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thefanbasewhore · 3 years

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Accidentally Bare - Preference #2

Summary: A preference/snippet of pedro characters accidently seeing the reader in their underwear. Honestly, ignore the title I suck at them lmao. I also have no idea why I kept mentioning showers.

Warnings/Content: A little suggestive, dirty thoughts. 18+ please.

Paring: Din Djarin, Javier Peña, Agent Whiskey, and Frankie Morales/Female reader

I am also taking requests for head cannons and more preferences at this moment if anyone has any ideas!

Din Djarin

Nothing could stop the deep chill that created goosebumps that made your body shiver despite the thick wool of Din’s cape that was pulled tight around your chest. The walk back to the crest was freezing, clothes heavy and weighing you down with every squish your boots made underneath you, the temperature of the stupid desert planet plummeting at night into single degree temps, falling into the lake was definitely not on your to do list.

Water still dripping from your sleeves, fingers shaking where the fabric bundles in the middle of your chest to support the heaviness of the cape as the crushing on dense sand from heavy boots behind you let you know the Mandalorian is still there. He’s silent as ever, mad at himself for letting you even step on the ice but as soon as he saw you fall into the deep pit of water he dived right in after, forgetting the bounty, making the choice to let him escape.

The first step on the Crest is a relief, familiarity and warmness welcome you but it’s not enough to calm the numbing that took over all your senses, voiding any sensation in your trembling fingers. The breeze that falls over the crest as the ramp closes with a gush of wind but you don’t seem to care as the cape wrapped around you falls to the floor. The Mandalorian walks past you silently, which you guess retiring for the night because at the last second before the he climbs the ladder of the cockpit by the way his fingers start to peel of the beskar not caring as it trails and clanks against the floor of the ship, fingers rim the edge of his helmet lifting it just enough to see the ends of his hair curl and stick against the nape of his neck as it drips to his tunic before the cockpit swallows him.

If it wasn’t for how freezing you were there is no doubt you would be taken back by his openness, even wet you weren’t expecting it to so wavy, a little messy but it touches the collar of the tunic and you honestly couldn’t move as the realization dawned on you. Eyes running over the length of the ladder that rattles due to deep hum of the engine, the imagine burning behind into them.

The cool shiver reminds you of the current predicament, fingers burning and toes numb at the verge of turning purple. A frustrated huff falls from your lips as you pull at the laces of your boots, fingers too stiff to move but eventually get them off, not caring where they fall. Only functional thought is to feel the warm water of the fresher to regain feeling in your appendages.

Hands grasp the hem of your shirt, lifting it despite the cool air that nipped the skin of your stomach. With only one goal in mind and a stubborn button that just won’t latch from your pants, you don’t notice as the ladder shakes with the weight of the Mandalorian as he gains entrance back into the belly of the ship. He’s out of his armor, but the helmet had seem to find it’s way back onto his head but his upper body in a white, thin shirt, his pants hand dangerously low on his hips, they offer his body more warmth with no doubt lined with some kind of fleece, gray in color and a pair of socks. The wet pants stick to you, with your back turned toward Din who freezes the moment he notices you shimmy them down your legs, revealing the black pair of underwear the hugs your ass in the most delicious way.

He’s red, blushing, no doubt you can see the way his chest spots pink through the white shirt, hands forming fist next to his side as you turn to make a b-line for the fresher but the mass of the man catches your eyes, pausing.

Eyes never leave you, he just freezes up, unable to move as the situation seems to do the same to you. He tries, really tries not to look but can’t help it as he notices how thin the bra is, a pretty pastel pink, cute but the way your nipples harden against it is anything but, he’s speechless, mouth drying as eyes take in the smoothness of curves, drops down to the thinness of underwear, they leave little to the imagination, sticking against skin letting him see every inch and suddenly he wants nothing more than to rub his own -

His eyes lift back up to your own, the embarrassment that paints your cheeks makes him realize just how wrong it is. “I-I’m sorry.” He stutters, eyes casting down to the cotton that covers his toes, ashamed with red cheeks, horrified that it has even happened. “Just came down to use the shower -.”

Desire sirs deep inside his stomach, makes him awkwardly shift his hips as he turns to leave but the smooth hands that catch his fingers makes him pause, turning to face you once again. “We can both use it.”

Javier Peña

Nothing can still your pounding heart, it’s racing, taking up all the space in your chest that it barely allows room for your lungs to expand, to take one good breath to sustain your frantic body needs, instead it’s broken up into patchy, erratic breaths that make you dizzy, vision blurring as a result.

It’s a blur but there’s no mistaking the metallic taste of blood, it’s not yours but it seems like it should be by the way it covers every part of you. It dots your face, coats your hands with such thickness, soaks through the shirt to stain your chest pink. There’s so much of it, it takes over and fills all your senses. All you see is red, all you feel is hands rub your face to talk yourself out of this moment of weakness but the way it smears even worse across your skin, fills the pores of your skin, makes bile raise but swallow it down.

It’s been an hour but fear still makes you shake, not bothering to even talk to anyone the moment you pull the trigger just driving home without a single word, not even to your partner Javi. The door of your apartment is even left open in your own wake, trying to yank the soaked clothes, not caring as your bloody shirt falls from shoulders staining the white carpet of your apartment.

Finger fumble with pants as well, too shaky but none the less slowly shimmer them down flushed thighs. You suddenly can’t move, no matter how bad the shower calls you from the other room, shaky fingers press to the floor under you for support as you lower yourself to the ground until the rough carpet scratches the back of thighs but your thankful to feel something other then pure terror, relish in the scratch the spreads to the back of your knees as you bring them to your chest, lean against the couch for support with a shaky chest.

“I’m sorry.” You don’t realize how much time passes as the low baritone breaks through the sound waves, Javi averts his eyes, realizing the vulnerability on the situation. “The door was open, I just let myself in.”

“I-It’s okay.” Chest moves with the stutter, unable to realize your in nothing but a thin bra, that leaves little to the imagination and a matching black thong, that shows just how much the carpet irritates the skin of inner thighs, leaves a big rash just on the underside of your cheeks.

It’s not the way he intended seeing you like this the first time, beautiful doe eyes filled with tears that slip past beautiful, full eyelashes. It makes his heart stop, the low light of the lamp in the corner contour the dark shadows of your face, show the sharpness of cheek bones, outlines the shape of your jaw. He hates the way he can’t look away from your heaving chest, flushed breast barely fill the cups of the lacy bra, down the smoothness of skin, still stained a dark red from all the blood, down to the edges of inner thighs.

