#wild sarsaparilla

[vandaliatraveler]

More rain in NC-WV today.  As compensation, I was mesmerized by the intense green inferno of an Appalachian forest after a steady downpour. Photos from Scott Run Trail in Coopers Rock State Forest.

From top: Wild sarsaparilla (Aralia nudicaulis), whose roots were once used as a substitute for true sarsaparilla in root beer; deerberry (Vaccinium stamineum); sulphur shelf fungus (Laetiporus sulphureus); Jack-in-the-pulpit (Arisaema triphyllum) twins; a red eft, the juvenile stage of the eastern newt (Notophthalmus viridescens); and Indian cucumber (Medeola virginiana).

#appalachia #vandalia #west virginia #may #spring #wildflowers #flora #amphibian #red eft #eastern newt #wild sarsaparilla #false sarsaparilla #deerberry #sulphur shelf fungus #jack-in-the-pulpit #indian cucumber #indian cucumber-root

[chlorophyll-and-chitin]

Hardenbergia violacea

17-JUL-2023

Melbourne, Vic

#australia #victoria #melbourne #flowers #australian natives #native flowers #purple flowers #false sarsaparilla #purple coral pea #waraburra #purple twining pea #vine lilac #wild sarsaparilla #rosids #fabales #fabaceae #faboideae #hardenbergia #hardenbergia violacea

[steverogersnotebook]

This is it, my favorite soda.

#wild bill's sarsaparilla and birch beer are tied for first #soda #beverage #fancy ass soda #first time I had this was wizard world 2016 Austin

[timmurleyart]

The western saloon. 🥃🐂☠️(unique screen print on paper)🌵

#western saloon #saloon #billiards #cigarandwhisky #cigar #printmakingart #printmaking #printmaker #monoprint #Yellowstone #wild west #longhorns #texas longhorns #cattle ranching #cattle #cattle drive #root beer #sarsaparilla #hand lettering #ghost town #ok corral #tombstone #west texas #odessa tx #dude ranch #country music #hangman #folk art #naive art #cowboys

[unpretty]

Hello! I am the tumblr anon who keeps getting you stuff from your wishlists. i was having a horrid day, went to your throne selfishly to see if you had anything that would cheer me up, then realized that i couldn't think of anything to buy for myself that i wanted, so i settled on buying stuff for an internet stranger that they wanted, hoping that at least that might make things in the world somewhat brighter. hope it worked!

MY ANONYMOUS BENEFACTOR

i was actually going to post about my throne wishlist ONCE AGAIN getting cleared out, because my stuff got here

and while throne alerted me to the fact that i would soon be receiving many novelty beverages to drink while listening to a podcast about alex jones, i did NOT realize there were also AMAZON WISHLIST ITEMS

so now my desk at work finally has a matching pink cat paw mousepad, and i have a little cold roller for my aching feets, and a special serum distributor to distribute serums on my scalp. i don't actually have any serums right now so i cannot review it but now that i have a special thing i'm gonna invest in some serums.

here are my reviews thus far of NOVELTY BEVERAGES, which you did not ask for but i'm doing it anyway

so i added an olipop sampler to my throne wishlist because i was intrigued but wary. they have a health angle and stevia so it seemed like it would taste bad. but i liked their design and also i didn't mind the stevia in that apple pie tea, so i thought maybe i got over my stevia thing

olipop cream soda: this was a bad one to try first because the flavor profile of a traditional cream soda is mostly sugar. it's just vanilla sugar, carbonated. so a sugar-free version is very stevia-forward. there's not enough other flavor to overpower the weird mouthfeel. i can drink it but it needs to be chilled and sipped in small amounts, maybe in a fancy glass.

olipop root beer: tbh i may have been wrong about the cream soda because this one also had weird overpowering Something flavor. i assume it's the stevia but maybe it's their proprietary blend of plant fibers, which is a weird thing to flex about your soda having. as a sarsaparilla and birch beer enjoyer, i like more bite than a standard root beer, and this has less. you'd think with their branding they'd be able to really lean hard on MEDICINAL ROOT FLAVORS but instead they chickened out and made it so mild it's barely different from the cream soda.

i haven't tried the other olipop flavors yet, but will report back with my findings

i also got a wild bill's craft soda sampler because. it looked good. and i was right. also now they keep sending me emails like YEEHAW PARDNER THANKS FOR BUYING OUR PRODUCT HOWDY GIDDY UP

wild bill's strawberry cream soda: it's so good. you can tell it's bad for you. the strawberry flavor is powerful and candy-like. it's like one of those crunchy grandma strawberry hard candies, in drink form.

wild bill's rocket pop soda: literally tastes like a melted popsicle got carbonated. it's everything i dreamed. i cannot possible afford to drink this regularly but i want to.

i haven't tried grape or orange cream yet but i'm guessing they'll be good. their website says they have a ring pop flavor now and i wanna try it so bad.

i'm also very excited to try the hot cocoa when it gets here, and to have more of the tasty beef jerky :3

#original #THANK YOU ANON ILU #i am sipping my rocket pop with glee #and i am so glad you got me the olipop so i could try it without feeling terrible

[zmediaoutlet]

"Dean, this is stupid—" Sam starts, but he shuts right up when Dean grabs his head down and kisses him, and he also kisses back so clearly it ain't that stupid, is it. Grabs Dean's waist on automatic and his tongue's, yeah, hot and there, ready, even as he mumbles some crap against Dean's mouth about how there's no time and there's a job to do and, yeah, like Dean doesn't know that? But—

"You aren't ruining this for me," Dean says. Even if it's looking like there's a good chance of it. He drops down onto his bootheels and Sam raises his eyebrows with this face like Dean's the dumbest person he knows and even if that's maybe true a lot of the time it's not true this time. Dean's—almost positive. "C'mon, man. We're in the actual wild west, here. There's gonna be a posse. Are you kidding? This is the best day ever."

Dark as hell in the 1800s but there's enough moonlight that Dean can see Sam's expression complicating into some new, more elaborate version of the you're stupid face. "Dude, we have—like, no time. Cas is gonna come pick us up at noon, no matter what."

Dean tips his hat back, slides his hand down to cup the front of Sam's jeans. Grins at what he finds, especially when Sam's eyelids flicker. "We're experienced cowpokes, here. Give me ten minutes."

"Never say cowpoke in this context," Sam says. Not exactly soft, that big familiar bulge filling Dean's palm just like it always has. He glances toward the street, down through the muddy alley, sweeps his own hat off his head, holding it out and to the side almost like he's trying to hide how Dean's going for his belt, zip, permission not exactly stated aloud but Dean was being honest about the experience, he knows permission when he's got it.

God—yeah. Crisp hair and the thick root getting thicker. Dean smiles up with his tongue between his teeth and in the moonlight it's hard to tell but he bets Sam's cheeks are red.

"You're an idiot," Sam breathes. Oh, yeah. Red-faced. His chest heaving. "We get caught we're gonna get hanged, man."

Dean lifts a shoulder, crowding in closer. Sam's hand slides to his ass, squeezes. "Sheriff's busy," he says. He nudges his nose under Sam's jaw and grips his dick at the same time. "Anyway. Boy, they said you was hung—"

Burst of laughter that Sam muffles against Dean's shoulder—Dean grins, even if Sam knocks his hat askew—and Sam drops fully back against the rough-board siding, spreads his boots so Dean can crush in close. Dean opens up his own jeans, quick, kissing Sam's jaw and picturing it—when they're back in the world with modern plumbing and beds and whiskey that doesn't taste like the ass-end of a Ford Pinto—getting Sam into the clothes Dean bought and getting that hat back on his head and really getting his share of schnitzengruben—but god, it's fun now too, in the mud with their boots knocking together and Sam's hand plunging in to grip him whole-handed, hot. Goddamn, cowboy.

"They was right," Sam says, quiet, and only Dean could hear but he laughs too, sniggering up against Sam's throat. Okay, so this is stupid, but Sam's hand is on his dick and they've got—less than ten minutes. Dean braces his boots better in the mud and slides his hand up under Sam's shirt, feels the hair on his belly. His gut warm and knowing the world's teetering in the balance but when isn't it, damn. He gets ten minutes, goofing around with his brother.

"First one to shoot owes the other a sarsaparilla," Dean says, and Sam groans and crams his hat back on his own head, says, "Shut up," but he grips Dean by the neck and kisses him and grips Dean by the nuts and then drags his fingers up the root and tugs up the shaft and slides his thumb sweet, sweet, right there, where it counts—okay, so maybe Dean spoke too soon about the sarsaparilla.

