#thank you apples for being a vessel for comedy with me

[choctalksalot]

this took way too fucking long for what it is

ult dirkjake shenanigans are getting real wild

[sw124]

BonelyHearts Inferno! Reader insert1

{Goddess!ReaderXSkeleton Reaper household}

[Disclaimer: I’m trying something completely different here, I’ve gotten back into the story of Hades/Persephone and not just that but I downloaded a radio play rendition of ‘The Divine Comedy’ and got hit with the inspiration stick. I had some help with some parts of the story so thank you to @mmhinman for your input and suggestions, super helpful. Now the reader is a goddess of kindness/compassion/hospitality and flowers. Each skeleton has their role in Hell, they’re not being punished they got together to make sure this giant place is well managed. Also this is based on the @bonelyheartsclub game but with a little twist I hope you all enjoy it]

Part 1: Hell in high water

Well..you’ve done it, you royally screwed up. Not even a goddess for a day an already you were being banished…all for eating a single apple! You didn’t know it was stolen! But…it was…you ate it and now you were being put into a tiny boat and being sent off to hell. All around you were the very people who ‘gave’ you the stupid apple, you wanted to curse them but..so wrapped up in your grief you didn’t have the strength to.

Instead..you resigned yourself to your fate, you watched as your tormentors push the small vessel into the the river, sending you on your way. Maybe it was your mind playing tricks on you but…you could’ve sworn you saw some form of regret in their faces but that quickly faded when they swiftly left…laughing as they did.

Now…here you were, alone, scared, drifting aimlessly in a deep fog towards hell. All you could do was cry and lament on life’s cruel fate, but after you drifted for sometime your weeping ceased and you sat there…cold and numb. From time to time you dipped your hand into the water…it was cold, carried a stagnant smell an yet…your powers flowed clearing a patch of the water, allowing water lilies to form. You smiled and sent them out.

“…Like me you shall wander this river only to arrive in a place of darkness my poor flowers…” you sighed.

[BWUMP!]

The suddenly yet soft collision jostled you, turning up…you found yourself in the shadow of a large craft. Its sheer size dwarfed any and all warship you’ve ever known. Despite its imposing stature it flowed seamlessly through the water like a sword carving a line in the sand. Its body was made of the darkest ebony wood, each plank engraved with terrifyingly beautiful illustrations of mortal man’s bloodiest and cruelest actions.

Ice began to solidify in your veins and quake your body, not from the vessel but what lay at is bow. The head of a massive creature made of bone, its eyes dance with a cerulean flame that bathed the river in its demonic glow. Along the top you could make out figures, shadows mostly.

You saw a few clambering over the side, some ready to jump. You broke from your fear to call out to them not to jump, but you were shocked back into silent fear when the demonic head ripped off from the bow with such impossible speed and snapped up each individual who jumped from the ship. Much like a dog playing with a rope it tossed them and violently shook them in its maw. Then as if board or disgusted by the taste of them, proceeded to spit them back into the boat.

Wrapping your arms around yourself for comforted you prayed the beast would not see you, just as your luck would have it…it turns its monstrous gaze on you. With the same speed it gave before it was now before you, its piercing eyes burning into yours. With what strength you could you tore your face away from the terrifying creature and curled up in your boat..fresh tears returning.

“Please show what little mercy you have on to me….please have forgiveness in you…” you weeped.

You waited, waited for the dagger teeth of the beast to rip into you as it did to its last victims.

You waited…

An waited….

And…..waited…but nothing…happened. You did feel a slight nudge to your little boat though, braving a glance you saw the beast was…now behind you. An with the gentleness of a mothers touch it pushed your little boat to shore. Its gaze…had dimmed, once before its gaze burned with the intensity of a thousand wildfires of rage but now morphed into a candles glow.

Its sudden gentleness didn’t stop with its eyes, using its own person to give you a ledge to hold as you staggered from your boat. Turning to your small boat…it slowly began to be swallowed by the accursed river. You watched the beast turn and fly back to its place on the bow…despite your gratitude to the creature you still held the fear of what it might do next. Not wanting to find out you ran far from the shore.

This became one of your more regrettable actions as you now found yourself in darkness, yet you pushed onward. Coming to a dense patch of brush you pushed with all your might to get through, your once ivory toga, stained with the dirt and filth of hells ground was held tight by throned branches that pulled at you. Yet you did not quit, you were determined to escape the darkness an so pushed against the brush…as if it was commanded the brush parted however you found yourself now falling down a hill.

You landed with great force at the bottom, your poor arms and legs now covered in cuts, spilling your blood….perhaps this was your punishment, to wander aimlessly through darkness and to forever spill your blood for no just cause…

You felt the darkness surround you as you allowed your mind to sink into it….

It was also then you felt a boney hand gently stroke your cheek.

End part 1

[wildenessat221b]

‘a sea that’s painted black’ - by @wildenessat221b and @whiteroserebelsinscarves

https://archiveofourown.org/works/20275678/chapters/48062845

Chapter 1:

Sometime in the future, Crowley would look back on those days, (remembered by history as Arthurian, because King Herbert held some insecurities and his scribe really wasn't fond of him when he was feeling insecure) with some affection.

