#Cheyenne Rushing
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he left the phone danglin’ off the hook!!!! then turned around and gave it one last look, and then he just walked away…
#timothy's txts.#those specific lyrics make me feel so insane for the way it’s like#he was in a rush to leave the phone and then he just. stopped. looked back….#i can still make cheyenne by george strait
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Great Sioux War
The Great Sioux War (also given as the Black Hills War, 1876-1877) was a military conflict between the allied forces of the Lakota Sioux/Northern Cheyenne and the US government over the territory of the Black Hills and, more widely, US policies of westward expansion and the appropriation of Native American lands.
The Fort Laramie Treaty of 1868 had established the Great Sioux Reservation, including the Black Hills, and promised this land to the Sioux in perpetuity. When gold was discovered in the Black Hills in 1874, the treaty was ignored by the US government, leading to the Black Hills Gold Rush of 1876. The Sioux, Northern Cheyenne, and Arapaho responded with armed resistance in raids on wagon trains, skirmishes, and five major battles fought between March 1876 and January 1877:
Battle of Powder River (Reynolds Battle) – 17 March 1876
Battle of the Rosebud (Battle Where the Girl Saved Her Brother) – 17 June 1876
Battle of the Little Bighorn (Battle of the Greasy Grass) – 25-26 June 1876
Battle of Slim Buttes – 9-10 September 1876
Battle of Wolf Mountain (Battle of Belly Butte) – 8 January 1877
In between these, were so-called minor engagements with casualties on both sides but, after June 1876, greater losses for the Sioux and Cheyenne. The final armed conflict of the Great Sioux War was the Battle of Muddy Creek (the Lame Deer Fight, 7-8 May 1877), by which time the Sioux war chief Crazy Horse (l. c. 1840-1877) had already surrendered and the chief Sitting Bull (l. c. 1837-1890) and Sioux war chief Gall (l.c. 1840-1894) and others had fled to the region of modern-day Canada. Although the war was over by May 1877, ending in a victory for the US military, some bands of Sioux and Cheyenne continued to struggle against reservation life until the Wounded Knee Massacre of 29 December 1890 broke their resistance.
Background
Although the first armed conflict between the Plains Indians and Euro-Americans was in 1823, problems between the Sioux and the US military began on 19 August 1854 with the Grattan Fight (Grattan Massacre), when 2nd Lieutenant John L. Grattan led his command of 30 soldiers to the camp of Chief Conquering Bear (l. c. 1800-1854) to demand the surrender of a man they claimed had stolen a cow from a Mormon wagon train.
Conquering Bear refused to surrender anyone, offering compensation instead, and, as the negotiations broke down, Grattan's men fired on the Sioux, mortally wounding Conquering Bear, and the Sioux warriors retaliated, killing Grattan and all of his command. The US military responded with campaigns against the Sioux in the First Sioux War of 1854-1856, which also included actions against their allies, the Cheyenne and Arapaho.
Tensions escalated after the opening of the Bozeman Trail in 1863, the establishment of forts to protect white settlers using the trail, and the Sand Creek Massacre of 29 November 1864. Red Cloud's War (1866-1868) was launched in response to the construction of these forts and the policies of the US government, concluding with the Fort Laramie Treaty of 1868, which established the Great Sioux Reservation (modern-day South Dakota and parts of North Dakota and Nebraska), including the Black Hills – a site sacred to the Sioux – which was promised to them for "as long as the grass should grow and the rivers flow."
When Lt. Colonel George Armstrong Custer (l. 1839-1876) discovered gold in the Black Hills in 1874, the Fort Laramie treaty was broken as over 15,000 white settlers and miners streamed into the region during the Black Hills Gold Rush of 1876. The US government offered to purchase the Black Hills, but the Sioux would not sell. More settlers arrived, the government ignored Sioux demands that the 1868 treaty be honored, and the Great Sioux War began in March of that year, with the Reynolds campaign on the Powder River.
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Timothy and Cheyenne!! Twin jackalope toons who came from the country! With the references of them individually, since this was a bit rushed.
They both came from the countryside and generally just lacks knowledge of the whole Toon VS Cogs thing in Toontown. They choose to not interfere but there willing to lend a hand. Both speaking to Cogs equally as a Toon, even if they're not met with the same.
With their hats, they choose whichever one they want out. Timothy with his ears and Cheyenne with her antlers. So it takes toons by surprise when they state they're twins. Until the reveal that is.
Fun fact, their other siblings back at home are not Jackalopes. They get it from their grandpa, on the mother's side.
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Butt of the Joke (Bob Floyd x Reader)
Summary: No one knows why, but the Floyd men apparently are attracted to the full moon
Tagging: @nobody7102 @notyoursbutlewis @rhettabbotts @sebsxphia @bradshawsbaby
You weren’t expecting to come out to Cheyenne Falls so soon, but the minute you knew Joe had to have knee surgery, you and Bob were there with no questions asked.
The flight into Oklahoma City had been rough, you being almost six months pregnant and needing to pee every ten minutes was unpleasant enough and the four hour long flight feeling more like fourteen hours.
Yet you were here and with Bob’s family.
Irene and Marty, his mother and grandmother had been amazing, meeting the two of you at the airport and hurrying to get the two of you back home before the rush hour traffic hit. Joe had been home for three days and unable to do jack shit around the house while Bob’s grandfather had shouldered most of the work along with Bob’s older brothers.
“You ok Ma?” Bob asked one night.
“I’m trying to rope your brothers into helping me and they’re being complete shitheads,” Irene chuckled. “Maybe I’ll leave’em to Meemaw and she’ll straighten them out.”
“No luck Irene,” Marty said as she came in from the porch. “I already used half of my best threats and they still ain’t listening.”
You and Bob knew it was bad when Marty had used all the threats she could, even ones that would have had the old salts running for cover. “I can help with dinner Momma,” Bob said. “It’s all good.”
“You mind if I go up and visit with your dad?” you asked.
“You sure you can get up the stairs?”
“Bob, I’m pregnant, I’m not made of glass,” you half laughed.
You waddled your way up the stairs, your baby boy kicking up a storm from within. “Ok, ok,” you said, holding your hand over your belly. “I know you’re uncomfortable too, but that still doesn’t give you the right to jump on my spleen.”
You made your way to the room at the end of the hall where Joe was propped up in bed, his leg elevated from beneath by one of the pillows and his arms crossed with boredom. “Hey (y/n), whatcha doin up here?” he asked, seeing you poke your head in through the door.
“I waddled my way up,” you chuckled. “Baby boy wouldn’t stop jumping on my spleen the whole way up.”
“Yeah Bobby did that to Irene,” Joe replied. “So didn’t Michael, Sean, Liam and the rest of the shitheads.”
You laughed a little as you sat next to Joe, trying to get comfortable. “You doing ok?” you asked him.
“Yeah just bored,” he said with a shrug. “I can’t do shit except read, watch movies or use the can and my poor father’s gotta take up most of the work.”
“Anything I can do to help?”
“Nah you’re good,” Joe answered. “Your company’s enough. Besides, I meant to go through an old box of photos Irene brought down from the attic the other day. That pot brownie I ate an hour ago should be kicking in to get rid of the pain.”
“Here, let me get’em,” you said.
“No need hon, it’s right here,” Joe told you, leaning halfway over his side of the bed before coming back up with the box.
You and Joe must’ve spent hours and hours going through that box full of photos, some of them absolutely hysterical, especially ones of Bob and his brothers and sisters.
“Yeah this one was of me and Irene at an Allman Brothers concert back when we were dating,” Joe explained. “That was the night I smoked a whole dimebag of weed and confessed my feelings to her in the portables.”
“Aw that’s so sweet,” you said.
“Yeah it was sweet until I started bawling like a little bitch,” Joe laughed.
You and him kept going through the photos, totally oblivious to the footsteps approaching from down the halls. Bob poked his head in a minute later with a plate full of pot roast and mashed potatoes that Irene had slow cooked all day in the oven.
“Dad you doin ok in here?” Bob enquired.
“Oh yeah, yeah, we’re doin pretty good,” Joe said happily. “That your Ma’s pot roast?”
“The very one,” Bob said, setting it on the bedside table. “What are you guys doing? I heard (y/n) laughing from downstairs.”
“Oh I was just showing her that cute photo of you as a baby running naked through the backyard sprinkler,” Joe chuckled, holding up the photo.
You watched as your husband suddenly turned bright red at the photo Joe held up, the one of a tiny, one year old Bob running completely naked through the backyard sprinkler on a sunny summer day. The embarrassed squeak that escaped Bob’s throat threw you once again into a laughing fit.
“Dad you said you wouldn’t show those!” Bob blurted out.
“Aaaaw look at you Bobby,” you cooed. “You and your cute little butt running through the grass!! Oh I hope the baby looks just like you.”
Bob playfully gave his father a few open handed whacks on the shoulders and one on the back of the head, the older Floyd turning red in the face from how hard he was laughing.
