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#pink cowboy hat 🤠

the-kr8tor · 28 days

Note

I finally caved in. Hello Katy may I request cowboy Hobie with a farmer reader who live on a ranch together. (That’s the main idea but you could change or add anything also your choice to make it angsty/fluff etc.). 🤠

Cowboy! Hobie request let's gooooo!!! Thank you for requesting! 😘

Pairing: Cowboy! Hobie Brown x Fem! Reader

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, Cowboy AU, Western AU, established relationship, lovestruck Hobie, FLUFF.

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

You're ogling. It's not a crime to ogle your partner per se but with how your horse Luna is currently side-eyeing you whilst you brush her mane, ogling should be illegal. Or at least in your shared ranch. How could you not ogle Hobie when he looks like that?

You sigh deeply, eyes shaped like hearts at his glistening chest. Sweat dripping on his skin like tiny diamonds sparkling in the heat of the golden sun. His arm muscles are prominent as he heaves heavy hay bales over his shoulder. The blue jeans he's currently sporting hugs his legs perfectly like it was tailored only for him. Belt buckle glimmering, a dark cowboy hat protecting him from the sun, and dark cowboy boots to match— you should be arrested by how your eyes are glued to him and him only— even though your animals need your attention.

He knows that you're staring with how his pierced lips subtly curl into a smirk and how he's currently making an effort to stay in your line of sight even though the hay bales definitely don't need to be placed a few feet away from the field to the barn. He has been going back and forth for a while that he feels like his feet have carved a path on the dusty field.

You sigh longingly again and Luna has had enough of you. She huffs loudly, air coming out of her pink nose, head bumping yours to get your attention when her neighing couldn't.

“Hey, girl, what's your problem?” You pat her nose to calm her down. She kicks at the dusty ground, making sure her annoyance is palpable. “Carrots right, sorry.”

You swear you heard Hobie chuckle. But when you turn to look at him, he's currently busy with stacking hay, seemingly unaware. He hides his grin behind the shadow of his hat.

Feeding Luna her favourite treat, she happily chews noisily. Craning your neck to go back to the gun show, you knit your eyebrows to see his usual spot empty.

“Lookin' for me?” Hobie scares the tumbleweeds out of you. He pokes your side, making you jump in place. “You were starin’ a bit too hard. I swear there's holes on my back havin' the same shape as your eyeballs. At this point you gotta pay me, sweetheart.” He shoots you a wink, adding to your quickening heartbeat. Going around the pale horse, his smirk never leaves his face.

He leans over Luna's saddle, face perched on his hands with a smile that could stop someone's heart. Tilting his head, eyebrows raised, he waits for your clever reply. There's only crickets singing in your head with how he looks at you like you hung the sun for him. He just stares at you lovingly, perfectly content, perfectly happy even with all the grime dusted on his chiseled cheeks.

You feel like you've fallen for him all over again.

Copying his movements, you lean over Luna's saddle, facing him with the same love and softness he's currently showing just for you.

After what seemed like hours has passed just from throwing each other heart eyes from looking, you finally speak with a tone that Hobie could only describe as lovestrucked.

“Do I get a discount at least?”

He sucks in his teeth with fake annoyance. “Nah, don't think so, love. You can only see these muscles right here.” Patting his bicep, you laugh.

He thinks he's in heaven.

“That’s true, the sight alone is a rare commodity around here.”

Reaching for your hand, indulging himself with your mere touch, he intertwines your fingers together with his, like vines that grow and weave around each other, never letting go.

“You good? Heat isn't killing you?” He asks you like he's not the one toiling away outside with the sun bearing down at him.

You shake your head, bringing his hand up to your lips to reassure him. You feel the raised skin atop his knuckles, taking extra care, you kiss each one gently. “Nope, I'm melting but I can handle it.”

“Melting from the heat or from the show I gave you?”

You giggle, rolling your eyes, it's his turn to press a sweet kiss over your knuckles. “I should be the one asking you that. You alright? You're sweating a lot.” Wiping his forehead, he closes his eyes, his smile deepens with every wipe.

“Got it all?”

“Mm-hmm”

“Now do my pits,” He raises his arms above his head. “they're awfully sweaty, sweetheart.” He jokes with a deep chuckle.

Hobie expects for you to flinch away, or even screech and run away but you just shrug. “Sure,” your acceptance has him flabbergasted and endeared. “I've cleaned blood off of you, sweat is nothing compared to that.”

“Holy shit,” he says softly, almost a whisper as he goes around Luna to come near you— impossibly near as he holds your face in his hands. You don't mind the smell of hay clinging to his palms or sweat as you lean to his touch, eyes shining and full of affection for the man before you. “You think the reverend is free today?”

Chuckling, you knit your eyebrows in confusion. “What? Why?”

“So I could marry you today.” He says it with certainty that you're sure it's not the heat that has your legs almost crumbling. “Obviously.”

If horses could roll their eyes, Luna would be doing it right now.

109 notes · View notes

tipsyleaf · 18 days

Note

Ever since you mentioned Death Island cowboy Leon, suddenly I’ve suddenly turned country! 🤠

Think about it—having a ranch with Leon, raising cute little cow, chickens, pigs, goats, sheep, etc. (He’d definitely surprise you with the cutest baby cow or something. 🥹)

Oh it would be a dream! Think about the dates he’d take the two of you on! There’s never a dull day with that man.

Definitely a lot of horse back riding dates—riding through the mountains as the Texas sun starts to set below the horizon, Shades of pink, purple, blue, orange, and red would paint the sky, making you look so angelic with that extra sparkle in your eye. Arms wrapped around his torso, head pressed against his muscular back from all that hard work he did daily. His horse (Which he named Whiskey. Duh.) would gently trot up the mountain, a couple wildflowers and weeds lining the path as a comfortable silence was acknowledged by both you and him before he finally broke it.

“Look’s pretty right?”

He asked as he turned back to look at you, white cowboy hat preventing the sunlight to cast down on his face.

“Mhm…Real pretty.”

You reply softly, lifting your head up and giving him a small nod with that pretty smile of yours

“Not as pretty as you though.”

- Anon! 🎀

(P.S. Sorry for giving you such long ask’s…Can’t help it pookie! 😣)

(YW for the brain rot! And no please I love long asks, it's something good to rift off of and my creative juices flowing.)

Imagine his coming into the house with something behind his back and when you finally ask his what he's got, he just shows you a brand new piglet...

I would start sobbing they're so cute 😭

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zacharybosch · 10 months

Text

Tell Me if You Feel It

Through the fire, Stede’s eyes and the pearly snaps of his neat shirt glint in the flickering light. “Something about me, like what?”

Fresh, is the word that immediately springs to mind, along with soft and bouncy and unspoiled, and Ed doesn’t say any of them. “Just something. Not a bad thing. Nice to have someone I can show the ropes to.”

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hello and welcome to my ed/stede brokeback mountain AU! E-rated, 7k one-shot, nobody dies but it is bittersweet ❤

title is from Supermoon by case/lang/veirs, please also check out my spotify playlist for some additional sad cowboy vibes

🤠

read Tell Me if You Feel It below or on ao3!

🤠

The great flock of sheep rolls across the high pasture like clouds on a stormy afternoon. It’s a cooler summer than most he’s had in his so-far short life, colder still up here on the face of the mountain, and Ed tucks his jacket a little tighter about his body. He twists his mouth to curtail his smile as he watches Stede, this shiny well turned-out boy, trotting circles around the herd and standing in the saddle to show off and wave his pretty little hat, high peals of laughter carrying away on the wind. Ed’s not been up here since the start of the season, his role as camp tender requiring him to stay further down the mountain, but the sheep needed fresh grazing and moving a flock this size takes more than one man. Nice to have some company for the day besides, and Stede seems happy enough to have him there.

Ed chews on the cheroot sticking out of his mouth. He won’t light it yet; only got a few left and the man from the ranch isn’t due to meet them with supplies for a couple more days, but he savours the taste, bitter tobacco and something leathery and old. His horse, a sweet-tempered mare with a ruddy chestnut coat, whickers softly and shifts her hooves against the earth. Impatient to be off, tired of the saddle and the man on her back, but Ed rubs a soothing hand on her neck and she’ll stop and wait for as long as she’s told.

Stede comes trotting over, pink cheeks puffing out beneath the wide brim of his hat, and his own piebald mare flicks her eyes at Ed. “Beans for supper?” he asks, even though he doesn’t have to, since they’ve been up here a month now and consistently eat through the good stuff days before the next scheduled supply run.