You watch as his gaze falls between your legs but when they meet up at your face again, his lips fall, a deep sigh as a thick layer of tension fills the room. There’s nothing you want more then to forget this feeling, distract yourself with Javi.

Suddenly, he’s all that’s on your mind. The way his tongue runs over those perfect lips, wanting to feel the sensation of his moustache against your upper lip, the burns between your thighs. It’s what you think you’re getting as he lowers to his knees, finally give into the temptation of each other but the blanket that falls to your shoulders surprises you. His fist wraps around each end to ball it against your chest as his other hand reaches for a small piece of hair that frames your face, pushing it behind your ear as his lips ghost over it. “Let’s get you in the bath, cariño, yeah?”

Unsure eyes meet his, not trusting your own legs but his gentle fingers that fill the gaps between your own reinsuring. It’s a soft whine of surprise that makes you look up at him, a thankful sad smile that makes Javier return one that shows every scar of his soul, the feeling all too known to him. “I got you, honey.”

Agent Whiskey

It’s a mix up, an annoying one but none the less it’s not like you can kick Whiskey out of the hotel room and besides you’re both functioning adults, staying together in the room should be no problem but it’s a little difficult to feel comfortable with a stranger especially with one as pushy and touchy as the cowboy.

He’s nice, very polite but smug. There’s always a tight smirk across his face, sexy eyes that test your every move as you bring the rim of the glass to your lips with a soft sigh. The bar of the hotel is loud, a thick cloud of smoke from the passerby's tickles your nose. You try to ignore it, but turn abruptly even catching Whiskey off guard as he adverts his gaze but he’s not as sneaky as he thinks.

It’s hard to remember exactly why you turned when he offered a sweet smile, elbow against the bar while his hand wrapped around his own glass, other hand spraying over the thickness of his thighs, sitting to face you with that dumb smirk. You really can’t help it as your eyes fall between his legs, “What’s up, sugar?”

It’s either he chooses not question why or is just so used to women checking him out but your throat dries at his peering gaze, the way he wraps his lips around the glass after his tongue pokes out to wet them. It makes your face hot, averting his intimating eyes. “Nothing, thought I saw something is all.”

“Mmmm.” It’s a small hum, hesitant like he wants to ask more but settles with the answer. It’s quiet, not awkward but the tension is heavy, clouding the space between you both. Scooting to the end of the seat, eyes nervously looking at him as you shift onto your feet, standing and muttering. “I’m going to head back to the room.”

“Alright sweetheart. I’m gonna have a few more drinks, head up without me. If you need me.” Two fingers press against the shell of his ear, his way of saying I’ll hear ya. You try not to let it affect you but the heat that crawls up your skin makes you huff, closing the door of the hotel room tightly.

A shower, to sooth the burning desire for your new partner, it was embarrassing, feeling like a teenage girl for a man that you barely know, all hot and bothered by him simply spreading his legs but it felt like an open invitation just for you. Hands reach for your shirt, pulling it up with little hesitation except for when it catches the onto the ear piece, stepping forward with a yelp as your foot comes in contact with the large bed frame. Pulling the ear piece off with not much thought, throwing it and the shirt onto the bed, fingers pop the metal from the buttonhole also discarding your pants.

It all happens so fast, the door crashes open, hitting the wall. Pure instinct takes over, despite only being in a very, very revealing bralette and a matching lacy thong fumbling for the gun on the night stand next to you, pointing it towards the mass of a man but let out a sigh of relief. “What is wrong with you? barging in like that, I could have shot you.”

It goes to deaf ears, smooth lines of your collarbones catching him off guard, dropping to the soft curves of your breast. He steps closer, shutting you up immediately as his fingers spread out across the hem of your underwear, warmness erupting to the lazy trail of his fingers.

The cocky smirk that overpowers your own confused one as a tick falls from his lips, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes peering under that stupid cowboy hat, “Now If you wanted me to see you naked you didn’t have to pretend you’re in trouble, darlin’.”

Frankie Morales

There was never a day Frankie thought he’d be in the deep end of the forest again. The memories are still fresh, the sun doesn’t quite sting his skin like the one in Brazil but it’s a close second, the aching memories still squeeze his heart but it’s a silent burn, one he’ll take to his grave and a life he thought he left behind forever.

Frankie is a man haunted by his past, the memories never let him forget that life he used to lead. He is anything but soft, he’s kind, caring, smart, passionate but a sucker for a pretty face. It’s shown in the way he shameless answers too quickly for his liking at your proposition. To rescue your father, a man that owed a bunch of narcos too much money but you had nothing to offer except to help a single father who seemed to be struggling.

Maybe it was the way your sad eyes looked at him with an exaggerated expression, tiredness sag your face, large purple bags that crinkle with every sigh. There was no hope, and even if your father was alive, he kissed that life away a long time also, but then again here he is.

Deep in the jungle of Argentina, sun beating down and burning his skin, sweat beading on his forehead, between the valley of his chest as he swings the bottle of water back, the coolness soothing his raw throat. Your stance matches his own, shoulders dropped, heavy breaths but slower, the heaviness of the gun wrapped around your shoulders.

You were slowing him down, it was no lie. He told you multiple times he would do it but specifically didn’t want you to come with him, he would handle it all but sending a man alone to do something like this, despite how experienced he may be it didn’t seem right.

“Go.” You huff, fingers pushing against his shoulder. It had been the third time he stopped for you in ten minutes, clearly frustrated with a crinkle of his forehead, annoyed eyes looking for any sign of danger, even with the thick trunks of trees that camouflage into the color of face paint that decorates both yours and Frankie’s faces. “I’ll be right behind you.”

He looks unsure but nods lowly, turning as his feet to walk up the ledge of the tree as you take a deep breath, fingers trembling as you try to catch your breath, ass hitting the dirt harder then you intend to but it’s a relief to aching feet. It’s a blur of blackness, hand reaching up to pull yourself up but instead pull at something squishy?

Before you could react, big, black bugs by the hundreds run up your legs, crawl under your vest and shirt. The yell that echoes the forest is what catches Frankie’s attention, turning from his short distance ahead to find you. Face hot, fearing the worst as his heart pounds against his chest. Arms flaring frantic through the thick ropes and vines as he slips skillfully past above ground roots of trees.

