status: active
requests are open !
last updated: june 17, 2026
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howdy ! i’m mads and i run this little corner here for any and all characters i'm in the mood to write for ! i am from the always sunny state of arizona and i would throw down for johnny ringo. if you have any questions for anything i write for/may write for or are interested in, please don’t hesitate to send in an ask !
things to know:
anyone can follow this blog, i usually try to keep things relatively tame on here (writing 🌶️ material isn’t really my forte but i’m no stranger to challenges)
i will tag any nsfw content with ‘nsfw’
this being said, minors, you need to be careful with how you interact with my content. if any work says ‘nsfw’ it is not intended for you or any other mature content i decide to post
i ask that y’all please refrain from trauma dumping in my posts. my friend and i have been the subject of those a few times and it was just too overwhelming for the fun i am trying to create. that being said, i want to write for everyone and will not be writing posts about self harm, eating disorders, sexual assaults, and non-con, as these can be triggering for other readers and myself
i will not always be on time with requests. i do have a full time job and i am looking to go into firefighting at the same time. i will try to get to them as soon as i can, but this account is for fun and that’s what i want to achieve here
i am also working on transferring over all my works from an old blog (all-fandoms) onto this blog
if reading on tumblr isn’t your thing, most (if not all) of these will be cross-posted on my ao3. i will also have spotify playlists up for characters/series eventually as well !
well since it is currently hailing outside my house i had a wonderful little idea for our dear boys
Curly Bill Brocius
He’s okay with storms, doesn’t really make a big deal out of them
Chooses to stay indoors for most of it before the rain actually hits (preferably with you right by his side)
He likes to sit around a lamp or a fire and plays card games, using the dim lighting to see how long he can get away with cheating
Since he’s been shot and beaten a few times in his life, can usually tell when the rain is coming because his bones and joints start to ache. You tease him for it
“Storms rollin’ in, sweet cheeks. Can feel it.”
“Sure, Brocius…whatever you say, old man.”
Johnny Ringo
Can smell the rain like a bloodhound
Unlike Curly Bill, Johnny chooses to watch the rain, particularly the lightning
He’ll stand on the edge of a hill or ledge and watch the storm roll in behind the town, sipping a drink all the while
Before he met you, he’d stay out there forever, waiting for the lighting to strike him or when the first drops of rain hit his hat
Now, he chooses to watch the storm with you, counting the seconds between the lightning and thunder to see how close it is
Once it gets too close for his comfort, he’ll take you inside where you’ll find him reading a book or taking a nap by the window
She doesn't turn to him, not even when she hears him stepping closer. Not when she can feel his warmth lick at her side. Not as he sits on the railing. She just stares out into the stars and relishes the breeze on her cheeks.
"Couldn't sleep. Figured some fresh air would be nice." She turns to him, cobalt eyes meeting carmen. "Why are you up? It's way past your bedtime."
She says that last part with a smile, that same one she gives him when he's caught staring, when he goes out his way to do something nice. It's a teasing smile, filled with secrets only the both of them know, the secrets and quick glances only they see.
He fights that fluttering feeling in his stomach with a scowl.
"Same as you," he shifts, knee brushing hers, burning fingers brushing over bare skin. It's comforting, as small as it is, to have him here.
They stay silent, as her fingers weave through his, calloused hands smoothing over the lines of his veins, the rough plane of his palm. "I dreamt of her again," her words are hushed, fluttering like feathers in the wind. "She looked so real, it felt so real. I tried running after her, but there was this wall of blue flames. I could hear her screaming, and for the life of me, my feet wouldn't move."
The tears mist her eyes before she has a chance to blink them away, emotion choking the words trapped in her throat. The breath she takes is shaky, unstable.
"Jordan...," his hand tightens around hers, another coming to rest of her neck, gentle fingers cradling her. "What happened was not your fault, alright? You need to understand what happened to the both of you wasn't your fault."
"Why does it feel like it then?"
"Grief does weird shit," he pulls her close, forehead kissing hers. He watches her, watches her close her eyes and lets herself fall into him. "One minute you're smiling at an old picture and the next you're sobbing on the floor. You can try to explain it away but it isn't going to bring her back."
He's right, she knows it. Deep down, she knows. But the surface of her wound is still raw and open. Too new to let it heal, too old to let it lie there to scar.
"...I miss her."
He pulls her even closer, so close his heat envelops her completely, a balm against the aching in her heart. He says nothing, but words aren't needed. Not for this.
love when the fingers get the itch to type but the brain says "nah go down a youtube rabbit hole to find your creepypasta playlist and get stuck on phantom of the opera"
He's so infuriating when he looks at you like that. Like you've hung the moon and stars just for him to see. Like you're the oasis in the desert he's been waiting for. Like the angels calling him home.