Ed plucks the cheroot from between his lips and tucks it behind his ear. “Beans for supper,” he agrees, then clicks his tongue and presses in with his legs and points his horse on the trail back to camp, knowing Stede will follow behind.

At camp, Stede brushes down the horses while Ed gets the fire going. Some of the firewood’s a little damp and Ed mutters idle curses as he tries to encourage the struggling flame, but soon enough it starts to catch and he slowly adds logs until it’s burning strong and bright.

The beans aren’t so bad. They cook them in the cans and eat from them too, spoons clacking against the cheap metal, no point dirtying pots and bowls for this. Stede always looks thoughtful when he eats, and Ed supposes it’s because this is all a novel experience for him; it’s clear Stede comes from money, with his jeans still dark and stiff at the seams, boots that have only just now started to crease after a month of wear, gold and teal stitching bright on the shaft. Begs the question why Stede is even here, what a well-heeled boy like him could possibly be looking for up in the wild mountains.

They’ve talked some in the month they’ve been up here, although not much and never for long. Practical concerns mostly, what the weather’s doing and which horse has a stone in its shoe and how soon should they move the sheep on to the next pasture, never going too personal save for one time Ed caught sight of a coyote prowling the camp, big son of a bitch that had already taken several of their lambs, grabbed his .30-30 Winchester and got it clean between the eyes first try, and Stede whooped and hollered and breathlessly asked where he learned to shoot like that. Only one other time he’s taken a shot that clean and Stede wouldn’t like it if he knew about it, so he just shrugged the question away and kept his talk superficial, tended the camp and minded his business while Stede rode in and out each morning and evening.

Stede’s not the kind of company Ed would normally choose to keep; always difficult to know where you are with white boys, not to mention rich ones, even if they smile and shake your hand with a litany of pleasantries, and it’s oftentimes too much work to stay on their good side with no reward to show for it so Ed just doesn’t bother. But it’s been lonely up here too, and the solitude can eat a man up from the inside out if he’s not careful about it. Ed needs company more than he cares to admit, and over the metal scrape of spoons in cans and the jumping crackle of the fire, he starts to think maybe that need could be met.

He kicks the conversation off with the blandest thing he can say, safe and cautious and still more personal than anything he’s allowed in the past month. “Did this last summer, the herding. Thinking I might go for next year too, if they’ll have me back again.”

Stede immediately perks up, sitting to get a better look at Ed across the fire, pushing his hat back with an excited, thoughtless gesture. “An old hand then, are you? It’s my first time here.”

Ed looks down at his can and smiles as he scoops up the dregs of food. “I can tell,” he says, and maybe it’s the wrong thing to say, because that’s just the kind of inoffensive and gentle poking that gets boys like Stede so wound up, so he qualifies it with, “Not that I mean anything by that. Just something about you.”

Through the fire, Stede’s eyes and the pearly snaps of his neat shirt glint in the flickering light. “Something about me, like what?”

“You are good with the sheep. They’ll be pleased when it’s your turn up the mountain, I think.”

“I spent my whole damn life sleeping with sheep, been nice to get away from them for a while to be honest,” which isn’t all that honest, because Ed finds a good deal of comfort in the dumb beasts with their serene yellow eyes and distant, soft bleating. Growing up on a lonely, windswept ranch, earth blown flat in every direction as far as the eye could see, no children about and no safe place to be other than wandering with the sheep, far from the house and the darkness that lived inside.

“My daddy owns ranches, but we never lived on one,” Stede says, as though plucking Ed’s memory from his head and placing his own alongside it. “A whole lot of them, all across the state. He worked hard to make a good life for our family and now he hates me for enjoying that life, hates me for not working hard like he did. Thought he might like it if I put some work in here, lighten up his dim view of me.”

“Is that so,” Ed says, face neutral and heart beating at Stede’s honest, ready admission.

“I hope I’m doing a good job.”

If a man can hate his own son for the simple fact of his existence, then there’s no job in the world that can be done good enough to gain his favour back. Stede is still trying to shut that barn door, but Ed knows the horse has already bolted. “You are.”

Stede smiles at him across the fire, a forlorn thing that doesn’t reach his eyes. “That’s kind of you to say, Ed. I know I could do better.” Quiet settles between them for a minute, just the crackle of the wood and the rush of sparks as the pile of logs collapses in on itself a little more. “To tell you the truth, Ed, I’m dreading going back home at the end of the summer. I don’t think he’s waiting for my return. Pleased to be rid of me, most likely.”

Nothing Ed can say to that, nothing real that will make a lick of difference. What platitudes can he give when his own father hated him just as much? “Do just fine on your own, I reckon. A man’s gotta leave home some time, anyway. Better to do it now, strike out when you’re young.”

“Is that what you’re doing?”

“In a way. Choice was made for me, really.” Normally Ed wouldn’t go into it, or he’d spin some fanciful yarn about seeking his fortune, answering the call of the big wide world. But Stede told him something true, and Ed wants to give a truth back. “My folks aren’t around. Old man kicked it some years ago. Mama went last year, bank tried to take the ranch to pay off all the debts we got left with, stress of trying to fight it sent her to the grave earlier than she should’ve gone and then the bank just took the ranch anyway. I put some work in at a few places since then and they’ve usually been willing enough to give me a space to lay my head at night.” Ed pushes the long tail of his braided hair away over his shoulder, taps his spoon against the side of his empty can, anything to do that isn’t looking at Stede’s open, interested face. “Do just fine on my own.”

“It’s lonely, I suppose.”

“Yeah. Can be.”

Ed isn’t quite twenty; Stede only just. Little more than boys really, too young still to be carrying this kind of weight with no idea yet how to ease their burdens, but it’s good to have a friend where they hadn’t thought to find one.

Spoons rinsed in the stream, blue shadows stretching long over the packed earth of their camp, Stede wheels his horse about in the muted dusk light and canters off up the trail to spend the night with the sheep. A week or so more and they’ll switch, and Ed will be the one to sleep up on that lonely mountain slope, while Stede stays and tends the hearth with a tent big enough for two. He wonders if Stede will ever glance up to watch Ed riding about on the slopes, a little dark spot in the steep meadows, the same way Ed has been watching Stede.

He sits up a while and smokes his cheroot in the gathering gloom. It eats through the stock of firewood, and he’ll have to spend most of tomorrow replenishing it, but he keeps the campfire going until long after night has fallen, a pinprick beacon for Stede to look down at and know someone is waiting for his return.

Stede comes in to camp mid-morning, just as the chill starts to yield to the heat of the day. Ed is down in the stream at the camp’s edge, freezing naked in the shallows as he crouches to wash his only shirt and the rest of his body, and he hears the sound of hooves but doesn’t look up at it. Stede will grab some food and refill his canteen, take a few minutes to go into the tent under the pretence of putting on a clean shirt but Ed knows it’s so Stede can fix his hair with a fresh helping of pomade, and then he’ll head back on up the trail to spend another day with the sheep.

But this time Stede lingers, comes out of the tent with his new shirt and neat hair and circles ponderously round the campsite. He glances repeatedly at Ed, fusses with his gloves and the horse’s bridle, and then decides he needs to freshen up at the stream as well and Ed wonders, dangerously, why.

Ed scrubs the hard bar of soap under his arms, splashes at them with the icy mountain water, then pulls his hair from its tight braid and wraps the red cord tie around his wrist for safekeeping. The color is vivid against his skin as he combs wet fingers through his hair, shaking out the grit and dust of the trails. Upstream, gaze drawn by the bright slash of color or maybe something else altogether, Stede watches, and turns away when he’s caught.

“See if I can’t shoot us a couple of cottontails, have us a nice supper tonight,” Stede says, as he pats water from his face with the sleeve of his jacket and goes to haul himself back up into the saddle. “Maybe the good whiskey, too. Still a few drops left.”

They won’t be eating rabbit tonight, Ed knows for a certainty. Stede can hit a big slow target and not much more than that, but there’s no good reason to snuff out his optimism and besides, the whiskey is good. “I’ll skin ‘em,” Ed says, as Stede’s already cantering away, and only when the sound of hoofbeats has melted into the forest does he rise from the stream and lay his wet shirt out on the banks to dry.

He spends the day replenishing the stock of firewood, shivering at first with no shirt to wear and then sweating as the sun beats hot on his back and the exertion of the axe takes its toll. He chops, and thinks about the little travel case filled with Stede’s shirts and stowed in the corner of the big tent, how he could just go in there and take one and wear it. He chops, and wonders what Stede was thinking when he packed it, if he could’ve known how anyone else out here with him besides Ed would’ve sneered and judged him for it. He chops, and thinks about fine blue cotton, white piping, pearly snap buttons.