“You swore you weren’t gonna show those you son of a bitch!” Bob exclaimed, shouting and laughing all at once.
“Hey! Your grandmother took those photos not me.”
Bob and Joe bickered back and forth while you laughed and listened, the baby boy once again kicking in your belly as you thought about how much your son was going to look like your husband.
************************
Days like this were becoming more routine as they passed by, you laying on your back in the doctor’s office, completely numb to the coldness of the gel on your belly as she showed you the images of your unborn son and Bob holding your hand.
“Baby boy’s in excellent shape,” she commented. “Heart’s beating perfectly, his little legs and arms are moving without any issue......oh wait a second....”
You and Bob suddenly looked up at the screen, suddenly struck with a nervousness that threatened to petrify the both of you. “What?” you asked. “What is it?”
“I’ve never seen them do that before.”
You and Bob took a closer look when you saw it for yourselves. The two of you started laughing hysterically when you were hit with the sudden realization of what it was.
“Is he....?”
“Oh my God,” Bob laughed. “The little devil’s mooning us.”
The two of you could hardly control your laughter. What was it with the Floyd men and showing their asses to the world? One of life’s great mysteries.....that was what it was.
“I’m gonna be hanging this over his head when he brings his first girlfriend home,” Bob laughed.
“You hear that little man?” you said, poking your belly a little. “Daddy and I have dirt on you already.”
You felt the baby kicking inside you once again. You and Bob couldn’t wait for that moment when you’d finally get to embarrass him in your own right, even if it was eighteen years down the road.
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On Dec 15th, we venerate Elevated Ancestor & Saint Tataηka Íyotake aka Chief Sitting Bull on the 133rd anniversary of his passing 🕊 [for our Hoodoos of First Nations descent]
Sitting Bull, of the Hunkpapa Lakota, was a fierce political leader & holy man known to be a great father, husband, & friend to all. Under him, all the Lakota bands united for survival in the Northern Plains, as he spearheaded their resistance against European invasion. He was known for his legendary courage, unyielding defiance toward U.S. military power, & contemptuous of the many broken U.S. political promises.
Tatáŋka Íyotake was born to a prominent family of chiefs on the Grand River in present-day South Dakota at a place called, "Many Caches" - known for its abundant food storage pits. He was given his name, which described a buffalo bull sitting intractably on his haunches. This, he would grow live up to.
As a young man, Tatáŋka Íyotake joined two prominent groups within his community. He became a distinguished member of the Silent Eaters (a group concerned with tribal welfare) & leader of the Strong Heart Warrior Society. At 14, he joined his father & uncles on a raid against the Crow. Here, he first encountered White soldiers as the U.S. Army had mounted a broad campaign in retaliation for the Santee Rebellion in Minnesota, enchanting the Lakota had no affiliation with. That following year, in 1816, Tatáŋka Íyotake fought U.S. troops again at the Battle of Killdeer Mountain. Later, in 1865, he led a siege against the newly established Fort Rice in North Dakota. Widely respected for his bravery & insight, in 1868, Tatáŋka Íyotake became Head Chief of Lakota Nation.
By 1874, the stage for war between Sitting Bull & the US Army was set once an expedition led by General George Armstrong Custer confirmed gold had been discovered in the Dakota Territory’s the Black Hills, an area sacred to the Lakota bands. This land was decreed off-limits to white settlement by the Fort Laramie Treaty of 1868. Despite this ban, prospectors began a rush to the Black Hills. Once U.S. government efforts to purchase the Black Hills failed, the Fort Laramie Treaty was dismissed. The commissioner of Indian Affairs decreed that all Lakota not settled on reservations by January 31, 1876, would be considered hostile.
Rightfully so, Sitting Bull and his people held their ground. In March, 3 lines of federal troops invaded the area. Sitting Bull summoned the Lakota and their allies, the Cheyenne, & Arapaho to his camp on Rosebud Creek in Montana Territory. There, he led them in the sundance ritual, offering prayers to Wakáŋ Táŋka (Great Spirit). Sitting Bull slashed his arms 100 times in sacrifice for his people. During this ceremony, he shared that he'd had a vision. He saw soldiers falling into the Lakota camp like grasshoppers falling from the sky.
Inspired by this vision, the Oglala Lakota leader, War Chief Crazy Horse, set out for battle with a band of 500 warriors at the Battle of the Rosebud. To celebrate this victory, the Lakota moved their camp to the valley of the Little Bighorn River. They were joined by 3,000 more Native warriors who had abandoned the reservations to follow Sitting Bull.
On June 25th, the U.S. 7th Cavalry launched their attack under George Armstrong Custer. They rushed the Indian encampment as if in fulfillment of Sitting Bull’s vision. Yet they were severely outnumbered & thus defeated.
White outrage at this military catastrophe spurred thousands more cavalrymen to the area. Over the next year, they relentlessly pursued the Lakota bands.
Though many were forced into surrender, Sitting Bull remained defiant. In May 1877, he led his band to Canada, beyond the reach of the U.S. Army. When a U.S. General traveled north to audaciously offer him a pardon in exchange for settling on a reservation, Sitting Bull angrily dismissed him.
Four years later, in the wake of European invaders driving the Buffalo to near instinction, Sitting Bull found it nearly impossible to feed his people. So, he moved south to face surrender. On July 19, 1881, Sitting Bull’s young son handed his father’s rifle to the U.S. commanding officer of Fort Buford in Montana. Through this action, Sitting Bull hoped to teach his son “that he had become a friend of the Americans.” He also said, “I wish it to be remembered that I was the last man of my tribe to surrender my rifle.” He asked for the right to cross back & forth into Canada whenever he wished & for a reservation of his own on the Little Missouri River near the Black Hills. Instead, he was sent to Standing Rock Reservation. His warm reception there raised Army fears about a fresh uprising. So, Sitting Bull and his people were taken further down the Missouri River to Fort Randall. They were held as prisoners of war for nearly 2 more years.
Finally, on May 10, 1883, Sitting Bull rejoined his tribe at Standing Rock. The Indian Agent in charge of the reservation was determined to deny him any special privileges. And so, Sitting Bull was forced to work in the plantation fields. Yet when a delegation of U.S. Senators came to discuss opening part of the reservation to Whitea, he spoke forcefully, though futilely, against it.
In 1885, Sitting Bull was allowed to leave the reservation to join Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show. He earned $50 a week for riding once around the arena. Sitting Bull also named his price for his autograph & picture. Unable to tolerate White society any longer, he stayed with the show for 4 months.
Returning to Standing Rock, Sitting Bull lived in a cabin near his birthplace on the Grand River; still rejecting the seeds of the colonialism - Christianity & giving up the traditional ways of life - as the reservation’s rules required. He did, however, send his children to a Christian school because he believed the next generation of Lakota would need the education of their oppressors to survive in the new world.
Here, he had another vision. He saw a meadowlark on a hillock beside him say,“Your own people, Lakotas, will kill you.” Nearly 5 years later, this vision would come to fruition.
In the fall of 1890, a Minŋecoŋjou Lakota named Kicking Bear came to Sitting Bull with news of the Ghost Dance, a ceremony that promised to rid the land of colonizers & restore the Indian way of life. Lakota had already adopted the ceremony at the Pine Ridge & Rosebud Reservations, and Indian Agents there had already called for troops to bring the growing movement under control.
At Standing Rock, the authorities feared Sitting Bull, still revered as a powerful spiritual leader, would join the Ghost Dancers as well. They sent 43 Lakota police officers to seize him. Before dawn on December 15th1890, the officers burst into Sitting Bull’s cabin & dragged him outside, where his followers were gathering to protect him. In the gunfight that followed, one of the Lakota police officers shot Sitting Bull in the head.
Today, Sitting Bull rests close to his birthplace near Mobridge, South Dakota. A granite shaft marks his grave.
"They claim this mother of ours, the Earth, for their own use, and fence their neighbors away from her, and deface her with their buildings and their refuse." - Sitting Bull.
We pour libations & give him💐 today as we celebrate him for his inspirational leadership, fearless figuring spirit, power in prayer, & his deep faith in Great Spirit.
Offering suggestions: a smoking pipe with tobacco, Lakota music, bison meat served with wild potatoes & prairie turnips
‼️Note: offering suggestions are just that & strictly for veneration purposes only. Never attempt to conjure up any spirit or entity without proper divination/Mediumship counsel.‼️
#hoodoo#hoodoos#atr#the hoodoo calendar#ancestor veneration#elevated ancestors#Sitting bull#Lakota Nation#Plains Indians#First Nations#Hunkpapa Lakota
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I’ve always said that God doesn’t give us more than we can handle. But after reading the following, you’ll see what I just realized. 💜💜
Cheyenne
"Watch out! You nearly broad sided that car!" My father yelled at me. "Can't you do anything right?"
