I won’t stand for you talking like them or me like that”. I hadn’t been planning on telling her for years, like when I finally had a girlfriend (and I was ‘over her’), but I ended up telling my dad in a similar way, with less dramatics, though (it was in regards to a TV character and I swear that he immediately knew who those feelings went directly towards despite my having a lot of female friends throughout the years - he was/is, ironically, the more emotionally observant parent). Not that you care, but they’ve both have since come to Prides with me, because I know how to communicate with people in a way that doesn’t turn people off. It actually brings them in closer.

It was all throughout high school that I got harassed and shamed for how big my breasts were. Teachers would try to ban me from wearing certain tops, because “you don’t want to distract the boys,” but then would compliment girls wearing the exact same top, actually telling them to wear it more often, when they thought that I couldn’t hear. Joke’s on you, Mrs. Frielich, I also liked Angelica in that top that we both got at Charlotte Russe. She was also the one who gave me shit when I would come to school in boys clothes from Hot Topic (if you didn’t already know that I’m now 34) for not being “girly enough”.

I started wearing three binders (two folded) over an Ace bandage almost every day when I was 19 (now that my mother knew) just to get down to looking like I had giant pecs.

One of the happiest days of my life was when an old lady called me “the young gentleman” when I went to go vote once.

I had to stop binding in my early twenties due to worries about tissue damage.

My body has more cartilage than most, so, almost every day, I still smile at the sight of my own neck, where my Adam’s apple is present similarly to that of a biological cis male.

I hate liars (pathological lying is a trait of sociopaths - see Bullet 3). I’ve lied once in my whole life (in my mid twenties) and it ruined it. I told my heart that it wasn’t her that I was in love with when I had gotten up the nerve to tell her how I felt only to chicken out partially through, using a female friend I had been flirting with for while online in her place when I thought she might be suspicious, and she appeared to have tore her life apart almost immediately. She broke up with the guy she had been seeing seriously for years and had moved out to LA with and in the most devastating way. When I found out why (the news coming in stages), I had promised not to, but I ended up getting too mad at him (and tipsy), and contacted him, any way (we had become friends through her, complete with me jokingly giving him the shovel talk the year prior, and our own inside jokes). He got in to my head with talk of how I know more than any one how she pushes people away when they get too close. I knew that they were practically engaged before this. I thought that she was really happy with him so I waded the waters between them from the other side of the country. MeToo wasn’t yet what it would become. Yup, that was the accusation that made me lose it, and I’ll never not hate myself for … every thing that I did at the time, except for telling her that I was in love with her, which was met with “How the-hell do you think I feel about you?!”. As I recall, both things were typed in all caps in the heat of the moment (reasons to love and hate the internet), but that’s not important. What’s important is that I put her in the position to not trust me. She told me that she understood why I did what I did (we did kind of have a history of this), but she needed time, and made less and less time to talk to me. When I was able to ask her why she didn’t press charges, she said that it was because of me, that it was all because of me. I had no idea what that meant at the time. She then blocked me every where and refused to talk to me.

A few months later, I had saved up enough to fly myself and my mother out there (I was also there to look at design schools, because my lifelong obsession with the female form had led me to that field at an early age - some of our fights we had when we were kids were over how I would just want to draw/sketch while she wanted to do some thing else and how she couldn’t understand my enchantment with an industry her mother made her be a part of - and I was finally going to get off of my ass about it). I finally get to her house, text a friend to text her to come to the door (doorsteps and motorized wheelchairs don’t go together), and she lies and says she’s not home. I know that she was lying, because, a few minutes later, her silhouette, and silhouette of her miniature King Charles, came to the fog glass door. We’re there just there, staring with out eye contact, for what feels like for ever when I see her make a call. A few minutes later, I see the Beverley Hills police pulling up, and I’m already on my way as they come up and tell me that they got a call about a little girl in a wheel chair who might be stuck (yes, she knew how to twist the knife, but I also knew that she would). I laugh as I say that I’m already on my way and they ask if I need help getting to where I’m going. I laugh as I convince them that they don’t need to worry about me. I laugh as I try to find some one to pick up my phone that falls going in between streets. I laugh as I thank the woman walking her dog. I laugh as I make it to the coffee shop that I was meeting my mother at. I laugh and yell in frustration as I tell her what happened on the drive back to the hotel. I laugh until I can cry to my best friend at the time back home from my hotel room.

I do not try to see her on my next trip out there that was six months later.

A couple of years later, I have a waking nightmare that comes in the form of flashes of things that I felt and had seen during a time in my life that had always been spotty in my memory, and, suddenly, every thing made sense. I finally remembered* what happened to me when I was 9 (that’s right, I blacked it out and pretended that it didn’t happen, and she stood by me with out pushing as a child while I did that to her as a grown-ass adult all because my brain protected itself until I could handle being conscious of the trauma).

It is my thinking that her and the guy started fighting more because of what I told her about the other girl (he didn’t hide the fact that he was jealous of me - I should’ve taken him seriously) and the unthinkable happened (attack me until I die for how I dealt with that, please, I willingly grant you that).

I’ve tried to make contact on newer social media platforms since, and have apologized, but a flooded dam is under that bridge.

She’s now married to a “never Trump Republican” who works for one of the big banks (I bet knowing that makes you happy as I’m a ‘phony lefty’).

It’s just been in the last few months that I’ve gotten up the resolve to enforce that even just my mother use the correct pronouns (she’s almost 77, if she can try, so can you).

I do not need to lie about my gender, or sexuality, to feel special enough to have an opinion (I get that right as a sentient being) and my life experience has taught me to not cower to people like you. People like you need people like me bled out bare and dry. Now you have that. What you’re not expecting is that it didn’t hurt me at all to put all of this out there at this point in my life. Making, not peace, but acceptance with your demons makes it easy to be honest. I do expect that you want to accuse me of trying to play the victim. I’m not a victim. I just lived. Part of living is trying to figure out why we hold in anger and figuring out how to let it go. Before you say that this was an excuse for me to stand on a soap box, remember that I can’t stand at all, and laugh at that joke. Tell me where you think that I’ve been toxic (other than with my own love life) and go find some where healthy to direct your hate.

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soyforramen · 3 years

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Sympathy for the Devil

“Come back to bed, love, it’s too early,” a groggy voice called from the bedroom.

Aziraphale, not one who was easily tempted, continued to make preparations for tea. Once it was properly steeped and the biscuits arranged just so, Aziraphale picked the tray up and walked into the cave Keith dared called a bedroom. Despite their on-again, off-again meetings Aziraphale hadn’t been able to make the burgeoning musician understand the necessity of a proper sleep schedule. Instead of gratitude, concern was met with laughter and teasing that made Aziraphale feel like an old, out-of-touch biddy for worrying about decorum.

Carefully, Aziraphale balanced the tea on the edge of the only piece of furniture not entirely covered in clothing, paperwork, or drug paraphanelia.

“I’m afraid you are mistaken, my dear boy,” Aziraphale said, pulling open the curtains. Michael groaned and rolled over in a tangle of sheets. “Four p.m. may be early for you musicians, but for the rest of us it’s closer to the end of the day. Tea?”

Michael gave him a crooked grin and sat up, scratching his chest as he went. “You are an angel, mate.”

Aziraphale frowned and poured out the tea into a cup already half full with sugar and milk. “I’d really rather you not call me that,” Aziraphale said with a frown.

Michael reached out for the cup and drank deeply from it. “Angel in the morning, devil at night,” he said with a wicked grin that made even the roots of Aziraphale’s hair blush.

“I hardly think that’s appropriate,” Aziraphale muttered, though he was tickled at the comparison. “Seeing as how I have meet a few devils in my time.”

With a sigh of contentment, Michael leaned against the headboard and beckoned Aziraphale over to him. “Do tell. I love a good story.”

Aziraphale waved him off and tried to ignore the burgeoning need to organize the apartment. “I’m afraid I wouldn’t be the best judge of character. None of them are worth mentioning. Well, save for one, but even then I wouldn’t go about giving them the boost to their ego they so desperately crave. Are you sure you don’t want me to tidy up a bit?”

“Sounds like an interesting character,” Michael said.

He refused to ask anymore and lit up a cigarette that was most definitely not tobacco. Aziraphele refused the hit, but did take a deep breath in and held it for a moment. After all, the big boss created all plants and therefore as a reflection of that image, even Gabriel couldn’t argue against the humans creative consumption.

“Quite. Not that I’m about to put a feather in their cap or anything -“

“Course not.”

“- it’s just that, I’ve never meet someone as frustratingly self-centeredly correct. From a philosophical perspective, you see. Also perhaps on some of his fashion choices, though I would really argue against anyone wearing a bustle again.”

Michael nodded and let out a deep exhale, the smoke rushing towards Aziraphale on a plume of gray wings.

“Take the Blitz, for example. Going around trying to convince people that gas masks would do nothing for their safety, yet when the bombs were about to fall they ushered everyone they could into the bomb shelters (the first time the bombs fell, not the second with that terrible business about the book) -“

Michael raised an eyebrow but didn’t interrupt. He set the cigarette between his lips, billowing smoke towards Aziraphale, and rummaged through the mess until he found a pen and paper.

“Then there was that whole business with the Romanovs,” Aziraphale said, hands waving about. Despite the movement, the tea stayed in the cup through sheer force of will. “Always had a soft spot, that one, especially when it came to children. The whole family dead, and there that devil is, sneaking the poor girl out of Russia and setting up a new life for her in France.