His fingers cradle your cheeks, and it's so infuriating when you melt into them like a touch-starved stray.
"I'd kiss you if I could."
He leans in close, so close his breath is warm against your cheek and you can see every tiny freckle speckled across his tan skin. He leans in close, and robs you of your only remaining sanity with three words: "Kiss me then."
How the Cowboys react to other Cowboys flirting with you
oooo this was so fun to do! i just know those boys would not like it at all
Curly Bill Brocius
Being the leader of the group, he believed what was his would be generally left alone, and that included you
The both of you had made it quite clear there was no other option but the other. A real bonded pair with hearts set on conquering the world together
So when a new member of their unsavory crew makes a pass at you, it takes the both of you by surprise
You’re both sat on a log by a quickly growing bonfire, passing a bottle between the other while you discuss the latest news of the day
When all of a sudden one of the newer Cowboys comes trudging along, bottle in hand and looking at you like you’re dinner
Brocius clocks it near immediately, that devilish smile of his fading just the slightest bit as the Cowboy takes a seat right up against you, thighs pressing together
Before he can get a word out, you’re already reacting
You shove the man, cheeks flaring red in your shock and anger. “You best remove yourself off my side before you leave here missing a vital piece of family jewels.”
The drunk man tries to fight back against you, until the clicking of a hammer stops the entire camp in its tracks.
“I’d take that warning if I were you. No one messes with what’s mine and lives long enough to tell about it.”
Johnny Ringo
There’s a certain…unhingedness Johnny brings to the relationship, and it’s always picking a fight with the inner gentleman his mother had tried to instill in him
He tries his hardest to be the man his mother had hoped to raise around you — ever so respectful and careful of his words and actions whenever he’s around you. He gets your doors, helps you bring in groceries from the market, ties your spurs onto your boots before your daily ride, but there are moments when that fearsome dragon rears its ugly head
It started during a cattle drive. The night before the final sale and you choose to sit against a tree just a little ways past the campfire, nursing your own bottle while Johnny tends to your horses
“Ringo? That man spells trouble, sweetheart. You’re better off with a real man who’ll stand up for his woman.” One cowboy says, walking up leaning into your space.
Your anger hardly has time you leave your lips when it’s splattered with whiskey and the man collapses at your feet, blood pouring from the new gash on his forehead
Johnny drops whatever remained of his now-shattered bottle, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket. “Apologies, darlin’. He got too close when I threw it.”
He dabs at the blood on your cheek, before his lips replace the handkerchief for the whiskey on your skin, nipping little bruises onto your skin as the man groans at your feet
He kisses you. Without warning, without permission. Without even deciding to do it, but simply because he couldn’t have done anything else. He needed that breath you were holding. It belonged to him, and he wanted it back.
“I hate you,” he says. Then he kisses you and kisses you and kisses you.
(Give me your organs, your bones, your breath. They’re mine. They’ve always been mine.)
You chuckle, fingers sinfully tugging at the bandoliers around his waist. “I hate you, too, Cowboy.”
She screams it, so loud it shakes the glass of the old chapel and birds take flight from their nests in the rafters. Trembling fingers run through her wild hair, and she lets out a broken laugh. “I am terrified to love you, Johnny! You are a snake in the grass waiting for prey and I know that and I—still—love—you!”
He gets so close she can see the slightest hint of green in those brown eyes, and her heart races and stops all at once. “J-Johnny?”
He grips her tight. So tight her fingers go numb and she loses all semblance of words when he looks at her that way. He stands a breath away, so close she can feel his breath hit her cheek until he leans in.
summary: i had all and then most of you, some and now none of you
warnings: character death, language, violence, angst, wow this really wasn’t meant to get so sad but i’m in a mood
pairings: curly bill brocius x reader (gn)
This was never meant to end this way.
You never believed it could end this way.
Never believed it could end at all.
He was always larger than life, the spark of a candle in a dark tunnel, a firework on the Fourth of July. He was the sun incarnate, so full of warmth and laughter and love.
He had made life with the Cowboys one full of adventure. Every day was something new and exciting. He made every sunrise and sunset one worth fighting for. He’d wake you with kisses and threaten to steal the blankets when you wouldn’t get up, and cover you with his jacket when the night’s chill set in.
He treated every day like his last, and he loved you just as such. Nothing he did was mediocre.
Especially when it came to protecting you.
You followed him into The Oriental, hand-in-hand, admiring the taxidermies on the wall as he made his way through the bar. It had easily become on of your favorites, where you and the Clanton’s spent much of your money playing poker or drinking each other under the table (if such a thing was possible with Billy; the man could inhale liquor like he needed it to breathe).