It was a time of clean air and luscious forests, the expanse of Britain existing still as a swatch of greens interrupted only by Jackson Pollock splotches of grey brick and veins of dirt-road. Wildlife chattered away largely uninterrupted and the people did the same, and if they happened to stumble into conversation with a (not-quite) person with a somewhat animalistic speech impediment and eyes that were off in a way that they couldn't quite put their finger on... Well, it takes all sorts doesn't it. Yes, in Arthurian times people were a little more accepting of difference. The witch hunts lurked in the future - wearing faces that were suspiciously like poor casts of Sandalphon - exorcisms were performed with the both the skill and frequency of stand-up comedy ("So what about cattle these days, eh? Oh, you... You want me to put the hat on instead... The one with the bells... Don't you want to hear about the... Yes Sire, of course I'll flatulate too... Not a problem in the world.") and everybody was so caught up in their own - completely necessary for survival in a world without law enforcement or flushing toilets - low-level depravity that there was a general unspoken consensus to leave individuals to their own devices. Day-to-day, that is. It was Crowley's job, of course, to prod these coals of low-level depravity until they grew into flames of disobedience and sin. However as had become something of a recurring theme during his four-thousand-five-hundred or so years on Earth, he didn't have to do a whole lot of prodding in reality, and when he did, he did so with a very long, very bendy stick that could reach around corners and wore thick, heavy gloves the whole time. It was a damp old world after all, and he much preferred to stay indoors by the fireplace, perhaps with a glass of something that could fell a war-horse, than to do any of the street-corner lurking that he knew his superiors had a fondness for. So yes, all in all, Crowley would end up looking back on Arthurian times with a fondness for its relative simplicity. The kind of fondness that you feel when you're standing on top of a mountain in the Peak District and find yourself wishing that the world was still comparatively untouched and simple, then immediately forget about when you dive into your electric shower with five pressure settings and lather yourself in limited-edition toffee-apple shower gel. If you had told Crowley this at the time our tale begins, he would have laughed in your face, then possibly bitterly made the blackberries you'd plucked on the way home turn to mush in your wicker basket. Dragons were infinitely better than horses, or at least treated Crowley better. It may have been something to with some sort of reptilian solidarity - maybe they could smell the snake in him. Or maybe it was just a natural affinity, like dog people and cat people. But either way, they threw him off far less frequently, were less inclined to spit and didn't have the tendency to kick out like a reclining sofa (which Crowley was already drawing out the blueprints for) at the first sign of trouble. Unfortunately, Crowley and the dragon, whose name was Brian, were on approximately their twenty-seventh sign of trouble. The rain, usually an unenthusiastic drizzle, had apparently gotten incredibly, uncharacteristically excited about something and was pelting down like a hormonal teenage boy might pelt stones at a pretty girl's window. It had invited thunder along, to add some ambiance to the occasion, and lightening to really liven things up. Between the watery refreshments, rumbling drum beat of the ground and electric flashing in the sky, there was a proper party atmosphere. The occasion? "Crowley and Brian's First Crash!" Crowley was trying very, very hard not to imagine himself crashing, - things that he imagined had a worrying habit of becoming real - but kept finding himself enjoying the irony of the situation and having to divert his mind back as Brian began to dip. After some time, he realised that the best course of action was to unplug his imagination altogether and actually drive. He took the reins between his rain-slicked pruny fingers and took a deep breath, before yanking Brian into taking a hard right. The world tipped beneath him, painting him into the background of an ill-hung portrait. Rainwater gathered in his ear. Brian let out a frightened cry and Crowley bit his tongue against a reassurance. Bit of adrenaline, good for the soul, right? That's what he was telling himself at that moment anyway, in spite of the fact that he wasn't entirely sure if he himself had a soul in the conventional sense and if he did it wasn't feeling all that good. A bolt of lightning struck down directly in front of them and Brian reared back, gnashing his teeth and beating his wings incessantly. Crowley could almost feel the anxious fire burning up in the animal's belly beneath him. The reprieves between the flashes were getting smaller, but their destination was in sight. Just one, perfectly angled, perfectly timed swoop should do it. Crowley shut his eyes and tugged. The force of the rain on his face was akin to that of diving into a lake. His long hair trailed behind him, a sodden excuse for a weak carbon flame. Every muscle in his body was tensed, his ears a vessel for whooshing white noise. And then finally, blissfully, bumpily, jarringly, the impact of the ground. Brian let out a final fearful squawk before beginning his trot along the sodden courtyard towards his enclosure. Crowley expelled a long breath and collapsed bonelessly onto the creature's neck, bobbing along and feeling like a little boat on a fretful sea. In a few hours he'd come with armfuls of treats and hushed kind words on his tongue for the animal, he'd thank him for his service and soothe his nerves with gentle touches. He was a good companion, really. Before that though, he needed to find Aziraphale for a good old moan. ***