“It’s not as if I’m sympathetic to them, by any means, but there have been a few moments where the good of it all outweighed the momentary evil. Almost like a big balance act.”

“Does this devil have a name?”

“Oh, don’t get me started. If I were to list all the names they went by we’d be here until Judgement Day The sheer audacity they have. Do you know he once convinced an entire baptist revival along the Mississippi that they were Lucifer? I’m still gobsmacked that didn’t end in an elevator straight to the pits of bureaucratic hell.”

Handing Aziraphale the cigarette, gladly taken this time, Michael asked, “Even hell’s got bureaucracy? I always thought it was chaos.”

“That’s what they want you to believe,” Aziraphale said, as the ash from the cigarette raining down on the sheets. “They’re the ones who invented the Monday morning meeting, signing in triplicate, and, and… loads of other terrible things. Did I ever tell you about when we meet Pontus Pilate? Boring chap, but nonetheless…”

A few months later, Aziraphale was startled when he heard that nice boy Michael singing on the radio. The drums were a bit much, but it did make the toe jump up in its boot. As Michael crooned on, however, Aziraphale realized with a sudden terror just what the song was about. Quicker than Aziraphale had performed a miracle in three decades, the radio squelched off.

“What’dya go and do that for?” Crowly asked, already sour that they were running late to the theater.

“Terrible music. Very bad for the soul,” Aziraphale snipped. With a snap, Aziraphale had pulled out a handkerchief to blot away the sweat. “Now, you were saying about this Nixon fellow?”

#good omens #ficlet? in this economy?#aziraphale #and a certain musician who was not named in this no matter what anyone says #i'm working on finishing things so

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forgedwild-arch · 4 years

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𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑹𝑨𝑪𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑺𝑯𝑬𝑬𝑻.

repost, don’t reblog

basics !

FULL NAME. August Wesley Wilder NICKNAME. Gus. Gus the Grizzly. GENDER. Cis-Male (He/Him) HEIGHT. 6′9 AGE. unknown, physically appears around 55-60 years old. ZODIAC. taurus sun / libra moon / virgo rising. earth sign dominant chart babey!! SPOKEN LANGUAGES. fluent English, Spanish, and French. has picked up a little Dakota-Siouan from frequent run-ins with the Ghost Nation over the years. he’s not really fluent in it, just knows enough to talk himself out of trouble lmao.

physical characteristics !

HAIR COLOR. salt and pepper grey, with natural black undertones. EYE COLOR. light hazel that fade to a deep forest green around the edge of the iris (central heterochromia) in both eyes. SKIN TONE. he’s white but he’s very sun-weathered and darkly tanned, with lots of sun spots and freckles all over his body. BODY TYPE. broad, big, bold and bear-ish. just the dictionary definition of a Gentle Giant. well, mostly gentle unless pushed. ACCENT. southern appalachian drawl. VOICE. deep, husky, and gravelly yet nothing short of soothing. his voice claim is Colter Wall. DOMINANT HAND. he’s ambidextrous! POSTURE. Gus is always generally seen standing tall and proud. he’s definitely a man who’s comfortable in his body, and the stark juxtaposition of his formidable physique and utterly gentle nature often catches the townsfolk and westworld guests by surprise. SCARS. deep, jagged scars that run diagonally across his back and over his biceps. supposedly a bear gave him the scars when he fought one off a young boy. in reality, he fought a guest off one of the teenage hosts in one of his first loops, and said guest struck August down with a searing hot fire poker from his forge while the young android ran for safety. that was the first and last time Gus was ever killed during his loop, and he has rarely been updated since. TATTOOS. he has some beautifully intricate tattoo sleeves on both arms, each image representing one of his favorite western tall tales that he often retells to his forge guests (especially crowds of kids). Gus actually gave himself the tattoos to hide the scars on his arms (the ones he could reach anyway), and the westworld writers never corrected the feature since they found them aesthetically pleasing and appropriate for his host role as both a blacksmith and self-proclaimed cultural mythologist / historian of the town. MOST NOTICEABLE FEATURE(S). we stan a sweet old android with dimples and laugh lines. and those bright eyes of his visibly twinkle when he smiles!

childhood !

PLACE OF BIRTH. Technically? The Westworld Mesa Hub. But for his written backstory, his birthplace is unknown. HOMETOWN. Hinton, West Virginia. a small railroad and coal town that sits at the edge of the New River in the Appalachian Mountains. when Gus was a boy, the town was essentially split between “trash” and “old money”. Gus came from the run-down side of the tracks, raised as a laboring blacksmith’s son, but he had a happy childhood. FIRST WORDS. “god dammit” after hearing his father shout it when he struck his thumb with a hammer. Almanzo found it hilarious, but also spent days trying to get the baby to say something else, ANYTHING else because the town population at the time was made of a few hundred southern baptists. suffice to say, Almanzo’s efforts were fruitless, and little baby August shouted it to the world in the middle of that sunday’s church service. his hometown community loved him dearly, but he’d always been labeled a little troublemaker ever since. and he was quite the prankster in his youth. all harmless of course. Gus hardly has a cruel bone in his body, but won his peer’s attentions and affections by being a bit of a class clown. SIBLINGS. none that he knows of. PARENTS. Almanzo “Manny” Wilder. should be noted that Almanzo is not August’s biological father. Gus was dropped at the door of his forge as a baby, and the identity of August’s biological family remains a complete mystery to both him and his caretaker. Almanzo played himself off as his biological dad for some time, but once Gus shot up to be about twice his old man’s size at age fifteen, well. he kind of figured it out on his own. he never resented Manny for it, though. in his mind, he is his real father. his only father. since he was the only one who was ever there for him. PARENTAL INVOLVEMENT. Almanzo was a very attentive surrogate father and loved Gus with everything he had. Gus always had a sharp mind and vivid imagination as a kid, and Manny told him time and time again that his brain was far too big for a place like Hinton, always urging him to apply to those fancy universities along the coast or over in England and become a novelist or engineer. August looked up to his father however, and wanted to grow up to be just like him, and therefore was not only Almanzo’s child, but also his apprentice. He stayed in Hinton until Manny died from lung cancer, and by which August was about 25 years old or so and a freshly professional smith. He took over the family business, sought to pave his own way out west, and has been tending to the needs of the people in Sweetwater ever since.

adult life !

OCCUPATION. a blacksmith and self-proclaimed “cultural mythologist”. fancy way of saying he really loves to wow kids with the tall tales of the west. CURRENT RESIDENCE. his forge that sits on the edge of town. CLOSE FRIENDS. well he spends a lot of time with his two pets, Teddy Bear and Sundance Kid. they’re about the closest friends he has. oh he cares about the other hosts of Sweetwater, dearly! and he craves human connection something fierce. but his work (and his emotional walls) keeps him a bit too busy to really... dive deep in any of those friendships. sadly. RELATIONSHIP STATUS. single, although was married to @forgedwest in a past loop. FINANCIAL STATUS. he’s definitely not filthy rich, but growing up poor taught him to be good with his money and while he doesn’t have a luxurious life by any means, he has all he needs. lower class but not at all bothered by it. DRIVER’S LICENSE. N/A. CRIMINAL RECORD. a few bar fights, but he was never guilty of starting them. just ending them. VICES. if you ask August, he’ll say he sleeps in just a little too long on Sunday mornings, rolling and smoking hashish to unwind. if you ask me, i say don’t buy him more than three amaretto sours if you wanna have a drink with him. he can generally control himself and hold his liquor, but he can get to a point where he won’t stop lmao. luckily, he’s a happy drunk. also enjoys cigars, but smokes them more for celebration of special occasions.

sex and romance !

SEXUAL ORIENTATION. bisexual ROMANTIC ORIENTATION. biromantic PREFERRED EMOTIONAL ROLE. submissive | dominant | switch PREFERRED SEXUAL ROLE. Submissive | dominant | switch ( he’s primarily a service top ) LIBIDO. average, i guess? i wouldn’t say his libido is anything insane, otherwise he’d REALLY be suffering being the lonely bachelor he is lmao. but he likes sex! TURN ONS. he loves a good sense of humor and has a weak spot for well-meaning troublemakers TURN OFFS. people who take advantage of others. that’s a broad category, but it’s a personal thing. LOVE LANGUAGE. gift-giving, physical intimacy, protection and quality time! he’s not so good at expressing his feelings with words, but you will absolutely know if he fancies you because his actions will show it. you will NEVER wonder about his intentions. the old boy wears his heart on his sleeve. RELATIONSHIP TENDENCIES. despite how obviously loving he is, August has a tendency to assume people don’t want to be with him. one could argue it’s likely rooted in an abandonment issue of some kind. Almanzo was a plenty attentive and very caring dad, but the knowledge that one was orphaned and dropped off on someone’s front step is would be a little jarring when just about anyone hears it. though it’s likely less so much that, and more so how his peers in school were downright TERRIFIED him just because of his intimidating physique alone (despite his kind nature). he was taken advantage of a lot in his youth due to just how naturally people pleasing he can be to compensate for his scary appearance, and his kindness was therefore mistaken often for stupidity. its a compulsion that he’s gotten better about controlling as he grew older, and is now much more discerning re: who deserves the clothes off his back. but little insecurities regarding it remains, and as such his assumption that no one harbors affections for him has become a self-fulfilling prophecy. August is very sweet and outgoing, plenty handsome, great with kids and would make a very loving husband and lifetime best friend! but he doesn’t exactly make himself romantically available.

miscellaneous !