(Later—much later—at a motel after they clear out of Bobby's house and  Cas is sent on his way and Dean's not looking forward, at all, to stripping out of his awesome sheriff's outfit, and thinking about whether he could keep it at the storage locker in Black Rock without Sam somehow finding out—Sam says, you're the worst, and Dean says why this time, hardly paying attention, and Sam says, you got any idea how awful it is to ride a horse with your shorts all caked in jizz? and then, while Dean's bent over whooping with laughter, Sam stripping miserably out of his jeans, Sam says, you still owe me that sarsaparilla, and Dean has to sit on the floor, shoulders shaking, before he says, yeah, Sammy, eyes streaming, yeah, I'll get right on that, and Sam says you better but when Dean wipes his face he sees that Sam's looking at him that way Sam sometimes does when things are good, so. Dean was right, wasn't he. Best day ever.)

#happy wincest wednesday #my writing #ww lottery #a random ficlet for episode 122 #it's been fuckin shitty out here fam #so have some giggles barely in context

[deliciouskeys]

This fic has been entirely inspired by @vanshoundd's Butchlander cowboy AU art. I went feral after I saw it and wrote 3k words as soon as my work week was over. The art didn't need fic, but... um... now you have it.

(thank you for keeping the Butchlander tag alive with your pretty art, Vans)

Frontier Justice. Butchlander.

Billy had just ordered his third glass of whiskey when a blond stranger strolled in through the swinging doors of the bar. The man decided to situate himself on the stool right beside him even though there were plenty of empty seats at the bar at this early evening hour. Billy glanced over as the man took off his bright white leather hat and set it on the stool beside him, wiped the sweat off his brow and took out an actual comb to rearrange his matted hair. He looked so very familiar and Billy was trying to place him. When the barman came over to ask the stranger ‘what’ll it be?’ and he ordered a sarsaparilla, Billy couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“You’ve gotta be kiddin’ me.”

“Bout what?” the man asked nonchalantly, even as popped the metal cap off the glass bottle the barman took out from underneath the bar.

Billy realized it was odd to be irritated by another man’s beverage choice, but this was ridiculous. “Enjoyin’ that?”

“Yeah?” the other man answered in an equally querying tone.

Looking at him carefully, Billy suddenly pieced together why the man looked familiar. “Say, aren’t you that Jack Lander fellow?”

“Indeed,” Jack answered, taking another long sip from the long bottle neck. “You a fan?”

“Just didn’t recognize you without all ‘em rhinestones and garish boots.”

Jack Lander was a notorious figure in the area. He gained his fame by traveling around with the Wild West Show that went around the bigger towns. He was an incredible natural talent, probably the best marksman this side of the Mississippi, and an expert with the lasso, although Billy always thought it was mostly showy tricks than good old-fashioned useful skills. Jack used to wow audiences with all sort of ridiculous feats like standing up on a galloping horse and managing to shoot glass bottle targets on the run. Billy attended twice before the show shut down, the first time dragged against his will by Hughie, a young ranchhand who was eager to see the show. The next year when the show came around, Billy went into town on his own, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t like seeing Jack Lander’s gaudy button shirt with rhinestone highlights across the chest and shoulders, catching the afternoon light seductively. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t notice how pretty Jack’s ass was in those newfangled denim dungarees you couldn’t get at most supply stores, stretched drum-tight around his hips and legs, a pretty blue color. And he’d be lying if he said he didn’t rub one out in his tent that night, remembering the way Jack looked doing all his fancy trick roping.

Jack hmphed into his bottle of root beer. “What was wrong with my boots?”

“Other than the fact they were scarlet red and the spurs were painted to look like gold? Nothing at all.” Billy chuckled.

“Those were for the ladies in the audience,” Jack said flatly.

Jack Lander was certainly a ladykiller, but the reality was there were still not many as many ladies out here as fellows, and Billy couldn’t believe this man didn’t enjoy at least some attention from men on the side. “Didn’t realize it was exclusively for the ladies,” he said, winking, taking the last sip of his whiskey, gauging Jack’s reaction out of the corner of his eye.

Far from rebuffing the flirtation, Jack finally turned and looked at him, and smiled amiably. He made to clink bottle to glass before noticing Billy had finished his whiskey, and motioned the bartender over to ask for a refill for his ‘friend.’

“I’ll be paying for it,” Billy reassured the bartender who looked at the two of them skeptically. “It’ll be my fourth and the sun ain’t even set yet...” Billy warned Jack as he raised the refilled glass.

“Should have ordered sarsaparilla,” Jack said in sing-song, winking, clinking bottle to glass.

“Why are ya drinkin that vile kid stuff?”

“Because I’m thirsty?” Jack paused before adding. “And I like my hand steady and my wits about me.”

“Wits, huh. Well you might enjoy the conversation with me a bit more if ya didn’t have so many wits about you.”

Jack laughed, flashing his miraculously perfect white teeth, none of them crooked, broken, or worn down.

Billy glanced down to see he had not one but two holsters at each hip. What the hell did he need four revolvers and such a steady hand for? All Billy knew about Jack after the Wild West Show shut down a few years ago was that he started making his living bounty hunting. Sometimes it was runaway criminals, awful men. A lot of the time it was Apaches and Comanches that he’d shoot on sight, which was against the law, strictly speaking, not that there was anyone around here who would ever enforce it. It was a risky and cruel profession compared to driving herds across the plains like Billy was usually hired to do. It was a wonder that not only was Jack still alive, but that he looked not at all worse for the wear, even though his days of sleeping in a comfortable wagon trailer and getting glammed up for shows were over. His outfit was more practical, certainly-- baggier, brown trousers and coat with grime on the lower hems, a wide brim hat with no embellishments, unless one counted the visible salt fronts from head sweat. But he still had a small red bandana tied around his collar, and the shirt peeking out from underneath his coat was still a crisp white cotton number from what Billy could see of it. Billy was surprised at how tempting it was to peel Jack out of his layers and see if he was still a dandy at heart, and if his shirt was tailored to be form-fitting.

They both finished off their drinks, eyeing each other. They got up and Billy paid both of their tabs.

As soon as they walked out of the bar, Jack pulled Billy into the narrow shady alley between the bar and the next building—an inn of ill-repute of some sort.

“Can you really afford to be paying for other people’s drinks, William?” Jack asked in a hushed tone. Billy’s body was responding swiftly to being in close quarters with this man, but he soon felt the end of a revolver pressed into his chest. “From what I’ve heard of you, all you’ve done is rustled some cattle for someone else every now and then. Truth be told, I don’t even know why there’s a large bounty on your head when you haven’t held up a train or robbed a bank or been in any sort of bandit gang.”

Billy smiled wryly. He had his long rifle slung over his shoulder, but there was no way he could defend himself with it now. “Should’ve figured they’d put a bounty on me. Reckon it might’ve been the sheriff I shot over in Bitter Creek.”

“Ah, that’d do it,” Jack grinned, and his perfect white teeth looked more menacing in the shade of the alley. “Why the hell would you do that, William Butcher.”

“You can call me Billy if you’re going to end me. The sheriff was a piece of work, I got on the wrong side of him and it was going to be him or me. I didn’t run afoul of anything, he just took it into his mind that he didn’t like me. He hanged eight innocent people in the span of a few months working at that godforsaken little outpost. Mad with power. But I guess someone like you wouldn’t be judging a man for that.”

Jack smiled, more friendly this time without the rowful of teeth. There wasn’t really anything to lose. Billy leaned forward, despite the barrel of the Colt digging into his flesh, flicked the hat off Jack’s head and full-on kissed his would-be judge and executioner.

Jack inhaled in surprise, but returned the kiss full force, the faint taste of whiskey and the soft drink still on their lips intermingling. Jack eased the gun away, fumbling to put it back in the holster, breathing a quiet muffled moan into the kiss.

“Fuck-“ he said as he tore away. “Jesus Christ.”

“I would like the honor of fucking you. Just once. Before you bring my head in or whatever it is you do for proof of your kills.”

Jack was staring at him, pupils blown wide, still breathing hard.

“Take off your fucking coat. Let me look at ya,” Billy said, surprising himself with how imperious he sounded when he was in pretty dire straits.

Jack obeyed him wordlessly. Took off his coat, but didn’t give Billy much of a chance to admire him-- launched himself right back into the kiss, as if he were parched and Billy’s mouth was water. Jack’s figure hadn’t changed much since the show years, nice tapered waist that Billy instinctively grasped. Jack was a couple of inches shorter than him, and light enough that Billy simply lifted him off his feet, planting him on one of the water barrels stored in the alley. Jack didn’t protest, only pulled Billy in closer, pulling his hat out of the way before kissing him again.