It hadn't taken long for Aziraphale to establish himself in the kingdom. He had arrived obviously rich, obviously intelligent and while he didn't exactly present himself as the textbook warrior, most agreed that he had a certain intangible edge to him that nine times out of ten, prevented people from getting on the wrong side of him. These three factors packed themselves into a neat parcel of nobility, which is exactly what he became. A life in the higher echelons of society was one which certainly suited him. If his heavenly superiors were to ask him why, he'd answer that it was easier to reach out and spread goodness when one has the means to - a fleet of horses at one's beck and call, for example, removes the need for unnecessary transportation miracles. Charity from a recognised and respectable face is more likely to be well-received than charity from a stranger. If, however, he was being honest with himself, he'd admit that it had its perks beyond these practical ones. He remembered the days of wandering the desert, living barefoot from one cave to another, with little nostalgic fondness, much preferring to return at the end of the day to a cosy room with a well-stocked fire and a collection of satin slippers. The food was rich and the alcohol like a punch in the face in just the right way. And although he'd never wish to incite fear in anyone, he took some slightly guilty pleasure in the fact that he was just high enough in society that unless they needed him for something, people tended to keep a respectful distance. There was, however, one notable disadvantage to being noble, but not quite noble enough to have your own army; it left you rather vulnerable to attack. He had found this out one October evening, when he'd ventured out for an evening stroll following a large meal and poor musical act. He was dressed head to toe in heavy, flowing, movement-restricting garments with no means of housing a weapon, and looked every bit the sitting-duck type easy target. His attacker was a Goliath of a man, with tree-trunk arms and large, meaty hands. He stood at six feet tall, and performed all of his ambushes from the woodlands, as his stature ensured that he blended in with the trees far more successfully than he had any hope of doing among human crowds. He wasn't mean spirited, not really - instead, he was unquestioningly religious and of the mind that God couldn't possibly have gifted him with such transparent assets for any other purpose than Guerrilla warfare. If Aziraphale had a moment to sit down with the man and listen to this philosophy, he may have directed him towards the next village, which was advertising for a farm-hand to snap logs for firewood. Unfortunately, his attention was rather focused on not being discorporated by his enormous hands, which had found themselves inexplicably quickly wrapped around his throat. "C'mon, sunshine, don't make this any 'arder than it 'as to be." Aziraphale shook his head the few millimetres that the man's grip would allow, and frantically patted his sides in an attempt to convey the fact that he was carrying no money. The man didn't seem to get the message, and frowned a dangerous frown. He stared into Aziraphale's eyes as he made his grip tighter... Tighter... Tighter... And then released. Aziraphale fell to the floor, gasping in breaths that his corporeal form didn't actually need, as the man released a frenzied cry from the back of his throat. Aziraphale watched through his saturated tunnel vision as his legs kicked out a few times in quick succession, before his whole body was on the move, back into the dense forest. He blinked confusedly, once, twice, three times. And on the third, there were two yellow eyes staring back at him, from inside a scaly black head. "Crowley?" "Nope. Cat'sss mother," the snake hissed sarcastically, before acquiring limbs, a distinct torso and a fair few other complicated features. His hair was longer than it had been since Golgotha, hanging down his back from a ponytail secured at the nape of his neck. He smirked. "Oh no, my mistake. Is me." "What are you doing here?" Aziraphale asked, levering himself off the ground and brushing dust off his robes. It'd always surprise him, it seemed, no matter how many times it happened, that Crowley always seemed to turn up at the right place and right time. He silenced any whispers in his mind along the lines of 'fate.' "Saving your arse, it seems. Although I was under the impression that I was actually just passing through on my way to wreak havoc," he gestured vaguely towards the kingdom, "Down there." "Oh!" Aziraphale said brightly, before immediately wishing that dimmer switches would hurry up and get themselves invented. "Oh," he repeated more soberly. "Oh?" "That's where I'm currently ah... Stationed." "Stationed?" Crowley drawled amusedly. "That's what you're calling basking in the lap of luxury is it?" he asked teasingly, reaching out to flick the expensive fabric that hung from Aziraphale's arm. He batted the hand away petulantly. "I'll have you know that my current... Standing is for purely pragmatic reasons only. If I were living in squalor it would be far more difficult-" "Oh stop it, I don't give a rat's arse about your hedonism, in fact I actively encourage it." Aziraphale huffed. "It's not hedonism its-" "Pragmatism, alright, alright." Crowley held up his hands in surrender, then peered into the forest, "So what's a pragmatic, very very wealthy bugger like you doing getting mugged by the minotaur's malnourished second-cousin then? Shouldn't you have... I dunno, a handsome young man with a substantial battle-axe trailing after you?" Aziraphale frowned. "Should I?" "Well I mean... If you're going to go out at dusk dressed like that-" "Never really thought about it." Crowley looked at the floor. He picked at his nail beds as an idea began to blossom in his head. "Always been fond of battle-axes, me." "Oh?" "And the handsome thing well-" he gestured up and down his body. "Young?" "Less so, I'll give you that. But I'm... You know. In the area for a while. And from a pragmatic point of view, as that seems to be your word of the hour, it'll be easy to do our respective thwarting if we're in close proximity. Takes out a lot of the hassle. And horse riding." "Yes," Aziraphale nodded - it was his turn to develop a sudden vested interest in his nail beds. "I suppose it would." And so it was settled. Crowley was to be Aziraphale's personal protective force, living in close proximity to him and at his beck and call. If anyone dared to suggest that the whole affair was touchingly domestic, Crowley would divert their attention to a cross stitch that he'd cheekily hung above Aziraphale's bed, which read "Pragmatism." *** Crowley leaned heavily on the doorframe, one leg crossed over the other with his toe rested on the ground, and watched with a curious frown as Aziraphale busied around the chamber like a bowerbird - picking things up and then putting them down, fussing with the drapes, all the while muttering under his breath. There were lines gathered in the space between his eyes and his shoulders were stooped miserably. When he saw Crowley, he did a double take so vigorous that it verged on comical and his hand fluttered to his chest. Crowley raised his eyebrows in amusement and gave a little wave. "Hi, name's Crowley. You've known me for four thousand years and also I live here." "Good lord," Aziraphale expelled in a breath, "You can be terribly furtive when you want to be. And you don't live here exactly, however much you make the effort to seem that you do," he said, waving an arm towards the windowsill where a tulip plant that he certainly hadn't put there sat innocently. Crowley shrugged. "S'a big world. I live in this bit of it. Counts as living here as far as I'm concerned." He perched on the edge of the writing desk, pushing a stack of papers out of the way. "Anyway, thought you'd have smelt me. The comforting pungent tang of disobedience and sin." "I did smell evil," Aziraphale said bitterly. He pointed an accusatory finger towards the other end of the desk. "I assumed it was coming from that." Crowley followed his gaze down from Aziraphale's point, until it rested on an envelope with a broken wax seal. "This?" He nodded gravely. Crowley plucked it between his fore and middle finger and peered at the seal. It looked official, and while he couldn't sense any evil influences, the bureaucracy could have been smelt from a mile off. He raised his eyebrows questioningly. Aziraphale sighed a put-upon sigh. "It's a summons. To an affluent banquet, the attendees of which are guaranteed to be at loggerheads with each other. It doesn't say so on there, but reading between the lines, I think it's safe to say that my job will be to keep the respective books as good as possible." He ran a hand down his face, "I'm certain you can feel the enthusiasm coming off me in waves." Crowley made a sympathetic noise. "Polite warfare, worst kind. At least with swords there's an end in sight." Aziraphale hummed glumly. "Worthy cause though, innit? Maybe not enough to get you a full smiley face on Uncle Gabe's reward chart, but worth an eye or two, surely?" "Upstairs haven't exactly been vigilant with their uh..." He made air-quotes, "Reward charts of late. And even if they had been, I'm fairly certain that my enthusiasm levels would remain just about the same. There isn't an awful lot you can buy with celestial wages, unless you're unusually enthusiastic about organ music." Crowley grimaced. "Fair enough." Aziraphale sighed again. "Just something to be endured. Placating. Negotiating. Mingling." Crowley made an affirmative noise. Then a small smile began to creep from the corner of his mouth. "Unless..." "What?" "I mean it's not your fault if you're prevented from going because of some... Demonic activity, now is it?" Aziraphale recoiled backwards a couple of steps and held out the palm of his hand in a 'stop' gesture. "No Crowley, there is no way I will allow you to endanger innocent - if irritating - people just for the sake of-" "For pity's sake Aziraphale, I'm not going to burn the banquet hall down or... Bring forth a plague of locusts - that's more your lot's style anyway. All I meant was, you wouldn't have to go if you... Fell victim to the temptations of a very clever and very handsome demon." Aziraphale opened his mouth to protest, almost by muscle memory, and then stopped. Closed it again. Looked at his feet. "What kind of temptations?" Crowley shrugged. "Oh, you know, sloping off the village inn instead, trying out something potent that Mrs-So-And-So has managed to brew together from her compost heap and the stagnant pond behind the stables. Come on, help a fella out. You know as well as I do that I ought to be seen to be doing something evil up here every once in a while. And think about it... If you come with me, what you're actually doing is some very clever wile thwarting - preventing me from doing a bit of leisurely dam bursting or crop salting or tax-collecting by keeping me occupied with this little bit of low-grade evil." "It's not evil, it's just lazy," Aziraphale said, closing his eyes primly and bobbing his head from side to side proudly. Crowley rolled his eyes. "Sloth is literally one of the seven deadly sins, Aziraphale. If you'd rather I tempted you into one of the heavier, or indeed spicier ones," (any unwarranted comments Crowley's subconscious mind made about lust lust lust lust lust were quickly batted away) "In order to fill my monthly quota, I'm more than willing to -" Aziraphale scoffed, "No, that's quite alright thank you, you..." He dropped into a chair - which had a case of woodworm so severe that it was significantly more 'worm' than 'wood' and made a concerning noise - and folded his arms petulantly. "Dastardly serpent." "Careful angel, pride's a sin too." Crowley said drily. "Is that a yes then?" Aziraphale pursed his lips. Crowley was right - he couldn't technically be blamed for falling victim to the wiles of the opposition. That was just another move on the cosmic chessboard - a way of maintaining the status quo, and heaven really loved the status quo. "It's... Not a no." Crowley blinked. In two-thousand years or so, the notion that Aziraphale was in any way ahead of his time would cause him to fall into a belly-laughing fit so profound that he would teeter dangerously close to discorporation. However, in this moment he was being very ahead of his time, because double negatives would not be invented until the 1800s, when the human population would become obsessed with mathematics and how it could help them efficiently pump the maximum amount of acrid smoke into the atmosphere as quickly as possible, and decide that it needed to be applied to language. So rather than Aziraphale's answer being an affirmative, it was nothing at all. "Is that a yes then?" Crowley repeated, after two more pointed blinks. (Although any blink Crowley produced was pointed, because it took a real effort to remember to do them.) "...yes." Crowley smiled. "This tempting lark, bread and butter. Me and Brian will pick you up at sundown. Wear something inconspicuous, for Satan's sake."