CHARACTER’S THEME SONG. “ take me home, country roads ” by john denver. shocker, i know. HOBBIES TO PASS TIME. he’s a blacksmith by occupation, but August can make just about anything with any material you can think of. he’s a jack of all trades type, and spends a lot of his rare spare time gardening, sketching while he’s people-watching, writing stories, blowing glass, and creating little animals and character figurines from his stories out of hide / wood/ metal. the latter are gifts that he gives to any young park guests who come to the forge. he also likes playing his guitar or banjo and singing to himself on warm summer nights. MENTAL ILLNESSES. i mean. everything truly traumatic that ever happened to him was basically wiped clean from his slate so u kno. none. for now lmfao. PHYSICAL ILLNESSES. N/A. LEFT OR RIGHT BRAINED. right-brained, i guess. he can be plenty logical, but he’s definitely a creative type! FEARS. there is a Vague Fear that he will die alone but it’s not pertinent enough to cause him a lot of anxiety. because he’s generally pretty independent. more so, it’s just a source of intense longing when he’s got a crush, but then he never actually acts on it. also, he’s got a bit of a fear of vulnerability. mostly because his kindness has been used against him plenty and no, it has not made him any less kind, but he doesn’t want that kindness tied into real emotional potency and then turned against him. vulnerability and intimacy also come with the pre-conceived knowledge of loss, because relationships ( be they romantic, friendships, family etc ) either end in break ups or death. and yes, it’s better to have loved and lost than never loved at all, but that doesn’t make August’s unease re: loss any less real. SELF CONFIDENCE LEVEL. hmmm. i’ll say about an 6 or 7 out of 10? he’s plenty sure of himself and his abilities, he just keeps himself humble like the well-mannered mountain boy he is. VULNERABILITIES. best way to hurt him is to strike anyone close to him. cares WAY MORE about others. though on a kind of....emotional note? personal note? idk. he’s quite aware of how he’s perceived to be a bit “simple-minded” all due to his accent. it’s something that Gus will get defensive about if you poke at him for it. not out of pride, but out of love for the people and culture from where he hails. he LOVES Appalachia deeply, and while he admires the west for all of its available adventure and promise, the people of the Blue Ridge Mountains remain the kindest he’s ever known. don’t talk bad about them, he’ll be quick to knock you into next tuesday.

tagged by: @noiseofthunder thank u grunk u always tag me in the Quality Shit (n this really helped me finally flesh some character basics out) tagging: @forgedwest bc i’m the worst friend n force erin to do every dash game ever. also @copiesofme @defactomatriarch @bountyman & thieves are valid.

#( character study. )#( dash games. )#those of u who have been writing with me for some time #kno that i use these memes to talk abt my characters for ages #one word answers whom bitch??? WHOM????

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blackkudos · 4 years

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Muddy Waters

McKinley Morganfield (April 4, 1913 – April 30, 1983), known professionally as Muddy Waters, was an American blues singer-songwriter and musician who is often cited as the "father of modern Chicago blues", and an important figure on the post-war blues scene. His style of playing has been described as "raining down Delta beatitude".

Muddy Waters grew up on Stovall Plantation near Clarksdale, Mississippi, and by age 17 was playing the guitar and the harmonica, emulating the local blues artists Son House and Robert Johnson. He was recorded in Mississippi by Alan Lomax for the Library of Congress in 1941. In 1943, he moved to Chicago to become a full-time professional musician. In 1946, he recorded his first records for Columbia Records and then for Aristocrat Records, a newly formed label run by the brothers Leonard and Phil Chess.

In the early 1950s, Muddy Waters and his band—Little Walter Jacobs on harmonica, Jimmy Rogers on guitar, Elga Edmonds (also known as Elgin Evans) on drums and Otis Spann on piano—recorded several blues classics, some with the bassist and songwriter Willie Dixon. These songs included "Hoochie Coochie Man", "I Just Want to Make Love to You" and "I'm Ready". In 1958, he traveled to England, laying the foundations of the resurgence of interest in the blues there. His performance at the Newport Jazz Festival in 1960 was recorded and released as his first live album, At Newport 1960.

Muddy Waters' music has influenced various American music genres, including rock and roll and rock music.

Early life

Muddy Waters' birthplace and date are not conclusively known. He stated that he was born in Rolling Fork, Mississippi, in 1915, but other evidence suggests that he was born in Jug's Corner, in neighboring Issaquena County, in 1913. In the 1930s and 1940s, before his rise to fame, the year of his birth was reported as 1913 on his marriage license, recording notes, and musicians' union card. A 1955 interview in the Chicago Defender is the earliest in which he stated 1915 as the year of his birth, and he continued to say this in interviews from that point onward. The 1920 census lists him as five years old as of March 6, 1920, suggesting that his birth year may have been 1914. The Social Security Death Index, relying on the Social Security card application submitted after his move to Chicago in the mid-1940s, lists him as being born April 4, 1913. His gravestone gives his birth year as 1915.

His grandmother, Della Grant, raised him after his mother died shortly after his birth. Grant gave him the nickname "Muddy" at an early age because he loved to play in the muddy water of nearby Deer Creek. "Waters" was added years later, as he began to play harmonica and perform locally in his early teens. The remains of the cabin on Stovall Plantation where he lived in his youth are now at the Delta Blues Museum in Clarksdale, Mississippi.

He had his first introduction to music in church: "I used to belong to church. I was a good Baptist, singing in the church. So I got all of my good moaning and trembling going on for me right out of church," he recalled. By the time he was 17, he had purchased his first guitar. "I sold the last horse that we had. Made about fifteen dollars for him, gave my grandmother seven dollars and fifty cents, I kept seven-fifty and paid about two-fifty for that guitar. It was a Stella. The people ordered them from Sears-Roebuck in Chicago." He started playing his songs in joints near his hometown, mostly on a plantation owned by Colonel William Howard Stovall.

Career

Early career, 1941–1948

In August 1941, Alan Lomax went to Stovall, Mississippi, on behalf of the Library of Congress to record various country blues musicians. "He brought his stuff down and recorded me right in my house," Muddy recalled for Rolling Stone magazine, "and when he played back the first song I sounded just like anybody's records. Man, you don't know how I felt that Saturday afternoon when I heard that voice and it was my own voice. Later on he sent me two copies of the pressing and a check for twenty bucks, and I carried that record up to the corner and put it on the jukebox. Just played it and played it and said, 'I can do it, I can do it.'" Lomax came back in July 1942 to record him again. Both sessions were eventually released by Testament Records as Down on Stovall's Plantation. The complete recordings were reissued by Chess Records on CD as Muddy Waters: The Complete Plantation Recordings. The Historic 1941–42 Library of Congress Field Recordings in 1993 and remastered in 1997.

In 1943, Muddy Waters headed to Chicago with the hope of becoming a full-time professional musician. He later recalled arriving in Chicago as the single most momentous event in his life. He lived with a relative for a short period while driving a truck and working in a factory by day and performing at night. Big Bill Broonzy, then one of the leading bluesmen in Chicago, had Mudddddddy Waters open his shows in the rowdy clubs where Broonzy played. This gave Muddy Waters the opportunity to play in front of a large audience. In 1944, he bought his first electric guitar and then formed his first electric combo. He felt obliged to electrify his sound in Chicago because, he said, "When I went into the clubs, the first thing I wanted was an amplifier. Couldn't nobody hear you with an acoustic." His sound reflected the optimism of postwar African Americans. Willie Dixon said that "There was quite a few people around singing the blues but most of them was singing all sad blues. Muddy was giving his blues a little pep."

Three years later, in 1946, he recorded some songs for Mayo Williams at Columbia Records, with an old-fashioned combo consisting of clarinet, saxophone and piano; they were released a year later with Ivan Ballen's Philadelphia-based 20th Century label, billed as James "Sweet Lucy" Carter and his Orchestra - Muddy Waters' name was not mentioned on the label. Later that year, he began recording for Aristocrat Records, a newly formed label run by the brothers Leonard and Phil Chess. In 1947, he played guitar with Sunnyland Slim on piano on the cuts "Gypsy Woman" and "Little Anna Mae". These were also shelved, but in 1948, "I Can't Be Satisfied" and "I Feel Like Going Home" became hits, and his popularity in clubs began to take off. Soon after, Aristocrat changed its name to Chess Records. Muddy Waters's signature tune "Rollin' Stone" also became a hit that year.

Commercial success, 1948–1957

Initially, the Chess brothers would not allow Muddy Waters to use his working band in the recording studio; instead, he was provided with a backing bass by Ernest "Big" Crawford or by musicians assembled specifically for the recording session, including "Baby Face" Leroy Foster and Johnny Jones. Gradually, Chess relented, and by September 1953 he was recording with one of the most acclaimed blues groups in history: Little Walter Jacobs on harmonica, Jimmy Rogers on guitar, Elga Edmonds (also known as Elgin Evans) on drums, and Otis Spann on piano. The band recorded a series of blues classics during the early 1950s, some with the help of the bassist and songwriter Willie Dixon, including "Hoochie Coochie Man", "I Just Want to Make Love to You", and "I'm Ready"

Waters's band became a proving ground for some of the city's best blues talent, with members of the ensemble going on to successful careers of their own. In 1952, Little Walter left when his single "Juke" became a hit, although he continued a collaborative relationship long after he left Waters's band, appearing on most of the band's classic recordings in the 1950s. Howlin' Wolf moved to Chicago in 1954 with financial support earned through his successful Chess singles, and the "legendary rivalry" with Waters began. The rivalry was, in part, stoked by Willie Dixon providing songs to both artists, with Wolf suspecting that Waters was getting Dixon's best songs. 1955 saw the departure of Jimmy Rogers, who quit to work exclusively with his own band, which had been a sideline until that time.

