dOODLES??!?! *crashes into ur inbox* hi yes hello I love your art it’s adorable and just so pleasing to my eyeballs. Perhaps you could doodle cute sleepy Beej? Oml I love how you draw himmm 💚💚💚
Psssst mango,, I have scuttled to your blog at the unholy hour of 2 a.m. to ask; is it possible if I could get some Swanson or Kieran with a crush or s/o who has a real hard time getting and staying asleep? If not that’s totally fine too! Love you lots, Mango! 😘😘😘
Love you too darling! Hope you like these headcanons!
Orville has often found sleep to be an evasive creature, one he understands is fickle and cruel.
He’s angry that it’s chosen to toy with you.
He can see it in your eyes, in their redness, in the way you seem to fade out of whatever’s happening.
You feel like a shadow. He knows.
And so he sits with you as the night drags on, to remind you that you’re flesh and bone, and that he sees you.
He traces the lines on your palms, like rivers on a map. You close your eyes and allow yourself to be discovered.
You lay on top of him, his chin resting on your head, your thighs on either side of his middle.
He reads to you. Sometimes it’s the Bible. Sometimes it’s a poem he remembers from his youth, one of those works that you’re forced to memorise and thus robs it of all it’s magic. Orville can’t recall all of it. It may just be a certain line, which he repeats over and over, his voice rising and falling like the tide and guiding you out to open waters.
You still don’t sleep, but neither does he.
When you find him breaking out of the darkest depths of his addictions you lay beside him and cover his balled fists with your hands. You cry together.
The never-ending consciousness leaves plenty of time, too much time. You make as much use of it as you can together.
You make love purposefully, deliberately. He memorises every quivering breath you take. You rock your hips against his so as to feel every inch of him.
The dizzying, world-spinning hours that follow are the nearest feeling to true rest that you’ve found in months.
If you do sleep, if you finally hunt down the malicious creature and tame it again, Orville still watches over you.
His sweet hunter/huntress, untameable.
Kieran
Kieran doesn’t really sleep, at all. How can he? It feels as if the trees are whispering about him, as if every star in the sky is an eye, watching his every move.
When he spots you sitting on the end of the jetty at Clemen’s Point in the moonlight he almost draws his pistol until he recognises you and starts gabbling, flustered and sweating.
No words are needed when he sees the look in your eyes. You sit together, feet dangling over the water.
Kieran mumbles something about water being a mirror of heaven. It’s what his mother told him once. Perhaps. He can’t really recall.
Heaven must be a dark place at night too then, you tell him. He smiles.
During the day nothing feels real, but at night, Kieran is there at the end of the jetty, without fail.
One night you take your horses and ride as fast and hard as you can over the meadows, the cold air tearing away any desire for sleep.
When he asks if he can kiss you, when you let his lips gently brush against yours before sinking into him, the darkness feels as warm as his arms around you.
You lay together on the grass, the canopy of the leaves above rustling like a lullaby, your arms and legs entwined.
Daylight burns you both. The dawn feels like a mockery.
Kieran finds you crying often. He holds you close to his chest, his heartbeat a ticking clock, drawing you into another night of no sleep.
When you find him sleeping in the late afternoon you stroke his face. He nuzzles into your palm.
You lay down beside him and spoon him close to your body.
If the nights are a labyrinth, he is your string, your anchor to what’s still real.
And then the string is cut.
You lay on the damp, freshly dug soil that covers his body. You try to remember what his heartbeat sounded like.
He’s found sleep now, true and honest sleep. It was his wish, but not like this. It mocks like the dawn.
His mouth form's a lil 'O', a nod follows. „Pidge, heh?“ He ain't one to judge. Sounds interesting, seriously; he offers her to sit at the improvised campfire before he flomps down himself. „Lost ye'r way, Pidge?“
This is for the wonderful ray of sunshine that is @scribblepigeon as she won 1st Prize in the competition I ran a while back! I’m so sorry this has taken so long, but I really hope you enjoy it!
Summary: after the mess of the Blackwater ferry job, you and the gang have taken refuge in Colter, and you’re feeling useless. Determined to prove your worth to the gang, you decide to scout a nearby O’Driscoll camp. When your mission doesn’t go to plan, it’s down to Charles to bring you home.
