#westplanted

[eisiramdeus]

WESTPLANTED, IN HIS LETTERS TO THE CAP’N heavy, oilskin coat shrugged off finds its resting place on a hook beside the door, rain leaving streaks behind across the surface. where hat would normally find itself coupled with it, he plucks rain-soaked cover off and reaches it out in alex's direction. he's all wet weather and open spaces, scented in leather and wet horses; hat settles on alex's head, mouth curled up into a tired smile. "lets go take ourselves a shower, sweetheart."

✯ IMPLACABLY ADORABLE JUST THE WAY YOU ARE, LOVE OF MY LIFE. LIKE A WET KITTEN LEFT OUT IN THE DRIZZLE AND RAINBOW. SO SOFT GOD TONED DOWN THE DOWNPOUR INTO A LITTLE RAIN. HE COULDN'T STAND TO WATCH YOU FROWN. INNOCENT HEARTED, GOLD FLAVORED SOUL I DAREN'T BITE NOW.

Sitting duck, the way he's just standing by the fireplace, straightening his posture after packing wood into the firebox, staring dumbfounded at the cowboy's approach. Not one to, say, be caught lacking, but Clay wields this gravity over him. Says it's cause he's a big fucker, but it takes more than a little sand truck to pull the ocean. Defenseless and unready as he just stands there and takes it, Clay places a wet hat upon his crown, he's scrunching his nose and recoiling away playfully, aw-fuck, dude— hands swatting Clay away by his wrists, giggling, the canine toothy grin he's got as the corner as the corner of his lip raises.

❝Ohhh, 's an us kinda shower, is it?❞ Say no fucking more. He takes the soaked cover into his hands, flicking it up and down in the direction of Clay's face to beat out a few droplets his way as playground revenge. He never did get to play in the playground as a boy after all, but if he had to guess, this is what it must've felt like. Innocent slices of life not revealed to him by Him in the garden, for to know what was taken from you is pure agony already suffered by another. Ah, no matter, his life is here and now, calloused hands taking Mr. Montgomery by the elbows, thumbs pressed into his cubitals and dragging him on. ❝C'mon, now, bison boy; I'm herdin' y'in.❞ Walking back into the bathroom, back tensed to push open the door left ajar, he flexes at the elbow to pull Clay right into his chest's reach, planting a quick kiss upon his lips. ❝Mhm. Mhmm!— stink like a fuckin' wet dog. Let's git ya in this shit on the double. Git naked, doll.❞ Backhand slapping tap against Clay's shoulder, other hand reaching into the shower curtains, already knowing where the tap is to turn it.

@westplanted

[eisiramdeus]

WESTPLANTED, IN HIS LETTERS TO THE CAP’N    ​❝ i’ve got something you might want to taste. ❞

✯ THIS IS A MISUNDERSTANDING, I ASSURE, YOU, MISTER     BUT, RED, DEEP DOWN, I DON’T THINK IT IS. YOU MOST     LIKELY DON’T THINK IT IS, EITHER. SOMETIMES I DON’T     THINK. AND THAT’S ABOUT IT. LEAST ENJOY THE SHOW.

SOMETHING TO TASTE AND I get the wrong impression, I’m afraid. He hears it from across the rather thin wooden walls, washing up before supper, the water he drew from the stream earlier and brought back home—EARNING HIS KEEP, they call it. It’s, surely, more romantic in that sense. Tale of an arid expanse, unforgiving, earning your bread and your life day by day, every day, knowing what a man ought to do for the rest of his life. I don’t even know what the hell I’ve fucking done tonight. Water drips off and splashes in the used basin, hands drying on a towel, heart racing a little, it’s the anticipation and the audacity to commit a little sin. He heard what he wanted to hear, that’s every man, you can’t blame him particularly. ❝OH, ALRIGHT then, mister.❞ Says it loud out of the washroom, chuckle full of malice, like it’s fun and it’s play, cat and mouse. It’s a mouse trap, really. ❝I do too.❞ Got something you might want to taste right here. Do you?

LUCKY DAY, it’s what crosses his mind. Wooden door creaking all stubborn and gentle, opening slow, the implication consumes him, the clanking of his silver, unbuckled belt swinging freely side to side, button is already undone, prominent cotton hanging out, black pants barely holding on, held by his hand on the waist. CONFIDENT SMILE THAT THE DEVIL PUT ON HIS FACE—you truly meant supper, didn’t you? It was too late. Glory on the hallway, shoulder leaning in on the archway frame, adept lonely hand working off the very first button of his silky white shirt, looking mighty silly in front of Mr. Montgomery kindly setting the table for supper, steam rising out of the bowl. This isn’t what he had in mind.

❝I—❞ DAZED, cold water on his sunny day, he lets go of his shirt immediately, taken aback, retreating behind the walls of the hallway he entered from, rapid, panicked clinking of all the hanging metal around his waist, stuffing it back into his pants quickly, trying not to trip on the loose excess of his pant’s fabric being stepped on. Fucking disaster. He’s not even red in the face with shame, it’s just cold sweat and agony, a fuck up this immense; it’s beyond shame. All bucked up, shirt buttoned up, man proper: silk, dear boy, is for killers. The fuss and commotion in the corridor stops, he has no words, standing in silence away from Clay’s view, deliberating. ❝PARDON, I... just, just tidyin’ up from the wash. Just a second now, mister. I’ll, ah, be right out.❞

@westplanted​​

[hellbentwidow-moved]

❝ will you be joining me? ❞

THE WITCHER / ACCEPTING / @westplanted

“you’re seriously askin’ me if i’m gonna join you on our date?  i know you’re trying to be romantic ‘nd all,  but–  obviously i am.”  oh,  sadie.  as bitter as always,  even if she’s not actually bitter.  no,  she’s in an awfully good mood.  she hasn’t been on a date in…  well,  since before jake died.  it’s been almost a decade.  frankly,  she’s anxious.  she’s just doing a good job at hiding it and she’s cleaned herself up pretty nicely.  she’s wearing a skirt for god’s sake.  her hair has long been released from her braid,  too.  it’s not big glam,  but it’s a change.  she rubs her knuckles nervously,  looking over him.  he really does look like a knight in shining armor right now,  mounted up on his horse so damn elegantly.  it almost makes her roll her eyes,  but she thinks she’s given him enough attitude for the night.  she leans the heel of her boot on the dirt below her,  peering up at him with a tilted smirk,  expression quickly loosening up.  “well,  you gonna help me up or not?  this is a date,  ain’t it?”