[sohannabarberaesque]

Meanwhile, some observations from last weekend's Character Convocation over the Wo-Zha-Wa weekend in Wisconsin Dells

In view of the need to avoid the crowds tending to arrive on Friday afternoon and evening, the hosts--Snagglepuss, Huckleberry Hound and Crazy Claws--decided it best to start the proceedings on Thursday afternoon, beginning with the traditional registration and opening addresses as saw much in the way of Hanna-Barberian friendships coming around and recognised. Not to mention much in the way of coffee, tea and spiced apple cider being offered early arrivals.

Once five in the afternoon got around, Huckleberry Hound offered in his welcoming remarks:

Seeing as we're here for as much Wo-Zha-Wa weekend as a character convocation, I felt it best, for the sake of avoiding possible chaos and confusion with the early arrivals on Friday, to begin this afternoon. Not to mention point out that, in view of what amounts to a rather compressed schedule on Saturday and Sunday especially, we've decided to scrap the symposiae and emphasise more of a "meet-and-greet" approach with festival goers across downtown Wisconsin Dells, where the festivities are being concentrated, throughout.

Which Snagglepuss "himself" seconded thus:

No doubt about it: We think this new approach of emphasising more of a "meet-and-greet" take on things, with requests for autographs, selfies even--and even some informal conversation among fellow fans otherwise here for what the Ho-Chunk peoples of these parts of Wisconsin call "a fun time"--and I am sure it will BE that, mind you, will make things more interesting. Especially when they're reminded of choicest moments from younger days in their Saturday-morning presence. Never mind its being at The Keg or at the Sand Bar or even MACS ... or walking down Broadway, even ... I certainly hope much memories (and much conversation) will be made throughout.

The outright host of this particular Convocation, Crazy Claws, offered up these insights:

Just imagine, a crazy wildcat like myself finding himself in such a crazy place as Wisconsin Dells is for no apparent reason other than his being, in the Cattanooga Cats' immortal words, "up, down and on the ground" for no reason of his choosing ... and eventually managing to get a gig on those legendary Wisconsin Ducks, whose narration is said to be the stuff of legend and fit my somewhat convoluted style. Especially when "crossing the bar" heading into Dell Creek and throwing in a pitch to "Get Marooned at the Sand Bar" for the sake of wordplay and comedy.

Which became enough, mind you, for yours truly to settle down and make my own Hanna-Barberian self known should it happen that any fellow characters like yourselves come this way and want to truly discover this swingin' town. I acknowledge that many of you have come over this way, whether you liked it or not, and I acknowledge that we've had many wonderful experiences. Such as the time I was able to get an overnight jam session for The Banana Splits handled out of nowhere, and over the burgers at Monk's Bar, and believe you me, the whole couldn't have been crazier!

Or even when Undercover Elephant and Loudmouse decided to do some chunky-dunking--that's skinny-dipping for the fatter crowd--out at Bare Arse Beach below the Sugar Bowl in the Lower Dells on a muggy summer's afternoon.

Or the Hair Bear Bunch sharing some fried chicken from the Maurer's Market delicatessen ahead of some serious overnight swimming at an otherwise abandoned beach on Lake Delton, not managing to wake the tourists sleeping in nearby summer rentals; I assume you all remember it well....

I admit there's too many to remember, but I assume we've likely crossed paths here at least once. Even when the Skatebirds were doing some inline antics on the Riverwalk there....

And having the opportunity to join Huck and Snagglepuss in hosting such wonderful get-togethers for our crowd here at the Wo-Zha-Wa weekend has got to be in itself an interesting experience. Even if it took awhile just having to find the ideal selection of cheeses and sausages, let alone crackers, for the snack bar following (and may I just thank Kwicky Koala for his contributing such Australian crackers as Jatz and SAO to the snacking table, as if more conventional snack crackers weren't quite good enough--even the English Table Water such--for some of Wisconsin's finest).

Prompting Snagglepuss to remind all that the cheeses and sausages were nothing but such from among Wisconsin's finest, including some exceptional Landjager, a German hunter's sausage, and venison summer sausage--which Crazy Claws helped picked out, never mind the Market Square Cheese shop being tacky-looking and Carr Valley Cheese's such downtown actually being serious in a way, without having any sort of a factory shop look. As well as including some Sprecher's craft sodas, including root beer, orange, honey cream, blackberry and Puma Kola.