Warnings: one use of a racial slur, angst, mentions of gore.
Pairing: Charles Smith x Fem!Reader
Word count: 3,191 (yeahhhh I went way over the word count, sorry)
If you had hated stitching before, it was nothing compared to now. The cold had rendered your unskilled fingers practically useless. You couldn’t feel a thing as your fingertips gripped the needle, poking it idly through bits of old fabric in a crude attempt to make a blanket. Your breath misted in front of you as you sighed loudly. Tilly looked up.
“Having fun?” she smiled sympathetically. You rolled your eyes, shaking your head as you rubbed the bridge of your nose. She nodded grimly. “You and me both.”
It was only until the storm cleared, you thought to yourself over and over. Just a few days. Maybe even less than that. Perhaps even tomorrow, you’d all be on your way to pastures new – to warm air, to blue sky, to grass! If there was one thing you missed as much as going to sleep without shivering, it was greenery. Charles had promised to take you out walking as soon as you got out of the mountains. You knew he was probably just being polite but you still smiled whenever you thought about it. You always smiled when you thought of Charles. He’d been so gentle with you right from the start, always greeting you with a kind word. On the long wagon journeys you’d sit beside him and watch the rolling landscape change, in comfortable silence. Sometimes you’d let your head slump against his shoulder, but he never seemed to mind. He’d always tuck a blanket around you.
“That blanket won’t make itself, Miss L/N.” Susan called from across the room, dragging you out of your daydream. There was frustration in her voice but it was strained, like she couldn’t quite find the energy to be truly angry with you. The past few days had taken its toll on you all.
All that money, lost, sitting somewhere in a town where you’d be shot on sight. You’d experienced disappointing jobs before but this felt cruel. Just as you’d let yourself start to dream, the world had closed in on you once again. Dutch had placed his hand on your shoulder before you rode to Blackwater, saying something about being rewarded for your trials, like that ferry held the rightful prize for all the gang had endured. It must have been even worse for the others, the ones who had been with Dutch for years, even decades. You had only been around for a month or so. Jenny had found you cowering behind a saloon, drunk and alone and afraid. She had been so kind to you, a true friend, and now she was gone. So was Davey, so were Mac and Sean for all you knew. Even John was missing. It was cruelty, plain and simple. Your chest tightened as you felt the threat of tears in your eyes.
You felt useless. It didn’t help that barely anyone was speaking to you properly. You knew it was because there was so much to do, but the sting of people walking past you without even looking you in the eye was hard to ignore. You hadn’t even seen Dutch and Hosea today; they were always holed up pouring over maps or out scouting the surroundings. Arthur and Javier had ventured into the mountains to look for John. And here you were, sewing, if you could even call it that. You held up the blanket, which looked more like a long scarf. Jack looked up from the fire and frowned puzzledly at your creation. You smiled, wrapping it around your neck.
“Very modern, don’t you think?” you asked, striking a pose. Jack giggled.
“Miss L/N, the sooner you fashion something useable, the sooner we can all get warmer.”
“Yes, Ms. Grimshaw.” you mumbled. This wretched needle was starting to aggravate you. It seemed to transcend its form to become a vicious little insect intent on ramming itself into your exposed flesh. You winced, sucking on your index finger.
“Now, that’s a sight I could get used to.” Micah purred from his corner. You pulled your finger out of your mouth, glaring. He smirked, taking a drag of his cigarette.
“Mr Bell, if you’ve nothing meaningful to say may I suggest taking yourself somewhere else?” said Susan, her brow furrowing. Micah placed his hand on his heart in mock-offence.
“Is that any way to speak to one of your own? Besides, I’ve been breaking my back lately. As I see it, I’m owed a pretty view or two.”
Susan opened her mouth to retaliate but you stood up, throwing down your sewing.
“The prettiest thing in this room will be your blood on my fist if you don’t shut up, Micah.” you hissed, your blood boiling. Micah leant back in his chair, taking another drag.
“Vicious little thing, aintcha? Don’t let me distract you from your housework now, Miss. Gotta earn your keep somehow.”
“I’ve earnt my keep, Bell. You know that.”