They came apart again. Billy was out of breath too. “I’ll be honest, if you tease me like that I’m liable to just fuck you in the alley. Rather do it somewhere else. Unless you’re in a real rush to get to your next target.”

“Can’t say I am,” Jack said, still catching his breath.

“I don’t have a room at the inn. I sleep in a tent outside of town until there’s another cattle run.”

“Fine by me.” Jack shrugged. “I’ll fuck you under the stars. Inn here’s nothing to write home about-- got lice the one time I stayed the night coming through here before.”

Billy smiled wistfully. They rode out of town, the sun already low near the horizon, and the air quickly shifting from stifling to pleasantly cool to chilly. Jack was following behind him, having taken Billy’s rifle too. Billy thought about how maybe this was all a strange ploy to just kill him outside of the town line. Jack could shoot him from behind, and knowing his aim, he wouldn’t have any trouble dispatching him with one shot to the head, before Billy knew what hit him. But when Billy dared look behind him, Jack would smile, looking eager for what they had planned. No fear that Billy could lead him into an ambush of some sort. Pure unadulterated confidence. Billy found his tent site, and took a few minutes to build a small fire in the stone ring he’d made before. Maybe he was just stalling, knowing that once they did the deed, he was probably not long for this world. He saw Jack’s black boots come into his view once the fire was going strong.

“You wanna get on with it?” Jack said, and there was a note of whininess in his tone.

“Put the guns away, at least,” Billy muttered. “So I can peel you out of that outfit.”

His tent really wasn’t made for fucking—too narrow and low for anything but sleeping. The air wasn’t too cold yet. Billy lay out as many thick blankets as he could on the ground and Jack seemed to have no reservations, starting to strip himself down.

“You a seasoned rider?” Billy asked tugged off his brown pants.

Jack pulled a face. “Ridden my share. Tame, wild, you name it. Just so long as I like the look of it, I’ll ride it.”

This was a fantasy come true. That irritating pretty rodeo cowboy he was so taken with years ago was lying underneath him, ripe for the taking, admitting to wanting it. Billy opened his shirt carefully, not wanting to ruin the fancy tailoring or ivory buttons. The shirt wasn’t pristine white—there were pitstains and a bit of yellowness around the back of the collar. Jack wasn’t as perfect up close as he was in the rodeo ring. He smelled like horses, hay, and gunpowder.

“Reckon I’ll spare you if you’re real sweet to me,” Jack said, a smug smile on his face.

“And what if I’m rough?” Billy asked. He was almost reluctant to do it but reached into his boot and pulled out a sizeable knife that he pressed against Jack’s throat. Jack’s breath hitched, but he didn’t look too unnerved. This sick son-of-a-bitch looked like he was getting a thrill out of it.

“What if I’m rough with ya and take what I want then just slit your throat and leave you here in the desert for the crows?”

Jack was still smiling. “You won’t want to.”

“Why? Cause you’re such a good fuck?”

“Cause I like your style and you don’t seem like the kind.” Jack leaned forward, so that Billy instinctively moved the knife away from his throat before remembering himself.

Billy shoved him down into the blankets, holding him there because Jack kept trying to get up and resume kissing, or maybe intent on getting away and getting to the guns he’d discarded a few yards away. “Soft enough for you? Warm enough?”

Jack nodded. As Billy pulled Jack’s pants off his legs, his cock sprang out of its confines, raring to go. You’d never know they were negotiating who was going to murder whom. Jack Lander was a pretty little thing alright. A deadly, dangerous, unscrupulous little thing with a terrible profession, but Billy didn’t mind.

Billy didn’t want to have the knife in his hand. He wanted to take his time and enjoy this. As long as he kept this self-satisfied little strumpet of a man underneath him, he could probably hold him down with his weight. He threw the knife out of reach and picked up Jack’s legs over his own shoulders. He spat a gob of spit into his palm, quickly preparing himself, testing the body in front of him out with two probing fingers.

Jack squirmed but looked receptive, but when Billy pushed himself inside, there was a grunt of discomfort.

“Don’t have oil on me,” Billy muttered, kneading his hand against the soft flesh of Jack’s ass.

“Didn’t think you would,” Jack shot back, laughing.

Billy spat more into his hand, pulling out just enough to add a bit more to the mix.

“You gonna fuck me or what?” Jack said, sneering, moving his knees so Billy’s neck was squeezed tight between his calves. What Billy thought was a vulnerable position for Jack now let him choke Billy with relative ease. Billy shoved his legs down but Jack just wrapped his legs around Billy’s waist, digging his heels into him out of habit, as if even without spurs the motion could cause things to move along faster.

“Don’t you worry, I’ll fuck ya,” Billy gritted out through his teeth and set up a fast pace. He still couldn’t believe his fortune, both good and bad. He never thought anyone would bother looking for him—he hadn’t even shot that sheriff fatally, but he left town to be on the safe side and heard through hearsay that the bastard died of blood infection anyway. But if there was ever a good way to get hunted down this was probably it. If Jack Lander still managed to kill him, at least he got to fuck him first.

It was growing dark and the campfire cast flickering light along Jack’s pale skin, and their shadows against the tent looked elongated and distorted. Their two horses watched them from the post they’re tied to. Jack turned out to be quite a screamer, shouting and cursing into the empty desert when he came, hands going from tight fists to falling completely limp by his side. Billy pushed in quickly, relentlessly, satisfied that he made the other man mewl first. It wasn’t long before he came too. He slumped down on Jack, as much out of physical tiredness as growing mentally weary when he thought about how he’d probably have to kill Jack. At the very least, he’d have to take all the guns and both horses if he didn’t want Jack to follow him to the next town.

“You plottin’ what to do about me?” Jack asked, as if reading his mind. “I’m not gonna kill ya. I’m not gonna turn you in. I don’t need the money. I do this for my own pleasure.”

Billy relented and shifted his body weight off of him, courteously offering Jack the side closer to the campfire, but saying nothing.

Jack moved closer, pressing his body into Billy’s and looking sleepy. Neither was probably planning on it, but they fell asleep in the open air, only waking up when the fire died down and the air had gotten nippy. They shuffled into the tent, Jack falling asleep before Billy, squeezed close, arms in a loose embrace around him.

The next morning Jack was sitting there, watching Billy build another campfire. He looked half-asleep, shivering, wrapped in one of the blankets, with only his head showing and his hair mussed.

“I don’t have any more wood. We’re gonna have to resort to prairie coal this morning.”

“You think I’m so soft? That I never slept outdoors or made do with what’s out here?”

“You don’t look like you have.”

“Well you’re mistaken.” Jack looked away towards the horses before turning back. “I was meaning to ask you... if you were interested in my line of work at all?”

Billy only laughed in response.

“It’s not the most glamorous of jobs, I’ll give you that, but it’s better than doing cattle drives for other people. You might be good at catchin’ these villains.”

“Catching? Thought the point was to kill them. Dead or alive usually just means dead.”

Jack sighed.

“Why’re you so eager to get more competitors in your territory in any case?” Billy asked, finally stepping back from the fire to admire his handiwork, before putting a pot of morning coffee on.

“I was thinking more along the lines of a partnership. I do well enough on my own, but everyone needs a backup now and then. And it gets lonely out on the trail.”

Billy laughed. “Nah, you and I? We ain’t got anything in common. I never wanted to kill people as a profession.”

“Well, I know we’ve got an interest in the same type of night entertainment at least,” Jack muttered under his breath.

Billy stopped himself short when he caught himself imagining that kind of life. It was insane to even consider it.

“You don’t think Lander & Butcher has a certain ring to it?” Jack asked, smiling, unwrapping himself from the blanket and moving closer to the fire, stretching out his hands towards the flames. “We could bring some real frontier justice to these parts.”

#butchlander #the... cowboy au #homelander #billy butcher #the boys #the boys tv #mystuff

[talonabraxas]

Planet Mars: Astrology, Associations, Healing & Magick -Talon Abraxas

Mars and Magick

The energy of Mars may be invoked in magical workings dealing with warriors, war or battles, attack or defense, increasing or preserving physical strength, courage, or sexual potency.

It can also be invoked to break binding spells and love spells and to counter or protect against any spells using Venus energy. Mars energy lends itself well to spells to induce lust and passion, but not love and devotion.

Herbs Associated with the Planet Mars

Thorny and/or red plants are often associated with Mars as are those with a strong, spicy flavor and the ability to warm and stimulate or energize the body.