Early evening, with the sky just beginning to drain pale and his own threadbare check shirt dry and back on his shoulders, Ed is half-heartedly wondering if it isn’t too late to ride down to the river to try and catch a fish or two when Stede comes trotting into camp with a brace of rabbits hanging from his saddle. He holds them aloft triumphantly, grinning at Ed, and Ed laughs, short and loud and full of delight. “You got ‘em!” he says, and slaps Stede’s thigh because that’s what’s in reach.

“I got them,” Stede replies, pride in his voice, and his leg is solid, flexing briefly under Ed’s touch before the mare walks on towards the hitching post.

The campfire catches easily and builds to a strong blaze in no time at all. Ed skins and dresses the rabbits with the quick, thoughtless efficiency of muscle memory, and soon enough they’re enjoying the richest meal they’ve had all month, washed down with the whiskey passing liberally back and forth. Stede pulls out a harmonica, this ridiculous and luridly-painted thing that Ed had inwardly rolled his eyes at first time he saw it, but Stede’s good humour for it is infectious and Ed husks out a few bars of some silly country song, voice stumbling a little over the words and inventing those he can’t remember.

Night rolls in without them even noticing, too caught up in the simple pleasure of good food, good whiskey, and a good companion to share it with. Stede is sparking like a fire and wobbly on his feet, and insists for at least a minute that he’ll still go and ride up to the sheep, but then he looks at the dark line of trees and the charcoal shadow of the mountain against the sky and decides a blanket down here by the fire will do him just fine.

“I’ll just curl up here by the fire, grab a little shut-eye and be right as rain before you know it. I’ll go up to the sheep at first light.”

“You’ll freeze your fuckin’ balls off out here,” Ed says, head buzzing and handing over a blanket anyway. “Just come sleep in the tent.”

“No, it’s your tent, Ed, I couldn’t impose. Besides, nothing like forty winks under the stars. Invigorating!”

Ed sighs, drops a couple more logs onto the campfire, and bids Stede goodnight. A brief hour or two later, awoken by the wild yipping howl of a coyote and then kept awake by the incessant chattering of Stede’s teeth, Ed sticks his head out of the tent flap and demands Stede quit his shivering and get inside. The campfire’s burnt down to softly glowing embers, and Stede rises quickly, as though already poised and ready and simply waiting for the invitation. He stumbles towards Ed through the messy remains of their supper, and once inside he sighs relief into the blankets. Ed shifts to make a little more room, and they both settle back into sleep.

The stars wheel across the sky, chased by a moon that’s one day from full. The horses, pleased to be spending the night together, nuzzle and lean into each other at the hitching post. Partially-burnt logs crumble and sink a little deeper into the ashy remains of the campfire, as the last of the embers slowly dim and wink out of existence.

Unthinking in the dark of the tent, blurry with sleep and moving on instinct, Ed reaches behind himself to find Stede’s arm and curl it around his torso. It’s good for a few moments, nestling back as he’s pulled closer, warm and comfortable with Stede’s breath puffing softly against the nape of his neck, and then it’s not; Stede stiffens and bolts upright, panicked. Ed, quick to wake and reckless, sits up and reaches for him, and reaches again when Stede reflexively pushes his hand away.

They hang for a moment perfectly still, eyes locked across a short distance that stretches for miles. Then Ed pulls hard at the sheepskin jacket he’s been sleeping in, yanks it off his shoulders and he thinks Stede gets it now, can see understanding in the shadow of his eyes as Stede grabs and holds him tight at arm’s length, taught on a string ready to snap. Moving carefully, like he does with skittish horses and barking dogs, Ed wraps his fingers around Stede’s wrist and drags his thumb over the thin skin, pressing into his hammering pulse.

It’s all Stede needs. He pulls Ed towards him, and breathing hard in each other’s space, they fall quick into the steps of a dance that Ed knows well and Stede is learning as he goes. Ed’s already unbuckling and unbuttoning, jeans loose and open as he gets to his hands and knees. Stede fights with his own belt, lets the hiss of his zip fly say the words that his mouth can’t form yet, but he’s moving no less fast or urgent, pulling at clothing to clear the way, and then he’s right there pressing hot and hard against Ed’s body.

It’s rough, easing the way on nothing but spit and a prayer, but Ed can take it, he’s done it before. Likes it like this sometimes, feeling it the day after and knowing it happened. Stede’s breath is on his neck again, short and sharp and hot like the hand that yanked his jeans down to his thigh.

This is the only way it could’ve happened. Maybe they’ll do it again and take their time to roll in the blankets all soft and sweet, but it had to start with this; rough handling in the dark, driving forwards eyes shut, taking the most direct route to the other side where possibility lay waiting for them.

Ed’s never come so quick or untouched before, the immediacy of the encounter overloading his brain and sending him straight there when he barely has his wits about him. Above, pressed tight along his back, Stede grabs Ed’s waist to steady himself as his own hips grind and stutter and still.

For a few breaths neither of them move, and then Ed’s shaky arms give out beneath him and he sinks to the blanket. Stede says nothing as he slips abruptly from Ed’s body, but he lays down too and curls in towards Ed with a careful few inches between them. The tent is hot from their exertion and Ed can feel every single part of his body fevered and glowing and alive, but he doesn’t move, just keeps his eyes shut and breathes in and out, deep and slow. In the humid air, beneath the weathered canvas and above the musty blankets, Stede smells like horse, dry grass, and the good whiskey.

Rain came and went at some point in the night, and Stede rides out early the next morning with hardly a word, disappearing into the dripping trees. Ed takes his chestnut mare and two of the pack mules down to the road at the river crossing, picking their way carefully down the mountainside over the steaming, fecund earth, meets the man from the ranch and loads up their supplies for the next week. Ed wonders if the man can tell, if he can look at Ed and see the mark of Stede’s hands on his hips, the scalding red burn of his breath on the back of his neck, sore to the touch and wanting it.

The man from the ranch sniffs as he reads over Ed’s request list for the next delivery, mutters just like he always does that he’ll have a hard time getting it, but he’ll be back next week with most everything they’re asking for. He sniffs again, nods to himself, dismissing Ed with no parting look or word and gets in his dusty pick-up to drive off. Ed climbs back into his saddle and begins the long trek back to camp, the river rushing loud in his ears.

Back at camp, Ed busies himself stowing the provisions and brushing down his horse and the braying mules, and more times than he cares to admit looking up the mountain to catch a glimpse of Stede, a tiny speck in the great swathes of green and white and grey.

The golden hour before sunset is just beginning to spread its burnished light across the clearing and Stede still hasn’t arrived back to camp yet, but Ed knows he’ll come and knows why he’s leaving it late. He gets the fire going, puts yesterday’s rabbit bones in a pot with water from the stream, peels and slices a few potatoes with his sharp little knife, opens one can each of some over-processed, under-colored meat and vegetables. It all goes into the pot, perched precariously on the grill stand above the fire. There was a block of lard and some flour with the new supplies, coarse stuff that the ranch owner’s wife likely didn’t want, and Ed thinks he can probably cobble together a fair enough dough for biscuits to cook on the hot stones at his feet. He doesn’t know exactly what it is that he’s preparing for supper, but he’s thinking harder about it than he’s probably thought about anything in his life and he wants Stede to like it.

When the hoofbeats come the sky is pink and orange, grey-lavender clouds gilded copper at the edges. Normally one for a perky little trot or canter, Stede enters camp at a slow walk, reins in one hand and something small and curious bundled in the other. He slides from the saddle, ties his horse to the hitching post and pats her briefly on the neck, leaning in when she presses against him.

At the fire, Stede looks at the two logs that serve as their benches, and sits on the one where Ed isn’t. It’s not a statement, just nerves, and Ed looks at what Stede’s got in his hand: a few scrubby little wildflowers, small bursts of petals in yellow, purple, white.

“From up on the mountain,” Stede says, even though there’s nowhere else he’s been today. He reels off their names and starts to go into the Latin too, then seems to think better of it and says instead, “Not much to look at but they smell sweet as anything.”

Ed puffs on his cheroot, flips his lighter end over end between thumb and fingers while he considers the stew bubbling over the fire, then takes the can that held the processed vegetables and holds it out silently to Stede. The flowers go into the can, Ed stands the can on the log bench, and he can see Stede’s smile from the corner of his eye.