“Oh, sure. We’re all so grateful for having to save your ass back in Blackwater. Hell, if it wasn’t for you losing your nerve maybe we’d still have that money.”
You were breathing heavily now, your fists bunched by your sides. You knew it wasn’t true, not really. He was just choosing the exact words to get under your skin. But God, it was working.
“Leave her alone, Micah.” Karen snapped from her corner. Micah turned to look at her, sneering.
“I wish we had! I know that redskin bastard’s gettin’ sweet on her, but even he can see she’s a waste of air.”
That was enough for you. You turned on your heel and stormed out of the cabin before anyone could see your tears. You crunched through the snow, your head fuzzy, barely hearing Lenny when he asked if you were alright. Leaning against the cold wood of the stables you shut your eyes, willing the sobs away.
It was true about Blackwater. Only minutes after the job went sour you’d misfired and almost gotten yourself killed, only to take a nasty fall and hurt your ankle so badly you could barely limp out of the room. Charles had gone back for you. You could remember how easily he lifted you up and carried you to safety, running as you shot your pistol over his shoulder at the advancing lawmen. I’ve got you, he kept whispering, long after the gunfire had ceased and your heart had settled. Even when he looked down and saw his wounded hand, bloodied and charred. Still he held onto you, kneeling on the yellowed grass with you in his lap. If you focused on how warm his chest felt, you could get the image out of your head of Heidi McCourt’s brains spilling over the ferry deck.
“Y/N?”
Charles voice, soft and concerned, pulled you out of your memories and back into the snow. Your eyes snapped open and you saw him in front of you, his hat pulled low over his face, his arm cradling his wounded hand. Your stomach twisted with guilt.
“Are you alright?” he asked suspiciously. You nodded too quickly, your cheeks flushing. He kept looking at you, regarding you, and for once you wished he wouldn’t.
“Get yourself back inside, you’ll catch your death out here,” he continued, gesturing to the darkening sky. You shrugged, your eyes falling to the ground.
“I’m fine, Charles. I just wanted to be alone for a minute.”
Charles paused for a few moments, as if contemplating saying something more, but he turned away.
“Charles?”
You spoke before you could stop yourself. He looked back at you, his eyes soft.
“I…I’m sorry.” you stammered.
“Why are you sorry?”
“Your hand. If I hadn’t…if you hadn’t…I’m sorry.”
Charles stared at you, letting out a long sigh.
“I would never have left you there,” he said softly. “never.”
You took a deep breath.
“You wouldn’t have had to go back for me if I wasn’t a…a waste of air.”
“A waste of air? Who’s been saying that to you?”
“It doesn’t matter,” you snapped, shaking your head. “it’s the truth. All I want to do is show you people that I’m worth having around. But no, the good Lord has decided I’m to be cursed with a life on the run with none of the skills to make it work. And…and I can’t sew!”
“Can’t sew? What are you talking about?”
“Can’t sew, can’t shoot straight, can’t even die when I’m supposed to.”
“Stop.” Charles growled, his eyes narrowing. Your tears slipped from your cheeks and dropped to the ground, melting the snow in tiny circles by your feet.
“Y/N, for better or worse, we’re all still here.” Charles continued, his voice strained.
“I…”
“You’re feeling the weight of all this hell, same as the rest of. But I want to keep everyone around for as long as possible, you included. So just…just look after yourself. Please, Y/N.”
You gripped your elbows, chewing your lower lip. Charles nodded slowly as he turned to walk back to his cabin.
“And don’t venture out, at least not far,” he said grimly, over his shoulder. “I’ve heard there might be O’Driscolls out around these parts. Out near some lake, I heard.”
O’Driscolls. You hadn’t experienced a run-in with them yet, but from the way Dutch talked about them it wouldn’t be long before you did. After all the everyone had been through recently, a night raid by a rival gang might have tipped things over the edge. Your palms felt sweaty despite the icy air as you contemplated the idea that had settled in your mind. Scouting from afar wouldn’t be difficult, you knew that. You were quiet, and the increasing gloom of the evening would aid your mission.