A list of 50+ herbs associated with the planet Mars:

Acacia,

Agapanthus,

Aloes,

All-Heal,

Asafoetida,

Asarabacca,

Ashwagandha,

Barberry,

Basil,

Belladonna,

Betony,

Black cherry,

Black gum,

Blue cohosh,

Broomrape,

Bryony,

Buckbush,

Butterbur,

Butcher’s broom,

Cacti,

Calamus,

Caper,

Cardamom,

Cardoon,

Cassava,

Catnip,

Chicalote,

Chickweed,

Chives,

Coneflower,

Coriander,

Corn salad,

Cow Parsnip,

Cypress,

Dandelion leaf,

Devil’s claw root,

Dragonhead flower,

Dragon tree,

Field horsetail,

Flax lily,

Garlic,

Gentian,

ginger,

Gobo,

Gorse,

Guanique,

Hawthorn,

Holly,

Horseradish,

Hyacinth,

Japanese knotweed,

Kola nut,

Lamium,

Maca,

Madder Root,

Madwoman’s Milk,

Masterwort,

Mistletoe,

Mugwort,

Mullein,

Mustard,

nettles,

Onion,

Pepper,

Pepperwort,

Pennyroyal,

Pigweed,

Radish,

Red cedar,

Red clover,

Red-hot poker,

Reed,

Resurrection lily,

Rowan,

Rue,

Safflower,

Sarsaparilla,

Solandra,

Tea,

Tarragon,

Thistle,

Thyme,

Toadflax,

Tomatillo,

Turmeric,

Wild ginger,

Wild tobacco,

Wormwood,

Yohimbe

Crystals Associated with Mars

Any red stone can be used to represent Mars including ruby and garnet. Bloodstone also contains Mars energy.

Other Correspondences

Mars is associated with Tuesday, and in Romance languages, the word for Tuesday often resembles Mars (in Spanish, Martes, and in French, Mardi). Dante Alighieri associated Mars with the liberal art of arithmetic.

The color red, the-tower tarot card, the sword, and the pentagram are all symbols of Mars.

The horse, the bear, and the wolf are also associated with Mars.

[pedropascallme]

The Good, the Bad, and the Better II

Pairing: gunslinger!Joel Miller x f!Reader

Summary: "You stood, walking into the main room to see the Millers sat at the kitchen table, conversing in hushed tones. They stopped speaking when you approached; Joel kept his gaze down, and Tommy shifted to look at you, offering a polite smile."

Content: Mentions of crimes? Is that a warning? If I missed anything please let me know!

AN: Hi this took forever to edit because I love overusing adjectives. Anyway this is part 2, part 1 is here! I likely won't be updating this series super often because I'm way too busy but nevertheless I persist.

You learned quickly that this was not a house of God.

The Miller boys were…brash, put lightly. It wasn’t shocking; of course, two grown men, unmarried and in a territory where anything could happen, and often did, were going to eat, drink, and be merry on their own accord. But you were startled by Ellie’s delight at being included in their fliting and fighting. You listened for hours on end as El and Tommy hurled insults and laughed while Joel looked on with a glint of humor in his eyes, never cracking a smile; the men drinking beer and Ellie sipping sarsaparilla, her hand dwarfed by Tommy’s as she tried her best to beat him in an arm wrestle.

You didn’t mind, in all honesty, but the culture shock was something you hadn’t expected. Maybe you should’ve known that your aunt’s friends wouldn’t be gentlemen to the highest degree, given her track record and the company she often kept, but it was better than sitting at home and waiting to join your parents in the Heavens—death by boredom and self-pity.

Despite the disorder, you found solace in the moments you were granted now, in Texas. The sun was radiant, adding natural blush to your cheeks and making you feel truly alive in the midst of all your losses. And the company was, though chaotic, far from bad. You continued to teach Ellie the hand games you used to play with the girls at church, Tommy watching idly, his foot hitting the floorboards in sync with the rhythm of your hands smacking together. You did, truly, have a soft spot for the younger girl. It was something that felt familial, the thought of two orphans living under the same roof and sharing the experience of adventure and the wild west—or maybe it was just because she made you laugh till your stomach hurt, tears creeping out of your eyes when she made you cackle with glee, the taste of the salt on your face finally associated with joy instead of sorrow.  

Tommy, too, was increasingly easy to be around. He was polite, for someone who lived in such a frenzied manner, and seemed to genuinely mean it when he waved good morning, putting breakfast in front of you first when the sun rose.

“How come I never get fed first?” Ellie whined, still in sleep clothes, knees tucked into her chest as the sun crept in through the windows, heating the house.

“Ladies first.” Tommy winked, serving you before reaching over to drop down Ellie’s plate in front of her.

“I could be a lady!” Ellie spread herself out, arms and legs wide as she slumped in her chair.

“Do ya wanna be one?” Tommy arched a brow, feeding himself now.

“…Just want some damn eggs…” She grumbled.

But Joel still made you out of place, still gave you that uneasy heat in the bottom of your stomach that you had grown accustomed to pushing down. He stayed mostly quiet, even when it came to rough housing; his looming presence felt more adjacent to violence than Tommy and Ellie’s wrestling, and his blunt, grunted responses to their insults made your heartbeat pick up just a bit. He barely addressed you, opting to care for the horses while you ate, leaving for town shortly after and returning after dinner. You didn’t know where he went, where he found himself on the long days under the Texan sun, and all Ellie ever told you was not to worry about the work the Millers did.

You heard Joel say your name once or twice on occasion while you readied yourself for bed, Ellie snoring behind you on the mattress you shared, unable to pick up any other dialogue between Joel and Tommy from the other room.

You hated to admit it, so you didn’t, but hearing your name fall from Joel’s lips excited you more than anything else ever had.

~~~

Texas, November 1847

“I don’t understand—how will I know if the next card will be the right number to help me get to twenty-one?” The cabin was quiet, save for your conversation, and you heard birds circling nearby, calling down at the nothingness of the fields below. Joel and Tommy had left after breakfast, and Ellie used the silence to her advantage, finally teaching you the games Tommy said would create a poor influence.

“You don’t! That’s the point—give me your cards.” Ellie snatched the stack of cards in front of you, shuffling them together with her own and dealing them out again. “It’s all luck, that’s all betting is. Joel says it’s cheat or be cheated, but I think it’s fun.”

“He doesn’t seem to say much else…” You muttered, peaking at Ellie over your cards, “Oh—uh, hit me.” You tried to remember the correct terminology for the game, making El smile up at you.

She passed you another card, “He’s not so bad. Don’t know why you don’t like him.”

“Who said I didn’t like him?” You felt defensive, “I never said that. It’s rude to talk about people when they aren’t in your presence.”

“Ain’t it also a sin to gamble?” Ellie looked devious, and you bit back the urge to toss your cards at her.

“I don’t have money down. And I don’t think Joel likes me.” You countered. “Never even looks at me.”

“That’s just what he’s like,” Ellie echoed Tommy’s words from a month prior, and you still didn’t like how they sounded, “Quiet type.”

“I think it’s rude.”

“So you don’t like him.”

“I like him fine. Just wish he would address me. Wonder sometimes if he even knows my name.” You felt heat creep underneath your corset when you recalled that he did, in fact, know your name, and the memories of hearing him say it in hushed conversation with Tommy when they thought you were only made you feel warmer.

“Uh huh,” the same devious look returned to Ellie’s face, and she revealed her cards to you—a perfect 21, “I win.”

You heard the patter of hooves outside, a whinny, and then the sound of boots hitting the dusty ground. Joel and Tommy pushed through the door, respectively stoic and jovial. You noticed the guns strapped to their legs, feeling suddenly uncomfortable in your own skin; why did they need those?

And why did you want to watch Joel pull the trigger?

They weren’t anything like the hunting rifles your father had owned but never used. They looked like props, shiny and decorative, but all too heavy on the belts of the men in front of you to be anything but the real deal.

Maybe they just liked hunting in style; you pushed the thought from your mind, supposing that ignorance would be bliss.

You watched Tommy take a handful of coins from his pocket, placing them on the table in front of Ellie, who delighted in running her fingers over the metal. You stayed seated, curiously stealing glances at the money. You nearly jumped when you felt a tap on your shoulder, turning to see Joel standing over you before he reached out his hand to offer you a coin like the ones Ellie and Tommy were giggling like school children over. You placed your hand over it shyly, feeling the cold of the metal where it met the warmth of Joel’s hand.

“Keep it.” He turned before you could ask what for, let alone say thank you.

You looked at Ellie from across the table. She just smiled.