During the mid-1950s, Muddy Waters' singles were frequently on Billboard magazine's various Rhythm & Blues charts including "Sugar Sweet" in 1955 and "Trouble No More", "Forty Days and Forty Nights", and "Don't Go No Farther" in 1956. 1956 also saw the release of one of his best-known numbers, "Got My Mojo Working", although it did not appear on the charts. However, by the late 1950s, his singles success had come to an end, with only "Close to You" reaching the chart in 1958. Also in 1958, Chess released Muddy Waters' first compilation album, The Best of Muddy Waters, which collected twelve of his singles up to 1956.

Performances and crossover, 1958–1970

Muddy toured England with Spann in 1958, where they were backed by local Dixieland-style or "trad jazz" musicians, including members of Chris Barber's band. At the time, English audiences had only been exposed to acoustic folk blues, as performed by artists such as Sonny Terry, Brownie McGhee, and Big Bill Broonzy. Both the musicians and audiences were unprepared for Muddy Waters' performance, which included his electric slide guitar playing. He recalled:

They thought I was a Big Bill Broonzy [but] I wasn't. I had my amplifier and Spann and I was going to do a Chicago thing. We opened up in Leeds, England. I was definitely too loud for them. The next morning we were in the headlines of the paper, 'Screaming Guitar and Howling Piano'.

Although his performances alienated the old guard, some younger musicians, including Alexis Korner and Cyril Davies from Barber's band, were inspired to go in the more modern, electric blues direction. Korner and Davies' own groups included musicians who would later form the Rolling Stones (named after Muddy's 1950 hit "Rollin' Stone"), Cream, and the original Fleetwood Mac.

In the 1960s, Muddy Waters' performances continued to introduce a new generation to Chicago blues. At the Newport Jazz Festival, he recorded one of the first live blues albums, At Newport 1960, and his performance of "Got My Mojo Working" was nominated for a Grammy award. In September 1963, in Chess' attempt to connect with folk music audiences, Muddy Waters recorded Folk Singer, which replaced his trademark electric guitar sound with an acoustic band, including a then-unknown Buddy Guy on acoustic guitar. Folk Singer was not a commercial success, but it was lauded by critics, and in 2003 Rolling Stone magazine placed it at number 280 on its list of the 500 greatest albums of all time. In October 1963, Muddy Waters participated in the first of several annual European tours, organized as the American Folk Blues Festival, during which he also performed more acoustic-oriented numbers.

In 1967, he re-recorded several blues standards with Bo Diddley, Little Walter, and Howlin' Wolf, which were marketed as Super Blues and The Super Super Blues Band albums in Chess' attempt to reach a rock audience. The Super Super Blues Band, bringing together both Wolf and Waters, who had a long-standing rivalry, was, as Ken Chang wrote in his AllMusic review, flooded with "contentious studio banter [...] more entertaining than the otherwise unmemorable music from this stylistic train wreck". In 1968, at the instigation of Marshall Chess, Muddy Waters recorded Electric Mud, an album intended to revive his career by backing him with Rotary Connection, a psychedelic soul band that Chess had put together. The album proved controversial; although it reached number 127 on the Billboard 200 album chart, it was scorned by many critics, and eventually disowned by Muddy himself:

That Electric Mud record I did, that one was dogshit. But when it first came out, it started selling like wild, and then they started sending them back. They said, "This can't be Muddy Waters with all this shit going on – all this wow-wow and fuzztone."

Nonetheless, six months later Muddy Waters recorded a follow-up album, After the Rain, which had a similar sound and featured many of the same musicians.

Later in 1969, Muddy Waters recorded and released the album Fathers and Sons, which featured a return to his classic Chicago blues sound. Fathers and Sons had an all-star backing band that included Michael Bloomfield and Paul Butterfield, longtime fans whose desire to play with him was the impetus for the album. It was the most successful album of Muddy Waters' career, reaching number 70 on the Billboard 200.

Resurgence and later career, 1971–1982

In 1971, a show at Mister Kelly's, an upmarket Chicago nightclub, was recorded and released, signalling both Muddy's return to form and the completion of his transfer to white audiences.

In 1972, he won his first Grammy Award, for Best Ethnic or Traditional Recording for They Call Me Muddy Waters, a 1971 album of old, but previously unreleased recordings.

Later in 1972, he flew to England to record the album The London Muddy Waters Sessions. The album was a follow-up to the previous year's The London Howlin' Wolf Sessions. Both albums were the brainchild of Chess Records producer Norman Dayron, and were intended to showcase Chicago blues musicians playing with the younger British rock musicians whom they had inspired. Muddy Waters brought with him two American musicians, harmonica player Carey Bell and guitarist Sammy Lawhorn. The British and Irish musicians who played on the album included Rory Gallagher, Steve Winwood, Rick Grech, and Mitch Mitchell. Muddy Waters was dissatisfied by the results, due to the British musicians' more rock-oriented sound. "These boys are top musicians, they can play with me, put the book before 'em and play it, you know," he told Guralnick. "But that ain't what I need to sell my people, it ain't the Muddy Waters sound. An' if you change my sound, then you gonna change the whole man." He stated, "My blues look so simple, so easy to do, but it's not. They say my blues is the hardest blues in the world to play." Nevertheless, the album won another Grammy, again for Best Ethnic or Traditional Recording.

He won another Grammy for his last LP on Chess Records: The Muddy Waters Woodstock Album, recorded in 1975 with his new guitarist Bob Margolin, Pinetop Perkins, Paul Butterfield, and Levon Helm and Garth Hudson of the Band. In November 1976 he appeared as a featured special guest at The Band's Last Waltz farewell concert, and in the subsequent 1978 feature film documentary of the event.

From 1977 to 1981, blues musician Johnny Winter, who had idolized Muddy Waters since childhood, produced four albums of his, all on the Blue Sky Records label: the studio albums Hard Again (1977), I'm Ready (1978) and King Bee (1981), and the live album Muddy "Mississippi" Waters – Live (1979). The albums were critical and commercial successes, with all but King Bee winning a Grammy. Hard Again has been especially praised by critics, who have tended to describe it as Muddy Waters' comeback album.

In 1981, Muddy Waters was invited to perform at ChicagoFest, the city's top outdoor music festival. He was joined onstage by Johnny Winter and Buddy Miles, and played classics like "Mannish Boy", "Trouble No More", and "Mojo Working" to a new generation of fans. The performance was made available on DVD in 2009 by Shout! Factory. On November 22, he performed live with three members of British rock band the Rolling Stones (Mick Jagger, Keith Richards & Ronnie Wood) at the Checkerboard Lounge, a blues club in Bronzeville, on the South Side of Chicago, which was established in 1972 by Buddy Guy and L.C. Thurman. A DVD version of the performance was released in 2012.

In 1982, declining health dramatically stopped his performance schedule. His last public performance took place when he sat in with Eric Clapton's band at a concert in Florida in the summer of 1982.

Personal life

Muddy Waters and his longtime wife, Geneva Wade (a first cousin of R. L. Burnside) were married in Lexington, Mississippi, in 1940. She died of cancer on March 15, 1973. Gaining custody of two of his children, Rosalind and Renee, he moved them into his home, eventually buying a new house in Westmont, Illinois. Years later, he travelled to Florida and met his future wife, 19-year-old Marva Jean Brooks, whom he nicknamed "Sunshine". Eric Clapton served as best man at their wedding in 1979.

His sons, Larry "Mud" Morganfield and Big Bill Morganfield, are also blues singers and musicians. In 2017, his younger son, Joseph "Mojo" Morganfield, began publicly performing the blues, occasionally with his brothers.

Death

Muddy Waters died in his sleep from heart failure, at his home in Westmont, Illinois, on April 30, 1983, from cancer-related complications. He was transported from his Westmont home, which he lived in for the last decade of his life, to Good Samaritan Hospital in Downers Grove, Illinois. There he was pronounced dead at the age of 70. The funeral service was held on May 4, 1983. Throngs of blues musicians and fans attended his funeral at Restvale Cemetery in Alsip, Illinois. Muddy Waters is buried next to his wife, Geneva.

After his death, a lengthy legal battle ensued between Muddy Waters' heirs and Scott Cameron, his former manager. In 2010, Muddy Waters' heir was petitioning for the courts to appoint Mercy Morganfield, his daughter, as administrator and distribute remaining assets, which mainly consists of copyrights to his music. The petition to reopen the estate was successful. In May 2018, the heirs' lawyer sought to hold Scott Cameron's wife in contempt for diverting royalty income. However, the heirs asked for that citation not to be pursued. The next court date was set for July 10, 2018.