And you couldn’t stop thinking about the way Charles had looked at you, like you were a frightened little animal on the side of the road. You were sick to your core of pity. Of being told to be safe, to take it easy, to look after yourself. Of watching the boys ride out together every day whilst you huddled by the fire and stitched blankets of no use to man nor beast. You had so much energy to use up and no way to utilise it that didn’t result in strange looks or Dutch barking at you to get back into the warm. You didn’t sleep well, waking up multiple times a night only to shiver and stare at the ceiling. As darkness fell gradually around you now, leaning against the stables as you listened to Pearson grumbling at his workstation and watched the shadows in the windows, you figured you were better off going in search of a fabled O’Driscoll camp than laying still until morning.
And then you were silently un-hitching your horse, stroking his nose and cooing gently as he whinnied against the cold evening air, mounting up and trotting out of Colter before anyone could see you.
The silence of the mountains was deafening. You strained against the biting wind and tried to ignore the primal fear that simmered inside you when you thought of the wolves out there, waiting for an easy supper. Instead you focused on the camp you were searching for. You had seen maps of this area before and knew there was a lake nearby, one with some abandoned structures that could serve as easy shelter for a band of outlaws. A short wave of pride washed over you as you realised that you could do this. You could do this. You could be an asset. A quick scout of the camp, and returning home with vital information that could even save the day. With some soothing words to your horse, you pressed quietly on into the gloom. You were riding for over an hour before you saw lights in the distance. Finding yourself atop a ridge looking down at the camp below, you squatted in the snow and narrowed your eyes, picking out the dark shapes of who you assumed were O’Driscolls, clutching rifles as they stood guard, laughing, squabbling, drinking. Their voices cut through the night like daggers.
You slowly crept along the ridge, making mental notes of the various buildings you saw, the numbers of men. There were a lot of them, more than you anticipated, and your mouth felt dry. When you felt the presence of someone behind you it took every fibre of effort not to scream.
“Stop…stop right there!”
His voice was as shaky as the wind as you turned slowly to face him, your hands raising above your head.
“D-don’t…don’t try anything! I know how to shoot!”
The man who pointed a pistol at you didn’t look much older than you, his eyes wide with concern under his hat.
“I…” your words failed you as panic rose in your gut. This nervous creature didn’t seem much of a threat, but his camp was right beneath you. You cursed yourself for your carelessness.
“You…you shouldn’t be here! Who are you?” he demanded, his voice slightly stronger now. You shook your head, breathing rapidly. In a moment of blind adrenaline, you reached down to your pistol. And that’s when he shot you.
The bullet hit you in the shin, nestling itself in your flesh with a sickening bang. You screamed, dropping to the ground and howling in pain as you grabbed at your leg. The man hurried to your side, gabbling with panic.
“Oh god, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, miss!”
You couldn’t do anything except continue to wail and sob, oblivious to the noise you were making. The man shook his head, his hand on your shoulder. You pulled away, suddenly furious.
“You’re…you’re…sorry?!”
“Miss, I truly am. I didn’t mean to hurt you! I just…I just panicked!”
“Damn you…”
“Miss? Miss!”
You stopped cursing and looked at him, seeing the real fear in his eyes.
“Miss, they’ll kill you if they find you. Maybe worse. You have to get out of here, and fast. They’re not stupid enough to ignore a gunshot this close to camp.”
“And why…why wouldn’t you hand me over? You’re one of them, right?”
The man stopped and looked you dead in the eye.
“I ain’t no O’Driscoll, Miss.”
There were a few seconds of silence before you let yourself believe him. He helped you to your feet.
“You got a horse, Miss?”
“Sure. He’s close.”
You whistled a few times, and before long your horse cantered into view. The man guided you to his side and steadied your feet into the stirrups.
“Ride hard,” he said sternly. “don’t look back once, you understand? Get out of here.”
You barely had time to gasp your thanks before he struck the rear of your horse and watched you gallop off into the night.
Blood flowed steadily from your wound and into your boot, its sticky warmth combining with the pain and making you feel increasingly nauseous. You felt waves of dizziness as you thought of how foolish you had been, how selfish. You thought of Charles, only this time you didn’t smile. All you could picture was his face when he saw you wounded, again. Beads of sweat trickled down from your forehead and mixed with the tears on your cheeks.