~~~

You spent the following morning at the small desk in the corner of your bedroom, writing notes to your aunt and describing in less than stellar detail the events of the past month, asking how New York was and ensuring that she knew how deeply you missed her. The paper was old, and the ink nearly dry, but it was all you could find in the house and felt it would be a waste not to use what you had so luckily stumbled upon. You pushed the letter out of the way, putting down the pen and watching it roll back on the wood of the desk. It hit the coin Joel had given you the day prior, and you sat staring at it for a moment; why on earth was this clouding your mind so much? It was just a coin, a dollar piece—Ellie hadn’t seemed disturbed by the wealth the Millers had brought home yesterday, why should one dollar cause your hands to tremble?

You knew why.

You knew it was because of the mystery, the sudden understanding that these men were likely insincere, despite your best efforts to see the best in everybody. You knew it was because of how the coin complemented the tanned skin of Joel’s hand when he had gifted it to you, and the way you could still see the imprint of his thumb against the stamp of lady liberty. The thought of Joel keeping one of the coins with the sole intent of giving it to you made you turn scarlet.

Your first crush had been an older boy at church; his hair was dusty blonde, and you liked the way he sang his hymns. And then there had been the boy who worked at the stables in town, who tried to steal a kiss from you when your father stopped to talk to the man who ran the place. There was the man who worked at the shop down the road, and the other boy from church. And of course, the boy on the ranch next door that your mother insisted you bring fresh bread to whenever she had made enough, pushing a basket into your arms and encouraging you to find yourself a lifelong connection.

But they had all been so…plain.

You felt dirty, knowing that deep down you harbored any sort of feeling for a man who wouldn’t even look you in the eyes, one so much older than you with a hint of gray in his beard and calloused hands, silver gun strapped to his hip and money you didn’t know the source of in his pockets—but maybe that’s what made it fun this time, instead of harboring a guilty conscious about whether or not you were good enough for him, you were left wondering whether or not he was good enough for you.

It was a complete role reversal, a situation that turned the tired trope of your incessant need to be a good, God-fearing young woman in order to appeal to someone on its head. You were already good enough—great, even. Better, at least, than he was.

And at the very least, it was more interesting than any other crush you had experienced.

You stood, walking into the main room to see the Millers sat at the kitchen table, conversing in hushed tones. They stopped speaking when you approached; Joel kept his gaze down, and Tommy shifted to look at you, offering a polite smile.

“Where’s El?” You asked when you realized they wouldn’t speak unless spoken to.

“Off somewhere.” Tommy was casual about Ellie’s outings. You felt almost jealous of how easy it was for her to go off exploring on her own, taking a horse—her horse—and spending her days wild and free; you wondered what life would have been like for you if you had been granted that type of liberation growing up.

You supposed you would be much more like your aunt.

“Oh,” you tried not to show your disappointment at the younger girl’s absence, or your anxiety at being left alone with the two men currently in your presence. You spoke directly to Tommy, facing him to speak rather than leaving your words ambiguous in the direction of both men. Joel didn’t seem to care, not that you’d be able to read his expression properly if he did. “I have a letter for my aunt. Will you mail it for me?”

“You can mail it yourself today!” Tommy’s grin grew wider, “You’re goin’ on an adventure, girly.”

“What?” You couldn’t begin to hide the surprise in your voice. You hadn’t left the house since you’d arrived, opting to familiarize yourself with the space and the patch of land surrounding it, and the thought of leaving made your stomach churn just a bit.

"You have land, ever think to check on it?" Tommy teased, though he clearly sensed your distress with the way he pulled another chair out from the table, beckoning you silently to sit. You did, crossing your ankles and clasping your hands in your lap.

“When? Now?” You prodded, trying to maintain a shred of dignity, but feeling antsy.

“Slow down, now—in a bit. Y’ever ride a horse before?” Tommy narrowed his eyes at you playfully.

“No.” Joel interrupted before you had a chance to open your mouth.

“I—yes, I have.” You tried to ignore Joel, side-eyeing him while you answered Tommy’s question.

“She’s not takin’ a horse.” Joel was gruff, and you liked the way his accent paired with his deep voice, but that didn’t quell your confusion.

“C’mon, Joel—” Tommy raised his shoulders, something you noticed he did when arguing with his brother.

“No. Too dangerous.” Joel leaned forward, “Not worth the risk.”

Tommy let his shoulders sag, looking between you and Joel. He let out a defeated huff. “What, then—she ridin’ with you?”

With you?

“S’what makes the most sense.” Joel shrugged, nonchalant, and reached for a bottle of something on the table before taking a swig. “Safer.”

You think this may be the most you’d ever heard the elder Miller speak in one sitting, and you didn’t know whether to be honored or threatened that he was talking about you.

“I don’t…I can’t ride that well,” you muttered, feeling as though it was only fair for you to get a say in the outcome of this argument, even if you were agreeing with Joel, “Joel’s right.”

Joel and Tommy locked eyes, and Tommy raised his hands in defeat, before silently leaving the table to prep the horses.

You sat quietly next to Joel, sneaking glances, and listening to him swallow the remaining liquid in the bottle he had in front of him. You felt hot again, unsure of why you had agreed to share a horse—unsure of why it was Joel taking you in the first place, why Tommy couldn’t be your guardian for the day, why you didn’t just take the cart they had picked you up from the train station in.

“Y’alright?” You jumped at the sudden intrusion from your thoughts, looking up at Joel, who stared back at you.

“N—yes, I’m fine…How are you?” You tried desperately to make an awkward situation less awkward, still almost frightened by Joel’s presence despite the way it thrilled you. Joel made a face that neared a smile but still managed to come off as more of a sneer.

“Doin’ fine, darlin’.” He stood, finding his way outside to help Tommy, leaving you to reflect on how stupid you must look trying to engage with him. 

When you mustered up the courage to leave the shack and locate the two men, you found Joel mounted on his horse, Tommy winding the rope they had used to keep the animal close to the house around his fingers. Joel looked statuesque; high and mighty, wide shoulders sending a shadow behind him that you let your shoes toe at in the dirt. The suede of his hat barely hid the graying hair he had pushed back underneath it, and as you studied him atop the white, speckled horse, you found yourself thinking of the Bible verse that had scared you so much as a child, about death and his steed. You felt your thighs tremble and buried the thought.

Tommy snapped you to attention, whistling low.

“You ready?”

“I—yes.”

“Got that letter?” He smiled at you. You patted your apron pocket, reassuring both Tommy and yourself that the note to your aunt was tucked away safely. “Atta girl. Get on up there, then.” Tommy nodded towards the horse and an uninterested Joel, and you hesitated. There was no mount, no saddle for you, and the Millers seemed to forget that you were shorter than they were—and wearing a dress. You heard Joel huff before he dismounted, boots landing hard on the dirt, crunching rocks underneath him as he walked towards you and, wordlessly, picked you up.

“Joel!” You felt red rush to your face, his arm wrapped tightly around your waist until he stood parallel to the ever-patient horse, where he maneuvered you bridal-style and waited for you to get your legs around the horse’s midriff. You couldn’t look up, stunned and somewhat frozen in place, refusing to make eye contact with an amused Tommy as Joel himself got onto the horse with ease in front of you.

“El jumps. For the record.” Joel muttered at you, “Hold on.” You hesitated again, raising your arms before an impatient Joel delicately connected his hand to one of your own, pulling it against his stomach. “I don’t bite, darlin’.” You could see the white of his teeth when he spoke. You scooted closer, pressing your chest into him slightly as if to test the waters. He didn’t budge.