They talk little while they eat around the fire, mopping up stew with Ed’s middling attempt at stone biscuits, sharing a can of peaches in syrup for dessert with no small amount of skittering glances and almost-touches, not drinking the whiskey despite having a new bottle and waiting patiently for it to be too dark for Stede to ride out to the sheep. Speech comes in stops and starts, shying at intimacies, until Stede says, “I have a gal back home. You know.”

“Yeah,” Ed says, knowing the script, “so do I,” even though he doesn’t have a gal and doesn’t want a gal, but knows that he should and knows that one day he’ll have to.

“We’re just— passing the time.”

“Yeah,” Ed says again. “Scratching an itch.” But if Stede gets the itch the way Ed does then it takes a damn lot of scratching and ends up worse than when you started. All you wanna do is scratch and can’t think of nothing else.

They don’t discuss it any further than that, and why would they, what need is there? They both know what they’re doing and no-one else is up here to demand an explanation of them. It’s nobody’s business but theirs.

Night is fully upon them, the sky deep and black and fathomless with no trace of the lingering sun; just the blazing spray of stars and the huge, glowing moon, bathing everything silver and blue. It’s their permission to look at each other, look away, look again and hold it this time. Ed goes first, takes the little kerosene lamp and lays himself down in the golden tent with his bare back on the scratchy wool blanket, and knows Stede will follow.

When Stede comes he pauses at the tent flap, hat in his hands, shy as a gentleman asking a sweetheart if he may have this dance. Ed sits up and reaches for him like he did last night, but this time Stede doesn’t push away, just lets Ed guide him in, touch his cheek and bump their noses together, rasping stubble as their mouths move haltingly in something that wants to be a kiss but isn’t quite there yet. Stede clings to Ed like he can’t stand the fact that eventually he’ll have to let go, and Ed whispers “it’s alright, it’s alright,” just a breath in the still air around them, no louder than the campfire that crackles beyond the tent.

They ease down to the blanket, propped on their elbows, face to face and a scant inch between their bodies, legs tentatively brushing and beginning to entwine. Ed rests his palm softly against Stede’s chest, circles a finger around the pearly snaps on his shirt, and pops them one by one at Stede’s slow nod. Stede still has his boots on; Ed’s toes curl and stretch in his bunched woollen socks.

The tail of Ed’s braid hangs over his shoulder and trails against his chest, endlessly pushed aside during the day but somehow always finding its way back, and when Stede puts his fingers to it Ed thinks he’ll just push it aside again; but instead Stede takes one end of the red tie cord between his fingertips, and pulls slowly, gently, until it slips from Ed’s hair. Ed holds so still, a faintly disbelieving puff of breath escaping his lips as Stede puts the cord aside and strokes tentative fingers through the already unravelling braid.

“Look at that,” Stede murmurs, the fluffy wave of Ed’s hair now completely loose and tumbling over his bare shoulder, the scent of woodsmoke mingled in the strands. “Lovely.”

“Don’t need to charm me,” Ed says shakily, wanting all of Stede’s charm and more besides.

“I know,” Stede says, soft and a little bashful, like he hopes Ed will allow him the indulgence anyway. “Have you done this before?”

There’s already a tacit agreement between them that this summer up here on the mountain exists outside of time and the real world, different rules and different lives and a different way to think of things. But asking about real life is dangerous, and even knowing this the desire to answer still claws raggedly in Ed’s throat, desperate to be given voice. Instead, he kisses Stede properly, hard and insistent. He’ll figure it out in his own time, whether the realization comes tomorrow morning or ten years down the road, Stede will think back on this and he’ll know that Ed has done it before.

Ed slips a hand beneath the fabric of Stede’s shirt and peels him out of it, his warm fingertips chasing away the last of the nighttime chill that still lingers on Stede’s skin. They lie down and pull their bodies flush and begin to move on instinct, thighs slotted together, a slow exploratory grind of hands and hips while they kiss and kiss and kiss. Stede makes noises, tiny breathless things, and he does what they both did the night before and wordlessly pulls open the button of his waistband, sends the zip fly hissing down.

Another breath, another moment of stillness to stop and look at each other; Ed drags his eyes from Stede’s face to his open jeans and back again, and Stede blinks and licks his lips and nods.

Ed curls his hand inside the denim, sliding over the soft, furry skin of Stede’s backside, and he squeezes and Stede cries out and then they kiss, again, wet and hungry. Ed grabs and pulls and Stede goes where Ed hauls him, sliding a leg up and over to straddle Ed’s hips. He’s sweet and excited about it, nervous beyond hope but so eager to learn what Ed has to teach.

Hardly any instruction manual required for what they’re doing. The body knows even if the mind is unsure, and they press together in a slow grind. Ed pulls his own jeans open, heavy buttons of his fly popping one by one and they’re maddeningly close, just a flap of fabric to fold this way instead of that and then they’d be touching, really touching, but neither of them makes the move. It’s a barrier they didn’t have to think about the night before, when everything was dark and happened so quickly and they touched themselves but hardly each other. Here now, the kerosene lamp bathes them in a light they can’t hide from, throws warm shadows between them at the final frontier. For a while they just stay as they are, teetering in the moment, not pushing forward nor pulling back. But soon enough practicality forces them over that line they were both too wary to be the first one to cross; Ed’s button fly is little worry, but Stede’s zip has sharp little teeth and with the insistent force of their grinding hips, it’s an accident begging to happen.

“We’re taking these off,” Ed says into the press of Stede’s mouth, tugging at one waistband and then the other, and this way they’re crossing the line together, no-one to go first and risk the other not following. It’s a tangle of hands and legs and Ed has a couple inches in height over Stede, but Stede is still long and wiry in that way young men often are, like they’ve been stretched too much one way and not the other. Slim legs, Ed notes, pale against his own, less hair.

Stede’s dick, pink and full mast, is heavy alongside Ed’s, nestled and warm. Ed puts a careful hand at the back of Stede’s knee, slides it up his thigh and digs a thumb into his hip, then across the hard plane of his stomach and down. Like their first meeting outside the dingy trailer that served as the ranch office, firm handshake in the hot afternoon sun while dust from the road whipped about their feet, Ed takes Stede in hand and holds him tight.

“That’s—” Stede tries, but the rest of the sentence isn’t forthcoming. Bracketed above Ed haunch and elbow, his back ripples as he finds the rhythm of Ed’s touch and pushes into it. Between the slide of their lips Stede admits, “Never kissed anyone like this before.”

Truth be told Ed hasn’t either, not really. Kissing is for romance, and romance is in short supply at the places he’s been. “Feels good?”

“Feels good,” slips sweetly from Stede’s mouth, as they rock and rub and moan together. “I, can we—”

“Yeah?” Can’t even let Stede get all his words out, feels like it doesn’t even matter what he might be asking for because the fact he’s asking is more than enough and Ed will say yes to any and all of it.

“Like last night, I want it.”

“Yeah, yes, I can take it again—”

“No, I want it,” and Stede presses himself harder into Ed’s hips.

“Oh shit, fuck, okay, have you—” can’t ask, shouldn’t ask, of course he hasn’t. “There’s things we should do. We need to prep.”

“It didn’t seem so difficult last night,” Stede says with this coy little smile, and Ed could ride a thousand good-tempered horses across a thousand summer mountain ranges with bluebirds singing and whiskey flowing from the springs, and none of it would make him feel like this.

“Think about— how it is with a woman. They have their own way of keeping things moving easy down there. We gotta improvise.”

At Stede’s uncomprehending look, Ed twists his torso to reach Stede’s travel case and the little grooming kit that he knows is stashed inside. Stede doesn’t get off of him or rise up even one inch to allow space to move, and Ed likes being pinned under him like this, likes Stede heavy and solid in his lap.

“This’ll help,” Ed says pointedly, prying the lid off of Stede’s tin of hair pomade and swiping a finger through the slippery oil.

“Oh,” Stede breathes, a little worried crease fluttering between his eyebrows. “Last night, I only—”

“Don’t worry about it,” and he can’t say ‘I’m used to it’ and definitely not ‘I like it like that’, but he can say again, “This will help you.”

“Oh,” Stede repeats, and Ed can see his brain ticking over as he figures out the answer to ‘Have you done this before?’ “Okay. Alright.”

They sink into another kiss, Ed trailing slick fingers down Stede’s flank and around to stroke against the tight furl of his entrance. Ed shakes as he goes, possessing all of the experience and so all of the fear too; fear that this is the point where it will end, that Stede will come to his senses, pull back, accuse Ed of seduction, perversion and worse. But Stede simply melts against him, takes Ed inside his body like he’s spent the last month waiting for it, and Ed shakes a little less and moves a little more.