Those words hurt worse than blows. I turned my head toward the elderly man in the seat beside me, daring me to challenge him. A lump rose in my throat as I averted my eyes. I wasn't prepared for another battle.
"I saw the car, Dad. Please don't yell at me when I'm driving."
My voice was measured and steady, sounding far calmer than I really felt.
Dad glared at me, then turned away and settled back. At home I left Dad in front of the television and went outside to collect my thoughts.... dark, heavy clouds hung in the air with a promise of rain. The rumble of distant thunder seemed to echo my inner turmoil. What could I do about him?
Dad had been a lumberjack in Washington and Oregon .. He had enjoyed being outdoors and had reveled in pitting his strength against the forces of nature. He had entered grueling lumberjack competitions, and had placed often. The shelves in his house were filled with trophies that attested to his prowess.
The years marched on relentlessly. The first time he couldn't lift a heavy log, he joked about it; but later that same day I saw him outside alone, straining to lift it. He became irritable whenever anyone teased him about his advancing age, or when he couldn't do something he had done as a younger man.
Four days after his sixty-seventh birthday, he had a heart attack. An ambulance sped him to the hospital while a paramedic administered CPR to keep blood and oxygen flowing.
At the hospital, Dad was rushed into an operating room. He was lucky; he survived. But something inside Dad died. His zest for life was gone. He obstinately refused to follow doctor's orders. Suggestions and offers of help were turned aside with sarcasm and insults. The number of visitors thinned, then finally stopped altogether. Dad was left alone.
My husband, Dick, and I asked Dad to come live with us on our small farm. We hoped the fresh air and rustic atmosphere would help him adjust.
Within a week after he moved in, I regretted the invitation. It seemed nothing was satisfactory. He criticized everything I did. I became frustrated and moody. Soon I was taking my pent-up anger out on Dick. We began to bicker and argue.
Alarmed, Dick sought out our pastor and explained the situation. The clergyman set up weekly counseling appointments for us. At the close of each session he prayed, asking God to soothe Dad's troubled mind.
But the months wore on and God was silent. Something had to be done and it was up to me to do it.
The next day I sat down with the phone book and methodically called each of the mental health clinics listed in the Yellow Pages. I explained my problem to each of the sympathetic voices that answered in vain.
Just when I was giving up hope, one of the voices suddenly exclaimed, "I just read something that might help you! Let me go get the article..."
I listened as she read. The article described a remarkable study done at a nursing home. All of the patients were under treatment for chronic depression. Yet their attitudes had improved dramatically when they were given responsibility for a dog.
I drove to the animal shelter that afternoon. After I filled out a questionnaire, a uniformed officer led me to the kennels. The odor of disinfectant stung my nostrils as I moved down the row of pens. Each contained five to seven dogs. Long-haired dogs, curly-haired dogs, black dogs, spotted dogs all jumped up, trying to reach me.
I studied each one but rejected one after the other for various reasons: too big, too small, too much hair. As I neared the last pen a dog in the shadows of the far corner struggled to his feet, walked to the front of the run and sat down. It was a pointer, one of the dog world's aristocrats. But this was a caricature of the breed.
Years had etched his face and muzzle with shades of gray. His hip bones jutted out in lopsided triangles. But it was his eyes that caught and held my attention. Calm and clear, they beheld me unwaveringly.
I pointed to the dog. "Can you tell me about him?" The officer looked, then shook his head in puzzlement. "He's a funny one. Appeared out of nowhere and sat in front of the gate. We brought him in, figuring someone would be right down to claim him. That was two weeks ago and we've heard nothing. His time is up tomorrow." He gestured helplessly.
As the words sank in I turned to the man in horror. "You mean you're going to kill him?"
"Ma'am," he said gently, "that's our policy. We don't have room for every unclaimed dog."
I looked at the pointer again. The calm brown eyes awaited my decision. "I'll take him," I said. I drove home with the dog on the front seat beside me. When I reached the house I honked the horn twice. I was helping my prize out of the car when Dad shuffled onto the front porch. "Ta-da! Look what I got for you, Dad!" I said excitedly.
Dad looked, then wrinkled his face in disgust. "If I had wanted a dog I would have gotten one. And I would have picked out a better specimen than that bag of bones. Keep it! I don't want it" Dad waved his arm scornfully and turned back toward the house.
Anger rose inside me. It squeezed together my throat muscles and pounded into my temples. "You'd better get used to him, Dad. He's staying!"
Dad ignored me. "Did you hear me, Dad?" I screamed. At those words Dad whirled angrily, his hands clenched at his sides, his eyes narrowed and blazing with hate. We stood glaring at each other like duelists, when suddenly the pointer pulled free from my grasp. He wobbled toward my dad and sat down in front of him. Then slowly, carefully, he raised his paw...
Dad's lower jaw trembled as he stared at the uplifted paw. Confusion replaced the anger in his eyes. The pointer waited patiently. Then Dad was on his knees hugging the animal.
It was the beginning of a warm and intimate friendship. Dad named the pointer Cheyenne . Together he and Cheyenne explored the community. They spent long hours walking down dusty lanes. They spent reflective moments on the banks of streams, angling for tasty trout. They even started to attend Sunday services together, Dad sitting in a pew and Cheyenne lying quietly at is feet.
Dad and Cheyenne were inseparable throughout the next three years. Dad 's bitterness faded, and he and Cheyenne made many friends. Then late one night I was startled to feel Cheyenne 's cold nose burrowing through our bed covers. He had never before come into our bedroom at night. I woke Dick, put on my robe and ran into my father's room. Dad lay in his bed, his face serene. But his spirit had left quietly sometime during the night.
Two days later my shock and grief deepened when I discovered Cheyenne lying dead beside Dad's bed. I wrapped his still form in the rag rug he had slept on. As Dick and I buried him near a favorite fishing hole, I silently thanked the dog for the help he had given me in restoring Dad's peace of mind.
The morning of Dad's funeral dawned overcast and dreary. This day looks like the way I feel, I thought, as I walked down the aisle to the pews reserved for family. I was surprised to see the many friends Dad and Cheyenne had made filling the church. The pastor began his eulogy. It was a tribute to both Dad and the dog who had changed his life.
And then the pastor turned to Hebrews 13:2. "Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by this some have entertained angels without knowing it."
"I've often thanked God for sending that angel," he said.
For me, the past dropped into place, completing a puzzle that I had not seen before: the sympathetic voice that had just read the right article... Cheyenne 's unexpected appearance at the animal shelter... his calm acceptance and complete devotion to my father... and the proximity of their deaths. And suddenly I understood. I knew that God had answered my prayers after all.
Life is too short for drama or petty things, so laugh hard, love truly and forgive quickly. Live while you are alive. Forgive now those who made you cry. You might not get a second chance.
And if you don't send this to anyone -- no one will know. But do share this with someone. Lost time can never be found.
God answers our prayers in His time... not ours...
God doesn't give us what we can handle, He helps us handle (stands with us, and gets us thru) what we are given. In other words, God's Grace keeps Pace with what we Face!!
-----2 Corinthians 12:9
Winston is my Cheyenne….
🌳🐾🌳
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Things Don't Stay Forever
Chapter 2: “I guess what scares me the most now is the thought that I won't be able to protect you.”
Jazz frowned down at her phone. She attempted to call her house phone multiple times since Danny hung up on her—rather abruptly—but all she received in return was a continuous ringing tone and then her family’s answering machine.
“Hello, this is Dr. Madeline Fenton—”
“—And Jack Fenton!”
“And you’ve reached Fenton Works. We can’t come to the ph—”
Jazz presses the call-end button and sighs. She takes a deep breath in and, determined, presses the back button, clicks the back and forth buttons on her Razr, and locates her address book, pressing the down arrow until she finds her brother’s cell phone number and clicks call.
Bringing it to her ear, she silently begs him to answer but immediately after the first ring, she hears the “call waiting” tone.
“Ugh!” She scoffs, and hangs up again, slumping down in her seat. Jazz rubs her hand against the side of her face, closes her eyes, and cups her frown. This is so frustrating.
She scared him. She scared him because she was scared. She cried. Why did she cry? And now Danny’s not picking up his phone or the house phone. Probably because he’s rushing to find her. Because she scared him and why? Why did she bring up dying? She knows how he feels about—
Jazz lets out a quick huff through her nose. She isn’t—she isn’t dying. She knows that. Danny said so himself too. Said he would feel if something was wrong. How? She doesn’t know. Danny’s connection to death is something she could never completely understand but she believed him, so incredibly strongly, when he was insistent he would know.
She trusts her brother with her life and beyond. It’s this infection spreading through the world she’s afraid of.
Besides, she also didn’t feel like she was dying. She didn’t even feel sick. But being near so many people these last two days has left her with the feeling she’s covered in bacteria and germs, not the good ones. Like the virus is in every pore of her body. Like she’s patient zero waiting for her body to be burned. She feels gross, but not sick. Not even close. She feels normal. Well, almost normal. This trip hasn’t been an easy one.