I can only say that the cheese-and-crackers table was never wanting, and that for some reason, the Puma Kola actually turned out being unusually popular. Not to mention schedules of the rounds being expected to be made, as well as parade appearences on Sunday.

*************

Friday morning: In spite of a light misty rain and fog, a special breakfast run of the Dells Boat Tours' flagship Upper Dells excursion vessel, the Clipper Winnebago, was arranged for, including complementary donuts, danish, cinnamon rolls, coffee, tea--and as a concession to one "Shaggy" Rogers, Pero, a grain-based coffee-ersatz gaining some attention stateside. (Turns out a few others decided to try out the Pero for novelty's sake, many such dismissing it as tasting a little too grainy for their own tastes although Penelope Pitstop, by her own admission, managed to approve of it.) The two stops of Witch's Gulch and Stand Rock were made, with the latter featuring Crazy Claws attempting the famous jump (yet barely, remarking upon return that "so much for taking a stand for Stand Rock, let alone making the jump from a standing position. Or more like an outstanding position, come to think of it").

And considering that the first of fall's colour were becoming evident, such couldn't fail to attract the interest and attention all the more of anyone and everyone on board. Not to mention the complement of hot coffee and fresh donuts.

Meanwhile, over at the Tommy Bartlett Exploratory ... another classic Tom and Jerry chase ensued around a certain exhibit aimed at demonstrating how difficult it can be to lift a 2.5 ton minivan with a simple rope, which had Tom attempt to give Jerry a difficult time with the platform ... only to have Tom hit his head over the beam, immobilising him for a time. Ironically, across the way-ho-way. Motormouse couldn't resist a convenience-store microwave beef-and-bean burrito ahead of a run (inevitably to be followed by Autocat) out into the Sauk County countryside around the Dells and Baraboo, even out into Devil's Lake and Reedsburg.

As midday faded into the afterlunch, with some of the first Wo-Zha-Wa weekend traffic ensuing, it seemed you couldn't resist many a Hanna-Barbera Funtastic out and about along Broadway, dividing their time between mingling among the tourists and browsing the tacky shops throughout (and in the case of many, not resisting the samples of the candy kitchens). We understand one tourist caught The Banana Splits in an "escape room" scenario as managed to be resolved rather quicky thanks to Snorky hiding in his trunk a lock pick, followed by some soup-and-sandwich time at Great Harvest Bread as included plenty of conversations with some from Milwaukee and Chicago over wholemeal bread done in delicatessen style.

*************

Unlikely Quote: Inch High, Private Eye to as unlikely a character as Crazy Claws: "So who exactly IS this 'Kenosha Kid' I heard might be trying to pull an appearence here?"

Yahooey, of those Goofy Guards, within earshot all the while: "Bet you never did the Kenosha Kid!"

Crazy Claws, rejoindering: "Whoever HE is ... anyhow, I assume he's having a Swig With Nig."

*************

As unlikely a Friday-night distraction as it could get:

Over at the Showboat Saloon (”Get Nuts At--”), Friday night saw a rather crazy “drum wars” exercise between The Banana Splits’ Bingo and the Cattanooga Cats’ Groove. Admittedly, the Showboat’s performance space may have been rather smoky-looking and the floor littered with peanut shells and skins, but the crowds (raucous as they were in a scenario such as this) couldn’t resist eating it all up as Bingo and Groove battled their way through every known exercise in rock-band drum technique, including the storied “rimshot.”

When it was all over, roughly around 12:30 in the morning (by which time things were bound to get rather absurdly silly), it was decided to declare the match a draw as no clear winner was bound to emerge. Settled, at any rate, by bottles of Sprecher’s Cream Soda as much as the legendary in-shell peanuts--and requests for “selfies” and autographs from lapsed-in-memory fans.

*************

And for a modestly pleasant early-fall Friday evening such as seems rare during Wo-Zha-Wa, there could be no doubt that practically all those in attendance couldn't resist the sensation of encountering such who probably recalled their Saturday-morning television being thus enlightened. Even if Wally Gator, on seeing alligator jerky being offered at the Loon Lake Cigar Company's premi, was overheard responding "Who said alligators were getting rather jerky themselves without benefit of a few beers?"

Don't go away ... there's more of this to come next week in this space!    

[pyratetm-a]

18th Century Words & Phrases for the Most Noble Rper

This is in no way completely comprehensive, because if I was going to write one that was completely so, 1. it’d be a literal book, if not volumes of a series, and 2. I’d be getting paid for it, lmao.  But what I do want to do is offer some period-authentic terms and a sort of guide for people writing early modern characters situated in the Long 18th.  So here you go, Amanda’s guide to 18th Century language, centered around things that will most likely pop up in rp as far as conversation goes.  Be aware there are some nsfw stuff here!  Because sex was as much a part of life then as it is now.  Go forth.  Use it.  Make your writing more period appropriate with it and make your local pirate historian proud, guys.

Dialogue Things

Things to spice up your dialogue a little.  While early modern english is pretty similar to modern english in a lot of ways, some words and phrases have shifted in that three hundred years to mean something wholly different, and these are the ones I tried to focus most on in this section.