That night you’d met the Earp brothers for the first time. Dressed head-to-toe in all black, like grave diggers, dealing at the faro table. You’d heard the gun cock under the table as Doc Holliday continued to taunt Johnny, had felt how hard Brocius gripped your wrist, tugging you behind him as the air left the table.
You couldn’t recall ever feeling so scared as you did in that moment, waiting for the tension to break, watching to see who was going to draw first, and Brocius had sensed it (he had also felt your hand drift from his arm to his belt where he kept a knife hidden for this exact reason.)
"Watch it, Johnny." His grip holds even tighter, slowly tucking you further behind him as the gunslingers play their dangerous little game. "I heard he's real fast."
It's almost like Johnny can sense the growing fear bleeding into Brocius' words, hammer down and tucking his pistol back to spin through his fingers in a dramatic flair.
It hardly helps the pounding of your heart, the air fighting its way into your lungs, the numb adrenaline tingling through your fingers, but the laughter throughout the saloon seems to ease it just a bit.
You relax completely when Doc Holliday does the same with his shot cup, spinning the handle between his fingers just as Johnny had done. He makes a mock out of himself, but for once, you're glad Holliday had the insight not to start a shootout for the sake of his pride.
Brocius laughs, taking the wind out of your anxious sails immediately, tugging you closer as he takes his earned money and leads the both of you back into the bar. "Drinks on me!" He says, covering the both of you in a shower of money.
You leave shortly afterward, finally breathing a sigh of relief as you two step out into the cool air, all fight leaving you instantly.
Brocius notices. "You alright back there, sweetheart?"
Your head shakes. "I don't want to be there when they are Curly. Something's not right about 'em. 'Specially if Johnny is gonna play with that Holliday. They're both too high-spirited to let that go a second time."
Curly hums, tucking you further into his side. "Them two are cyclones ready to collide. But, alright sweetheart, we won't be there when they aren't."
And now, here, on the edge of the river, hiding out from the Marshall you had never hoped to encounter again, you wished you had never walked into that saloon.
Not if you knew it would lead to this.
It's a shootout the minute any man notices the other on the opposite side of the river. One moment it's quiet, and the next you're diving for the closest trees to hide behind as bullets fly past your head and into their bark.
You can hear Brocius a few paces over, laughing like a man gone mad (you imagine he has after losing Cowboy after Cowboy to the Earps.)
“Curly!”
You ignore everything; the other Cowboys, the lawmen, the chill of the river, the bullets whizzing past. Everything is lost — all you can think is get to him.
S a v e h i m.
You slam to your knees right as he goes under, dragging his limp frame up into you, just enough to keep him from drowning. The rest is a blur; you just remember your heart hammering in your ears so loud it might as well have been thunder rolling overhead.
You collapse once you drag him up the embankment, doing the best you can to provide the both of you cover as bullets fly in every direction. It's then you notice the warmth coating your hands.
You pull away to see your hands soaked in blood.
Blood...
Brocius' blood.
Oh god.
He smiles at you through bloodied teeth, beautiful, tanned skin already paling. He's cold when your hands touch his face, brushing his hair out of his eyes. The sob is already choking your throat, croaking pleas and prayers.
"You can't leave me, Brocius. We'll-we'll get you all pat-patched up and starting mischief in no time," you hiccup. You gasp as a bullet flies into the branch a few inches from your head, instinctively covering Brocius as you hit the dirt.
Shaky hands weakly push at you. "It's not safe, sweetheart. You need to leave. I ain't got no more fight left in me."
You shake your head.
"‘M not goin’ anywhere, y’here me?” You’re saying it more to yourself than you are him, you realize.
His shaky fingers find purchase on your cheek. “I think we have had too much fun, sweetheart. This isn’t somethin’ I can shoot my way out of.”
“Don’t say that, Curly. We can go find a doc and he’ll patch you up real good. You’ll be back to thievin’ and ridin’ in no time. No time at all.”
His grip is crushing as he takes your hand, tucking it up to him, feeling his heart beat against it. “I’m all out of fun, darlin’. My train stops here, it seems. God, I wish I could go back to the night we met. You looked so radiant sittin’ at that bar, all dolled up and ready for the show.”
You’re silently sobbing, remembering how he made you laugh so hard your side hurt and tears poured down your cheeks. How he shielded you from the rowdy Cowboys and made sure you made it home safely before returning that next morning with a bouquet of flowers and that wide, cheeky smile.
“Barnes shot that pin out of the juggler’s hand and I’d never seen you laugh so hard.” You smile through your tears. His grips lessens.