There would be signs though, right? Something showing on her skin? She would feel ill or look it at least. She catches a glimpse of herself in the rearview mirror. Actually, she does look ill. Her face is pale and drawn but isn’t that to be expected when one is hurrying home, driving cross country during a pandemic?
Maybe she should be feeling nauseous or something. She doesn’t know. There hasn’t been much reporting on the actual virus and while there is video of the infected and the effects of the areas they’re in such as burning villages and abandoned homes, they look like anyone else would if they had caught the flu. So. Not helpful.
The media has been hush-hush about the virus itself, though they’ve been very excited to show scene after scene of the Justice League running around all over the globe. And the CDC’s only knowledge is it takes up to twenty to thirty minutes for an infected person to show symptoms.
But what were those symptoms?
Opening her eyes, she pats herself down randomly, searching for any physical recognition of infection on her body. She pulls her visor down and stares at herself in the little mirror. She checks her eyes, and her cheeks, and opens her mouth wide to look inside but sees nothing different about her features.
Jazz notes her canines are larger than she remembers but it’s most likely from the ambient ectoplasm back in Cheyenne she took in when she parked to rest in the Walmart parking lot that was, conveniently, across from a cemetery. One of the few good things that happened to her on this trip so far.
She notices a small, light strand of blue near her bangs and brushes it aside a few times to conceal it. She turns her head right, then left but nothing else has changed besides the heavy and dark bags under her eyes, and her hooded lids lowered and tired.
She looks exhausted and weary. This whole situation has been emotionally and physically draining. Ever since Danny called her, three weeks ago, frantic and paranoid something was coming. He couldn’t tell her what it was, what he could sense, but something was coming and she needed to head home right that moment.
Dazing past her visor out her windshield, she should have followed his advice instead of being worried about her classes, her homework, and what her professors would have thought, Jazz thinks.
She trusts her brother, she does. If his instincts were screaming something was wrong, then something was wrong. She should have listened. She should have ran as fast as she could to her car and taken off. Gone home. Rushed back to be at her brother’s side to prepare for whatever was coming. But she didn’t.
And she’s here now. Sitting in her car, in a state that is not her own, possibly infected with a virus no one knows anything about, her phone battery at thirty-three percent, and waiting for her brother to find her after she’d nearly given him a heart attack with worry.
Jazz huffs and rests her head against her window. She hadn’t meant to scare him so badly. She had wanted to warn him instead. Well, no. That hadn’t been completely it. She also called to hear his voice. Feel some comfort and normalcy from talking to her brother. Maybe pretend for a moment she was simply driving home to spend the rest of summer with her family instead of running from something she couldn’t see or fight.
Her intention, though, was to tell Danny she was okay. That there were some minor complications along the way but she had a plan in place in case—in case—
Closing her eyes, Jazz takes another deep breath in and five seconds later, lets out a shaky one.
She just wanted to plan in advance in case anything happened. That’s all. Plans are good, better than good, they’re great to have! And Jazz has always been a planner. A fantastic one, if she does say so herself. So if she was exposed and is infected then she needs an organized list of instructions to follow so no one else is exposed too.
Better to be safe than sorry, right? She always says this and believes in it so strongly. One can never be too cautious. She’s told Danny this a million times. ‘Danny, make sure to grab your coat. It’s cold out there. Better to be safe than sorry.’ or ‘Mom and dad are going to be busy again tonight so make sure you come home right after school! I mean it. I don’t want you outside so late at night. Better to be safe than sorry, Danny.’
‘I don’t want you coming out here to save me. I want you to stay home, locked tightly in your room and away from all this. Better to be safe than sorry, right Danny?’
Jazz leans her head back against the headrest. She stares up at the dark grey roof of her car and breathes.
‘In one …two…three…four…five. Out one…two…three…’
She wants to be precautious. If she is infected—not dying, just sick—Danny said she wasn’t dying. Jazz doesn’t want to take the chance of making the trip home only to infect thousands of living people in Amity Park. She could never forgive herself. And if she exposes Danny…
She needs a plan of action.
But with Danny coming to get her what is she going to do now?
Abruptly, she sits up and opens her phone again, hits speed dial, and calls her house phone. Up to her ear, she listens to the ringing on the other side. The tone rings, over and over, making her anxious. She’s not expecting Danny to answer or even her parents but she wishes one of them would anyway.
“Come on, come on! Pick up, Danny. Please.”
“Hello, this is Dr. Madeline Fenton—”
“—And Jack Fenton!”
“And you’ve reached Fent—”
Jazz hangs up, and calls again.
“Hello, this is Dr. Madeline—”
Hangs up. Calls again.
“Hello, this is Dr. Mad—”
Hangs up.
“Hello, this is—”
Again.
“Hello—”
“Argh!” Jazz shouts and grips her phone tightly in both hands, shaking and bringing it to her forehead. She doesn’t cry because there is no point to it and what good would it do her anyway? It won’t make Danny answer his stupid phone, will it?
Jazz tries again. She finds her brother’s number and calls it. Although at this point, she doesn’t expect him to pick up this time either. And just like she expected, his phone goes straight to voicemail.
“Hey, this is Danny Fenton. If you’re trying to reach Drs. Fenton, you’ve got the wrong number.”
Jazz huffs at his bored tone, typical Danny, and listens to his recorded message waiting for it to end.
“If you’re the school, I didn’t do it! And if you’re calling for me, good luck, buddy! Maybe try me again in the next life. Thanks.”
Jazz goes to say something thinking the message is over before she’s cut off.
“Oh, leave a message for me, I guess. I’ll, uh, try and call back?”
The tone beeps. Jazz rolls her eyes and takes a deep breath in and—
“Danny Fenton! If you don’t pick up this phone right now I swear—” She grips the phone tightly and looks out her passenger-side window. There’s a residential neighborhood just across the road. She watches a family head out of their house, hurried and with suitcases in hand.
“Listen to me. I can’t stop you from coming for me. I know that. But you still need to be cautious when you do get here. We don’t know what this virus can do still. And I don’t know if I’m infected or not. So…wear a mask and make sure to bring gloves for you and me! If you’re bringing the Speeder, then pack mom’s extra hazmat. And an extra one for you too, mister! Also, Clorox wipes to wipe my stuff.”
She’s still watching the family across her way, absentmindedly. They pack the suitcases in the trunk of the car and close it shut. The parents usher their children to their seats and fasten them in. She watches them run to either side of the red car, and get in quickly, doors slamming loud, engine roaring louder.
“I don’t want us to risk anything. Do you hear me? You better hear this message before you get here, you jerk. Maybe if you hadn’t hung up on me I would have been able to explain all this to you.” Jazz rubs her forehead, agitated.
The car backs up fast from the driveway. Her eyes follow it as the family of four zooms forward down the street towards the intersection where she’s parked across on the side of the road.
“Maybe bring extra ecto-shots with you. Just in case something happens. You never know when we may need them.”
Jazz watches the car get closer to the intersection, stops at the stop sign like all good drivers do, and moves to turn left.
“Better to be safe than sor—”
—A loud screeching sound. Metal crashing into metal and glass resoundingly shattering from the pressure of a body shooting through the window. The sound of tires bursting. A body hits the ground and rolls until it comes to a full stop, mere feet away from Jazz’s car.
There are shards of glass and metal scattered all over the road. A large, rolling sound. A scream that belonged to someone in her car. Did she scream? Was that her?
Then silence.
Jazz is breathing heavy. She holds her head in her hand where she grips strands of her hair firmly. Her other is gripping her phone tightly in a fist. She hears a creaking sound but can’t tell if it’s coming from the crash site or her own hand.
“What just—was that—?”
A car that had just been turning a millisecond ago—that had a family of four sitting inside not moments ago— was now twisted and broken, lying upside down on the road behind her.
Jazz slowly lifts the phone back to her ear and stares in horror at the body on the ground—that was the father— her body twisted to look at the crash, smoke rising up from the pickup that had slammed into the body of the smaller car.
“I got to go. I’ll—I’ll see you soon, Danny.”
She hangs up.
#danny fenton#dc x dp#dcxdp#danny phantom#dp#jazz fenton#things don't stay forever#phandom#fanfic#dpxdc#dp x dc
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The cold winds nip at Cheyenne's cheeks as she stands down by the docks. “I see a ship in the distance! I’m gonna make sure we have a fire going and some nice warm drinks!” she yells as she goes running up the hill.
The inn door shuts behind her, “What's with the rush?” asks her coworker. “I gotta prepare some food for the incoming ship. I assume they will be hungry. It is quite the journey to our island.” cheyenne says.
Continuing with the cooking and cleaning, and setting up for what will most likely be a large pirate crew, she hears someone at the docks yell, “Ship is docking!” Cheyenne puts on her coat, mittens, scarf, and goes out to greet them. The docks aren't too far from her job so it takes no time at all. This might be the biggest ship she has ever seen come to their island, but no one else seems to be too shocked. The crew don some heavy winter clothes, it's kind of hard to tell what they look like underneath it all. One thing she knows for certain is it's one big crew, with some of the tallest people she has ever seen in her adventures.