against:  often used in place of before.  ex. against the crowd. allow: often used in place of admit.  ex.  i'll allow it may be true. awful:  to inspire awe, as opposed to being terrible.  ex.  it was an awful sight. blow:  to bloom.  where full blown comes from.  ex.  the flowers were blown. calenture:  an illness from a tropical region.  ex.  he was down with calenture. cant:  low language, common language.  ex. cant is an example of an uneducated mind. check: hold back or restrain.  ex.  check your temper. coach-and-six:  a coach and six horses.  ex. she came along in a coach-and-six. condescending:  not negative, means showing a proper degree of courtesy.  ex.  he condescended an impeccable degree of courtesy. conversation:  any social interaction; criminal conversation means adultery.  ex.  they were seen in a bit of conversation. correspondence:  any sort of relationship; does not mean the exhange of letters.  ex.  we keep a lively correspondence. distracted:  a person who suffers from mental illness (of any type) was said to be distracted.  ex.  and the poor dear was distracted. eat:  not only to eat; but also used in past tense.  ex. i eat and then i was for my bed. else:  used either for else, or to mean otherwise.  ex.  elseways everyone t'would know where it was. fee:  a fee, but also meaning to pay for.  ex. i feed the bill. gross:  large or coarse; did not mean disgusting.  ex.  a gross load. hand:  someone's handwriting.  ex.  and it was in his hand. hardly:  sometimes barely, sometimes with difficulty.  ex.  we made it through hardly. humour:  comedy, but also mood or caprice; also found in medicine as part of the four humors theory.  ex.  she's in a bad humour. iambic:  a metric foot but also for satire.  ex.  he was keen on iambic. indifferent:  the same as now, but applied to an object instead of a person.  ex.  it was indifferent to me. letters:  physical paper letters, the alphabet, learning.  ex.  he has his letters (he is educated). license:  freedom, liberty.  ex.  i've license to do as i wish. mobile vulgus:  a mob.  ex.  here's the mobile vulgis now. occasional:  not from time to time, but on a special occasion.  ex.  it was occasional. ordinary:  a chaplain at a prison.  ex.  i confessed my sins to the ordinary. own:  acknowledge or admit to.  ex.  i'll own my words. paint:  makeup, cosmetics.  ex.  she wore her paint. precipitate:  to rush, to hasten.  ex.  we precipitate our departure. proper:  one's own.  ex.  it was proper. quit:  to leave.  ex.  let's quit this place. rail:  speak harshly.  ex.  he railed at me. repair:  to go or travel.  ex.  we repair for savannah. retire:  to leave the room, to withdraw.  ex.  he retired to his apartment. romance:  a fictional narrative.  ex.  it was a romance. sex:  not the act, but usually in use with regard to women.  ex. the fair sex. singular:  exceptional.  ex.  he's a singular man. snacks:  to divide or go into equally.  ex.  we went in snacks. suffer:  aside from the modern meaning, also allow or permit.  ex.  i'll suffer to see him. token:  a small sign or indication.  ex.  a token of her affections. traffic:  commerce, trade.  ex.  pirates traffic here. try:  test, make a trial of.  ex.  he wants to try my measure. use:  sometimes to treat.  ex.  he uses me as though i were his child. vicious:  given to vice, immoral.  ex.  he's a vicious man. vulgar:  common, but not necessarily disgusting.  ex. i found him vulgar. want:  desire, but also a lack.  ex.  a man could die for want of acknowledgement. weeds:  clothes, especially by women in mourning.  ex.  she was in her weeds. worsted:  a fabric made of woolen yarn.  ex.  he wears worsted. zounds:  a swear about as bad as damn.  ex.  zounds and buggery!

Food Things

blue tape:  gin. black jack:  a leather drinking jug. bog orange:  potato. bohea: (bo-hay) a type of tea. bonny clapper:  sour buttermilk. booze:  ...booze.  yes, it's really that old. brown cow:  a barrel of beer. bumper:  half full glass. cackling farts / cackle fruit:  eggs. chocolate:  in this context not a candy bar.  usually in bricks or powder, used as drinking chocolate.  milk chocolate did not exist, so it's fairly bitter.  often sprinkled with chili powder or paprika. cold tea:  brandy. corn:  any grain.  mais or maize is the word for corn specifically. dog's soup:  water. draught:  the usual spelling for draft (you've been reading it wrong in your head haven't you); drink. english manufacture:  ale, beer, or cider. fiddler's pay:  thanks and wine (and no money). grub:  food. grunting peck:  a hog. gut an oyster:  to eat the oyster. knock down:  very strong ale or beer. meat:  any food, not just literal meat. panam:  bread. pharaoh:  a strong malt drink. purl royal:  canary (the drink) with a dash of wormwood. ruff peck:  bacon. strip me naked:  gin. wibble:  a sad drink. wobble:  to boil.

Medical Things

crinkum:  venereal disease. french pox:  venereal disease. lying in:  a pregnant woman would be said to lie in until the birth.

People Things

abbess:  a woman who runs a brothel. baggage:  an insulting term for a woman. blue stocking:  an educated woman. christened by a baker:  freckled cucumber:  a tailor. jack of legs:  a tall person. jade:  another not at all nice term for a woman. jilt:  a sex worker or kept mistress. mechanic:  a tradesman or workman. mercer:  a cloth merchant. quean:  sex worker.  whither go ye:  a wife. wife in water colors:  a mistress.

Pirate & Sailing Things

admiral of the black / of the coast:  the big wigs in the brethren of the coast. black spot:  a real thing; a smudge on one side of the paper and the written threat on the other.  usually is a death threat. blow the man down:  kill someone. chandler:  a dealer offering ship supplies like robe, tools, etc. crimp:  procurring sailors by trickery or coercion. davy jones's locker:  a watery grave / to die at sea. dead men tell no tales:  exactly what it sounds like. deadlights:  the shutters that can clap down over a porthole or cabin window in bad weather; windows in a ship's side or deck, eyes. fire in the hole:  the warning before a cannon is fired. give no quarter:  refusal to spare the life of anyone that fights; a red flag raised on a pirate ship also signals this. holy stone / bible stone:  piece of sandstone used to scour the deck of a ship; big ones were bibles, small ones were prayer books - called so because it was used by getting on one's knees. jack:  a flag at the top of the bow - especially the one signaling ship nationality. jack tar: a sailor. line:  the equator. no prey, no pay:  no ships taken, no pay received. on the account:  to turn pirate; to go to work for one's self. pay debts with the topsail:  to run off to sea to avoid debts. real: (ree-al) a spanish denomination of money common in south america and the caribbean. red ensign:  a british naval flag. refit:  to resupply a ship.  would always be referred to this particular way. rum-gagger:  someone who tells false stories of hardships at sea. run a rig:  to play a trick. show a leg:  wake up. strike colors:  lower the flag; typically a signal of surrender. sutler:  a merchant selling all manner of goods for supplies and repairs. take a caulk:  take a nap - comes from sleeping on a caulked deck which left streaks of tar down clothing. warp:  moving a vessel (especially along a dock) by hauling a line fastened to different things like pilings, anchors, or piers. yellow jack:  used to indicate illness (typically yellow fever) aboard - often used to try and trick pirates.