It’s Stede who eventually reaches between them, when they’re overly hot and slick with sweat and about ready to shoot off like summer fireworks, pulls his palm up and down Ed’s cock a few indulgent times and then pushes it behind him and up where he wants it.

Like a lock and key they fit together, shaped for each other and sliding easily into position, but it’s a moment more before they try to move in this new configuration. Just looking and breathing, a sweaty palm to a hot cheek, a barely-there whisper of, “You’re here, this is happening, I’ve got you.”

Stilted at first but gaining confidence, Stede begins to move above Ed, following his body’s instinct up and down, back and forth, still trying to kiss even as their mouths bump and jolt and miss their mark. He sits up in Ed’s lap, chasing a better angle, brow furrowed above closed eyes and open mouth, and Ed thinks he’s never seen something so beautiful. Pink skin in the warm lamp glow, coppery curls tangled and bouncing, strain in his thighs as he tries to build momentum and can’t quite manage it.

“Come on, cowboy,” Ed says, with that wild runaway mouth of his. “I’ve been watching you ride this past month, I know your seat’s better than that.” But Stede’s uncoordinated in his movements, doubting the way his body goes, and Ed gets it, he does; it’s hard to be up there in the driver’s seat, being looked at like this with nowhere to hide. So Ed pushes up on one hand, presses his forehead to Stede’s and holds his hip to guide the lift and roll. “That’s it,” he breathes, words soft in the space between their lips. “Ride a horse, you can ride me.”

“Nothing like this,” Stede sighs into Ed’s mouth, cradling his head, hair spilling over his fingers. “There’s nothing like this.”

“Not a damn thing in the world that feels like this,” Ed agrees, kiss to shuddering kiss.

Stede is an accomplished horse rider; he has a straight back and fluid hips and long, strong legs, and he uses them well. He meets Ed push for push, grind for aching grind, peppering kisses over his jaw and down his neck, but he still can’t quite keep the pace they need to get where they want to go. Rough hand splayed against Stede’s sweaty back, Ed begins to tip and roll and Stede clings to him as they go.

Landing with a small puff of breath and a sweet little laugh, Stede is relaxed and easy on his back, pulling Ed against him, taking him back inside his body with nothing shy or hesitant about it. Ed grins against his mouth, kisses him hard and picks up the pace full-throttle, pulling Stede’s leg up to curl around his waist and driving into him, the jut of his hip bones against the creamy, freckled skin of Stede’s inner thighs.

Beneath him Stede moans, a sheen of sweat on his chest, hands gripping hard at Ed’s shoulders, his neck, whatever he can reach. Their kisses are barely kisses, just hot, gasping slides of lips and tongues.

Ed’s body is lit up, fire-bright and coiled tight, brain and mouth not working in sync as he babbles, “I’ve never— It’s never felt like— God, Stede, do you—” and then white-hot, breaking through, his orgasm comes crashing in like a summer storm, deep and thundering, rolling through his body, and he holds himself tight against Stede as he pulses inside, filling and marking him.

His head is thick, fizzing with electricity, only Stede’s wrecked voice cutting through, “Ed, Ed, please—”

He murmurs into the crook of Stede’s neck, “Hold on, I’ll get you there,” holding himself up on shakily-planted elbows, still pressed in heavily between Stede’s thighs. Ed grips Stede’s cock, slippery between his fingers, and strokes him firm and quick.

“Not far to go,” Stede says, breathless, the rapid rise and fall of his chest in time with the thrust of his hips as he moves to meet the rhythm of Ed’s rapid strokes. Hands at Ed’s back, nails digging in, he drags a matching set of long welts over Ed’s shoulder blades as he comes, arching up against Ed’s chest, clenching around him with his trembling thighs. Stede holds him hard enough to bruise, and Ed wants it, and when eventually they peel apart and lie flat on their backs, side by side and panting, Stede tangles their fingers together and Ed wants that too.

The tent is hot, the air syrup-heavy against their naked skin, and before long Stede crawls on wobbly knees to the opening and ties back the flap. He sits for a moment to enjoy the cool air, framed against the triangular slice of their shadowy camp, the black trees, and the brilliant night sky, and he looks back at Ed.

They don’t need to say it; they both know that they feel it.

After the rough efficiency of their first time, after the sweetness of the second, they fall into an easy pattern, initially only inside the tent but then outside it too. Up in the high meadows above the treeline, no work down at camp that can’t wait until tomorrow, rolling in the grass in the hot afternoon sun; suppertime around the campfire, potatoes sizzling in the dented pan, a little smoke and a little whiskey and an easy, familiar slide into unhurried intimacy; in the chill dawn, pale ghost-light and mist, back up in the saddle after another night spent leaving the sheep to fend for themselves and leaning down to steal a parting kiss. A hundred domestic scenes played out in miniature, more than just a warm body to press against at night, all fueled by the knowledge that none of it will last and the foolish hope that maybe it could.

And all the while Ed can’t grab the reins on his thoughts, galloping away a mile a minute to places he absolutely should not go: what if Stede came back next summer and they got to do this again? What if he found where Stede lived, paid him a visit, and they went away for a while, just the two of them in some remote cabin, no work to be done and all the time they wanted to hunt and fish and fuck? What if they got a ranch, built up a little cow and calf operation together down in the valley, or maybe out on the plains? A herd of their own, a bed of their own, a life of their own.

It’s staggering, how much Ed wants it. No way to unthink any of the things he’s thought, not now he’s looked them in the eye and allowed them to make him ache. And that’s just the problem, isn’t it? Once you acknowledge it you really start to feel it, and then you have to deal with the fact that you’re never going to get it, and there’s no way it won’t hurt now. They’ve not been merely passing the time, they both know that. They’ve been trying to live a whole life in one short summer, taking what they can because it’s all they’re allowed to have.

It’ll end because it has to end; no two ways about it, the color and heat of summer will drain from the land as the sheep are brought down off the mountain, and life with its relentless march onwards will demand that they act in roles that allow no space for the tender thing growing between them. The day will come, soon, and it’ll hurt, and maybe it’s best to end it like they started, pushing through it rough and quick; easier to watch a bruise fade, a raw scrape heal over, skin knit back together. Because how can you know when something’s done and healed if you could never even see the mark of it to begin with, if all you had and all you’ve got is a shift beneath the skin, a terrifying feeling that something has irrevocably changed and no clue how to fix it?

The day will come. But for now there’s sheep to watch and the camp to tend, and so long as they remain on the mountain life will wait a little while for them yet.

#ofmd fanfic #edward teach #stede bonnet #ofmd #our flag means death #my fic

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nescaveckwriter · 3 months

Text

Wandering Love - Chapter Two 🐞🤠

Benny Lafitte x Reader

A/N: Awww there's nothing I like more than to write, but to write, about Benny + it being a Western, is even better.🐞🤠

Side Note: Thank you so much for the love and support 🐞🩷🐞

Warnings: Some violence, some swearing, anything else let me know 🐞🤠

The sunrise, paints the sky, a red orange mixed in with the blue and white clouds, it transcends into, a almost purplish - pink sky, breaking mist of the early morning, alerting every little creature walking the earth it's a new day, everyone except the rugged cowboy, that's spayed open, on the ground, near the burnt out fire, his old brown leather cowboy hat, is pulled tightly over his eyes, drowning out any sight of the light.

Her lips, looks so alluring as she places hers, on his, the gentle kisses quickly turns into sloppy, very wet kisses, his eyes screeched open, removing his Old hat, his voice rough and filled with bitterness , "your not Willow, damn horse, go on scoot" irritated he rubs his mouth, with the back of his hand, trying to remove every last bit of the horse's grass eating slobber.

Dusting himself off, rolling up the mat, he slept on, picking up the ant filled, baked bean tin, shaking the ants out. Then glancing over at the bottle of 'Jack' "there's still a few sips left" he remarks. "Best way to start your mornings Shadow, brushing your teeth, with some leftover whiskey" he let's out a chuckle as he looks over at the black horse.

His days are mostly filled, with conversations too Shadow his horse, with the ghost's from his past, and endless memories of Willow his love, as for other people, he don't like them one bit. He's a loner some would say, but in honesty he just dislikes most people. Most men he met, is good for nothing, just air thief's roaming the earth, and most women he sees, while drifting through the one horse town's, is well a little too easy for his taste.