Legacy

Two years after his death, the city of Chicago paid tribute to Muddy Waters by designating the one-block section between 900 and 1000 East 43rd Street near his former home on the south side "Honorary Muddy Waters Drive". In 2017, a ten stories-mural commissioned as a part of the Chicago Blues Festival and designed by Brazilian artist Eduardo Kobra was painted on the side of the building at 17 North State Street, at the corner of State and Washington Streets.The Chicago suburb of Westmont, where Muddy Waters lived the last decade of his life, named a section of Cass Avenue near his home "Honorary Muddy Waters Way".

In 2008, a Mississippi Blues Trail marker has been placed in Clarksdale, Mississippi, by the Mississippi Blues Commission designating the site of Muddy Waters' cabin. He also received a plaque on the Clarksdale Walk of Fame.

On June 25, 2019, The New York Times Magazine listed Muddy Waters among hundreds of artists whose material was reportedly destroyed in the 2008 Universal fire.

Influence

The British band The Rolling Stones named themselves after Muddy Waters' 1950 song "Rollin' Stone". Jimi Hendrix recalled that "the first guitar player I was aware of was Muddy Waters. I first heard him as a little boy and it scared me to death". The band Cream covered "Rollin' and Tumblin'" on their 1966 debut album, Fresh Cream. Eric Clapton was a big fan of Muddy Waters while growing up, and his music influenced Clapton's music career. The song was also covered by Canned Heat at the Monterey Pop Festival and later adapted by Bob Dylan on his album Modern Times. One of Led Zeppelin's biggest hits, "Whole Lotta Love", is based on the Muddy Waters hit "You Need Love" (written by Willie Dixon). "Hoochie Coochie Man", was covered by Allman Brothers Band, Humble Pie, Steppenwolf, Supertramp and Fear. In 1993, Paul Rodgers released the album Muddy Water Blues: A Tribute to Muddy Waters, on which he covered a number of Muddy Waters songs, including "Louisiana Blues", "Rollin' Stone", "(I'm your) Hoochie Coochie Man" and "I'm Ready" in collaboration with guitarists such as Gary Moore, Brian May and Jeff Beck. Angus Young, of the rock group AC/DC, has cited Muddy Waters as one of his influences. The AC/DC song title "You Shook Me All Night Long" came from lyrics of the Muddy Waters song "You Shook Me", written by Willie Dixon and J. B. Lenoir. Earl Hooker first recorded it as an instrumental, which was then overdubbed with vocals by Muddy Waters in 1962. Led Zeppelin also covered it on their debut album. In 1981 ZZ Top guitarist Billy Gibbons went to visit the Delta Blues Museum in Clarksdale with The Blues magazine founder Jim O'Neal. The museum's director, Sid Graves, brought Gibbons to visit Muddy Waters original house, and encouraged him to pick up a piece of scrap lumber that was originally part of the roof. Gibbons eventually converted the wood into a guitar. Named Muddywood, the instrument is now exhibited at the Delta Blues Museum in Clarksdale.

Following his death, fellow blues musician B.B. King told Guitar World magazine, "It's going to be years and years before most people realize how greatly he contributed to American music." John P. Hammond told Guitar World magazine, "Muddy was a master of just the right notes. It was profound guitar playing, deep and simple... more country blues transposed to the electric guitar, the kind of playing that enhanced the lyrics, gave profundity to the words themselves."

Muddy Waters' songs have been featured in long-time fan Martin Scorsese's movies, including The Color of Money, Goodfellas, and Casino. Muddy Waters' 1970s recording of his mid-'50s hit "Mannish Boy" was used in the films Goodfellas, Better Off Dead, Risky Business, and the rockumentary The Last Waltz. In 1988 "Mannish Boy" was also used in a Levi's 501 commercial and re-released in Europe as a single with "(I'm your) Hoochie Coochie Man" on the flip side.

#04/04 #04/30

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coffee-obsessed-writer · 5 years

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The Devil in Disguise, Pt. 3

Dean Winchester x Reader

Masterlist

Summary: Dean’s on the run from escaping a prison where a job went south. Sam is in the wind. With nowhere to go and an injured leg, Dean takes refuge in the only place he could find—an old remote cabin. Normally empty for long stretches, Dean happens to stumble in the same day that the cabin’s owner returns. After a rocky first encounter, Dean comes to believe that a distant connection they share could be the thing that saves his life and gets him back to Sam. But will it happen before Y/N’s finance, a prison guard at Green River, finds the secret she’s hiding in the woods?

A/N: The fic was inspired by the song “The Devil’s Backbone” by The Civil Wars. This is part 3 of 5 written for multiple bingo cards that go for both chapters. Set around S2 (Folson Prison Blues). New tag lists are at the end of the fic. I have tag spots open, let me know if you want to jump on or off for SPN (Dean and/or Sam, or RPF for Jensen)

Warnings: (Part Three): Language, Mild angst, Hints of abuse, Drinking, Smut (18+ only)

WC: 5.7K

*Banner created by me. I do not own any of these pictures.

Dean didn’t say much to her for the next couple of hours. After [Y/N] helped set him up in the bathroom so he could take a makeshift shower, he made his way to the kitchen without any assistance, albeit very slow. She tried to help him hobble his way along, but he insisted on doing it himself. Once he was clean and his wound was tended to, she placed down a big bowl of chili and a hunk of cornbread, warmed and oozing with butter. He thanked her and as the fragrant spices filled his nose, his stomach rumbled fiercely. Dean dove in and greedily ate every bite until the bottom of the bowl was so clean it was hard to imagine there was much in it, to begin with.

“I guess it was good?” she asked with a half-amused grin.

Dean leaned back in the chair and groaned along with the wood. He smiled, satisfied, and patted his stomach. “So good. I feel like I haven’t eaten real food in, well, forever.”

“Can’t imagine your meals at Green River were exactly gourmet. Then, living on soup and protein bars the last couple of days couldn’t have done much for your taste buds…” she trailed off and shrugged, rising from the table and clearing his dish.

She seemed different, like something in her was changed by the earlier encounter. Despite their close moment after Derek left, Dean felt like she was holding something back; maybe it was the need to cry or just the urge to rage, but even he could feel the shift in her mood without her saying a word about it.

He sat quietly and watched her move around the kitchen, cleaning dishes, putting away the rest of the food. Silently going about her business, and yet, he could almost see the wheels in her head-turning. His own thoughts kept going to what he overheard while in the closet, but also, to the closet itself. A lock on the outside, sure, why not… but one on the inside could only mean trouble. But, was it trouble for [Y/N] or someone else? Unable to keep his thoughts to himself, Dean leaned forward on the table but didn’t look in her direction at first. “Can I ask you something? And, I don’t mean to pry, but... my curiosity is piqued.”

She stood at the sink, and just when he thought she wouldn’t say anything, [Y/N] turned around and he could already see she knew the questions he wanted to ask. She still didn’t speak, just used her expression to grant permission for him to ask.

“Alright…” he started then turned in the chair and did his best to stand with a bit of weight on his injured leg. He didn’t wobble this time, though held onto the table for support and now that he was secure, his gaze focused on her. “Why is there a lock on the inside of a closet door in your bathroom? What were you trying to hide from?”

[Y/N]’s gaze fell to the old hardwood floor, but that half-amused smile stayed on her lips as she considered her answer. Finally, when she lifted her (y/c) eyes, Dean saw years’ worth of pain and heartache in them. It didn’t make him sad for her, but instead anger at the people who were the cause of it.

“My father used to hit my mom. She put it in there one day when he wasn’t around so I could have a place to hide if I needed it.” Her reply was so matter-of-fact and calm, that Dean had to take a moment to process what she actually said.

“He what?” he asked through gritted teeth.

“He hit her, a lot. We lived here for a few years when I was very little. He had been asked to leave his prior parish, so my mom fixed this place up for us to live in until he found a new one. It was her grandfather’s cabin. So, she loved the place and was thrilled to live here for a while.”

“Guessing your dad didn’t care for it,” Dean spat, the words leaving a bad taste in his mouth just as the impression of her father did.

“Nope. Not even a little. He drank, got violent, took all his frustrations out on her. You know how it goes. Eventually, the offer from Green River Baptist came through and here we are. We moved out of here and down into the house adjacent to the church, and she installed one there, too.”

“Did he ever hurt you?” Dean’s question had more of a punch than he intended, which didn’t go unnoticed by her.

“No. Well, once, but not like he hurt my mother. Once we were moved into the new church, his outrages stopped for the most part. ”

Dean shook his head and inhaled slowly, trying to still the rage he felt towards her father. “Your mom… where is she now?”

“Residing in Green Valley cemetery. Remember I said I had family there?”

“Oh,” Dean replied awkwardly and shifted weight off his bad leg, “yeah…”

“Here, come on,” [Y/N] said, and quickly dried her hands on a dishtowel before moving to help Dean. “Come sit in the living room. There’s a fire going and then I’ll put the kettle on for hot chocolate.”

“Got any booze to throw in there?” Dean asked hopefully.

“I do, but you can’t have any. Not while on those meds. I need you clear-headed as you can be.”

Dean sighed heavily. “Awesome, thanks Nurse Ratchett.”

“Yeah well, you’ll be thanking me should Derek show up again. Cause I guarantee the next time he does, he’ll have a shotgun in hand.”

“Peachy,” he mused and rolled his eyes as he slung an arm around her shoulder as she helped him walk into the living room.