“Best get a move on,” Tommy reminded you of his presence, “Wanna be back before sundown.”

~~~

It had been years since you had ridden a horse. As a child, you knew girls whose parents were wealthy, and could afford the luxury of buying their daughters their own personal mare to parade around. You tried not to feel envious; you were happy for what you had—for everything God granted—but you couldn’t help the flare of envy that rose in your throat when you saw girls braiding the dusty manes of their horses, putting Queen Anne’s lace and dandelions in their tails.

Joel was silent. He hadn’t said a word since Tommy had seen you off on your excursion, and part of you was glad. You could focus on the slow sound of the horse’s hooves against the landscape and the way the breeze knocked the short plants over themselves. You could feel Joel’s stomach expand with every breath he took, your hands still planted cautiously around his waist. You found yourself leaning forward into him every few minutes, the comfort of his back, the friction of his jacket against your cheek keeping you grounded. You jumped where you sat when he turned slightly to spit the chewing tobacco he had in his cheeks.

“Sorry.” Joel grumbled a short apology, and you lowered yourself back onto him hesitantly.

“It’s alright.” Your breathing fell in sync with his. More silence followed, and you tried to think of ways you might break the tension that surrounded you. “Joel?”

“Mm.”

“Why did you give me that money?” Your words were quiet, nearly vanishing into the suede of his jacket. Joel didn’t respond for a long while.

“Wanted you to have it,” He shrugged, and you moved with him, his shoulders lifting your neck slightly, “ain’t like you got a job.” His head turned just enough for him to view you in his peripheral, and you looked up at him, not fully convinced by his answer.

You didn’t believe him. “Got land.”

“Not the same, darlin’.” Joel returned his attention to the path in front of him.

“Where’d you get it?”

“Pardon?”

“The money.”

Joel sighed, as if he had been anticipating your line of questioning. “Y’ask a lot of questions.”

“No, I don’t.”

“You’re difficult, too.” He spoke with an air of amusement.

“Yeah? Well, you’re rude.”

“Why’s‘at?”

“You don’t address me properly, you don’t look at me when you speak, you drink too much, and you manhandled me earlier.”

“That all?” Joel snorted, amused by your distaste.

“You aren’t a gentleman.” You removed your arms from his waist and placed them at your sides.

“I’m not?” Joel was taunting you now, entertained by your outburst.

“You’re not.”

Joel purposefully kicked at the horse’s side, encouraging it to speed up and cross haphazardly over a brush. You bounced, quickly returning your hands to Joel, wrapping them tighter around him this time, and feeling his stomach vibrate as he chuckled.

“Joel!”

“You’re no peach yourself.” Joel brought the horse to a trot once more.

“I’m—what?”

“You ain’t as proper as you act, darlin’. It ain’t hard to tell.”

You spluttered, taken aback by his attack on your virtue. “I hardly know what you mean.”

“I think you do,” Joel brought the horse to a stop, jumping off before reaching out a hand to help you down. “Pretty thing like you in that fancy dress, roughin’ it with three strangers out in th’middle of nowhere.” Joel didn’t wait for you to reach for his hand; instead, he placed his palm on your waist and maneuvered your leg over the side of the horse to let you jump off. “I know you like those card games El taught you. I think you like the idea of letting yourself get a li’l corrupted.” Joel’s eyes were like molasses under the sun, and you averted your gaze, watching his lips move when he spoke instead of trying to make eye contact. The choice only made it worse, pink lips forming his words so precisely that you could practically see his accent. “Where do you think the money came from, sweetheart?”

“I…I can tell you where I hope you got it from…” You felt relief when your feet hit the ground. Joel’s hand didn’t leave your waist, and you looked up at him, realizing that this was the first time you’d seen him smile—all it took was a few insults at his expense, and his own analysis of you.

“Where’s‘at?”

“A bank.”

“Then that’s where it came from.” He abruptly removed his hand from your waist, and you expected to see a bright red print when you looked down at the spot he had been holding; instead, all you saw was the same blue of your dress, a warm, damp feeling on your hip where you could still feel the excess heat from Joel’s skin. “C’mon. We’re walkin’ the rest of the way.”

You followed him, feeling a bit pathetic at the way you ran to match his stride before he could leave you in the dust.

“But that isn’t where it came from, is it?” You pushed, not done riling yourself up, kicking dirt up on the trail as you walked.

“Why’re you so worried ‘bout where it came from?” Joel stuffed more tobacco in his lip without breaking step.

“I’m—it isn’t worry.” And it wasn’t, to an extent: really, you were just curious to unravel the mystery that the Millers had so plainly laid out for you. That, and with the new knowledge that he had a gun strapped to his hip, something gnawed at you to know any shred of truth you could get out of him. “I’m just curious.”

“I couldn’t tell.” Joel didn’t look at you, but he slowed his pace, putting his hands on his hips. “All money comes from banks, darlin’.”

At that, you dropped the subject, understanding that at the present moment you’d get nothing else out of him. “Why do you call me that?”

“Mm?” Joel’s speed increased again.

“You call me darling. But you don’t call El that.”

“Mm.” Joel mumbled again, in assent this time.

“Do you call my aunt that?”

Joel guffawed, “No—Tess’d serve my head on a platter.”

“So why me?”

“Suits you.” Joel looked down at you, and you avoided his gaze, leaving you unable to see the sudden consternation in his face. “Why? Y’don’t like it?”

“I—no, I didn’t say that…”

You rounded a bend, and the house came into view in the distance; it was old. Worn down, but not nearly as much as the old shack the Millers and El called home. It looked sturdy, at least—like it could sustain life, if someone was there to give it a little love. The thought made you think of Joel, and you didn’t know why.

Maybe you did. Just a little.

You were about to ask more questions, try to get more information out of Joel, when he smacked a hand on your stomach, landing with a thud that made you grab at his wrist to steady yourself.

“Joel—!”

“Quiet.” He looked stern, a far cry from the grins and giggles he had shared with you, however hesitantly, on the journey. You followed his line of sight, narrowing your eyes against the glare of the sun, and you could make out three men and their horses.

“Joel…?” You whispered now, hand still grasping at his wrist.

“Get down.” You did as you were told, following Joel’s lead and flattening yourself against the sand and pebbles beneath you. The earth was cold, like it had just rained, and you could hear Joel breathing beside you, his arm coming to rest over your back, shielding you. From what? You were unsure. You tried to crane your neck to see what the men were doing—get a glimpse of the people who surrounded your would-be home, who were clearly making Joel antsy—but the weeds were too tall, and the men were too far away. You could hear small crashes every now and then, ground crunching under boots and hooves, unable to make out any conversation. Joel’s hand was heavy on your back, and you could feel his calloused fingers gently brushing against the fabric of your dress. Whether it was subconscious on his part or not, you couldn’t complain; it felt soothing in the midst of whatever you had stumbled into.

You don’t know how long you lay in the dirt before you heard a whistle, and the sound of horses running too close to you for comfort.

When you peaked your head up again, Joel quickly moved his hand up your back and clapped it on the back of your neck, bringing you down to his level, close enough to see the sweat dripping from his temples. “You stay right here.” He didn’t give you any time to respond with so much as a nod before he was lifting himself off of the ground and grabbing the pistol from his hip, walking slowly toward the house; gun drawn, head down, steps silent. You counted the seconds until you were given a sign that you, too, could remove yourself from the ground.

“S’alright,” Joel called over his shoulder to you, “c’mon down here.”

You caught up to him, wiping what you could of the dirt off of your dress and stretching your limbs after lying idly for so long.

“Can I please have an explanation,” you stomped as you approached him, “as to what that was about?”

“Later,” Joel muttered, “Get inside.”

You meandered towards the entrance to the house, the small wooden door looked as though it might fall off its hinges if you pushed too hard, so you tried to open it with grace despite your frustration. Leaning against the frame, your head fell, neck stiff from your attempts to follow the action from your spot in the weeds, and you spotted a piece of paper in the grass.

You bent down, grabbing the torn paper and dusting it off as best you could. Your heartbeat picked up, and the hot air made you feel suddenly thirsty and dazed. The muscles in your knees tightened.

“What’cha got, darlin’?” Joel made his way to the door, ready to get out of the sun.

You pushed the paper into him, and you’re sure you must have looked an ugly combination of hurt and outrage, glaring at him when you pressed it between his ribs. If he was worried, his face hardly gave it away; the cold look he always wore marred only by a bit of mud and furrowed brows as he delicately slipped the paper from your hands and brought it up to his face.

WANTED:

JOEL and THOMAS MILLER

DEAD or ALIVE