Whistling too Shadow, to stand still so that he can get on up, as he needs to get to the nearest town, that's a half day away, looking for a new bounty, it's the only thing that keeps him going really, that and well, the hope of seeing his love once again some day.

He rode into the town, on a skew wooden board the town's name 'Dessert Water' some older woman standing in a circle, most probably gossiping about whatever happened in this forsaken town, he just tilts his hat forward with his fingers greeting them back, as they wave to him.

Some kids running around playing, he never could quite figure out, if he wanted a few running around himself, well truly he never thought he'd make a good father. Flinching at the memories off how his father treated him and his brother, he jumped off, the black stallions back, tying the rope over the wooden rail.

Striding over to the sheriff's office, taking a peek at the bulletin board, "ah! There you go" he pulls the wanted poster, off. focusing on the reward 'a thousand dollar reward will be given for Bobby Singer for the murder of his wife, dead or alive' folding it up and placing into his long black leather jacket.

But first he needs to find out some information and what better way than, visiting the saloon. He does feel thirsty. He walks, on in, pushing through the two doors, not much of a crowd he sees, some old men sitting at a table, eating lunch and then some sleezy looking men in the corner. He walks on closer, sitting down at the stool, 45' still nicely tugged under his dusty jacket.

Ordering a whisky straight, "and make it a double" he demanded. The barman just slid the whiskey to his hand, his fingers pushing into the glass, he doesn't waste a second, he throws it back in his throat, "another" he demanded

Feeling a small hand tracing over his shoulder, the woman's voice sing-song as she says "ain't you a fine looking gentleman" her smile alluring

Her wrist is caught in his grip, his blue eyes, almost dead looking, he utters "not interested"

She smiles, "for you Hun, I'll charge half-price"

His voice rough, "look I said no thank you, now go on, leave, I would like too enjoy my whiskey in peace"

The woman's face is as white as snow, and without a word she leaves.

"There's other's where she came from" the barman said.

Benny's face just puzzled as he looks at the dark haired man, "where the hell is my whiskey" he questioned

Without a single word the man hands him, his whiskey. After he drank it, he got up, glancing over the room, and then his voice rough and loud, "I'm looking for a old friend of mine Bobby Singer, if anyone have seen let me know!"

A younger looking man, glared at him, he got up, five other men following him, his voice low "you better not be looking to collect the reward"?

A smirk on his face ''Listen fellas, I'm not looking for no trouble, I just asked a question''

A cocky smile on the younger man's face, ''Yeah! well I did too, old man, that reward is mine, you hear, now stay out of our way, or I'll have to make you''

Looking between the five men's faces ''Make me! Oh! That will make my day, my fist's are itching, so please throw the first punch'' he say's mockingly

The young man, balls a fist, swings it towards Benny, but the gets stopped as the rugged cowboy, takes ahold of his scrawny fist, with a smile on his thin lips, ''Hold your horses, now son, first , I need to light a smoke''

The man looks at him, as if his gone crazy, as this tall man, lights up a smoke, taking a few puffs, before taking off his hat, revealing the slight silver in his brown hair, the age lines around his blue eyes, shows, he had a few years more on earth than they did, but he stood there planted in his brown leather boots, on the wooden floor. The older man, just nodded, that he's ready for the fist to come towards him.

The man, balls his fist, throwing it up in the air towards the other man's jaw, missing him with a few inches, as he ducks into another direction, knowing that, the older man has a few tricks up his sleeve, he signals, his four men, to start throwing some punches at him as well.

One bigger guy hits him, sideways on the jaw, making Benny stumble a little backwards, his eyes pierces through the man who just gave him a jab, ''fighting dirty are we'' he warned and without further hesitation, he starts hitting them, taking turns between them, throwing more punches than he takes, in a matter of minutes, the five men, were lying around like ragdolls, covered in glass, from the broken bottles and wooden splinters from the tables that were scattered by the tossing of one of the five, making the blackjack cards fly up in the air.

Taking his jackets sleeve to remove some of his own blood, adjusting his hat back on his head, cigarette still in his mouth, he asks ''anyone of you know where my old friend Bobby is''

''H...He was last seen at his home, two towns over.'' the words came from the busted lips of one of the men on the ground.

''Now was it that hard young man'' he smirked. Glancing over too the stunned barman, ''They'll make right with you'' he chuckled.

Getting back on his horse, clicking his tongue, as he gently squeezes the horses ribcage, to make him move, he rides off into the sunset, removing a worn out picture, of the beautiful woman, saying underneath his breath, ''sorry, sweetheart, I once again gotten myself into a fight, I'll be the man you love next time''

Chapter Three Here :)

#bennylafitte #spotify #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #jared padalecki #jensen ackles x reader #sam and dean #benny lafitte #dean winchester imagine #castiel spn #eileen leahy #bugsies #d nesca #wanderinglove #Spotify

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sammykiszkasunusedshoes · 2 years

Text

imagine you're Josh's significant other...

A/N: text messages between you and Josh bc I'm bored!! also just go along with the time and dates bc I just made them up. I know this is like really stupid and short but I was bored and wanted to write something funny instead of a fic

(your the blue chat bc the format got messed up 😍😍)

warnings: just slight bullying out of love

Joshy Boy ☀️

Josh: so I did something, mama…

please say you're wearing a pink jumpsuit at the next concert

Josh: what?? no. what don't you get about dreams IN gold

Josh: back to before you just said that. I did something that the boys suggested when we were drunk.

if you keep playing this little cryptic game, I'm going to break all your little colored pencils

Josh: ok so that's violent. I cut my hair

…

Josh: I brought back my mullet

…

Josh: it's not even that bad

says the jullet man

Josh: don't.

so I should put the flannel and cowboy boots away?

Josh: I can't believe I'm dating someone that's literally Sam 2.0

what about the cowboy hat?

oh my god was that Luke Bryan quote in your rhinestone diary entry a hint that this was gonna happen

Josh: I give you so much love and in return all I ever get is you hating me

yee🤠 haw😔

Josh: I'm done talking to you about this.

When you're on stage playing the tambourine, can you start line dancing?

(left on read)

Greta van feet

(y/n changed the chat name to "Greta van feet")

(Sunday • 8:36 pm)

Jake: yeah so, y/n, please leave the chat.

Sam: I kinda like it

Danny: I kinda liked it when you didn't say that

(today • 5:18 pm)

so which one of you told Josh to bring back his jullet

Josh: y/n l/n. I told you to stop saying jullet.

Sam: actually keep saying it

Jake: JULLET?

yeah, Josh+mullet= jullet

Danny: obviously Jake, we learned that formula in like 8th grade

Sam:... anyways, I blame Jake for Busch light drinking, dip spitting, pit viper wearing, mullet Josh

Sam: jullet Josh*

HAHA

Jake

never speak your opinion again

Josh: is it that bad.

Josh: Sam. y/n. my "mullet" is a rockstar mullet.

and I love you and your jullet

but you gotta understand

that I will never let this down

Danny: I get war flashbacks everytime I see Josh

Sam: next Jake should bring back his emo hair

Jake: next Sam should bring back his Justin Bieber hair

Sam: …

Danny: and I sit here safe and sound

danny and I never had a bad moment

Josh: you said you loved my mullet

I love bullying you for it

(Josh left the chat)

#text #i was bored #text fic #greta van fleet #gvf #josh kiszka x reader #sam kiszka #sam gvf #sam kiszka gvf #sammy gvf #josh gvf #danny wagner gvf #jake kiszka #jake kiszka gvf #jake gvf #danny gvf #danny wagner

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lou-the-lizard · 2 years

Note

Who watched over you while your dads were in Paris?

Also, I'm sure they'll bring you a pink mini cowboy hat 🤠 😂

Grandpa Owen until he saw a pair of handcuffs in the bedpost and then he just left

A hat is not enough. I'm gonna need a pair of boots and a jacket to match

#911 lone star #tarlos #tk strand #911ls #carlos reyes #lou the lizard

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veronicasanders · 2 years

Note

Favorite costume you've ever worn? What about the biggest costume fail?

Ahhhh I love this. Okay get ready, lol...