Someone, who she assumes is the captain, begins to speak, “ Hello, you wouldn't happen to have somewhere nice and warm where we can stay, would you?” says a crisp but clear deep voice muffled by a scarf. In fact she can barely see his face at all, nothing but eyes peek out from behind it all.
“Welcome! I think we have just what you are looking for! I have already started on food and drink’s at the inn. I can lead the way.” Cheyenne says with a smile.
“Thank you. Lead the way then.” Tracking up the hill to the inn with what looks like a skip in her step, the man chuckles to himself with a hidden smirk.
“Here we are, we've got tons to eat and drink, so please make yourselves at home!” says Cheyenne. “Much appreciated.” says the man. The crew begin to shed the layers of clothing including the captain. Cheyenne suddenly finds herself staring at the man. She knows him. That's Shanks.
How could she not know…didn't she look at the ship…? “I guess I didn't,” she says out loud.
“Didn't what? ” says Shanks with a sly smirk. She must have gone bright red, because his smirk became a wide grin. “Come and sit. Have a drink and loosen up a bit.” he says, patting the seat next to him.
Cheyenne walks over with a suspicious look on her face that makes him chuckle, “I'm supposed to be working…” she says.
“I'm sure your boss wouldn't mind if you sat down for a while.” Shanks replies, looking at the boss giving him a thumbs up. “See” his grin getting bigger.
“Then I definitely can't say no to that.” She laughs awkwardly. Shanks orders a round of beer for the entire inn. Swirling the drink in her hand ,“So, captain of the red haired pirates huh?” she asks.
“In the flesh” as he downs another drink.
“I'm sure your stories are more interesting than mine. I’ve traveled some but just for work.” She lightly laughs taking another swig of her drink.
“Don't be to sure of that. I'm sure yours are just as interesting, if not more.” he says.
“Well I have found some interesting things recently! Do you wanna see?” she says brightly, almost beaming.
“I can't say no to that kind of expression now can I.” he says, but she's already down the hall, and into a room. She comes back out a couple of minutes later with something in her arms.
“A dog and a hamster?” he asks, confused.
“Not just any dog and hamster! The hamster is Fish and the dog is Otter.” she says, holding out Fish in her hand, and Otter by her legs. “You guys can say hi, you know. It's the polite thing to do.” she says to Fish and Otter. Fish scurried over in front of shanks, let out some squeaks and bowed. Otter just excitedly did some circles around shanks, wagging his tail.
“Mighty kind of you all! They really understand you real well. You have them well trained.” Shanks says. “Yep, it just takes time and communication, that's all!” she laughs.
“What brings you guys to our island?” Cheyenne asks.
“Well we needed some supplies. We are running quite low on food and supplies for our doctors.” Shanks replies.
“Well you stopped by the right place! We have tons of meat, not too much on the crop front though. That's probably obvious because of the cold and snow. We also have a couple of medicine shops around here.” she says. “I can show you all around too!” she beams.
“That anxious to be back out in that weather?” he jokes.
“Absolutely! I know it's not everyone's cup of tea. But it's just the way I like it. Snowy and cold” she says, rubbing her hands together.
Shanks lets out a loud laugh “An offer I can't refuse. Alright in the morning you can show us around. Sound good?” he says.
“Yes absolutely! Thank you!, I mean, of course I'd love to.” She says.
“Then it's settled. See you in the morning.” Shanks says, takes the last swig of his drink, gets up, and pat's her shoulder.
“Goodnight.” he says.
“Sleep well.” she replies, looking at him as he walks down the hall, with her hands on her face bright red. “Tomorrow is going to be a long day.” she says before she walks away for bed.
#red haired shanks#shanks one piece#one piece#my writing#my oc Cheyenne#my first long fic#this is only chapter one!💖#hope you enjoyed💖
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The Heart That Hurts You Pt. 2
Photos are not mine. They are courtesy of Pinterest/Google.
Pairing: Billy Russo x F! Reader
Warnings: Swearing, crying, little less angst than part 1, Frank being a little bit threatening, PG-13 mostly
Word Count: 2804-ish
Summary: Part 2 of 2. Read part 1 HERE You rush to the hospital after Billy’s been shot and the two of you have a lot to talk about.
A/N: If you’re reading this today, Sept. 29, it’s my birthday and I wanted to give my lovelies a gift and my birthday wish is if you guys like this, come tell me, I don’t bite! 🤣 Now, if you’ve been following me for awhile, you know I love to use music for inspiration or put song lyrics into my fics. For this one, I chose a song that I don’t think is very well known at all but I love it, Four Walls by Cheyenne Kimball. It’s really pretty but a little sad and if I may make a suggestion of listening to it beforehand or when the lyrics appear in the fic. It’s just really pretty and I love it. I’ll stop rambling now…
As always, thank you for reading! I appreciate it so much and comments, reblogs are welcome and encouraged. Don’t be shy to tell me your favorite part. 💕💕 💕
The phone fell from your hand and landed on the mattress, your hands and fingers went numb as you tried to grasp the phone to pick it up but you couldn’t, so you just hit the speaker phone button. Your face began to feel hot and little beads of sweat formed on your brow all while you tried to keep from passing out.
You couldn’t find any words.
“Sweetheart? Did you hear me? Y/N?” Frank asked, sounding uneasy.
After the lump in your throat disappeared, you were finally able to answer him. “Frank, please tell me he’s alright. Please!”
“He’s in surgery right now but he should be out soon.”
“I’m coming right now.” You ended the call and all you could think of was you needed to get there as fast as you could.
Frank had texted from Billy’s phone to tell you which hospital they were at so you quickly got dressed and headed out. Every ambulance that passed by while you were in the Uber sent shivers down your spine and triggered tears while thinking about Billy. He had to be alright, he just had to be.
When you arrived at the hospital, Frank was waiting in the lobby for you and he sat you down to tell you what happened. They were on protection detail for a state senator, and while they were escorting him inside the building for a speech he was supposed to make, a group of gunmen opened fire on them.
“I told Bill he should be the guy up high, ya know? He hasn’t slept in weeks, kid. He’s barely eaten anything—he’s weak. He’s—broken hearted. I didn’t want him to get hurt but he insisted he be on the ground and it nearly got him killed.”
You were frozen in place, you just kept your eyes on Frank while he finished the story. Billy never missed his shots, never, but he missed this one and one of the bullets that was fired by the gunmen managed to find a weak spot in Billy’s vest and hit him in the stomach.
The tears began to stream down your face once again, Frank sat down next to you and wrapped his arms around you to try and comfort you. He stroked your hair, told you he was going to be ok but you couldn’t help but think that this was all your fault. Billy wasn’t sleeping because of you, he wasn’t eating because of you and he wasn’t taking care of himself because of you and it nearly cost him his life.
And almost as if Frank could read your mind, the look on your face told him everything you were thinking at that moment, he grabbed each side of your face and with his rough, raspy tone said “Hey, I know what you’re thinkin’ kid, and this is NOT on you! Do you hear me? It’s not!”
“But Frank, I’m the one—“ You started to say.
He held up a hand to stop you from talking. “No, no don’t you dare. You listen to me, Bill told me what happened, alright? He told me everything and HE was wrong, I told him that. Ok, I use the term ‘told’ very loosely, I actually punched him in the face. And that’s when he broke down, he said he would do whatever it takes to get you back. So he started seeing a therapist and sitting in on meetings with Curt.”
You had mentioned in passing to Billy how he might benefit from Curtis’s meetings or seeing a professional. He’s just had so much trauma in his life and maybe they could help him in a way that you couldn’t.
You were always willing to listen, there was never a moment where you would turn him away at a time where he wanted to talk but there were times where you felt like you weren’t enough, and he needed extra help. Billy always said that he’d think about it but he never took it seriously—things were different now.
Frank continued to hold you, and tried to warm you up because you couldn’t stop shivering. “I love him, Frank. I just love him so much.” You sobbed holding your head in your hands.
“I know you do, sweetheart and he loves you. I love him too even though he’s a giant pain in my ass.”
You knew he said that to make you laugh. “Do you think he is out of surgery yet?”
“Well let’s go find out, ok?” He gave you a quick kiss on the forehead and you both headed for the elevator.
When you arrived at the nurses station on the surgery recovery floor, they told you Billy was out of surgery but you weren’t allowed to see him because neither you or Frank were family and that’s when Frank got angry.
“Listen, we are the only family that he’s got, alright?!! Now if you do not let us in to see him, I will wake up everybody in this goddamn hospital trying to find someone who WILL let us in to see him, you got that?!!”
All of the nurses behind the counter looked petrified and you couldn’t help but crack a smile because you knew Frank meant what he said but you also knew that he’s a big teddy bear and he loved his friend enough to threaten every member of the hospital staff into letting the two of you into Billy’s room.