Place & Stuff Things

apartment:  instead of the modern connotation of apartment, this wouldn't be a whole dwelling, but a rented room. bowsing ken:  an ale house. brake: heavily overgrown area. flats and sharps:  weapons. garret: an attic. house of civil reception:  a brothel. jakes:  a privy. kennel:  a gutter or street sewer. lanthorn:  a lantern. magazine:  a storehouse, especially for things like weapons.  had just come into vogue as meaning periodical publication. ordinary:  a roadside inn with stabling for horses. taper:  a small candle. tea voider:  a chamber pot. tube:  sometimes a smoking pipe. welkin:  the sky.

Sex Stuff

box the jesuit:  to masturbate. buttered bun:  having sex with a woman who just had sex with another man (i.e. as in a brothel). crack jenny's tea cup:  spending the night in a brothel. cundum:  a condom, usually made of sheep's skin (yes they had condoms). doxy / doxies:  a sex worker; can also refer to a kept woman. dragon on/upon st. george / riding st. george:  the woman topping. fancy lad:  a term for a male sex worker who usually services other men. fancy man:  a backdoor man (that is a man kept for the hanky panky). flogging:  pretty much the 18th c equivalent of spanking. hell cat:  considered a lewd woman; one who doesn't shy from her sexuality. screw:  to have sex (yes it's that old).

Slang Things:

admiral of the narrow seas:  a drunk who vomits in his neighbor's lap. apple dumpling shop:  a woman's boobies. been to an irish wedding:  to have a black eye. bring one's ass to anchor:  sit down. cast up one's account:  to vomit. dance the hempen jig:  to hang. dance with jack ketch:  to hang. fed with a fire shovel:  to have a big mouth. go a snail's gallop:  to move slowly. grin like a basket of chips:  grin broadly. hand like a foot:  to have bad handwriting. make faces:  to have children. milk the pidgeon:  attempt the impossible. navel-tied:  to be inseparable. piss more than he drinks:  a braggart. up the ladder to bed:  to hang.

Social Things

banns:  declaring intention to marry.  in the anglican church it had to be read three sundays before a couple was allowed to marry. cloud:  tobacco. fog: smoke. guinea:  a coin worth 21 shillings (just over a pound at the time). hombre:  a popular card game of the time. make love:  to flirt, did not meant to have sex. macaroni:  not food, but a specific type of dandy. mrs.:  applied to women of a certain age regardless of marital status. naked:  indecently dressed; a man without frock and waistcoat would be naked. oaten pipe:  a shepherd's flute made of reed. penny:  four farthings, one-twelfth of a shilling. plain-work:  basic sewing. pound:  twenty shillings. ridotto:  an entertainment with music and dancing. shift:  a woman's undergarment consisting of a thing loose dress of muslin or linen. shirt:  the linen shirt of a man, considered an undergarment. toilet:  a dressing table. transportation:  forcible exile for committing a crime, such as to the american colonies or australia.

[x-compendiums-of-castiel-x]

Don’t Save Me

Castiel x Angel!Reader

Word Count: 2049

Prompt: “If you have time can you do an angel blade kink? You're both angels and you go invisible in the back seat of the impala while Dean and Sam are in the front.” ~ @deansbabygirlkazimpala

Warnings: kissing, sexual references, fluff

Notes: I hope this is around about what you were asking for! If I made a mistake on what you were wanting please let me know and I apologize in advance if that is the case! I really wanted to deliver exactly what you wanted and I sincerely hope you enjoy it! Thank you for sending in the prompt! It was a bit challenging because I've never wrote an angel!reader before but it was a lot of fun! :)

_______________________________________________________________________

   “Don’t ever try to save me like that again. You could of been killed.” Your voice was a hushed whisper directed towards Castiel. The both of you sat in the back of the impala as Dean drove and Sam rode shotgun. For the last few hours, the four of you had been in complete silence. No one said a word because there was nothing left to be said, Dean said it all, or rather yelled, at Cas as soon as the four of you had reached the car after the hunt. Sam stood quietly off to the side during Dean’s rant; he was the nicer one out of the two. Though both of them didn’t trust you and quite frankly, they didn’t really see why Cas did. After all you almost got yourself killed this time, but that wasn’t exactly the problem. Castiel almost died saving you and that didn’t really go over too well with the Winchesters.

“If I hadn’t of intervened, it would of killed you.” Castiel squinted at you as he tried to understand your meaning and depth.

“I can handle myself. If I die, that’s on me. It has nothing to do with you. But if you die because of me...well,” you peered up at the front seat where both brothers were sitting, “ well, then we’re both dead. I die anyway.” You stated simply, voice flat. Cas only took part of what you had said into consideration.

“Your life has everything to do with me,” he remarked and it took only a split of a second before you locked eyes with him in question.

“Why do you say that?” Immediately the other angel responded.

“Nothing. Forget it.” Shifting in his seat, he turned to look out his window. He was definitely keeping something from you. As you turned your head to face the front, going over what he possibly could of meant, your eyes met a pair of annoyed, candy-apple green ones.

“Castiel, I need to talk to you alone.” You mentioned loudly as you stared Dean down. Neither of you were wanting to be the first to look away. Sam glanced over towards his brother and then back at you with a curious gaze. Sending Dean a quick glare, you passed it on over to Sam before you vanished; hiding yourself from their plain sight. One of the perks of being an angel. You watched as Dean told Cas to forget about it, you weren’t worth the trouble. But Cas saw something in you that no one else seemed to be able to, and you definitely were worth it.

“(Y/n),” He began once he followed suit. The both of you remained in the back seat of the impala, but invisible to the brothers. Before he could continue, you interrupted him.

“No, I need to talk and you need to listen. Whatever is going on with you, it needs to stop. You’re going to get yourself killed and by what? Watching out for me? Taking my place to save me? That’s not how it works Castiel. Your assignment, by your own free will and your rebellion against heaven, is to care for the Winchesters. Now given the circumstances and despite how much of an ass Dean is, they both are very valuable. You believe they need to be protected and I now understand the same fundamentals. But I can’t help them, they don’t trust me like they do you. I’m just another winged dick to them.”

“You’re not just...stop,” Castiel began sounding a little annoyed.

“Then what am I then? Seriously Castiel, everyone can tell by the way the brothers look at me, the way they talk to me… I'm just a feathery bitch. I mean absolutely nothing to them and if we're being realistic, I don't really mean much to you either. So don't you dare risk your whole entire being for a sorry excuse of an angel like me,” you pressed. Cas watched you closely, his jaw clenching as if everything you were saying was making him angry.