🌈🎤🥀📣☮️🧙🏽‍♀️👠🤠👽🐚🩸👐🌈

Favorites in no particular order…

Punky Brewster (5 years old, repeated again when I was like 33)

Morticia Addams (8 years old)

Ursula the Sea Witch (grown-up - a group of friends and I all went as Disney villains and it was quite fucking epic)

Dorothy Gale (another adult group costume, co-starring Doctor Fluffernutter as Toto)

Slutty Witch (13 years old, group costume. Extremely fucking inappropriate but my mom let me trick-or-treat that way and I did collect a shit ton of candy, so…)

Cheerleader (6 years old. This is on the list because I told my feminist mother I wanted to be a cheerleader, and she was prepared to swallow her rage about it and let me do what I wanted. So she went, “Okay…what team do you want to cheer for?” And I was like “Team? Huh?” And that is when she realized to her delight that I had no idea cheerleaders were there to support athletes, I just liked the skirts. So she changed her question to “What color cheer costume do you want?” And I said, “Pink and Purple.” She sewed me an absolutely stunning pink and purple corduroy cheer skirt (and made pom-poms and a lovely top) that I continued to wear for like 3 years.)

Sally Bowles, mid abortion (adult. It was basically a run-of-the-mill Liza as Sally costume with the vest and the bowler hat, etc, but then I smeared a bunch of blood on my thighs and dangled a plastic fetus purchased from a website called "Christian Dollar Store" from my hot pants by rubber bands. I also wore tap shoes and drove everyone nuts, lol)

Jessie from Toy Story (adult group costume. Doctor Fluffernutter was an Alien and I hand-made his costume.)

Rizzo in Grease (12 years old)

Frank N. Furter (adult)

Raggedy Ann Doll (4 year old)

A Millionaire (7 years old. I put this one together myself because I guess my mom was tired of my shit. I wore my grandma's fur coat, cowboy boots, a pleather skirt with a bathing suit top for some reason, a fancy hat, way too much makeup, a fuckload of costume jewelry, and carried a gold purse stuffed with money. I probably looked more like a pimp.)

Little Orphan Annie (adult. It was kind of a drag version of Annie)

Madonna (too many times. The first one when I was 7 years old, the whole Lucky Star look. Did this one the year MDNA came out:)

Rainbow Bright (adult)

Jesus from Godspell (adult - this is just bell bottoms, a superman t-shirt, rainbow suspenders, and face painting (a heart on the forehead, black tears from the eyes, and very classy red ribbons to represent the crucifixion)

As far as fails…it’s really more about other people failing. Like the year we were supposed to be Spice Girls and the person who was Ginger flaked out, which made the person who was Posh also change their mind. (Although we did find someone dressed as Ginger at the party randomly and she joined the group photos. So it kind of worked in the end.)

#walking down the glittertrail

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suspiciouslybluemilktea · 2 years

Note

hello my love if you're not too busy I miss your writing T^T so may I request.... perhaps.... some Cereus Uyu brainfood.... on her own, interracting with yeehaw Unknown or with yeehaw Em, it's all good content for me ♡ v ♡

Love, yer favorite little desert possum <3

A little something straight from the tap for my favorite little desert possum <3~

From me you get a flush out of ideas 💡 featuring Cowboy!Unknown (yes you guys 🤠)! Uyu is my cmc, and Em is Mel’s<3

Credit for the original AU belongs to @marshmallowprotection , who wrote the Cowboy!Unknown fic “Cereus”! 🌵

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

If you had to ask anyone what they believed to be the number one defining trait of the desert, their response would almost always be all that damn sand. Stretching out like a tan blanket of filthy nothingness, it births that isolated feeling of only wasteland in store for you beyond the town, establishing a criminal’s playground as nowhere outside feels safe. No one was stupid enough to exchange the familiar lights of their homes for that of only the sun and the stars on any journey.

The sand, Uyu could easily label her least favorite new addition to daily life, now having to deal with so much of it after moving in from the cleaner city. She hated the way it soiled the brighter pink fabrics of her many dresses, understanding now why light colored garments were no gos in this region. Her clothing made her stick out like a sore thumb from day one, most instead choosing to dress to match the dreary browns of the dust which clung to them.

How pink she happened to be compared to the other ladies of the area most likely played a heavy role in her winding up being held at gun point on that faithful day. Newcomers are easy prey, and there was an added bonus to the fact that she was female, small and viewed as perfectly harmless.

Thankfully, nothing was able to harm her as she happened to have a “hero” rush to her rescue…also probably eyeing the clear outsider from a much farther distance for his own reasons. She was considered fresh meat to this region, but the fact that she wasn’t the only newbie around helped to keep her afloat. Her newest friend, Em, who was also by her side and almost mugged that night, was bathed in the lighter greens, pinks and laces of the wealthier areas; putting a target on her back just the same if not more.

Never in a million years did this city girl ever predict that the adventure she’d find out in the desert would be like this. To be working as sleazy stage performer in a saloon, where with the flirtatious wink of an eye and the slightest touch on an intoxicated patron’s shoulder, she could spill all of their dirtiest of secrets; selling them out to an infamous criminal who she happened to work for under a life debt. And not only that, but the only other female performer was stuck in the exact same situation. She now carries a small pistol at all times, tucked away in her dresses to avoid becoming “slave labor” for anyone else.

Her boss, at least, is neither uninteresting to interact with nor fugly to look at. Unlike the twisted tales most hear carried on through whisper and rumor, this outlaw had no gold or snaggley teeth, yellowed and blackened by a severe cigarette addiction. He was not wrinkly, smelly, drunk or uncivilized with the worst possible priorities. In fact, he was young in the face, bright although tired in the eyes, curt and crass sure- but his heavily accented speech was never slurred nor derogatory in manner. His lips were pretty and his hair healthy, curly and red like wild fire underneath that always tipped forwards black hat.

Unknown was just as much of a mystery as he was made out to be, her questions never properly answered even when able to be so close to him. Why would someone so youthful chose the life of a criminal? Had he really given up living by honest means so early in life? It puzzled her, and at first she wrote him off as the type to get off to ruining other’s lives from the shadows. But, that “logic” never quite seemed to fill in those infuriating blanks.

As the three of them acted as a team of sorts, Em, Uyu and Unknown, both ladies were equally as testy with their boss in their own rights. Uyu initially forced herself to stamp him as her definition of a “bad person” in her mind for safety, as just because he saved her life and didn’t appear oh so horrid never meant letting her guard down was ok. So, while she made certain to answer to his beck and call, she often at first nipped at those hands which sinned, to keep distance but also to understand his troubling actions. It died down soon enough though, as their words shared within a series of secret letters gave her a different understanding of the one who saved her. He was an anomaly she was dying to always study, pulled by a rope of curiosity, itching to dissect him in person despite what troubles could follow with face-to-face interactions. She wanted to trust him, to ease his tired mind and also make him spill every secret and burden. It was beyond tempting to reach out every time she met his eyes across the room at the bar.

Em, on the other hand, was very different than she..or at least appeared to be. Their banter was certainly always funny, although the possible consequences of outright being cheeky and rude occasionally frightened Uyu at first. They had no real evidence that he wouldn’t dispose of them if they proved to be more trouble than they’re worth.

Unknown acted especially buggy when Em spewed on about what cuddling up to the town’s mayor earned her in terms of payment for him. She’d never miss a beat on it either, teasing that he was possibly jealous and or that perhaps he didn’t want their secret services after all. Those were always the more awkward of moments, the outlaw stiffer than ever as he tried to bubble out reasons why keeping a lesser flirtatious distance from the mayor would perhaps be best. Despite his warnings, Em continued anyways, providing better intel than Uyu ever could, her pinker counterpart more afraid of being pawed at by the higher forces of the town.

As performers, the two girls had their differences, which earned them their own titled roles. Em was bold and testy, good at teasing and buttering people up into purchasing more liquor. She kept them talking as they tried to ensure they got to keep her around, hogging attention for themselves. Uyu instead was more focused and driven when it came to the acting portions, paying less attention to guests and more attention to her song and dance routines. She felt more uncomfortable with the flirtatious improve, but with a script things came much easier. Uyu’s shyness with guests and Em’s bravery allowed the bar to market them off as more of the “innocent” v.s. “mischievous” types, and they played their roles well as professionals. Ever call Uyu a floozy and you’ll end up hearing it, as it’s “dead wrong” because she’s actually an actor.

Outside of bar work, Em had her fun targeting the small things when it came to Unknown, wether it was making fun of his deeper country accent and verbiage or pissing him off with jokes about running away with the corrupter powers’ wives. While Uyu admired her ability to be so able to not give a fuck about the fact that Unknown was a scary criminal, she was not brave enough to push in the same manner for a little while. Only later on down the line did she grow more comfortable, Unknown becoming subjected to listening to two pretty city slickers teasing him about the way he spoke, laughing because it’s hard to take threats seriously after being referred to as “stupid as one of em' dusty old bug eyed desert critters that ends up hit by a wagon for not payin' close enough attention”.