In all the confusion, all the pain, you didn’t have time to register which way you were going. The night swirled around you as you rode aimlessly, the pain in your leg throbbing with every bend in the landscape. Eventually you slowed your hose to a halt, breaking down completely and sobbing into his mane. You didn’t know how long you lay there, half passed out, half asleep, half dead. When you heard Charles’ voice you were certain you were dreaming.
“Y/N?”
His voice echoed through the trees. You were dead, you thought, you must be dead. But then you heard him again.
“Y/N!”
His arms, his strong shoulders, the warmth of his chest as he lifted you down from your horse and cradled you against him.
“Oh, Y/N, what have you done?”
His hand rested on your bloodied shin and you sobbed into him, exhaustion mixing with relief and shame. He pressed his lips to your forehead as he lifted you up and carried you to Taima, who was waiting patiently as she always did. When he had you settled on her saddle he went back for your horse, attaching the reins firmly to Taima so they could ride back together. He sat behind you, letting you loll back against him.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”
Lights, voices, hurried words and scrabbling hands lifting you down and wrapping you in what felt like a thousand blankets. Water, hot whiskey, bandages and searing pain and more tears, and Charles holding your hand long after the bullet fragments had been removed from your leg. Falling in and out of sleep, waking briefly to be scolded by Dutch and Susan. It all felt like a painting, like a song, something to be observed, not lived. And yet here you were, saved both by a stranger and the man who held your heart.
You walked again when the snow finally began to ease. Pale sunlight trickled through the window of your cabin, teasing you with it’s meagre warmth. You shakily stumbled to the door, peering out at the tiny town as the gang went about their business.
“Ah, ah! Absolutely not. Sit down before you fall down.” Charles smiled, wandering over to where you stood in the doorway. You rolled your eyes, giving him a little push.
“Sorry. I couldn’t resist watching everyone else break their backs.” you grinned, watching Bill topple over some stacked crates with an almighty clatter. Charles looked at you, his eyes warm, his face softer than you’d seen for a long time.
“I still owe you that walk when we get to pastures new.” he said. “Can’t let all that greenery go unexplored, especially now you’re a regular little adventurer.”
“Very funny!”
“I mean it.” he said solemnly. You peered at him.
“What you did…it was stupid. Reckless. Foolish. And if you ever try anything like that again I don’t know what I’ll do. But…you did good.”
“…really?”
“Really. Even Dutch was impressed. We’d never have known how many of those bastards were camped out there if it wasn’t for you. Now we can ride out knowing what’s coming.”
“Charles?”
“Hm?”
“Why did you come looking for me?”
Charles sighed, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.
“I saw how upset you were back at the stables, but I didn’t help. And I couldn’t stop thinking about what you said – that you couldn’t even die when you were supposed to. The way I see it, there isn’t any way we’re supposed to die. We have a right to decide when and where, in a way. It’s all in the choices we make, in the choices others make. And my choice was to find you.”
He placed two fingers under your chin and tilted your face up to look at him. When he kissed you it felt like coming home.
jASPER!!! MY FREN!!!! I gotta ask for the sake of self-shipping science,, Who do you think would be more likely to fall for a soft silly s/o; rockstar!beej or musical!beej?
Scribs out here with the important questions !
That's a solid toughie, tho. Cause i just imagine both boys being so enamored with a soft/silly s/o
Rockstar!Beej is so drawn to his s/o, loving how sweet and kind and just everything about them !! When he's tired from a show, he immediately goes to them cause he knows they'll be willing to just hang about and cuddle with him if he needs it. They're just so attentive and he appreciated them so much !! He doesn't have to be all gruff and punk around them, they love him for him, even his softer or more insecure points and he just adores that shit so much !! Plus their silly side is just hella adorable to him. His babes can make all the silly corny jokes or phrases they want and they never fail to make him smile or chuckle.
Musical!Beej would absolutely fall hard for a soft s/o too !! They just compliment his more spooky/demon attributes and he knows they don't mind those bits either. Beetlejuice loves having them around, especially if his temper is hit, they just have to wrap him in their arms and hold him and he calms down. They're so understanding and he can't get enough of them ! And their silly nature also compliments his more pervy nature ! Also you both just adore ridiculous humour, humour that's kind of simple but you both into a fit of giggles.
Kfndksklaal both boys are just complete suckers and I love them !!