Once in the living room, she let him go so he could sit on the couch then turned to tend to the fire. That was when he really watched her closely; from the glow of the flames against her face, tracing the lines and curves of her body, right on down her tight jeans to her wool-socked feet. He was so curious about so many things--including how she would look sans the layers of the thermal and flannel she wore--but had no idea whether he should or could even bring himself to ask. She was a stranger to him, but yet, he felt close to her in a way that even surprised him.

Dean watched every move she made and studied her face as she seemed to be lost in the dancing flames. When she snapped out of it and turned back to him, he didn’t try to look away or pretend he hadn’t been watching her.

“What?” she asked nervously, “why are you staring at me?”

“Just watching you work the fire,” he replied casually, though they both knew it was much more than that.

“Ok, weirdo,” she snarked and turned to go into the kitchen.

“So, can I ask you something else?” Dean called out to her, and when she didn’t respond, he twisted his torso to see her moving about the kitchen.

She just finished filling the kettle and gently rested it on one of the burners then turned it on. “Ask me whatever you want, Dean. I have no secrets.”

“You got me,” he replied, his wide, toothy grin made her chuckle.

“Other than you… what do you want to know?”

“What the HELL are you doing with that guy?”

“Derek?”

“Yeah, Derek. Derek is a douchebag.”

“Well aware, thanks.” She continued on making the hot chocolate, and when she retrieved the bottle of rum from the pantry, Dean couldn’t help but smile when he saw her pour a small shot into each mug.

She was quiet for a while, long enough that the kettle began to whistle and he assumed it was her way of avoiding the question. Dean wouldn’t push her, not when she was doing all she was for him, but he couldn’t take his focus, or his eyes, from her. Nor could he understand how such a beautiful woman, with skills and balls of steel like her, would stay with an overbearing shithead like Derek and that being based on only hearing a few minutes of their lives together.

[Y/N] came back into the living room a minute later with two steaming mugs that smelled heavenly of chocolate and liquor.

“If you end up having a reaction to your meds with that shot of rum, it’s your own damn fault,” she said and handed him a mug before sitting on the opposite end of the couch, one leg tucked beneath her.

Dean smiled smugly and sipped at the piping hot liquid. “I’ll take my chances, thanks.”

She stared into the fire for a beat, and when she finally turned back to him, he realized that she wasn’t just being quiet, she was thinking; most likely trying to phrase her answer to his question.

“I met Derek in high school. My mom had died by then, the incident in the church with Deacon had happened, and I was a wild kid. Summer before sophomore year, I met Derek at church. His family just moved here and my dad set me up on a date with him… a good Christian boy.”

“Oh, I bet that date was gads of fun,” Dean mocked and licked the chocolate from his lips.

“It was, actually. Derek wasn’t as good of a Christian boy as he pretended to be. We went out drinking at the pits in the woods, and had a great time.”

Dean raised his brow in surprise. “I certainly didn’t expect that answer.”

[Y/N] chuckled but it was flat and sad. “It didn’t last. We dated for two years, and by the time we were about to be seniors, in his head, my father already had us walking down the aisle. The second I graduated, he wanted to marry me off and get rid of me. By then, Derek wasn’t exactly the guy I thought he was and I was so ready for it to be over.”

“So, why are you still with him all these years later?”

She shrugged. “When you are mentally beat down and told you’ll never do better than what you got after so long you start to believe it.”

Dean swallowed hard and felt his teeth grind together in an attempt to bite back words he had no business saying to her. As they sat there in the heavy silence following her words, he was seething in anger that anyone could think of her as anything but wonderful.

“That’s horse shit, you know,” he said softly, raking his teeth over his bottom lip in frustration.

“Yeah, well… tell that to eighteen year old me who was getting kicked out of her house and forced to live with a guy who I didn’t want to be with, or be homeless.”

“Well okay, but you're clearly not eighteen anymore. You work? Right? Have money… why stay?”

“It’s just not that simple Dean. I wish it were, but it's not. Besides, what do you care? In a few days or two, you’ll be able travel and I will somehow get you back to your brother. Speaking of… I guess we should talk about that. How do you wanna--”

“Don’t do that.”

“What?”

“Change the subject. I’m not letting this go, [Y/N]. That guy is a massive dick. I have known plenty of guys like that in my life. Bullies, all of ‘em. Chances are if he hasn’t raised a hand to you yet, he will.”

She raised her brows subtly and didn’t look him in the eyes. He knew what it meant, but didn’t want to press her. Truth was, he didn’t have any right to get into her business, but yet…

“[Y/N], I’m not trying to--”

“I know,” she interrupted, but it was quiet, almost a whisper.

Dean moved closer to her, ignoring the burst of discomfort it caused in his leg. He left a bit of breathing room, but reached out and placed a hand on the bend of her knee. He waited a moment to see if she would recoil, or react negatively to his touch. She didn’t.

“No, you don’t know,” he said. “I won’t tell you what to do, but sweetheart, you do not need that guy. Not for a damn thing.”

Her eyes slowly came up to meet his and he could see the conflict brewing in them. Despite the temperature, she gulped down the hot chocolate and placed her mug on the small table beside her. Without saying anything, she got up, Dean’s hand falling back to the couch, and went into the kitchen only to return a moment later with the bottle of rum. She sat down in the same position, only much closer to Dean; close enough that her knee was gently pressing against the side of his thigh.

[Y/N] took a quick pull of the brown liquor and winced as it trickled down her throat. She passed the bottle to Dean, who looked between it and her with uncertainty.

“My very beautiful nurse said it would screw with my meds,” he shrugged, flashed her his most charming smile.

“She’s an idiot. Get drunk with me, wouldya? Cause honestly, after these last few days I could use it.”

Dean placed his mug of hot chocolate down on the other table and took the bottle from her. The taste of the rum was like heaven on his tongue, but he knew he had to pace himself. She wasn’t wrong about keeping a level, clear head, yet the allure of getting drunk with her was something he didn’t want to pass up, either. After spending the last few days down with an infection and fever, Dean knew he couldn’t be too carefree with his actions.

Passing the bottle back to her, she took a shot from it, her (y/c) eyes intently watching him. “I don’t want to talk about Derek. Tell me a story, Dean. Tell me about what you and your brother do. What other creatures or monsters have you killed?”

Dean scoffed and stammered a moment before he could formulate an answer. “I--Well… why? Why would you want to hear those stories?”

“Because,” she shrugged and drank from the bottle again before passing it to him, “at least what you’re doing seems important… meaningful. Me… I am a bored soon-to-be housewife who likes to pretend I write important things when really it’s just a bunch of bullshit.”

“I doubt that,” he replied, keeping his green eyes locked with hers as he raised the bottle to his lips. He was feeling the effects of the alcohol quickly; could feel it coursing through his veins and an overwhelming need to touch her rose with it.

“Just tell me a story,” she laughed, “I don’t want to think… I want you to distract me, please?”

“Alright,” Dean nodded and gave her back the bottle. She took a healthy pull from it, placed the cap back on and reached over to leave the bottle on the floor beside the couch. The fire crackled and popped in the background while Dean tried to think of a case to tell her about; one that wouldn’t be too dark or heavy, but he was struggling because they all were like that. She thought what he and Sam did was important, and maybe it was, but it certainly came with a hefty price.

“This one time Sam and I had to join a traveling circus,” he shrugged and felt his heart warm as she broke into a disbelieving smile.

“Seriously? What was going on there?”

“A killer clown, or so we thought. Thanks to a little help from a friend, we found out it wasn’t so much a clown but a rakshasa--”

“A what?!” she snorted, the alcohol clearly affecting her as well as she tried, and failed, to repeat the word. “A rakssha--rakeis--a what?!”

“A rakshasa… a spirit, shapeshifter of sorts that likes to feed on humans. This one had set up shop in a traveling carnival. Passed itself off as a clown, got kids to let it in the house and then would eat one of their parents.”

“Oh,” [Y/N] said, wrinkling her nose in disgust, “gross.”

“Yeah, very,” Dean chuckled, his tongue darting across his lips while looking at her. It was an involuntary response, but he could see her watching him closely now, too, and he didn’t hate it.

“What else, tell me more,” she requested and leaned forward enough that he could see a spark of life returning to her eyes.

Dean recounted a few other cases he and Sam had worked over the years, keeping them short and sweet, and mostly ones where there was a happy ending. He left out the demon stories or the time when Sam had to put down a woman after he’d fallen for her because she had been bitten and turned into a werewolf. He went more in-depth about the case they worked for Deacon, too, and other times he’d been in their lives. [Y/N] listened attentively, her eyes never leaving his face and the more he talked, the closer she got.

What felt like hours later, she moved off the couch and once again tended to the fire. From the corner of the room, the CB radio crackled to life again, making both Dean and [Y/N] freeze, then catch the other’s nervous gaze. They waited silently through the unintelligible voice mixed with static, waiting to see if one would make sense; if Dean’s name was the topic of the call or if--

“[Y/N].... you…*static* ...up. Now! Over.”

Dean saw her face fall the minute the voice was clear enough to understand. Her whole body stiffened, a coating of fear mixed with anger taking hold of her expressions and forcing her to walk towards the CB. He realized as she got closer that she still had the fireplace poker in her hand. Even from across the room Dean could see how tightly she was gripping the iron weapon, her knuckles turning a ghostly shade of white.

[Y/N]’s free hand darted out and snatched the handle from its base and gave a quick look over her shoulder. Dean nodded, his way of agreeing to be quiet. She drew in a deep breath and pressed the button.