NOTORIOUS ROBBERS of BANKS and TRAINS

$5,000.00 REWARD

CONTACT SHERIFF and RAILWAY AGENCY

Joel smiled at the poster in his hands, tracing the sketches of himself and his brother with his eyes, then moving his gaze down to you. You continued to glare, now feeling unafraid to look him dead in the eye despite what you had just learned.

“Told you, it all comes from a bank.” Joel sounded almost sheepish, but you couldn’t tell if it was because he now knew someone was looking for him, or if it was because of how quickly the ad had turned you against him.

You turned on your heel, and slammed the door in his face, not caring if the hinges broke and the wood splintered out at him.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us smut #tlou #tlou fanfiction #tlou smut

[magnuspeccatori]

Nuka Wild Sarsaparilla

"A Taste of the West"

Unleashing the untamed spirit of the wasteland with a vibrant and energetic look. Yeehaw!

This one's definitely my favorite. Nothing can compete with Sunset Sarsaparilla, though

#NukaCola #Fallout #3DArt #ArtisticRedesign #FanArt #ModernDesign #DigitalArt #NukaQuantum #NukaDark #NukaWild #NukaVictory #FalloutCommunity #FalloutFan #FalloutArt #VaultDweller #fallout 76 #fallout 3 #fallout new vegas #fallout 4 #product design #coca cola #cowboy #wild #sunset sarsaparilla #sarsaparilla #western #blender #blender 3d #3d model #3d artwork

[thisisnotthenerd]

following up on my previous posts about d20 seating: 1 & 2

seat archetypes (all seasons)

as you can imagine, finding a throughline that exactly fits every d20 character that sits in a seat is never fully going to work. i'm not jamming them into an archetype that doesn't fit. these are big general thoughts, just like they were for the intrepid heroes seasons. anyway:

L1: pretty even mix of martial and magic--lots of partial casters. 3/4 d20 paladins. i checked. in game, there's a penchant for big swings and wild decisions. sometimes the payoff of that is insane: ricky's sacrifice in the final battle, fig making arianwen lose her magic, liam's wish, sunny & the bell, maggie giving birth, rick diggins' everything, antiope killing charity in one round, gunnie going ftl with gnosis, conrad's appeal to madam loathing, i could go on. many who sit in this chair have a penchant for party guidance/leadership. they may or may not be an official leader, but many of them are the heart of the party morally and just generally.

Characters:

Fig Faeth, Maggie, Ricky Matsui, Rick Diggins, Liam Wilhelmina, Sunny Biscotto, Gangie Green, Whitney Jammer, Antiope Jones, Terry Talbo, Gunnie Miggles-Rashbax, Dr. Aleksandr Astrovsky, Andhera, Rosamund du Prix, Thane Delissandro Katzon, Troyánn (Karkyn?), Conrad Schintz/Conscience

L2: Martial lean--only a couple of full casters. in game, these characters kick ass in high stakes scenarios (sometimes), or hit rock bottom. there is no in between. sometimes their entire arc is getting knocked down and the getting up from rock bottom in order to kick ass: leiland's whole deal, sofia's chapter 2 arc, timothy . a bunch of tanks. also, a tendency towards older men.

Characters:

Gorgug Thistlespring, Leiland, Sofia Lee, Boomer, Theobald Gumbar, Barbarella Sarsaparilla Gainglynn, Buckster $ Boyd, Katja Cleaver, Riva, Captain K.P Hob, Mother Timothy Goose, A. Tension/Attention

L3: the magic chair. lots of full casters. all 3 d20 wizards sit here. the lowkey chosen one energy persists. think about it. strong narrative investment. several characters who make the hit that takes down the BBEG. either some kind of chaotic gremlin or a parent. oftentimes both simultaneously. actually the split more reflects parent or parent issues. isolated characters who feel ignored in some way taking control of their narratives.

Characters:

Adaine Abernant, Efink Murderdeath, Kingston Brown, Agnes, Jet Rocks, Saccharina Frostwhip, Cheese, Daisy D'umpstaire, K | Dream, Penny Luckstone, Megan Mirror, Norman "Skip" Takamori, Squing, Lady Chirp Featherfowl, Pinocchio, Bishop Raphaniel Charlock, Princess Foehammer, Hunch Curio/Curiosity

R3: slight magic lean. it's the bard chair. 5 of them, to be exact. a lot of charismatic characters sit in this seat. if they're not charm-based, they go the complete opposite direction. not friendly, surprisingly violent, quite abrasive at times. learning to really understand other people and move past your perception of your own needs by contrast. this can go either direction: you can have a fully self-interested character like margaret or you can have danielle barkstock's insane selflessness.

Characters:

Fabian Seacaster, Sokhbarr, Misty Moore, TI-83, Ruby Rocks, Myrtle (the Bitch), Iga Lisowski, Rowan Berry, Vicar Ian Prescott, Sam Black, Danielle Barkstock, Tuti IV, Margaret Encino, Wetzel, Lord Squak Airavis, Puss in Boots | PIB, Karna Solara, Gertrude, Imelda Pulse/Impulse

R2: Split of martial & magic. it's high WIS or no WIS, people. trying to do better than you did before in various ways: kristen's religious crisis, kugrash's atonement, cody's whole deal, gerard's whole deal, dan fucks' revolution, rue coming out, jack's whole deal. there's a very funny split that i've found here; the ladies who sit here have a lot of power and use it to devastating effect. examples: kristen making a god and naming an old god, ostentatia's commune & divine intervention, lilith's everything, sidney taking a vercadian out in one shot. the men? they either hit rock bottom during the season or start there and work upward. the only exception i can think of is bean. and the nbs, rue and lars, are just fabulous.

Characters:

Kristen Applebees, Lilith, Kugrash, Bean, Amethar Rocks, Jack Brakkow, Cody Walsh, Lars Vandenchomp, Ostentatia Wallace, Sundry Sidney, Delloso de la Rue, Gerard of Greenleigh, Colin Provolone, Dan Fucks/Desire

R1: the rogue chair. it's more than R3's bards, with six rogues. no multiclasses. it's the rogue chair. otherwise, a bunch of rangers and sorcerers. this chair is for the plothounds. they're searching it out and making connections, or they're making big magic swings and connecting themselves to gods. they tend to put the detectives here. everyone here is going to make the dm's job easier by idk, communing with a death god (2 nickels for this seat), or going off on their own to find clues to a greater mystery.

Characters:

Riz Gukgak, Markus St. Vincent, Pete Conlan, Car-Go Jones, Lapin Cadbury, Cumulous Rocks, Marcid the Typhoon, Sylvester Cross, Evan Kelmp, Sam Nightingale, Seven, Big Barry Syx, May Wong, BINX Choppley, Ylfa Snorgelsson, Lady Amangeaux Epiceé du Peche, Twyla, The Fix/Hyperfixation

and that's all for this installment of thisisnotthenerd's d20 stats. feel free to tell me what you think, whether you agree or disagree. as always, the spreadsheet can be found here:

https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1g7skmX8WuPRsjvU1K0lAjVf4rNVnuuarW3Zb87A5hx0/edit?usp=sharing

@perksofbeingalittletwat you inspired this with your comment on the last seating chart, so thank you for that.

#dimension 20 #dimension 20 meta #dimension 20 spoilers #thisisnotthenerd's d20 stats #d20 #d20 spoilers #d20 meta #dimension 20 statistics

[vandaliatraveler]

Day Date at Spruce Knob-Seneca Rocks National Recreation Area, Part 2. Gorgeous late spring day on the summit of Spruce Knob.

From top: View from the main overlook toward North Fork Mountain; flagged red spruce and broken Pottsville sandstone on the western-facing slope of the mountain; a close-up of a bunchberry (Cornus canadensis) "flower", characterized by four white bracts surrounding a mound of true, white to purplish flowers that will soon be replaced by edible, bright red berries; the ball-shaped, greenish-white flowers of wild sarsaparilla (Aralia nudicaulis), which cluster under the plant's umbrella-like leaves; the elegant yellow flower stalk of yellow Clintonia (Clintonia borealis), also known as bluebead lily for the porcelain blue berries that follow the flowers in late summer; a late-flowering red elderberry (Sambucus racemosa var. racemosa), also known as red-berried elder and scarlet elder, typically one of the first plants to bloom in Appalachia's higher elevations; fringed bleeding heart (Dicentra eximia), also known as turkey corn, a gorgeous perennial wildflower of Appalachia's higher mountains, much loved for its extended bloom time from spring through fall; and early azalea (Rhododendron prinophyllum), also known as roseshell azalea, a tall, hardy shrub that loves the acidic soil of the Appalachian highlands.

#appalachia #vandalia #west virginia #wildflowers #spring #flora #allegheny mountains #monongahela national forest #spruce knob #spruce mountain #bunchberry #canadian dwarf cornel #creeping dogwood #wild sarsaparilla #false sarsaparilla #yellow clintonia #bluebead lily #red elderberry #red-berried elder #scarlet elder #fringed bleeding heart #turkey corn #early azalea #roseshell azalea

[absentmoon]

Fallout: New Vegas themed self ship asks! these should mostly be usable for any kind of ship at all 🖤

Platinum Chip— what's one crucial moment in your ship?

Wild Card— talk about an au of your ship!

Sunset Sarsaparilla— how does your ship deal with stress? Do you prefer to confront the situation head on, or do you work on distracting yourselves for awhile?

Blue Moon— in what ways does your ship work together wordlessly? can they read eachothers needs easily, or do they prefer to be more direct when they want something?

Nothin' But a Hound Dog— is there anything major your ship has disagreed on? how did you resolve this?

Veni, Vidi, Vici— is there a "big bad" or any antagonistic figure(s) in your ship? are they people, or something more situational?

Old World Blues— talk about a notable situation your ship was in at one time.

Ain't That a Kick in the Head— what is one thing your ship has had to work to overcome?