You are no where in sight but the peaks of dark green clothes along the brush catch his eye, picking the fabric up, clutching your shirt between fingers. With one more look around he notices another piece of clothing, but the sound of splashing catches his attention. It’s not too far, just over a large tree that separates his view from you. It’s not what he expects, practically naked except for the nude bra and matching underwear that makes his eyes widen. If it wasn’t for the panic on your face he would have taken a second to appreciate the beauty in front of him, let desire burn deep on his skin but the way you frantically try to rub the bugs off makes him take action, hands catch your own, comforting eyes meeting your own. “Relax, relax, I’ll get them off.”

“It’s burns.” It’s a soft whine, as his fingers fall to your own, pressing them against his warm skin as he flattens his other hand down the skin of your arm, down your stomach with a delicious sting from the heat of his.

“I got you, honey.” The words are low, sugary as the realty of the situation makes your own cheeks flush. The bugs are gone, scattering at feet but his gaze never leaves your own. Only inches away from your face, lips so, so close but what really makes you dizzy is the way his hand cups your waist, squeezing so gently as his hot breath fans your face, fingertips trail to the wire of your bra, something in him snaps, giving into the desire as his lips press against yours with urgency.

tags: @victias @altarsw @coonflix @mudhornchronicles @buckysalefty @capsheadquarters @godohammers @ilikemymendarkandfictional @rogertaylorsfalsettogivemehives @maileecabudol @itsfangirlmendes @mermaidbrina @nikkixostan @moonlightnumbsthepainifeel @dinsbeskar @est19xxshit @owloveyounever @engie115 @impala1967666 @akatasukilove @nerdalert-andi @mailee420 @you-and-i-deserve-the-world @thatonedindjarinfan @winter_rxn @Sporadicshoebailifffish

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ltwilliammowett · 3 years

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Nuestra Señora de la Santísima Trinidad

She was the largest ship of the line of the 18th century, even though she was initially launched in Havana in 1769 as a three-decker with 112-120 guns. Her design was the work of an Irishman named Matthew or Mateo Mullan, who built her very strongly, surpassing even the English three-decker, surpassed only in length by some of the French, but not in strength of armament.

Schiff auf dem Meer- Santisimia Trinidad by Michael Zeno Diemer 1938 (x)

For the first few years she saw no action, but when war broke out between Spain and England in 1779, she became part of the Spanish fleet under Admiral Luis de Cordoba y Cordoba in July of that year. She plied the English Channel with allied French ships, which led to the capture of 55 English merchant ships in 1780. In 1782, she took part in the second siege of Gibraltar as flagship of a combined fleet of 48 Spanish and French ships, but failed to intercept a British supply convoy.

Santisima Trinidad, by Geoff Hunt (x)

This led to her being refitted in 1795. She was given a connection from the forecastle to the quarterdeck and thus a fourth deck. Her armament was also increased to 140, but as this was apparently too heavy, it was quickly reduced to 136. But her size and four decks, together with her armament, made her the largest ship of the time. However, she was difficult to sail and her sailing characteristics were, according to contemporary reports, atrocious, which is why she was nicknamed El Ponderoso (All Mighty).

Infante don Pelayo going to rescue Santisima Trinidad at Battle of Cape St Vincent on 14 February 1797, by Antonio Brugada (1804 – 1863)

Unfortunately, her crew was poorly trained and her guns of poor quality, which led to her being badly damaged at the Battle of St. Vincent in 1797 (where she first met Commodore Nelson) under the command of Teniente General José de Córdoba y Ramos. She was almost completely dismasted and more than half of her crew died. Just as she was about to surrender to HMS Orion, the Orion was ordered back and only with luck was Santisima Trinidad saved by Infante don Pelayo 74- guns and Príncipe de Asturias 112- guns. She crawled back to Cadiz and on the way back she was almost captured by HMS Terpsichore 32-guns, but again she was lucky to escape.

Captain Richard Bowen's 38-gun frigate Terpsichore engaging the mighty 136-gun Spanish 4-decker Santissima Trinidad on 1st, two weeks after the battle of Cape St. Vincent March,1797, by John Christian Schetkey (x)

This was not the case in 1805 at the Battle of Trafalgar. Captained by Francisco Javier Uriarte and with the pendant of Rear Admiral Baltasar de Cisneros, she was the flagship of the Spanish squadron. This made her an interesting target for HMS Victory with Admiral Nelson on board. Lying directly in front of French Admiral Villeneuve's Bucentaure 80-guns, she found herself in the centre of the battle. After a while she was separated and fired upon by HMS's Neptune 98-guns, Leviathan 74-guns, and Conqueror 74-guns.

Battle of Trafalgar, Spanish Ship Santisima Trinidad and HMS Victory by Patrick O’Brien (x)

After four hours, around 2 p.m., all three masts were gone; an eyewitness wrote: "This tremendous fabric gave a deep roll, with a swell to leeward, then back to windward, and on her return each mast went through the side of the ship, making it an uncontrollable hulk on the water.” The ship was forced to surrender, presumably to the Neptune.

The aftermath of Trafalgar: The Spanish flagship Santísima Trinidad wallowing in the swell under prize colours, by Thomas Buttersworth (1748-1842) (x)

After the battle she was taken in tow by HMS Prince 98- guns, but in the ensuing storm the tow could not be held, and the Santísima Trinidad sunk on 22 October, with 155 wounded men onbard.

#naval history #santisima trinidad #spanish lady #a ship portrait #1769-1805 #age of sail

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vanillasakura · 3 years

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RDRSW21 Day 6- Rescue

Title: When The Hurt Has Gone to Sleep, We'll Sing to the Night

Word Count: 1196

Pairing: Karen/Tilly

Notes/Warnings: Mentions of racism and the Klan (including vague mentions of what they could do to people)

Title from Parking Garage by Tommy Bravos

≿━━━━━━━━━━༺❀━━━━━━━━━━≾

We'll go to our castle, five stories away from the crippling ground, and with our drinks in hand, we escape this heavy land

“Mind if I join you?”

Karen turned around from where she was nursing a beer on the docks of Shady Belle, the fireflies helping to illuminate Tilly’s face. She hadn’t expected anybody to come over and see her, the nights in this part of Lemoyne were sticky and humid and only somebody who was near insane would spend their time outside of the mansion.