“I’m here. Over.”

It took a minute, but the voice came back clearer this time. “What the hell you thinkin’, girl? You better get your ass back to town... *more static* ...ing. Storm’s …. *static* ...for days! Over.”

There was another moment of hesitation on her part before she pressed the button and spoke again. “I’m not a God-damned child. I’ll tell you what I told Derek. I’m fine. I will be back when I am back. Over and out.”

Without hesitation, she turned off the power to the radio and gently placed the handle back in its cradle. [Y/N] stood motionless, still holding the poker with a fierce grip as if she couldn’t decide whether she wanted to use it or not. She finally moved, turned back around to face him and that’s when she noticed the poker in hand. Paying it an absent glance, she gently laid it back on the rack and shook the haunted thoughts from her mind.

“I don’t wanna tell you what to do, but maybe turning that off isn’t a great idea,” Dean suggested carefully. “It’s kind of our early warning system, you know?”

“You’re right,” she replied, and went back to the radio to switch it back on, then maneuvered a few of the controls so music began to play through the small speaker on the unit. “There, at least that’s better to listen too. And it’ll flash when something’s trying to get through.”

“Who was that?” Dean asked, unable to quell his curiosity.

“My father. Derek probably left here and went straight there. They’re always conspiring something,” she muttered.

Dean nodded and tried to think of something he could say that would change the sudden change in her demeanor. Seeing how her father’s voice alone affected her, made him just as disgusted as he had been when he saw how Derek’s presence changed her. [Y/N] was a special kind of woman, how she was so mistreated by the men in her life left him baffled and angry.

Before he could think of something to say, she spoke up first as she knelt down by Dean’s injured leg. “I should check your wound…”

“You’re just surrounded by douchebags, huh?”

“You don’t know the half of it,” she replied and began to pull up the bottom of the sweatpants when he leaned forward and put his hand on her shoulder.

“My leg is fine,” he said. “I mean, if you’re just looking for a way to get me to take my pants off, I can think of better ways, sweetheart.” He knew he was being blunt, and while he certainly wouldn’t turn down the mysterious beauty, he was only trying to get her back in that light-hearted, easy-going way she was before the CB had gone off.

[Y/N] laughed but then caught his gaze, and in it, he saw that maybe his comment wasn’t as laughable to her.

“Is that so?” she asked and stopped pulling up his pant leg, but didn’t remove her hand from his ankle. He could feel her feather-light touch on his skin and desperately wanted her to touch him everywhere. “And just what way would that be?”

Dean chuckled and needed to decide how far he could, or should try to take this. He was injured, after all, and she was a stranger with two very aggressive men in her life. Getting involved with her in any way was only going to mean trouble. But then she looked at him, challenging his comment with nothing but the tick of her brow and the pout of her lip; subtle, but sexy. He knew there was only one way it could go.

“Well, you could come back up on the couch and let me show you…”

Dean’s heart was pounding, unsure of how she would react. When [Y/N] slowly rose from the floor and stood before him, he sat up straighter on the couch silently praying she would take him up on his offer. Everything in the room seemed to shift at once; the fire popped and hissed as it caught a new log ablaze, the song on the radio ended, the first few notes of Unchained Melody started on some distant AM station, and [Y/N] was slowly removing the flannel she wore over her thermal shirt, and tossing it to where she had been sitting on the couch.

“You shouldn’t say things like that if you don’t mean it,” she whispered, her expression unreadable, but intense.

Dean reached out for her hands, pressed his palms into hers, then laced their fingers together before gingerly pulling her forward and gauging her resistance. When she didn’t fight him at all, he continued guiding her closer which forced her to straddle his lap, or she’d fall on top of him. She did so without any hesitation, but hovered over his lap and kept her eyes locked with his. He wished he could read her, get a feel for what exactly she was thinking. Though he had been with plenty of women over the years, she made him nervous; more surprising than that was that he liked it.

“Who says I don’t mean it?” he breathed, more taken with her with every inch closer she came. “If you’re uncomfortable, or you want to--”

“Shut up,” she huffed and leaned into him, her lips pressing to his while his hands released hers and immediately went to her ribs, sliding down to her hips and holding onto her tightly.

Her lips were soft and sweet and heavily laced with the taste of rum. She kissed him with a tempered need; he could feel her wanting more, just as he did. Yet there was still a hesitancy to how she pressed her mouth to his. Wanting her to feel comfortable, he let her set the pace and happily followed with every step further she took it. [Y/N] sank down lower on his lap, her hands sliding up his chest, towards his neck; her fingers locking together behind it as her thumbs gently rubbed against the sensitive spot behind his ears.

Dean moaned softly into her kiss and wrapped his arms around her back, slowly lifting the back of her shirt and lacing his fingers together against her skin. She parted his lips with her tongue, her need beginning to overcome the shyness of their first encounter. [Y/N] didn’t stop Dean when his hands moved up her back and unclasped her bra; she didn’t protest when he began to lift the thermal shirt up just enough for him to feel the bottom curves of her breasts. Through all this, she only kissed him deeper. For as much as he wanted her, and as much as he would hate himself should this derail their momentum, Dean pulled back from her suddenly.

[Y/N] was surprised, her breath coming in short spurts, her hands still clinging to his neck.

“What? What’s wrong?” she asked, desperately searching his face for a reason. “Is it your leg? Are you in pain? Is it me?”

“No! No, absolutely not… you… you are…” Dean exhaled heavily and licked his bottom lip as his fingers kneaded into her skin and his dark, lustful eyes drank her in, “... you’re perfect. It’s just that, you don’t know me, not really. This… this can stop if you want, I don’t want you to blow up your whole life because of one night.”

“Dean, if I am going to implode my life, I can’t imagine anyone else I would want to do it with. Besides, how is this any different from if we’d met in a bar and had a one night stand? Hm?”

Dean considered her answer and shrugged. “I guess it’s not.”

“It’s not. And right now, I don’t care about anything outside those doors. I just want to feel good. Can you make me feel good?” she whined softly.

“I think I can help you out there,” he smirked, his tongue again running along his bottom lip as he sized her up and imagined the things they could really do if not for his bum leg. “But, huh, I’m not playing at full capacity here, so…” he trailed off with another shrug, but she didn’t miss a beat.

“Well then I guess it’s up to me then, isn’t it?” she breathed and leaned in to kiss him again.

Within a minute, Dean pulled off her thermal and her bra with it, her chest bare and glowing in the light of the fire. He trailed his mouth in soft, lingering kisses across her neck and down to her chest, while his hands traced the lines of her skin delicately. He could feel himself getting harder as she moved in the slightest bit against his lap. By the time his mouth had found her nipples and her hands were pressing his face into her chest, he was fully erect and desperate to feel more of her.

[Y/N] must have felt the same because her hands unlocked from his neck and roughly ran down the length of his torso, coming together between her legs, and palming his erection through the thin layer of cotton sweatpants. The moment he felt the pressure of her hand against his dick he inhaled sharply and growled low, relishing in her touch. They continued that way for a minute, kissing and touching and rubbing and grinding deeper, until [Y/N] couldn’t take it anymore.

She suddenly rose from his lap, quickly unbuttoned her jeans and took them off, tossing them aside with the rest of her clothes. She stood in front of him, slotted perfectly between his knees in only her pink cotton panties. [Y/N] slowly knelt in front of him and ran a finger along the waistband of his pants, carefully peeling them back over his engorged member. She took him in one hand, the flesh on flesh contact causing him to exhale slowly. It was when she brought her mouth to his dick, and lightly kissed the tip did he close his eyes and roll his head back against the couch. Letting her tongue linger on along the shaft, she licked down to his balls before lifting her head and gently removing his pants all the way; taking special care around his wound.

[Y/N] again stood in front of him, but Dean couldn’t wait for her to resume her place on his lap. He gripped his dick and began to massage himself as she watched, and the way she watched made him want her even more. Just as she removed the last piece of clothes, he sat up and with his other hand reached out for her. Neither of them spoke, as he once again guided her on his lap and as she hovered over him, he dragged the tip of his cock through her warm, wet folds and felt himself go weak at the sensation.

Her breathing became shaky as he continued to pushing and pull himself through her sex, brushing her clit delicately at first. But after a few times, even he couldn’t take the teasing anymore.

[Y/N] bent her head down into his neck, her teeth nipping at the lobe of his ear as she begged him in a needy whisper, “Please, Dean… don’t make me wait another second.”

He complied, gladly. Dean let go of himself, and grabbed her hips, rocking her in a way that he could slip into her and filled her with the first thrust upwards. She cried out, but not in pain. It was as if the instant euphoric feeling of him inside her needed to be released so she could concentrate on the rush that followed.

Dean rocked her slowly on his lap, while his mouth toyed with each of her nipples, taking turns lavishing each with attention. His moans were muffled by her chest and he found himself completely lost in how good it felt to be inside her. Her hands were wrapped around him, her nails digging into his back, then his shoulders, pressing him as close to her as she could. Her hips moved in rhythm with his, as her mouth fell open and her eyes closed.

The sounds of heavy breathing filled the room, muffling the Righteous Brothers pouring from the radio, and even drowning out the sound of the fire.

“Fuck,” Dean grunted, his lips snarling into a smiling as she moved her body faster when he cursed. He used the pad of his thumb to rub her clit, the instant he touched her there, she whimpered, her whole body melting at his touch.