With a shaky finger, one of the nurses pointed down the hallway and said “Room 503, he’s in room 503.”
The two of you stood outside Billy’s room and waited for the doctor to come out. When he did emerge from the room, he told you that the surgery to remove the bullet went well, Billy lost a lot of blood but he was going to be alright and we could go in and see him but he would most likely remain asleep for a while.
Only one could stay overnight with him though, Frank said it should be you but to text him when he wakes up. “Thank you Frank, for everything—for saving his life.” If Frank didn’t take out the gunman, Billy would be dead.
“He would have done the same for me, kid.” Frank said as he gave you a hug. He looked at Billy through the window once more and left to go home for the night.
Quietly, you opened the door to Billy’s room and sat down in the chair next to his bed. It was the first time you had seen him in two months, he looked pale, thinner, but this was probably the best sleep he’s had in two months.
As you sat there, you thought about your entire relationship and out loud you started to talk to him. “Billy? It’s y/n—can you hear me?” He remained still as you kissed his hand. You asked him if he remembered your first date, he took you out for a drink and he was so nervous he spilled beer on your suede shoes. You told him how you thought it was so cute and sweet how he just kept apologizing over and over again. “You just kept telling me how sorry you were but I didn’t care. You could have spilled beer all over my entire outfit and I still would have stayed. That’s how much I liked you.”
And the next day, he had another pair delivered to your office, they were even the correct size, and there was a hand written note along with it. “I’m sorry I ruined your shoes but I’d love to take you out again—Billy”
“How could I say no to that?” You said with a warm smile as you wiped a fresh tear from your cheek. “The way to a girl’s heart is through really cute shoes.” You thought you felt him move his hand.
“And remember that time you came over early for dinner? You caught me singing while…” You paused to wipe the tears from your eyes “…while I was cooking and we slow danced in the kitchen? You said ‘don’t let me stop you, sweet girl’ and you smiled at me. I love your smile, Billy.” It took every ounce of self-control to keep yourself from sobbing.
“That was probably the moment I realized I was in love with you—I still remember the song too. I guess it’s kind of fitting now too, isn’t it.” Your voice hitched a little as you started to sing.
These four walls They whisper to me They know a secret I knew they would not keep It didn't take long For the room to fill with dust And these four walls. Came down around us
Must have been something Sent me out of my head With these words so radical And not what I meant Now I wait for a break in the silence 'Cause it's all that you left Just me and these four walls again
Billy loved to listen to you sing. This song was the first one he heard you sing, but definitely not the last. Sometimes he’d stand outside the bathroom door while you were in the shower to listen to you if he wasn’t in there with you. If you sang the phonebook for him, he’d love it just the same.
It's hard now to let you be I won't make excuses I've made my peace It didn't take long for me to lose the trust 'Cause these four walls were not strong enough
Must have been something Sent me out of my head With these words so radical And not what I meant Now I wait for a break in the silence 'Cause it's all that you left Just me and these four walls again
You thought you felt him move his hand again and his eyelids were fluttering like he might be waking up. Maybe the song was helping?
Yeah, it's difficult Watching us fade Knowing it's all my fault My mistake Yeah, and it's difficult Letting you down Knowing it's all my fault You're not around
Billy slowly opened his eyes and managed to smile and you felt your heart leap out of your chest. “Billy! You’re awake!”
When you heard him speak, you started to cry all over again.
“Don’t let me stop you, sweet girl. Finish it for me, please? Please?”
You got up from the chair and moved closer to him to kiss his forehead.
Must have been something Sent me out of my head With these words so radical And not what I meant Now I wait for a break in the silence 'Cause it's all that you left Just me and these four walls again …Again
“Ya know, if I knew this is the way to get you to talk to me, I woulda had Frankie shoot me a while ago.” He tried to laugh, but he winced from the pain.
Always the smartass, even laid up in a hospital bed, Billy was still cracking jokes. His dark and tired eyes could hardly stay open but he used all of his energy to stare at you just to make sure you were really there, next to him, and holding his hand. He slowly brought your hand up to his lips and kissed your knuckles as you tried to keep your hand from shaking.
“Billy…you could have died.”
“But I didn’t…you’re not getting rid of me that easily, beautiful.”
“You’re not funny, ya know.” You said, pressing your lips together.
“I’m a little funny.” He winked at you.
You cracked a little smile but tried to hide it behind your other hand. He saw the worried look all over your face and tried to comfort you by brushing your knuckles with his fingers.
“Frank told me what happened…he told me you haven’t been taking care of yourself.” You stated.
“Yeah well I think Frankie has a big fuckin mouth.” He hissed.
“He saved your life Billy Russo! He cares about you!” You scolded him.
He glanced down at his hand that was covering yours, his frustration was visible but he softened quickly and he knew you were right.
“No, you’re right. I know he does, I shouldn’t have said that. It’s just—I fucked up, I know I did and when I told Frank what happened, I honestly thought he was gonna kill me. You didn’t do this—our relationship is broken because of me, NONE of this is your fault.” Billy’s voice was soft but stern, it had a bite to it. He was angry with himself and ashamed of what he did.
You shook your head back and forth. “I shouldn’t have said what I said, Billy. I know how important actually being a part of your team is to you.” He tried to lean forward to touch your arm but it was too painful for him. “Hey, hey take it easy handsome. You had a bullet in you a little while ago, ya know.”
Billy studied your face and gently brushed the tears away from your eyes.
“No y/n, I shouldn’t have reacted that way. Did Frankie tell you anything else?” He asked.
You inched closer to him, being careful not to touch his stomach and grazed his beard with your thumbs. “He told me you were seeing a therapist and sitting in on meetings with Curtis.”
“He really does have a big fuckin mouth, doesn’t he.” His smile was from ear to ear as you tilted your head in disappointment and rolled your eyes. “I can’t take back what I did, I really wish I could …but I can’t and I’m so, so sorry. And if I was in your shoes, I wouldn’t want to talk to me either but I’m trying to be better—I’m trying because—I love you.”
With everything Billy has been through in his life, it really wasn’t a surprise that he needed help working through his issues and traumatic experiences but you could only do so much to help him. So when Frank said Billy was seeing a therapist and going to meetings with other veterans, the tightness in your chest eased, that part of your heart started to heal, and you were hopeful for him, for both of you.
You never wanted him to go that night but he needed to know you don’t treat people that love you that way and Billy ached for love because he’s never had it before, no one has ever given him real love.
“I love you too, Billy—I love you with all my heart.” You said tearfully.
Even he had tears in his eyes now. “But what I did—I can’t ask you to forgive me, it’s unforgivable, unacceptable.” A tear ran down his cheek.
Your body stiffened and you stood your ground. “Yes it is unacceptable. And I won’t tolerate a repeat incident, Billy Russo, I won’t—“
He pleaded. “Baby I promise you, I will do—“
You gently touched his lips with your fingers but you raised your voice to make sure he understood what you were telling him. “Yes you WILL do whatever it takes because if you don’t, I will finish what that crazy asshole tried to do! Do you understand me, soldier?!” You bit back a slight smile.
His shocked expression was all you needed to know that he understood what the mission was and he couldn’t fail, he wouldn’t fail. “Wow…I’m scared and hard at the same time.”
Billy made you blush, he always made you blush, you felt the warmth rise to your cheeks and you covered your eyes with your hand. He moved your hand away from your eyes, Billy always wanted to see your eyes and he brought you in close to his chest. He kissed your forehead and whispered to you “I love you, beautiful.”
You didn’t want to pull away but you wanted to look into his eyes to tell him “I love you too, handsome…Oh shit! I was supposed to text Frank when you woke up.” You extended your arm towards your phone at the end of the bed when Billy stopped you.
“Let him sleep, baby. We’ll call him in the morning, he can yell at me tomorrow for getting blood on his pants.” He chuckled.
Again with the jokes, but you just smiled, leaned in closer towards his lips and softly pressed yours to his. He put all of his love for you into that one kiss, you felt it from your toes to the top of your head and everywhere in between. Without saying a word, he told you he would do anything for you, he’d love you forever, and he’d never ever hurt you again.
Tag List: @mindidjarin @saintmurd0ck @wheresthesunshinesblog @rafaelakelley @idaoftheburningmind @snowkestrel @xdervyxccgh @mattmurdocksscars @fakehappy27
If you’d like to be added to (or removed from) my tag list for the ever so handsome Billy Russo, just let me know and thank you again for reading! 💕
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I Can Still Make Cheyenne
Squares: “I won’t stop you” @mfbingo // “I won’t leave you here” @supernatural-jackles tell me a story bingo
Summary: Rhett Abbot isn’t an easy man to love but when he’s about to lose everything, his head is finally clear.