Good thing Karen pretty much fit the bill for insanity, at least in her own mind.

“Sure, come on over. Can’t promise it won’t be a sweatfest though.” Karen patted the empty spot next to her, and Tilly smiled, making her way over, the creaking of the old wood under her footsteps blending in perfectly with the symphony of frogs croaking and various insects buzzing under the cape of humidity.

“You mind if I talk about some things?” Tilly asked, swinging her feet over the edge of the platform, and she sounded almost nervous. Karen couldn’t recall the last time she had truly seen Tilly in such a state, even when they had come home from Valentine that one day, everyone except Mary-Beth shaken up by the events that had played out, Tilly still hadn’t been anxious. If anything, anger had seemed to be the emotion that gathered in the creases on her face, assuming that Karen’s black eye had seen everything correctly.

“I don’t mind at all, honesty to god. You’re one of my closest friends, Tilly. Anything you need, I’m right here for you.”

“Thanks.” Tilly sighed, taking a drink from a beer Karen hadn't even noticed that she had in hand. She was writing her hands together, biting on her lip. Instinctively, Karen reached out and put an arm around the other woman, doing the same thing that she would do to help comfort Sean whenever he had gotten nervous.

“What’s on your mind? You don’t gotta be afraid to tell me, I promise I ain’t gonna tell nobody, in this life or the next.”

Tilly leaned into Karen’s touch, letting out another shaky breath. “Just warning you, this might be a bit… silly, I guess you could call it.”

“So? I let silly shit get to me all the time. Remember when I yelled at Pearson that one week he bought the shitty shitty beer?” Karen smiled gently, rubbing a circle on Tilly’s back. “Even if it was dumb, didn’t stop me from getting upset over it. We’re all people, at the end of the day.”

Tilly laughed, a sad smile forming on her face. “No offense, but if that’s what you consider silly, I guess maybe I can take my earlier statement back.”

“Just feels silly?”

“Yeah.”

“Take your time.” Karen assured her. “There’s no rush, we got all the time in the world.”

They sat in silence for a few moments before Tilly spoke up. “I understand why we’re here. I get that sometimes, we don’t really have choices in where it is that we end up.” Tilly sighed again. “But, that doesn’t stop me from…” she trailed off, trying to think of how to word her thoughts. “It doesn’t stop me from hating being this far south, that’s all.”

“Why do you hate it?” Karen asked, not stopping the soothing motions on her back.

“In all honesty, Karen? I hate it because I’m scared.” Tilly confessed, eyes choosing to rest on the outline of some hanging moss. “I know that I’m with you guys, and that y’all ain’t gonna let anythin’ bad happen to me, but that doesn’t stop me from worryin’.” Another sigh. “Bein’ this far south, when you look like I do, it’s… it’s terrifyin’, in all honesty.”

“I can only imagine.” Karen held Tilly a bit closer to her, ignoring the sweat that began to gather on her forehead from their closeness, favoring another drink from her bottle instead. “I will never understand why some folk have their heads so far up their own asses that they think the color of someone’s skin is anythin’ to get worked up over, let alone actually excuse the terrible things they do. I can only imagine how terrifyin’ it is for you, Tilly.”

Tilly took a swig from her own drink, “And it only gets worse ‘cause I’m a woman.” She added on, her voice getting slightly quieter. “I’ve overheard Arthur talkin’ to Hosea an’ Javier about the… the horrible things those white-robed bastards get up to whenever he has the misfortune of runnin’ into them.” She shivered. “And that was back when we was still in West Elizabeth, a pretty damn progressive place, what with how they’ve already given women the vote and how most folk in Blackwater don’t look at you twice if you ain’t white. But here? Where, even in the center of a huge city, nobody takes issue hurling slurs at you from across the street? I don't even wanna begin to imagine what the Klan’s like down here.”

Tilly took a shaky breath, and Karen turned to face her, pulling her into a hug, both women abandoning their drinks on the dock next to them. “It’s okay, take your time.” she soothed. “I know this is hard to talk about.”

“I know how to defend myself. I’ve done it plenty ‘a times before, Both on account of me bein’ a woman, and on account of me not bein’ white. But I haven’t had to defend myself against both in a long, long time. And now that I’m older, the odds of some of those awful men doin’... more to me is a much greater possibility than it was when I was still a kid.” Tilly’s voice wavered, and Karen held her closer. “I’m worried they’re gonna take me away and do all kinds of horrible things. In that case, I’d prefer they just shoot me point blank.”

“You ain’t gonna have to be shot, Tilly. Not while we’re here and not ever.” Karen assured her. “I won’t let those bastards lay a finger on you, you hear? If I ever see one, he’s dead, in an instant.” Karen paused for a moment, debating her words before continuing on. “I know it would probably make you more secure for someone like Arthur or John to accompany you if you ever needa leave camp, but I’m tellin’ you right now, if you ever wanna leave camp and don’t feel comfortable doin’ so alone, just say the word and I’ll be by your side. I’ll help protect you, I promise.”

Tilly shook, and Karen realized she was crying. “Karen, I…” Karen smoothed her hair down, rocking side to side slowly as Tilly cried. “Let it out, I ain’t one to judge.”

Karen held Tilly in her arms until her tears subsided, slowly moving back and forth, back and forth, rubbing her hair and her back to try and calm her down and show her that she was safe. “Thank you, Karen. I don’t think you know just how much this means to me.”

“Don’t even mention it.” Karen responded, pulling Tilly impossibly closer to her chest. “You mean a hell of a lot to me, Tilly Jackson. Don’t you ever forget that.”

#rdrsapphicweek2021 #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption #rdr2 #rdr2 fandom #rdr2 community #rdr2 fanfic #karen jones #tilly jackson #my writing #red dead fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic #sapphic #wlw

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reddeadgarlicbread · 5 years

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All I Have - A Red Dead Redemption 2 Story - Chapter Twenty

Reminder that requests are OPEN

Synopsis:

Sage Marston is the younger sister of John Marston, member of the notorious Van Der Linde Gang. After being separated as children, John finds his sister and invites her to run away with him and the gang.

As Sage quickly becomes a member of the family and valued member of the gang, she also falls in love with the charismatic leader, Dutch Van Der Linde. But little does she know, another member of the gang is falling in love with her, as well.

How will Sage cope with being a member of the gang? And what will happen when Dutch begins to lose himself?