Wild Wasteland— are there any "plot twists" in your ship? has anything particularly shocking ever happened to them?

No Gods, No Masters— does your ship affect the plot in any significant way, or does it stay more on the sidelines?

One for My Baby— how does your ship help eachother? what qualities do you bring out in eachother?

Meat of Champions— does food, or cooking in general, play a role in your ship? does your ship cook for one another?

The Whole Gang's Here— talk about your ships' relations to other characters!

Mr. New Vegas— do the people in your ship admire anyone? what traits do they look up to in a person?

Ring-A-Ding-Ding!— talk about anything! could also be used as a gush pass :)

pr/ship // y/andere or related, dni

#HI. I CAN DO WORK NOW🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤 #daisy.txt #special in/fixation tag #self ship asks #selfship ask game #f/o ask meme

[fatehbaz]

[I]n Latin America and the Caribbean, [a]lthough significant tracts of these forests have disappeared, their history goes well beyond the much discussed deforestation that gathered such momentum starting in the 1960s and 70s. [...] In [...] the lower Amazon River Basin, [...] [after European arrival] the extraction of natural resources for external markets got underway. These forest products, known as drogas do sertão, varied enormously: sarsaparilla, vanilla, cinnamon, manatee meat and oil, turtle shells, and feathers were among the most important. [...] [T]his trade [...] did have other environmental consequences, such as the sharp decline in turtle and manatee populations. [...]

[I]n 1750, the Caribbean coast of what is today Nicaragua also exported sarsaparilla and turtle shells in addition to mahogany. To the south, the alluvial mines of Colombia’s Pacific region became the principal source of New Granada’s gold exports during the eighteenth century, well anticipating the recent wave of mining prospecting and exploitation.

---

The extractive economy, which began timidly during the colonial period, burgeoned during the second half of the nineteenth century [...]. The industrial revolution generated demand for raw materials, some of which could be derived from rainforest plants. The rubber boom, which took place primarily in the Amazon but also extended through the forests of Central America, is the quintessential example. There were other important booms, though they tended to affect very specific regions, such as that created by the demand for tagua, or vegetable ivory - the seed of various palm trees that grow in the forests of the Pacific coast between Panama and Ecuador [the “Choco” forest ecoregion] - which was used to make buttons before the invention of plastic.

In the case of the Petén Basin of Guatemala, the tapping of chicle, once the principal ingredient in chewing gum, also illustrates how natural resource extraction restructured regions during the boom period and, following the development of industrial substitutes, dramatically declined.

In the forests of Central America’s Caribbean coast, as exemplified by the case of Belize, logging precious woods and dyewoods was of great importance. But even more significant during the first half of the twentieth century was the expansion of banana plantations in old-growth rainforests. [...]

---

Rubber tappers in the Amazon cleared trails through the forest to connect one or two hundred Hevea trees that produced white rubber, the finest on the market. Every day they collected the latex [...]. The case of black rubber, however, was quite different. This rubber was derived from the latex of the Castilla genus, which is found both in the Amazon and in the forests of the Pacific coast and Central America. But because this latex dries upon contact with the air, rubber gatherers cut down the trees to “bleed” them all at once. In short order, therefore, the population of black rubber trees declined dramatically [...]. [T]he price crash in 1913, caused by the development of rubber plantations in Asia, ended such initiatives [...]. In the wake of these colonos came the establishment of state institutions, such as municipal authorities, and national ones [...]. Starting roughly from the mid-twentieth century, the colonization of tropical forests has been associated with large-scale deforestation. [...] After the 1964 coup, the Brazilian military made the Amazon Basin strategic to their plans for national development [...]. The ideology of civilization’s triumph over an intractable nature and wild population has been instrumental in the conquest of rainforest frontiers.

---

All text by: Claudia Leal. “Rainforest Frontiers.” In: “New Environmental Histories of Latin America and the Caribbean.” Edited by Claudia Leal, Jose Augusto Padua, and John Soluri. RRC Perspectives no. 7, 51-57. 2013. [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me.]

#caribbean #really basic stuff here but i feel early forest product extraction in Latin American gets overshadowed or sidelined #compared to coastal plantations and spanish metals mining and post1960s deforestation #abolition #ecology

[bibliphale]

                   ❛            now that's far enough , my good fellow ! you .. you leave these fine people alone to their drinks & jaunty tunes.            ❜                    1872 ad , texas. dust clogged the air of the saloon , my hands nervously shaking as i slipped my reading glasses down the bridge of my nose , slipping them back into my pocket as i stretched out my newspaper across the table , my half empty mug of sarsaparilla frothing in it's tooth rotting sweetness close to the edge. of course , i recognized the black rider immediately , his presence in this sleepy wild west town a terror to most , but to me it was beyond comforting. i hadn't seen him in weeks , & my chest almost ached at the sight of him , face hidden by his hat , glasses , & bandana , but i knew who was beneath it.

his unlawful troupe caused havoc outside , knocking over a crate of water for the horses & jeeringly catcalling the women who walked by. what a foul , loathsome bunch ; just the crowd i'd imagined crowley to piece together , unfortunately. had this been why he'd vanished for a while , tempting these wretched men to dirty deeds ? even so , how had he found me here , in the town of strawberry no less ; it was impossibly small , quaint , with only a few dozen locals , it hardly even registered as a town , but i found the peace here quite lovely. i was fighting the urge to smile , oh , i'd missed him. i had to keep up appearances , though , i knew that , which was why i ushered my white hat back onto my head , attempting to make myself look more concerned , serious , distinguished.

                   ❛            now , i'm .. i'm a junior department deputy in training , you see. a man of the law ! so if you're here to rob us or bother us , i'll .. i'll have to kindly ask you to leave. otherwise , keep your men under control out there , this is not the place for attitudes like that.            ❜

@crowhley / wild west closed starter !

#closed . #starter . #crowhley #BITES MY FIST IM OBSESSED WITH THIS

[vvalengogh]

5, 16, 23, 58, 66 for Quinn!

Sorry this took me a bit!! But thank you for the ask yippeee!! 🥺🥺

5. What is their highest skill? Their lowest?

Quinn is very intelligent despite how he portrays himself, as well as super charismatic, so his highest skills lie within medicine, repair, energy weapons and speech and barter! his lowest skills? explosives and guns. he definitely just never bothered to learn his way with explosives, but with guns he’s just like “well it’s not making everyone within reaching distance explode into ashes. don’t want it.” ( he still carries Lucky for emergencies tho. it’s a pretty gun )

16. What is their biggest regret?

Oddly enough Quinn doesn’t have any big regret, nothing that keeps him up awake at night. The closest he has to a form of regret that he thinks about often is that he try to stand up sooner to what he himself perceives as a “pity party” on Boone’s end when he progressively tells him what happened with his wife and the eventual murder of innocent / harmless civilians, which was information rewarded to him by being nice to the same soldiers he’d killed for supplies.

23. How do they feel about physical touch / affection ?

It’s kinda 50/50 with him. Of course, general touch wise, Quinn is fine with it, but will more often than not push people’s hands off of him since he has some self perseverance skill and would like to not be sucker punched ( not that he suspects everyone wants to punch him, he’s just very enemy-making-prone ). If he knows the person well enough, he doesn’t care otherwise. Affection wise, he wasn’t the most physically affectionate to the men he bed when he was frivolous prior meeting his eventual husband. No reason he wasn’t, he just didn’t care to be given he was there for one thing. The one person he found himself actively seeking touch and affection from, as well as returning the favor to, is his eventual husband.

58. Do they believe in luck? Do they have a good luck charm?

Given he is simultaneously lucky enough to evade death but unlucky enough to sustain at least four different instances of head injuries ( and has a whopping in-game state of 2 luck ), Quinn thinks luck is bogus. Which might be hypocritical of him, given his necklace with nightstalker teeth and sunset sarsaparilla bottle cap is sorta a “lucky charm” for him.

66. Describe their eyes

They’re warm like olive oil and sweet like honey, but still they are sharp however not piercing, inviting onlookers forth like the illusion of an oasis is to a man shriveling of thirst. There is a certain unknown wildness to them.

#answered asks #anon ask #asks meme #quinn higuchi verger (oc) #courier six #he’s just a weird lil guy