“That’s enough (y/n). You mean more than you or anyone will ever understand,” he explained through gritted teeth.

“There you go again. You speak… absolute nonsense. As if I actually mean something to your being. Don’t think I don’t notice the way you look at me, just like Sam and Dean do. There may be many things I don’t fully grasp, but I know the look of disapproval when I see it. You wear the feature quite often and all too well around me.”

“I don’t disapprove of you, I disapprove of your actions. Your choices if you will. You’re completely reckless. So much in fact, it's going to get you killed.” He continued to hiss.

“So be it. Like I said, that’s on me.” Mr. Blue eyes responded immediately.

“I won’t just stand by and watch you die,” he expressed with a raised voice. For a moment you let him have the last word. You were getting tired of fighting him. Why couldn’t he just understand? You were responsible for you, he already had enough on his side to deal with.

“Why are you being so demanding about this? It’s not your decision to make.” Cas watched you for a second, trying to reel in a secure answer. His shoulders slackened and his head fell.

“No, you're right it’s not my place,” he sighed still looking away from you. Right as you thought this conversation was over and that you had won, he retorted with a sarcastic remark; a tone he surely learned from the Winchester’s.

“Though in the same sense, it’s not your decision to place an allowance on whether or not I decide to risk my life for your own, either.” Staring down at you, he knew he had you boxed in. He had a valid point. You couldn’t stop him from being unreasonable no more than he could stop you from being reckless.

“Castiel,” you sighed out in defeat.

“Stop arguing with me.” His gaze remained on you, as if trying to be intimidating.

“Stop being so unreasonable.” you rolled your eyes towards him, which only rewarded you with a head tilt and squinting.

“Then stop being reckless.”

“Fine, I'll stop arguing with you and being so reckless. But only if you tell me why it bothers you so badly. I would like the truth of it.” Crossing your arms you watched his features, hoping he would give something away. His jaw slackened and his shoulders slumped yet again.

“It wouldn’t matter to you, you wouldn’t understand,” he looked away from you again, turning his attention to outside the window.

“Only because you’re not giving me the chance to understand Castiel. Tell me.” Your patience ran thin, you only wanted for him to be honest.

“I care for you, (y/n). I don’t wish for you to die. I’d rather it be me; I’d rather be dead than exist in a world with your absence. I need you...here with me. Sam and Dean… they will grow fond of you, they only need time to know who you truly are. I wish you could recognize your radiance, your beauty, the way you used to.

“Why? I fell Castiel. I'm nothing to what I used to be,” dropping you head, you turned your body away from his. How could he say something so... human?

“You are and you're so much more than you envision,” his eyes took in every inch of you as he awaited your response.

“Comedy doesn’t seem to suit you well,” admitting to him, you turned to face him. Without notice, his lips were grazing against your own. Though it was foreign, something within you fueled a fire of pure want. Slowly, he pressed his lips to yours completely. It was a soft, warm sensation that seemed to end all too quickly.

“I’m not trying to be comical. You asked for me to speak the truth, that is what I am presenting to you (y/n). Before I rebelled, before I learned the depths of emotion, you made me feel things I wasn’t sure of. While we worked in Heaven, I felt drawn to you; I never understood until now. I possess human feelings toward you. (Y/n), you are absolutely lovely in absolutely every way..,” he whispered softly with his face inches from your own.

“My vessel is quite exquisite,” you let out a slight chuckle, not completely understanding.

“I know angels weren’t… we weren’t meant to feel or even understand the depths of love. This isn’t just an infatuation, what I feel is more than that…,” he began to explain again.

“Castiel, I love you too,” your confession was gentle.

“You do?” He searched your eyes, hoping he heard the truth.

“I do. With what you’re saying and from what I understand, I’m sure of it. I don’t want anything to happen to you either, that’s why I was upset with you. You saved me and almost replaced my fate as your own. Castiel, I saw the look you carried as I was almost pierced with my own blade. I miss read you, it wasn’t a look of disappointment with me, it was primal. The way you had wield your blade; it intrigued me as you slayed the djinn,” you admitted shyly.

“I feel protective of you. I need to keep you safe, the same as Sam and Dean,” he stated matter of factly, a hint of a smile evident on his features.

“Well, you’re very good with your hands, Cas; very talented with that blade in fact. Im clearly safe with you and your handy skills. Perhaps we could try something later? Something desirable suited for humans?” You asked hopefully, a little humor lurking within your words. Castiel attained a hue of red among his cheeks as he came to terms with what you meant.

Slowly, he began to nod a little and it brought a sheepish grin on your face. Within an instant, Cas leaned forward to reach you. Gently, his thumb rubbed your rosy cheeks; his index finger trailing across your lower lip before he leaned in for another kiss. Easily, you lost yourself in him; completely consumed, you hadn’t realized he made the both of you visible again.

“Dammit Cas!” Dean yelled as he suddenly caught a glimpse of the both of you in the rearview mirror. Sam turned around, eyes wide as he saw you and Cas woven together. It all finally made sense to him now. Pulling apart, you eyed both brothers, though this time it was much kinder. Afterall, it was time to start getting along. Cas was going to be sure you weren’t going anywhere anytime soon. Castiel shifted in his seat, facing forward now but he held your hand within his own; rubbing his thumb up and down the top of your hand. As you moved to turn too, you notice the blade that laid  between the two of you but that wasn’t all you noticed.

“Nice blade you have there,” you state. Castiel glanced at you quizzically before his eyes shifted down to take in the sight of the blade.

“This one? It’s a blade just as your own” he questioned as he moved his free hand to pick up the silver weapon.

“I wasn’t referring to that one,” you smiled at him and then shifted your eyes back down, he followed your gaze. Right next to where the blade rested, was Castiel’s thigh and then he understood. The tightness in his pants was visibly evident and his blush returned. You couldn’t help but let out a laugh. Human things were sometimes complicated and complex, but with Castiel right beside you, you knew it’d be worth it. To learn and explore this life with him and live alongside the Winchesters. Leaning into his side, you kissed Cas on the cheek and snuggled into him; you could really get used to this. Closing your eyes, you thought about what the future could hold; everything was a mystery. The last thing you heard was Dean before you slipped into the endless thoughts swarming your mind.

“Freaking Angels,” the elder brother rolled his eyes as he continued driving down the road they’d been riding so far.

@deansbabygirlkazimpala