Dutch Van Der Linde x OC Arthur Morgan x OC

Major spoilers for RDR2

Sage stood with Hosea and Dutch inside Shady Belle, August in her arms, as the two men went over the plan for the bank robbery. She would be tagging along, and she was excited. This would be the most excitement she’d seen in ages. While Dutch wasn’t allowing her to come into the bank to help, she would be providing a distraction with Hosea and Abigail.

“I’m telling you, Dutch, this is the way to do this job,” Hosea said as he leaned on the table Dutch was sitting at. “The distraction’ll buy you all the time you need.”

Dutch sighed. “I...don’t like it…”

“It’s the right plan. We’ve done the work. I’ve been in town, looking...watching, and...waiting. I’ve, I’ve...I’ve tested it as well as I can. It’s the right plan.”

“I know! I just...Well, between the three of us, I’m...nervous, I suppose. I suppose that’s it.”

“You’re never nervous, that’s been my job all these years.”

“I know.” Dutch sighed again, his hand on his temple. “You’re sure?”

“Certain. Well...not certain it will be done, but certain it can be done. And certain this is the only way I see we can do it. I’ve timed it out more than once.”

“Well, you’re the expert.”

Arthur approached the three of them, flashing Sage a smile before turning to Dutch and Hosea, glancing over at the plan in front of them. “Gentlemen. Sage,” He greeted.

“Look, the bank...Karen, Tilly, Abigail. I sent them all. They all said the same thing. There’s no more than one armed guard. And the police...it’s a city, there are police, but as far as we can tell...the patrols will all be going this way…” he pointed to the map, “when Abigail, Sage and I cause the diversion, and that’s the opportunity.”

“What do you think, Arthur?” Dutch asked.

“Well, I don’t see we have a lot of choice,” Arthur said. “We linger around here, we know we’re dead.”

“But the plan?”

“We got a decent bunch. We know how to fight. Those city cops, they don’t seem so tough. As long as we move fast. I reckon doing it in the day, with a distraction. If that’s what Hosea is saying? It’s a good a plan as any.”

“I, I think I agree,” Dutch said.

“And we do it at night, there’s the drama of just getting into the bank,” Hosea said. “Can’t do that silently. They’ll pick us off far easier.”

“I know, I’m...I’m just making sure.”

“Every plan is a good plan if we execute it properly. Every problem we had was because we did not...execute...properly. Even Blackwater from my understanding.”

Dutch nodded. “You’re right.” He stood, looking between Sage, Hosea, and Arthur. “Let’s rob this bastard.” He got up, beginning to walk from the room. “Everyone get some rest. We ride out in the morning. Look smart. Travel light.”

The next day, everyone was preparing for the heist. Sage had left August with Tilly and Mary Beth, and now stood outside with Dutch and Abigail, dressed in one of her most beautiful, fancy dresses. Arthur walked out of the house, looking handsome as ever in his suit. He walked over to them.

“You got everything, Arthur?” Dutch asked as he approached his horse.

“Sure,” Arthur said.

“So…” Hosea began, as he climbed on one of the wagons with Abigail and Sage. “We rob ourselves a bank, and within six weeks, we’re living life anew in a tropical idyll, spending the last of our days as banana farmers? Let’s get out of this godforsaken place and go rob ourselves a bank!”

The gang cheered as they took off, Hosea, Sage, Abigail, Charles, and Bill on wagons, and Dutch, Arthur, Micah, Javier, Lenny, and John on horses.

“This is it, gentlemen. The last one,” Dutch called to his men as they rode.

“Where have we heard that before?” John asked.

“What has happened to you, John? You lost all your heart.”

“I’m just trying to stay real about all this.”

“‘Real’. Oh how I detest that word. So devoid of imagination.”

“How soon are we shipping out?” Micah asked.

“Soon as we get a passage organized. Boat down to Argentina and another around the cape.”

“What about the money in Blackwater? We’re just gonna leave that behind?”

“Forget that, it’s gone. You all talk like it’s the only goddamn money in the world. We’re gonna take that and more, take it from the people who take it from us. This isn’t some hick town, hundred dollar operation. This is a big city bank! Hosea has done his reconnaissance, we’ve been over this. The plan. One last time. Hosea, Abigail, and Sage draw out the police, we go in calm and fast. John and Lenny, secure the front doors. Javier takes the side exit. Bill, Micah, and Charles, control the crowd. Me and Arthur deal with the bank manager and vault. Got it?” The gang all gave out signs of approval. “Good. Alright, that’s enough talk. Let’s get this done.”

“Gentlemen, let us go ahead,” Hosea called back to the rest of them.

“How long do you need?” Dutch asked.

“Not long. Fifteen minutes or less. You’ll know by the noise. Any problems, we’ll see you in camp.”

Hosea drove the wagon faster, bringing their wagon into Saint Denis first. They rode without talking, not wanting to draw attention to their plan. Once they got to the location for their distraction, they hopped off the wagon. Hosea and Sage grabbed the dynamite off the back of the wagon and planted it.

“You ready, ladies?” Hosea asked.

“Ready as we’ll ever be,” Sage said.

Hosea, Sage, and Abigail lit the dynamite, then ran for cover. The building blew up, then the three of them began to make their escape. They ran through the streets as the law descended on the site of the explosion. As they ran, Sage spotted some men in familiar suits.

“Are those...Pinkertons?” she asked incredulously. “What are they doing here?”

“We can’t worry about that now,” Abigail said. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

“But the boys -”

“We have to get out of here!”

Abigail grabbed her hand as they ran through alleys and between buildings. Sage glanced behind her, looking to see if the Pinkertons or any cops had been following them - and gasped.

“Abigail, where’s Hosea?”

Abigail stopped, looking behind them. “Oh, god…” she said.

“We have to go find him.”

“We can’t, Sage. We have to get back to camp.”

“We can’t leave him!” Sage said, beginning to raise her voice. “Sage!” Abigail scolded. “We cannot. We need to get home. I don’t know if he was taken, but if he was, we can’t be taken, too. We have the rest of camp to worry about. We have our sons to worry about. Hosea can handle himself. We have to GO.”

Abigail grabbed her hand once again and began pulling her through the streets. Once they were far enough away, they began walking, trying not to draw attention to themselves. They stole some horses from outside the saloon and began riding back to camp.