His laugh is barely audible, and you sob as a bullet flies into the tree right above your head.
His eyes don't look at you.
Through you, you realize.
God, please, don't take him from me just yet. We haven't had enough time.
I need more time!
I want more time...
His eyes close. His hand doesn't hold onto yours anymore, and hiding out in the brush, you let yourself fall into grief, begging for more time.
[when i tell you this ending felt super rushed because it is. i apparently need to work on my dying scenes but i haven't touched any writing in like four months so this is the best you get for now lol]
summary: and just like the rain, you cast the dust into nothing
warnings: sleepy boi vessel, mentions of nightmares, this is sappy I don’t care
pairing(s): vessel x reader (𝑔𝑛)
There is noise when you wake.
You shift, and the first thing you register is the gentle, constant rhythm of rain hitting the window to your left. Eyes crack open to reveal your bedroom cast in silent rays of blue where they just managed to break past your curtains. Another moment and you can smell the morning dew beginning to settle in.
The second thing you notice is the heavy weight of something resting on your shoulder and thin limbs tangling with your legs between the sheets. It's Vessel, your sleep-addled mind surmises. He must've crawled into bed long after you had fallen asleep last night; another late night in the studio.
You notice there are still smudges of black paint on his visible arm (where it rest oh so comfortably around your waist above the covers) — evidence of just how long the night must have been. He was always so careful in removing the moniker that made him Sleep's mouthpiece, always making sure his arms and chest were void of any paint as to not ruin the sheets.
Your fingers card through the tresses of his hair, thumb and pointer rubbing a path from his nape to his shoulders. A sigh leaves him, cheek pressing upwards and his breath hits your neck.
It brings a smile to your face, to see his features soften and smoothen out in restful sleep. It isn't too often he finds it; mind always running a-mile-a-minute in search of a new beat or lyric. Anything to add to his symphony of glorious worship.
You remember at the start of your relationship, when he had finally removed his mask for the first time, just how tired he had looked. The dark circles under his eyes practically moons in and of themselves, the way his shoulders were in a constant slump and the way his feet would drag across the carpet the moment he stumbled backstage.
You remember the first of many arguments that came from it, so worried for his health and well-being you even dragged his band members into it until he's given you an answer. You never expected the reason he gave.
Nightmares.
Horrific, never-ending, awful nightmares.
Every night, without falter. No matter what drugs he took, how much liquor he drank, the state of exhaustion he had forced his body in, the nightmares would be there. He never told you the details of them, only that he would wake screaming and covered in sweat.
It was why he was so reluctant to sleep with you. To burden you with the awful routine his mind had forced him in. To bring you into this world of pain when he had so desperately hoped to keep you from.
It was a storm that did him in. Not quite like the one currently growing outside your window; this one was violent and harsh. It was the worst weather the countryside had ever received in years. Weatherman had warned against going outside in such a torrent, and you refused to let him go out in such a state back to his flat.
He slept out on your couch, and just like he feared, the nightmare had come.
You were awoken by the thrashing first. You were going to pass it off as oncoming thunder, ready to go back to sleep. Then came the scream and you had thrown yourself full force at the bedroom door to get to him.
It was hard to see in the dark, but the quick flash of a lightning bolt illuminated your living room enough to find him. He was in a fit on your couch, limbs kicking and flailing everywhere at some invisible enemy. You remember catching his hands, hauling to sit and shouting his name.
"Vessel...Vessel!" You hadn't meant to scream his name so loud, but you didn't know what to do. He wouldn't wake, just crying and pleading to his nightmare to let him go. You didn't mean to grip him as hard as you did, but then his eyes snapped open and the moment he registered the hands on him belonged to you, you couldn't let him go.
He had whispered your name is such a pathetic way it broke your heart to hear it. Like every ounce of fight in him had vanished and he was just a shell of a man sitting before you.
After that night, you wouldn't let him sleep alone.
Gods, what a gift that had been.
His nightmares were near non-existent, the dark circles under his eyes slowly disappearing and you relished in the fact he was finally able to find some semblance of peace. Life had come back to his eyes, his music and his presence, and you would never admit it aloud, you were glad for that awful storm.
A roll of thunder echoes above you, and Vessel stirs atop you.
"Hmm...love, what time is it?" His words slid together in sleep, head rising to blink bleary eyes at you.
You shush him, a gentle push to bring him back to you. "Go back to sleep, baby. It's too early." A kiss to the crown of his head.
He lazily nods into your neck, arms winding further around you to pull you even closer, lips pressed against your pulse. "M'kay...love you."
Your eyes close, smiling into his hair as the rain picks up outside. "Love you too."
You drift off to the noise of water pitter-pattering against the window, thankful for the rain.