“Oh… GOD… fuck, Dean! Feel so good…” she panted, her head rolling back then around so her chin fell to her chest. She was riding him with speed and purpose, the need to climax so great and so close she let go of him to grip the couch for better leverage.

“Damn, baby,” Dean mewed, unsure of how much longer he could go before he would cum. She felt so good on him, and even though that final push towards orgasm was downright euphoric, he didn’t want it to end yet.

He finally released her clit and grabbed her hips tighter, pushing and pulling her into him as roughly as he could. One last time and he felt her walls flutter and spasming around his cock as her body began to tremble and his name didn’t just fall from her lips, but rang out like church bells, followed by a string of expletives that would easily get her sent to Hell.

It was all he needed to cum, and though he tried to move her off him before he did, she finally resisted him, intent on taking his release inside her and crashing her lips to his as he did.

Dean held onto her for dear life, his mouth falling away from hers as he buried his head between her breasts. She held him there and slowed her movements against him, finally coming to a stop and letting her body relax, but still not moving from his lap. He lifted his face to see her, she was sweaty and beautiful, her hair falling around his face, causing some of her features to linger in the shadows of it. He reached up and tucked a hair behind her ear.

“Well? Feel better?”

[Y/N] absently licked her lips, then revealed and small, impish little grin. “Dunno… I think maybe we should go back to the bedroom and try again. Just so I know for sure…”

“Well I am absolutely good with that, but--”

“But, what?” she asked, an ounce of doubt moving into her eyes.

“But, as much as I wanna be the romantic guy and carry you in there, I’m gonna need you to help me hobble that way. I do believe you just drained any strength I had left in my leg.”

“Oh,” she said and moved off him, clearly panicked.

“No… sweetheart… I meant that in a really, really good way. Whatcha say you help me up and we take this back there,” he smirked and nodded towards the bedroom off the kitchen.

“Happily,” she grinned and moved off his lap.

Standing in front of him, she held out her hand and helped him rise from the couch. The pain in his leg was noticeable, but not nearly as much as it had been before. She left her clothes behind and slung an arm around his waist as he slung his over her shoulder.

“Just one request,” she said as they made their way to the bedroom.

“Anything.”

“This needs to go,” she demanded, tugging at his shirt. “I want to feel all of you this time.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he complied and quickly discarded the shirt he’d been wearing, tossing it behind him, not caring where it landed. “For you sweetheart, anything.”

Everything Tags: @sorenmarie87 // @yallgotkik

SPN Tags: @kazosa // @wings-of-a-raven // @closetspngirl // @idreamofplaid// @screechingartisancashbailiff // @linki-locks11 // @winchesterxfamilybusiness// @spnhollis // @sandlee44 // @stoneyggirl // @clarinette07 // @negans-wife // @deans-baby-momma // @hobby27 // @breereadsthings // @katehuntington // @81mysteriouslyme // @mrswhozeewhatsis // @deathofmissjackson// @lauravic // @aomi-nabi // @akshi8278 // @whereismyangel-damnitdeanshare// @coffeebooksandfandom // @rebelminxy // @22sarah08 // @fictionalabyss// @adoptdontshoppets // @blackcherrywhiskey // @babypieandwhiskey // @maddiepants // @lefthologramdeer // @his-paradox // @unlikelygalaxygiver

#dean winchester x you #dean winchester x reader insert #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fan fics #dean x you #spn fan fics

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sugarfreecapsicle · 5 years

Text

country mile - part two

moodboard by the impeccable @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan

bucky barnes x reader

southern!au

warnings: nsfw in later chapters (will be indicated), ptsd, angst, fluff, lots of pining and details about generic southern united states area, mentions of war

summary: Even years after coming home, Bucky Barnes still feels out of place in the humid farmlands of southern Georgia. But he’s not the only prodigal to return back home.

if anyone is interested, I do have an (embarrasingly) long spotify playlist I’ve created as I’ve worked on this - let me know if you’d like the link! I cherish and covet any feedback on all my work. Thank you so much for reading!

If anything had changed in Beulah, you couldn’t find it on your drive into town. Main Street had its triangular banners pulled between streetlights, the courthouse and post office were still connected and the First Baptist Church stood proud despite needing a fresh coat of white paint and a few shingles replaced.

Your destination remained a few streets over in a quiet nook closer to the long stretches of farmland - a little green house with a white porch and mottled brown roof. Gravel spat from your tires as you pulled into the driveway and under the aluminum car port. Releasing your keys from the ignition, you and your car sighed in relief - it’d been years since you’d driven so far.

The radio now off, you could hear passive nature. Birds in the distance called to one another, speaking different languages perhaps. Wind kissed the fields of crops, the tall grass, the lush trees. You grinned upon hearing the faintest song of wind chimes.

Your key, the one with the sliver of paint that matched the kelly green exterior, still fit in the lock. A deep breath in and out, and then you entered.

Furniture was covered with an array of mismatched flat sheets - flannels, florals, solids. Your wrist covered your nose as you surveyed the old living room, wood creaking and groaning beneath your steps.

“Well, I declare.”

You pivoted on your heel, wrist holding its protective barrier at your nose. A smile broke through your grimace caused by the afternoon sun bearing down.

“Hey, Mrs. Wilson,” you answered cheerfully. The older woman had changed about as much as the town in the past decade or so, dressed to the nines for no reason other than she could and coiffed immaculately. She met you on the front porch with a hug warm and tight enough for you to have believed she was your mother.

“It’s so good to see you, baby girl,” she cooed in your ear, a hand at the back of your head with fingers threaded in your hair. “It’s been so long! And you’re so grown - nobody in town is going to believe it’s you.”

She holds you at arms length and assesses everything she can take in about your appearance. The overjoyed smile never leaves her face.

“You been taking care of yourself, honey?” A tenderness shifts into her excitement, her hand running the length of your arm shoulder to elbow. You nod once, and Mrs. Wilson tucks the loosened strands of hair behind your ear.

“About as best I can.” You barely get the answer out before she’s following up with more fussing.

“How long are you here?”

The question makes your stomach lurch, and the subsequent stammering you rattle out isn’t helping the obvious discomfort. “Until I can figure out if I want to sell the place or not. Part of me wants to, but-“

“Don’t you worry about a thing, honey,” she pats both your arms this time. “We’re all going to take good care of you and this place. We always have, haven’t we?”

It’s rhetorical, you're sure, but it feels half doubtful. When you left, it wasn’t on the best of terms, and the whole town knew how messy a burned bridge could be.

“You come on over for dinner tonight,” she offers, returning on her walk home. “I know Sammy is going to shit a brick when he sees you!”

Mrs. Wilson scurries off, and her offer for dinner won’t be ignored. The whole town loved her cooking so much, she opened up a small eatery that had won awards from a few regional publications in its first year. Summer meant barbecue - one of Mrs. Wilson’s most famous dishes and a personal favorite.

You turn to face the doorway again, the interior darker and foreboding to your sensitive nose. A trip to the pharmacy was in order for Benadryl before you could truly settle in for the night.

Part of you expected more of the town to be out and about their daily routine, but the heat was nearly unbearable. With an aging town, weather affected even errands.

The small bell above the pharmacy door chirped happily as you swung the door open. Refreshing cool air engulfed you, your body’s tension slacked and dissipated like spilled water in the parking lot. A familiar head of salt and pepper hair popped around a corner.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” Bruce laughed heartily, leaning his arms over the tall drug counter. “The last time I saw you, you were flipping off the whole teaching staff at County.”

You smirked. “I promise I’m still as behaved as I was then. How’ve you been, Bruce?”

He shrugs, straightening to stand upright. The platformed area behind the counter gave him a few inches of height over you, but it became clear he would be at eye level if he stepped out to the sales floor. Crows feet had settled heavier at the corners of his eyes, but the warmth of his gaze hadn’t faded in time.

“Can’t complain. What can I do for you?”

Bruce wasn’t good with small talk, though it had never meant he didn’t care. You remembered fondly how abrupt he would be in class when your English teacher begged him to elaborate in his written work.

“I’m cleaning the house out, so I was hoping I could stock up on anything you had for allergies.”

He holds an index finger up as he walks with purpose among the pristine shelves. Bruce disappears behind a set and returns with a small bottle.

“Take it with plenty of water and something light on your stomach,” he orders, making unwavering eye contact. “And make sure you’re drinking plenty of water after, too.”

You nod with a nostalgic grin. “It’s good seeing you again, Bruce.”

He can’t deny you a friendly nod and smile. “You, too.”

The general store across the street has its ceiling fans on the porch spinning lazily. Rain had stained some of the exterior, maybe in part with age, but the sign held strong and beautiful as ever.

A red-haired dog laid outside, gazing over as if to monitor for danger or new arrivals. It couldn’t be, could it?

You jogged over, the newly acquired pills rattling in the bottle. “Commando?”

The dog raised his head at your voice, ears pert and tail thumping against the old wooden flooring. He was irresistible to you even now, years later when he was clearly no longer a small pup. Your nails scratched behind his ears and along his collar, giggling as his rear right leg began to kick under your ministrations. With his tongue lolling out, he rolls over to give you ample real estate of his belly for rubs to which you oblige him.

The rickety door opens and snaps shut beside you, worn brown boots turning towards you.

“Y/N?”

You turn, and your reply catches in your throat like a dagger.

“Bucky, hi.”

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes drabble #bucky barnes imagine #my fic

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