The men didn’t return. Night descended, and Sage sat with Abigail, rocking August in her arms, both of them worrying about the rest of the boys, when they heard hooves approaching camp. Sage stood, seeing Charles riding in, looking exhausted. Abigail took August from her arms and Sage ran over to him, throwing her arms around his neck as he dismounted Taima. He wrapped his arms around her as well, holding her close.

“Oh, Charles,” she said. “You don’t know how happy I am to see you.”

Charles caressed her hair as he held her. “I’m here. We’re going to be okay.”

“Where’s everyone else?” she asked, looking up into his eyes. “Where’s Arthur? Where’s Dutch? And Hosea - did you see Hosea?”

Charles sighed. “Hosea...was captured, by the Pinkertons. He...didn’t make it. Neither did Lenny.”

“Oh, no,” Sage said, looking down. Charles caught her as her legs gave out, and she began sobbing. “We knew something had happened to him. He wasn’t behind us, but Abigail said we had to keep going. Oh, God, Charles, it was out fault.”

“It wasn’t your fault!” he said, his voice firm. “It wasn’t your fault,” he repeated, softer this time, sitting on the ground and pulling her into his lap. “The rest of the boys... they escaped on a boat. I created a distraction so they could get out of here. I...don’t know where they ended up, or when or if they’re coming back. But I do know they got out safe.”

“They’re...gone?” she said, her face buried into Charles’ neck, as if she was too afraid to open her eyes, too afraid that would make it real.

“Yes,” he said. He rubbed her back gently. “They’re gone.”

That night, Sage asked for Charles to stay with her. She hadn’t slept alone since joining the gang, and she was afraid to now. The house was big and empty without the rest of the guys there, and she didn’t want to be alone. Charles agreed, though he insisted he bring his bedroll and sleep on the floor - ever the gentleman. Sage slept more soundly with Charles there, and August slept soundly in his crib, unaware of any of what was going on around him. Unaware that his father was gone.

Sage cried herself to sleep that night, wondering if she would ever see Arthur, Dutch, Javier, Bill, or even Micah ever again.

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nightmareonfilmstreet · 6 years

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The Greatest Year in Horror Film History Part III: 1979

New Post has been published on https://nofspodcast.com/greatest-year-horror-film-history-part-iii-1979/

The Greatest Year in Horror Film History Part III: 1979

Imagine you are in a restaurant. You sit in a dark corner booth and check out the menu. The faint smell of cigarettes smoked long ago fills your nostrils and Thelonious Monk tickles your eardrums. Now, this isn’t some posh bistro in Paris or somewhere “Midwest fancy” (like an Arby’s) it’s just a no-name corner spot in a no-name town. At this restaurant, you order yourself the classic three-course meal of an appetizer, entree and dessert. You have done this hundreds of times in your life, but this time is different. This meal just so happens to start off with THE BEST chicken wings you’ve ever eaten. That’s followed up by THE BEST cheeseburger you’ve ever had, and you end the meal with THE BEST piece of apple pie you’ve ever tasted. Using basic logic, that would make this the greatest restaurant you’ve ever been to, right? So what does this have to do with the greatest year in horror film history?

Now imagine that this restaurant represents 1979, the number one year in horror film history. We can call it the greatest because it features three best-of-all-time films in their sub-genre, all packed within one magical year. Within its 365 days, this year gave us the best vampire, zombie and science-fiction horror films that have ever been made. Some may try to debate these claims, but luckily for us, we have the math to back us up.

Over the past few weeks, we have examined the #2 (1986) and #3 (2017) best years in horror film history. This week, as a final gift from me in 2017, we will be looking at the films that make 1979 the greatest year in horror film history. For those of you unfamiliar with our process, here’s a quick refresher:

OUR METHODOLOGY OR: HOW WE LEARNED TO STOP WORRYING AND LOVE EXCEL

We took a look at all of the horror films from 1970 to 2017. (The early 1970’s were a starting point for us because A) We needed one and B) The frequency of quality and iconic horror films really picked up during this time).

To determine a “score” for each year, we took a look at 5 different rating sources-

Rotten Tomatoes Tomatometer Score

RT Critic’s Average Rating

RT Audience Score

RT Audience Average Rating

IMDB Viewer Ratings

– These ratings were averaged to find the “Fiend Score” for each film. We then combined the Fiend Score of the top three horror films from each year to give that year a total. I admit, the selection of the top three films was sometimes difficult. It was necessary to take other factors into account, such as the size of release, box office total and iconic status to determine which films were included in the top three. These three films were totaled and given an official number which we are calling its “NOFS Score”. These NOFS Scores ranged anywhere from 142 (Ouch) to 255.

So, without further ado, The Greatest Year in Horror Film History is:

Part III- 1979

NOFS Score- 255

The 1970’s were a tumultuous time in the United States and abroad. This was especially true at the end of the decade, where marginalized groups struggled to find their place in society and were denied basic rights from the newly galvanized conservative movement. This directly led to an influx of horror cinema across the country, packing small-town theaters with those wishing to escape. The 1970’s produced some of the finest horror films ever made, like The Exorcist (1973), Halloween (1978) and The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974). Everything culminated in 1979, however, and we were given the greatest year in horror film history.

The horror films of 1979 are an amalgamation of the societal fears and attitudes toward authority the population felt all through the decade. Although horror has been an effective mirror for society throughout history, this is especially true for 1979. Here are the films with the top three Fiend Scores from that year:

#3- Nosferatu the Vampyre

Written and Directed By: Werner Herzog Starring: Klaus Kinski, Isabelle Adjani, Bruno Ganz

Fiend Score- 82

Werner Herzog’s Nosferatu the Vampyre is the best adaptation of Bram Stoker’s Dracula that has ever been made. Officially, it’s an adaptation-of-an-adaptation, but either way it far surpasses any other attempt at the story. Nosferatu (1922), directed by F.W. Murnau is gorgeous and iconic, but Herzog’s direction, cast and setting puts his version above the original. It is, quite simply, one of the most beautiful horror films ever produced.

Bruno Ganz, a man that has somehow found a way to look like Javier Bardem but talk like Tommy Wiseau, plays Jonathan Harker, a man sent to Count Dracula to sell a house. He and his beloved Lucy, played with an angelic ethereality by Isabelle Adjani, are thrust into harm’s way as the Count makes his way to town to set up shop. They are fine representations of their characters but are ultimately overshadowed by the performance of Kinski as Dracula.