Words: 930
Warnings: attempted breakup, fluff, implied smut
Credits: @wildbornsiren who called me a monster and @princessmisery666 who threatened to fly down here // Unbeta’d // Based on the George Strait song ‘I Can Still Make Cheyenne’
A/N: I was called a monster when I announced this idea and, honestly, two paragraphs in, I believe I’m a monster. But it gets better and I feel much better at the end.
Tag lists are through. Please follow @coleslibrary and turn on notifications for updates.
Rhett Abbot was a difficult man to be with. He was closed off, quiet, and inconsistent. When he would be out on the road, he’d call sometimes but she never knew when, or what he’d say when she answered.
He’d been gone for weeks now; she’d lost count. He hadn’t written once, had never called. She expected the worst, that a bull had finally gotten him. She wasn’t his wife so they wouldn’t have notified her. But when her phone rang at a quarter to nine, her heart leapt.
“Hello?” she answered, a little excited, a little nervous. There was no telling who was even on the line.
“Hey, angel,” Rhett sighed.
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s cold here,” he started, “I miss you. I’ve been so lonely. I didn’t make the short run so I’m coming home. I’ve been away far too long.”
Silence met his confession and he continued. “I know I haven’t written or called or anything but this rodeo has been hard. I’ll be home soon though.”
“Don’t bother coming home,” she drawled. “I’m leaving, Rhett. I can’t do this anymore, the not knowing, the long rodeo season. I just…I can’t.”
“Is there someone else?”
“Yes,” she whispered, “his name’s Bradley.”
“I’m sorry it’s come down to this,” he choked out, taking a deep breath before continuing. “I, uh, is there anything I can -”
“Rhett, no,” she interrupted, “just go finish your run. It’s only a couple more weeks in Nebraska and when you get back I’ll have found somewhere to live.”
“A couple weeks?” he questioned, hope filling his chest when she mentioned that she didn’t have anywhere else to live yet.
“Yeah, I mean, I haven’t gone out with Bradley yet so I ain’t moving in with him. I wasn’t sure what I wanted until I heard your voice tonight.”
“Listen, don’t make any decisions, I can still make it to Cheyenne tonight,” he begged.
“Rhett, I don’t…” She trailed off when she heard a clattering sound, the sound of a distant door slamming. “Rhett?” she called, yelling when she didn’t get a response.
Rhett was already out in his truck, throwing gravel as he sped out of the parking lot, heading home to Wyoming. He was barely across the border in Nebraska and if he pushed it, he could make it home before midnight. He couldn’t lose her.
Rhett watched the minutes tick by on his dashboard clock, the only steady light in his truck. It was just past eleven thirty and he had about forty miles to go. He pressed the accelerator harder, praying his old Chevy would hold out until he turned in the driveway.
At eleven fifty-five, she was giving up. Another broken promise, another classic Rhett line that she’d fallen for. She switched off the lamp and started to make her way upstairs, stopping when a light flashed across the walls, illuminating the pictures before plunging them back into darkness.
Boots thudded up the front walk quickly, the pounding sounding like someone running as if their life depended on it. The front door swung open and Rhett appeared, his stetson teetering on his head as it swiveled around, looking for her.
As soon as he spotted her silhouette on the stairs, he rushed over, scooping her into his arms and kissing her with a passion that left her weak, a passion she hadn’t felt in a long time. He broke away too soon, her lips still chasing after him as he backed up.
“I know I have taken you for granted and I’m so fucking sorry for that but please give me another chance. If you don’t want to, if you still want to leave, I won’t stop you but I’m done with the rodeo life. I’m done with leaving you behind. I already talked to the boss and quit. I’m not leaving you here. I ain’t going back on the road ever again,” he begged, his voice threatening to break as he spoke.
Tears flowed down her cheeks at his promises, knowing that he meant them, that he wouldn’t break another promise again. She could feel it in the way his voice trembled, in the way his chest was still, in the way he clung to her like a lifeline.
“Rhett, all I ever wanted was to be your first choice. If you can promise me that, you can have me,” she told him, shrugging her shoulders in the dark.
“My first choice, my only choice. For the rest of my life,” he breathed out, pulling her into his chest as he tucked his head into her neck.
She felt a wetness from his tears and held him tighter, cocking her head to the side when his words registered. “The rest of your life? Rhett Abbott, did you just propose to me in an apology?”
“Yes,” he sighed as he straightened, “I mean, no. I mean…no, that wasn’t a real proposal. But it’s coming. Soon.”
“You know I don’t need some fancy plan and some huge diamond, right?”
“I know,” he smiled softly, “but I have a perfect idea in mind. Just trust me.”
“Okay.” Her arms wrapped around Rhett’s neck and she pressed herself against him, tilting her head back to look up at him. “Are we going to stand here on the stairs all night or are we going to go to bed?”
“Oh, we’re going to bed,” he chuckled as he swept her up bridal style. “We ain’t leaving that bed for several days, either.”
“You promise?”
“Angel, you won’t be able to walk when I’m done.”
#writercole#mfbingo#tell me a story bingo#tmas bingo#rhett abbott#lewis pullman#rhett abbott x reader#rhett abbott angst#rhett abbott fluff#outer range
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Red Cloud's War
Red Cloud's War (1866-1868) was a conflict between the Lakota Sioux-Cheyenne-Arapaho alliance and the US government over the westward expansion of the United States into the Powder River territory. It was the only war won by the Plains Indians and it halted further US expansion in the region until the Black Hills Gold Rush of 1876.
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Snippet Sunday
my snippets on Wed and Sun appear to be during into memory hour with Goose and Cooper *shrugs* It's what I got and I guess that just means I'm not spoiling the plot :)
I know a lot of folks have had a lot going on so I'm going to just generally tag The Coemancer Crew and anyone who might have a snippet of work that they wish to share. Pressure free invite for all :)
My snippet this week is in Goose's POV and contains references to plot from Starborn Saga that could be considered spoilers for that fic.
“Thanks for the assist back there,” Cooper said as he leaned against the wall, his hands fumbling with an militia battlemeal pack, looking exhausted from the hike to the facility and fights through the converted research facility.
“Anytime, Rodeo,” Goose leaned on the callsign in a teasing manner.
Cooper smirked as he flicked his glance to Goose briefly before popping some of his food into his mouth. As he chewed he wagged a finger at Goose and once he worked through the tough jerky like meat and swallowed he said, “could have been worse. Other names pitched were Icarus, Hawkeye, and Apollo.”
Others saw it too? Goose wondered as he felt his cheeks go warm. It was the third time since leaving the Key that talking with this hotshot lieutenant had made him go flush and he hated it. Why couldn’t he handle working with this guy like all the other Freestar that came to the Key? “At least one of those sounds cursed.”
“Yeah, our CO agreed with you,” Cooper laughed, “he scrapped Icarus before they even voted. I personally vetoed Apollo and he backed me up. I couldn’t carry that reminder, flying my dad’s ship was enough.”
“Your dad was a pilot too?” Goose asked.
Cooper nodded while he tapped the remainder of the freeze dried food into his mouth, chewing thoroughly before answering, “His call sign was Zeus. He led a squad known as the Olympians and piloted the Stormherald until the UC decided to hit the Valo system. He sent the ship home and worked from a battleship called the FC Olympus. Command thought they were cute, I suppose.”
Goose stared slack jawed as Cooper went on, his mind rushing back to Palvo. Suddenly he was 12 again, being dragged onto a shuttle by a woman in the militia the others called Demeter. She’d told him the shuttle would take him to the Olympus and from there to the Cheyenne system but as the shuttle closed in on the battleship it was bombarded by one of the UC battleships in the system and their pilot was forced to grav jump away, taking everyone to the Kryx system to shake the sharks. The FC Olympus was shot down over Palvo, pock marking the surface with wreckage.
Cooper went on, either not noticing Goose’s shock or ignoring it, “Apollo was pitched as a way of honoring my old man, Apollo was Zeus’s son after all, but I couldn’t bear that weight. Plus it felt disrespectful to the Apollo who died on Palvo with the others. Those callsigns should be retired. Command hasn’t because they say if they retired every callsign of a dead pilot or operative they’d eventually run out of options but it just felt wrong.”
“I agree,” Goose said softly, collecting his thoughts, “that team are heroes to scores of survivors and the Militia should honor their memory more than it has. Maybe they wouldn’t have struggled for so long with recruitment and morale if they did more to remember the sacrifices soldier’s have made.”
“You’ll get no argument from me there,” Cooper tucked his empty tin back into his pack, “it shouldn’t have taken Commander Shepard dying on Akila for leadership to finally wake up to what needed to happen for our systems to have a chance. And that they capitalized on it for recruiting purposes felt dirty. Every time I met a fresh recruit saying they signed on after hearing about all that…” he let out a heavy sigh.