If you were to ever find the girls sending everyone home to take care of closing alone, you’d know this generous offer was actually to sneak in a special outlaw after hours for a private chit-chat. If you were to also watch the scene unfold further, you’d think Unknown was playing dirty to get special treatment from the town’s favorite working ladies. But, as Uyu slipped a taste of Yoosung’s famous pie past Unknown’s lips, Em on his other side leaning in to deliver her secrets into his ear, the routine meeting felt like nothing exactly heinous. The girls could really only find themselves getting a kick out of Unknown’s stiffer posture as they stayed in full costume, having the privilege of being so closely pressed against either side of him without being marked for death.

#idea dump #writing dump #saeran choi #unknown saeran #mystic messenger #unknown mystic messenger #cmc #custom mc #cmc MysticMessenger #ocs #if any of the details are wrong I’m sorry I need to reread the fic as it’s been a while 🙃

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gvfrry · 2 years

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the way i got on before i go get ready to see your post about joshs hair im - 🤧🤧 not mentally, emotionally, or physically stable enough for this

ALSO !!! if you see a bitch tn in a pink and silver cowboy hat its me !!

evie🤠 (cowboysamkiszka)

I formally apologize 💀 I hope to see you there!!!!

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mrcowboydeanwinchester · 2 years

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🌸🤠🪱 for SURE <3333 i think for obvious reasons <3

YAY timmy this is so me i'm wriggling like a happy worm in a cowboy hat covered in pink flowers in your hands rn

#just a lil worm in the garden with a cowboy hat... yeah. that's the life #timothy tag🧋#ola answers

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oftenderweapons · 11 months

Text

This single ig story saved my day. I want that added to the books.

I also want added to the books that it was Vixen who got him that shirt because "save a horse, ride a cowboy 🤠✨" (quoting her, literally). She may or may not commit to the aesthetic and wear a cowgirl hat with pink feathers and rhinestones for their next debauchery

#dita is here!#dita discusses

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alsjeblieft-zeg · 1 year

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319 of 2023

I like___, but____ [True or False]

Created by joybucket

You like dogs, but you've never had one as a pet before. 🐶 You like cats, but you've never had one as a pet before. 🐈 You like ducks, but you've never taken a duck face selfie. 🦆 You like unicorns, but you've never worn a unicorn headband. 🦄 You like dolphins, but you've never swam with them. 🐬 You like Gold Fish crackers, but you've never gone fishing. 🎣 You like camels, but you've never ridden one. 🐫 You like elephants, but you've never ridden one. 🐘 You like horses, but you've never ridden one. 🐎 You're tall, but you don't play basketball. 🏀 You're superstitious, but you don't own a Magic 8 ball. 🎱 You're flexible, but you've never taken gymnastics. 🤸‍♀️ You're strong, but you've never lifted weights at a gym. 🏋️‍♀️ You meditate, but you don't practice yoga. 🧘 You like birthdays, but you don't like growing older. 🥳 You like to be silly, but you don't like clowns. 🤡 You like to dance, but you're not very good at it. 💃 You like to draw, but you're not very good at it. ✍️ You like to write, but you're not very good at it. You like to sing, but you're not very good at it. You're accident-prone, but you've never ridden in an ambulance. 🚑 You're always on the go, but you've never driven a Go Kart. 🏎 You often have your head in the clouds, but you've never flown on an airplane. ✈️ You feel like you're just cruising along, but you've never been on a cruise. 🚢 Your life has consisted of many ups and downs, but you've never been on a roller coaster. 🎢 You own a kitchen timer, but you never use it. ⏲ You own a fire extinguisher, but you've never had to use it. 🧯 You've never been to Denmark, but you like their flag. 🇩🇰 You've never been to Brazil, but you like their flag. 🇧🇷 You've never been to the United Kingdom, but you like their flag. 🇬🇧 You've never been to Canada, but you like their flag. 🇨🇦 You've never been to the United States, but you like their flag. 🇺🇸 You've never been to the Bahamas, but you like their flag. 🇧🇸 You like the swearing emoji, but you don't swear very often. 🤬 You like the shocked face emoji, but you don't like to feel scared. 😱 You like cowboy hats, but you don't like country music. 🤠 You don't want to catch COVID, but you don't like wearing masks. 😷 You like Halloween, but you don't like carving pumpkins. 🎃🔪 You like unicorns, but you've never tried the Unicorn Frappuccino. 🦄 You like flamingos, but you don't like the color pink. 🦩 You like Thanksgiving, but you don't like eating turkey. 🦃 You like maple trees, but you don't like maple syrup. 🍁 You like roses, but you've never been given one. 🌹 You like apple, but you've never been a teacher's pet. 🍎 Your favorite color is orange, but you don't like oranges. 🍊 Your favorite color is yellow, but you don't like bananas. 🍌 You like coconut, but you've never drank milk straight from one. 🥥 You like carrots, but you've never used a carrot as a snowman nose. 🥕☃️ You're Mexican, but you don't like tacos. 🌮 You're Italian, but you don't like spaghetti. 🍝 You're Irish, but you don't like the color green. ☘️ You're English, but you don't like tea. ☕️ You're English, but you don't like English Breakfast Tea. ☕️ Your favorite color is green, but you don't like green tea. 🍵 You're Japanese, but you don't like sushi. 🍱 You're Chinese, but you don't own a Chinese paper lantern. You're a Christian, but you don't wear a cross necklace every day. ✝️ You're a Christian, but you don't go to church every Sunday. ⛪️ You're a Christian, but you don't read your Bible every day. 📖 You're Wiccan, but you've never dressed up as a witch for Halloween. 🧙‍♀️ You're Wiccan, but you don't only wear black. You're Wiccan, but you don't own a witch hat. 🧙‍♀️ You're an atheist, but you've prayed to God before. 🙏 You're Agnostic, but you pray occasionally. 🙏 You're Catholic, but you don't own a set of prayer beads.📿 You're not a Christian, but you've been to church. ⛪️ You're not Wiccan, but you've dressed up as a witch. 🧙‍♀️ You're short, but you don't like strawberry shortcake. 🍰 You're a lady, but you don't like ladybugs. 🐞 You're nuts, but you don't like squirrels. 🐿 You can bend your body in a ton of different ways, but you don't like pretzels. 🥨 You've worked at McDonald's, but you don't like hamburgers. 🍔 You like snow, but you don't like snow cones. ❄️ 🍧 You like bright colors, but you don't like lollipops. 🍭 You've swam in the ocean, but you've never surfed. 🏄‍♀️🌊 You've competed in a sporting event, but you've never won a medal or a trophy. 🥇🏆 You like the color pink, but you've never danced ballet. 🩰 You like piano music, but you don't know how to play the piano. 🎹 You like violin music, but you've never played the violin. 🎻 You like saxophone music, but you've never played the saxophone. 🎷 You have good aim, but you've never owned a dartboard. 🎯 You've sprained your ankle, but you've never used crutches. 🩼 You're afraid of heights, but you've ridden in a small plane or helicopter. 🚁 You've tossed a coin into a fountain, but you don't believe in luck. ⛲️ You like peace signs, but you wouldn't consider yourself a hippie. ☮️ You've worn a cross necklace, but you wouldn't consider yourself a Christian. ✝️ You've lit a menorah, but you're not Jewish. 🕎 You celebrate Christmas, but you wouldn't consider yourself a Christian. 🎄 You like nachos, but you're not Mexican. 🇲🇽 You like sushi, but you're not Japanese. 🇯🇵 🍣 You like raviolis, but you're not Italian. 🇮🇹 🥟 You like jalapeños, but you're not Mexican. 🌶 You like scones, but you're not British. 🇬🇧 You like croissants, but you're not French. 🇫🇷 You like macarons, but you're not French. You like seafood, but you've never swam in the sea. 🌊 You like cherry blossoms, but you're not Japanese. 🌸 You like hibiscus, but you're not Hawaiian. 🌺 You like beer, but you don't like wine. 🍺 You like wine, but you don't like beer. 🍷 You like bright lights, but you've never gambled at a casino. 🎰 You like stars, but you've never seen a shooting star. 🌠 You're blonde, but you're not ditzy or gullible. 👩 You're a redhead, but you're not Irish. 👩‍🦰 You're Irish, but you're not a redhead. You've played I Spy, but you don't own a magnifying glass. 🕵️‍♀️ You like to cook, but you've never worked as a chef. 👩‍🍳

#survey #bolding survey #themed survey

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