He is not an attractive man who just happens to enjoy dark castles and dope capes. You cannot walk past him on the street and mistake him for yet another aristocratic gentleman. He is an animal, an apex predator than needs to hunt. Kinski plays the character with a hunger and a pent-up power that is unrivaled in the Dracula filmography. Herzog lights his sets so perfectly that even his bright-white complexion can be hidden from you if he so chooses. It is shown in several scenes that Dracula is capable of forcing you to do as he wishes. Harker is twice attacked and is unable to fully resist or remember it in the morning. Kinski’s vampire doesn’t resort to glamour or hypnosis, however, as he chooses to take what he wants and stare directly into your eyes as he takes it. The scenes where he enters the bedchambers of both Harker and Lucy are so chilling because of the hunger in Kinski’s eyes. It bores into the screen and creates an uneasiness in the viewer, almost as if he has triggered our prehistoric fight-or-flight response.

Nosferatu the Vampyre is required viewing for fans of vampires or horror in general. The film begins with actual mummified corpses from Mexico and only gets darker from there. Herzog fills every frame with a physical weight, forcing the audience to gasp to keep from asphyxiating. The scenery surrounding Harker as he journeys to Dracula’s castle, in any other film, would be gorgeous. In Herzog’s hands, however, every crag and rock looks like it is trying to keep Jonathan from finding the way. The wet trail would rather make it’s hiker slip and die than reach their destination. For to reach the castle they seek is a fate far, far worse than death.

#2- Dawn of the Dead

Written and Directed By: George A. Romero Starring: David Emge, Ken Foree, Scott Reininger

Fiend Score- 84

I remember the first time that I ever saw this film. I was way too young to be watching it, but when you’re in grade school and home alone sick with the flu, you watch whatever VHS tapes are at your disposal. Feeling OK (maybe I was just playing hookie? I can’t remember, but I wouldn’t put it past me), I made myself some lunch and popped in Dawn of the Dead. Many of the film’s central themes went way over my head, but the gore definitely did not. I distinctly remember feeling physically sick after watching the movie. So, I may have been faking my illness at first, but I was most definitely ill afterwards.

The film seems almost tame by today’s standards, but in 1979 it was a gore-fest unlike anything else in theaters. George A. Romero took what shocked audiences in his classic Night of the Living Dead (1968) and turned those scenes up to 11 and shot them in living color. Tom Savini, now regarded as one of the finest effects artists in horror film history, was still a young Vietnam War Veteran when tabbed for this film. His practical gore effects have gone down in history as some of the finest ever filmed, even with the crazy-bright fake blood that he hated so much.

The blood and guts made the film stood out for 8-year-old me, but its central theme of commercialism and the dehumanization of its survivors are what make the film so special today. Everyone knows that setting the film in a shopping mall was no accident, and Romero wanted to make a statement about how the need to buy material things turns us into inhuman beings. That message still works today, only you can now replace the shopping mall with the endless shelves of online shopping experiences. We stare at our screens and drool over (BRAINS!) digital images of things we absolutely must have or else we will surely perish. I like nice things, so I don’t really care what Romero has to say about my shopping habits, but the hedonism and greed that the survivors show is what interests me.

The ending of the film is almost inconsequential. It is the behaviors shown by the survivors of the worldwide epidemic that is what makes this film so powerful. The actions of the initial survivors and the stupid desperation of the motorcycle gang shaped what zombie films and television eventually became. At a certain point, it’s no longer about the reanimated dead, but how we interact with one another as survivors that makes zombie cinema so interesting. Without Dawn of the Dead, the zombie genre would have died out long ago and the horror genre as a whole would not be the same.

#1- Alien

Directed By: Ridley Scott Written By: Dan O’Bannon Starring: Sigourney Weaver, Tom Skerritt, John Hurt

Fiend Score- 89

Priority one: Insure return of organism for analysis. All other considerations secondary. Crew expendable.

So reads Special Order 937 from the fine folks at Weyland-Yutani. These fourteen words are the central driving force for an entire franchise that has now reached an incredible 8 films. It is also indicative of a sentiment many people felt in 1979. The government and corporations cannot be trusted and will do anything to further their reign and expand their power.

The film itself is a perfect horror movie. Some have called it a slasher film in space, likening the Xenomorph to everyone’s favorite terrestrial killing machine, Michael Myers. They have even compared the Nostromo to a haunted house. While this is completely valid, I have recently run across a point of view that paints the film in an entirely different light. You see, Alien isn’t a slasher, its a possession film.

The haunted house is not the freighter Nostromo, but instead the planet LV-426 where the crew encounters the abandoned alien spacecraft. They are sent to the ship because of a mysterious beacon, luring them in even though some may see it as a warning. The crew investigates the ship, then something attaches itself to Kane (Hurt). The others rush him back to the mother ship, which only allows it to spread and evolve, putting everyone else on the crew at risk. The Nostromo represents a host body, and the Xenomoph a possessing entity. Once invited in by the foreign agent Ash (here an android, but in other films shown as a demon or Satan himself), the entity systematically destroys everything that made the host unique and independent. As the final battle between Ripley and the beast showed us, the only way to survive a possession film is through exorcism.

Whatever lens you choose to view the film through, Alien remains one of the finest horror films ever made. It is tied with Silence of the Lambs (1991) as the film with the highest Fiend Score we calculated, and it launched the careers of Scott and Weaver. Although the on-board “computer” looks a little silly by today’s standards, the rest of the film holds up and is just as terrifying today as it was in 1979. Scott’s ability to film in tight, dark spaces is unparalleled, and the creature design by H.R. Giger is still regarded as the finest in horror film history. The bio-mechanical quality of the Xenomorph makes it difficult, especially when the ship’s lights begin to strobe, to distinguish what is ship and what is alien. This forces the audience to stay on edge and to constantly search behind the characters and down the dark hallways for the creature. It is a masterclass in film-making and suspense-building, and it led the way in making 1979 the greatest year in horror movie history.

Honorable Mentions:

We’ve determined that 2017, 1986 and 1979 were the top three years in horror film history, but what was the top decade? According to our calculations, the 1970’s carry the highest average NOFS Score at 224. Even though the current decade started poorly, 2016 (224) and 2017 (234) may be a sign of what’s to come in the next few years and it may push the 2010’s over the top.

Even though it is considered an all-time classic (for some reason), 1979’s The Amityville Horror didn’t quite crack the top-3 for the year. It finished with a lowly Fiend Score of 50.