Goose closed his eyes and turned away, not wanting the handsome hotshot to see him upset as he fought to collect himself. He could hear Fury’s screams, the roar of the terrormorph. He could smell the foul monster and the copper tinged scent of blood. Feel the burning pain of the claw puncture and the ache in his muscles from being thrown. He needed a distraction, anything to pull him away from that nightmare, “Why Rodeo, though? Or Hawkeye for that matter?”
“Hawkeye was because I had the best marksmanship scores of the squad and could hit a pinpoint target in flight simulations. It wasn’t popular with the squad though. Rodeo was my CO’s idea. Something about me being able to handle the roughest rides and tame the wildest of situations. And the fact that I kept finding myself in those wild situations to begin with,” Cooper shrugged, “working with me is like watching a rodeo, he said.”
“I can see that,” Goose cracked a smile and looked back to the pilot, “certainly handled yourself well when those reinforcements poured in.”
“Only ‘cause I had help,” Cooper tipped an invisible adventurer’s hat at Goose and winked.
Knock it off, Goose thought as his cheeks, neck, and ears heated up.
“Why Goose?” Cooper asked, “doesn’t seem very pirate-y.”
“My ma used to call me Goose,” he rubbed the back of his neck and looked away, “when the shuttle I was on docked with the Key all those years ago all us kids were told to not use our real names. Our stay was supposed to be temporary and they didn’t want any crews hunting us down. When we didn’t leave I just kept using it.”
“And what’s your name name?” Cooper asked, “Or am I overreaching?”
“Eh,” Goose shrugged, “not overreaching but I don’t know you well enough to share. My given name is for family.”
Cooper smiled, “That’s fair.”
#starfield#starfield fanfiction#the coemancer crew#atonalginger writes#crimson fleet#snippet sunday#Goose#Cooper Benbow#hammering out backstory and worldbuild#a twofer
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Hard Goodbye pt. 1
Three years have come and gone...
Cheyenne has decided to step out of her comfort zone and live on campus for her senior year at Britechester. Chy was fortunate enough to befriend the members of the Tri Fruhm Sorority during her time participating in UBrite's Spirit Corps, gaining entry into the sorority without having to experience the trauma of rushing. (Chy is very squeamish and dramatic. It would've been a disaster!😂)
With the unconditional love and support of her boyfriend, she is excited to see what adventures life on campus will bring. ♥
#ts4#simblr#ts4 current household#leopold kramer#ts4 gameplay#cheyenne lorde#winslete#hehe I honestly don't remember what the bottom of this letter says... It still looks good though!
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Emoji Starter Call
Comment with the corresponding emoji to get a starter from that muse!
( multi's please specify your muse too! )
CANON CHARACTERS (click to go to the muse page)
🐺 for a starter from JACKSON KENNER
🌙 for a starter from HAYLEY MARSHALL-KENNER
🌕 for a starter from CLAY DANVERS
🎧 for a starter from RHONDA HURLEY
🏈 for a starter from NOAH FLYNN
🤠 for a starter from GERI BROUSSARD
⛵ for a starter from FRANK ADLER
🩸 for a starter from ELIJAH MIKAELSON
🚬 for a starter from JAX TELLER
👼🏽 for a starter from HÊLÊL / HAEL MATTINO
ORIGINAL CHARACTERS (click to go to the muse page)
🌻 for a starter from AUSTYN LANE
🏄🏽♂️ for a starter from KAI HUDSON
🔆 for a starter from BEAU HUDSON
🍹 for a starter from CARMEN RIVERA
🎤 for a starter from CHEYENNE DUPONT
🍣 for a starter from ABEL RIGGINS
💠 for a starter from ZOE QUINN
🌊 for a starter from RUSH LANGSTON
👩🏼🌾 for a starter from EMBER FREEMAN
🎸 for a starter from KYLE SCOTT
👩🏻🏫 for a starter from GINA SILVA
📹 for a starter from JOHNNY GIORDANO
🔍 for a starter from SIMON COHEN
🏀 for a starter from OLIVER PORTER
🩺 for a starter from CELIA SANTOS
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This is a fine mess we're in Pt. 1 (Henry Standing Bear x Reader)
•• OMG IT'S BEEN SO LONG SINCE I WROTE ANYTHING! I am happy to see others getting into Longmire 👀 and that may have sparked something in me to write this yesterday. I hope you all enjoy! 🥰••
One thing that was nice about living in Durant, was the stillness at night. Even for a small city like Durant was. Tonight was a quiet July Saturday night, and Henry had the ceiling fans on high to try and keep air moving throughout the bar. The sounds of the crickets and cicadas outside were almost drowning out the music coming from the jukebox in the far corner. You and Henry were busy cleaning up the bar. On Saturday nights The Red Pony closed at 2, but you both usually stayed another hour or so to get it cleaned up before leaving. Well, at least before you left. Henry lived above the bar. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him pause and look at the clock.
“Go on home, (y/n). I can finish this in the morning.” You’d been working for the man for three years, and every Saturday night he pulled the same trick. He never finished it in the morning. It was forgotten about until Tuesday and you both had to rush to finish cleaning before you opened. You’d only let that happen a few times.
“Henry, you know damn well I ain’t doing that.” You smiled with a grunt as you flipped a chair onto a table. “It will be easier just to finish it now.” Henry didn’t have time to give a smart remark as you both jumped at the doors being swung open so hard they crashed into the walls, cracking some picture frames. A man rounded the corner.
“Hey! The bar’s closed! Sorry buddy!” You stated, looking him over. He looked like he’d gone through the wringer. His hair was jetting out every which way and he was caked in sweat. He put his hand up on the doorframe to the bar room and stumbled forward. A bloody handprint was left behind.
“I think y’all are gonna do what I tell ya.” He smirked. You took a fearful step back as he pulled out a gun from the back of his pants. While lifting his jacket you could see that he’d been shot in the lower abdomen. That explained the bloody hand. He quickly pointed it at Henry. “Now you, Cheyenne. Get over there. You too.” You and Henry complied with his order, going to stand beside the Jukebox. He motioned with his gun as he walked behind the bar. “Down on the ground, both of ya.” You crouched before leaning up against the Jukebox.
At the same time, the music shifted to a much louder song and the man snarled, showing his blood-stained teeth. “Shut that piece of junk off!” You hated seeing how your hand shook as you reached around to the other side to unplug it. Being so close to everyone at the Sheriff’s Department, you thought you’d be more than prepared for this type of scenario. You were wrong.
“What do you want?” Henry asked defiantly. His voice stayed as strong as ever. He might have been doing it for your benefit. He probably saw how scared you were. “Just take the money in the cash register and leave.” Henry dictated that last word in a much harsher tone. He laughed.
“I just hit the biggest bank in Durant, I don't need your money.” He picked up the phone before starting to dial a number. “We’re gonna have ourselves a little hostage situation. Long as that dumbass Sheriff gets me what I want, we’ll all go on our merry way and never see each other again.” He flicked his eyes upwards. “Now, just sit there and shut up.”
It was a tense few minutes of silence before the man finally started talking again. You wish he would utter his name so you didn’t have to keep referring to him as the man. It was getting kind of old.
“Yes, Deputy Ferguson, you can help me. See, I just robbed the City of Durant bank. I’d like for you to tell your boss that I’ve got two hostages down at the Indian bar by the Reservation and if my demands ain’t met, well, someone’s gonna get shot.” He shot the screen of the jukebox, just above your head, and you screamed. Glass and sparks showered over the top of you, Henry putting himself between you and the falling debris.
“Are you alright?” He whispered. “Were you cut anywhere?” You gulped down a lump of fear before you could respond.
“Y-yeah, I’m fine.” You somehow found yourself able to let out a low chuckle. “I guess I should’ve let you finish cleaning.” Henry wrapped an arm around your back and gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze before pulling you closer to him. He pressed you right against his side. Despite the situation, you could almost feel the blush spread across your face. Henry’s eyes never left the man behind the bar, even as the lights from Walt’s bronco came through the windows, you could hear his siren blaring.
“Walt will get him. If he can not, then I will.”
Tag list: (Want to be added? Just ask!)
@stanathanxoox , @nikkiwierden , @malindacath , @havlindzk , @countrygal17a , @memyselfandmaddox , @octobersmog , @mizzezm , @diaryofafan17 , @emmitheacefangirl , @a-sad-excuse-of-everything , @marennnx
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Same anon: I thought your current art about going into the real world was related with your other pizza tower lore with you in it.
haha nah, this is just a silly idea I cooked up.
i had the thought of “what if chey denied Pizzahead’s offer, what would he do?” Plain and simple; she wouldn’t go to them? Fine, he’ll bring them to her.
It’s moreso a shitpost idea based off of chey’s ACTUAL lore, which I’ll post with this now incase if people want to read more about it. I’m also considering on posting some of the short stories I make 🦭
Anyways here’s the document for chey’s lore. It’s nothing too fancy, so sorry if it seems rushed or doesn’t make sense, just wanted a decent background for chey
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thelockdowndiaries
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𝚂𝙴𝙴 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝚂𝙾𝙾𝙽.