1979 also gave us David Cronenberg’s The Brood (Fiend Score– 71), Phantasm (Fiend Score– 69) and When a Stranger Calls (Fiend Score– 52). Not all of these are are earth-shatteringly good films, but all have become iconic movies that are must-watches for horror fans.

Although it was only a made-for-TV miniseries, Tobe Hooper’s Salem’s Lot also premiered in 1979. I mention this exclusively for the bedroom window scene. I still have nightmares about that one.

Dis-Honorable Mentions:

Whenever you are crunching the numbers, looking to find the “Best Of” anything, you inevitably discover the “Worst Of”. Here are the worst years in horror film history-

Although 2015 gave us The Babadook (and we say thankya), the year as a whole came in as the #3 worst year of all time with an NOFS Score of only 152. The other films from that year were poorly received, including Annabelle (Fiend Score– 44) and Ouija (Fiend Score– 31).

The number two worst year in horror film history was 1989, which finished with an NOFS Score of 149. The top-three films for that year ended up being Pet Sematary (Fiend Score– 58), Puppet Master (Fiend Score– 48) and A Nightmare on Elm Street 5: The Dream Child (Fiend Score– 48).

Last and definitely least, the worst year in horror film history was 1995! Demon Knight (Fiend Score– 55), Species (Fiend Score– 45) and Village of the Damned (Fiend Score– 41) were the top three films of the year, totaling an NOFS Score of only 142.

Join the Discussion:

So, there you have it! 1979 is officially the greatest year in horror film history. What do you think about our findings? Head over to our Official Facebook Group and let us know! Where would you rank these years? What do you think makes the 1970’s the best decade for horror? Do you think the 1980’s should be above it? Put on your thinkin’ caps and tell us your opinions!

#alien #amityville horror #dawn of the dead #demon knight #george romero #greatest year in horror film history #horror #horror films #nosferatu the vampyre #phantasm #ridley scott #Salem's Lot #sigourney weaver #species #the brood #village of the damned #werner herzog #when a stranger calls

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thisfuckingdork · 3 months

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It's about consistency

#Really liked the first ep of Deadlaws will probs watch the 2nd later tonight #my art #deadlaws #cape escape #cape escape Javier #cape escape Goose #Nicodemus Proctor #deadlaws nicodemus #Marrow Hyena #I thought this was funny

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thisfuckingdork · 5 months

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There is no lighthouse.

#Wanted to make a poster :P #spent like literally all day just working on this lol #I love these funky fellas #my art #poster #Cape Escape #cape escape Grayson #cape escape Javier #cape escape Jet #cape escape Sandals #cape escape MANIFESTO #MANIFESTO

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thisfuckingdork · 3 months

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Drinkable Sandals

#very very VERY much looking forward to the VN-ification of Cape Escape #the writing in the promo is so good!!!#Been really enjoying drawing these more body-horrory monsters so I just had to draw this scene from the promo #my art #cape escape #cape escape Sandals #cape escape Javier #cape escape development hell #gnollplaying games #tw blood #tw body horror

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thisfuckingdork · 6 months

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#Updated some of my old cape escape sketches #love these funky fellas #Watch Gnollplayinggames’ Cape Escape if you haven’t already (threat)#it’s got phenomenal production value and is quite a hoot #they even got McSkinny (of echo project fame) playing a Luchador (not pictured here)#My art #Cape Escape #Cape Escape Javier #Cape Escape Jet #Cape Escape Sandals #Chase Hunter

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thisfuckingdork · 4 months

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#😱⬆️⭕️😱 CAPE ESCAPE SEASON 2 LEAK (real) (not click bait) (3am)?! 😱⬆️⭕️😱#have a low effort trace meme on me <3 #cape escape #arches vn #Echo project #cape escape sandals #cape escape Javier #cape escape MANIFESTO #MANIFESTO #My art #< I guess?#I didn’t forget the tails this time (^:

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thisfuckingdork · 27 days

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Final 2 Cape Escape Jokers and the Full Pack

Manifesto - "Amateur Showoff: Reverse Hand Base Scoring order up to the highest played hand this run"

Sandals - "Burning Bridges: Upgrade first played poker hand hand each round, decrease every other hand"

#These were so much fun to make #and I have 19 hours tracked drawing these joker cards and 13 actually playing balatro #a game I bought on sunday 5 days ago #this has consumed my midsemester break #my art #cape escape #cape escape manifesto #MANIFESTO #cape escape sandals #cape escape grayson #cape escape javier #cape escape jet #gnollplaying games

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nightmareonfilmstreet · 6 years

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The Greatest Year in Horror Film History Part III: 1979

New Post has been published on https://nofspodcast.com/greatest-year-horror-film-history-part-iii-1979/

The Greatest Year in Horror Film History Part III: 1979

OUR METHODOLOGY OR: HOW WE LEARNED TO STOP WORRYING AND LOVE EXCEL

To determine a “score” for each year, we took a look at 5 different rating sources-

Rotten Tomatoes Tomatometer Score

RT Critic’s Average Rating

RT Audience Score

RT Audience Average Rating

IMDB Viewer Ratings

So, without further ado, The Greatest Year in Horror Film History is:

Part III- 1979

NOFS Score- 255

#3- Nosferatu the Vampyre

Written and Directed By: Werner Herzog Starring: Klaus Kinski, Isabelle Adjani, Bruno Ganz

Fiend Score- 82

#2- Dawn of the Dead

Written and Directed By: George A. Romero Starring: David Emge, Ken Foree, Scott Reininger

Fiend Score- 84

#1- Alien

Directed By: Ridley Scott Written By: Dan O’Bannon Starring: Sigourney Weaver, Tom Skerritt, John Hurt

Fiend Score- 89

Priority one: Insure return of organism for analysis. All other considerations secondary. Crew expendable.

Honorable Mentions:

Even though it is considered an all-time classic (for some reason), 1979’s The Amityville Horror didn’t quite crack the top-3 for the year. It finished with a lowly Fiend Score of 50.

Although it was only a made-for-TV miniseries, Tobe Hooper’s Salem’s Lot also premiered in 1979. I mention this exclusively for the bedroom window scene. I still have nightmares about that one.

Dis-Honorable Mentions:

Whenever you are crunching the numbers, looking to find the “Best Of” anything, you inevitably discover the “Worst Of”. Here are the worst years in horror film history-

Join the Discussion:

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