#badactors

Job dusts his flour-covered hands down on either of his hips as he peers into his journal, propped up against the tiles at the edge of the counter, to ensure that he isn’t missing any part of his plan. He’s just finished preparing the batter for the banana bread he plans on serving as desert; the buttermilk biscuits, a staple at any Edwards dinner, are already rising in the oven, and a large, whole chicken has been seasoned and propped atop a can of beer in the middle of a large tray, destined to join the biscuits in the oven as soon as they’re done chopping up the vegetables to accompany it. Last will be the green beans, meant to be fried with minced garlic shortly before dinner it served.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t look forward to this. With what has been his very hospitable stay at the Collins ranch, he’s been meaning to ask Mr. Collins to allow him to prepare dinner for some time now - though, admittedly, it’s mostly the notion of feeding Junior which has had Job’s heart set on the request. There isn’t much else he can do to show his affection - broke and a stranger to the town, it’s always been Juni that’s had them set out on their little adventures. But Job could do this - could utilize what is arguably his best skill, with great care, to prepare something that will put a smile on Juni’s face and fill his stomach with a warm and gratifying meal. This is what he looks forward to the most -- gauging Juni’s reaction upon taking his first bite, or the tired lazing-about that’s sure to come after none of them will be able to possibly fit another bite into their mouths. 

Send “📂“ for a random yet completely useless headcanon I have

Basil will straight up drink Soy Vay teriyaki sauce directly from the bottle. Actually, it’s pretty oft that he drinks sauces and condiments straight from the bottle.

   it sticks to her skin — the exhaustion, the worn down fabric of the self. now and then she leans against a wall and thinks she might throw up, though at this point she fears it’d be a lung she’d cough up, or her stomach itself, something vital — if any of it’s left, still. if any of her is left, it’s shapeless and nameless — and in a way, she was FINE with that. it was the joined efforts of pete and florence ( employer, the former — landlady, the latter ), pushing for a name to attach to their respective legal agreements. fredericke dawson — she’d told them, spit it out like it didn’t sound dishonest to her ears before anyone else’s. still, legal proof was needed. a testament to her existence: a piece of plastic that said this blurry freeze frame was a woman had a place she’d come from, belonged to a point in time and space. 

   now she’s calculating how much time still she’s gonna have to suffer through this before she can stress-smoke her way to sundown, while slouching in the chair like a child who’d rather be anywhere, anywhere else than here, on her metaphorical knees, BEGGING. limbs tense, eyes never really drifting too far from him not because of particular interest but rather a sense of ALARM ( chalk it up to distrust, or the fact that suit and ties, in her experience, come with the kind of soul-sucking bullshit she could do without ). still, the second he names his price she’s caught off guard —— eyebrow quirked, a scoff follows. “ excuse me ? ”. she remembers grandpa and his rifle, automatically at hand the second he’d spot the polished cars of collectors on the edge of the ranch. when she smiles it’s not really at the offer —— she’s picturing peter dickinson and his rifle, right there behind the lawyer. freddie clicks her tongue, sits right back up, her annoyment kicks in as a safety. “ yeah, listen —— they said you could help me, but i’m not really in the mood to be fucked with, y’know ? no offense. ”

A bridge is a passageway into the world, but yet so far, it has not been back to his world. No, Rozetta was not as lucky to have found that. And would he ever be so lucky? That was not an answer he was much privy to. All he knew was himself, his horse, and the endless stream of time that flowed as fast and endless as any river ever did. 

And so from world to world he would travel, an endless journey for a quest he would likely never accomplish, a prophecy he would almost surely never fulfil. And as the hooves of his horse grew weary and his head grew blank and blinded, still he moved on. 

Be it luck, or Fate that as one of his poor horse’s shoes grew unusable, that Rozetta should find himself travelling alongside a path that flanked a large pasture, empty now, the chill having sent the animals inside, at least for the time being. So it’s a shock to the system when none other than a snake should come swimming past bloodshot, dry eyes. 

Reaching backward into the large pack he wears on his back, he finds that he was looking for was not there, (it had broken, that was why, yes, he remembered now, it had broken and so he had no other choice), so that lightning quick hand jerks down to his side, pulling one of the guns loose. 

@badactors​ said: ARSE  (for Frankie)

A   :   AFFECTION.   how does your muse show affection?

R   :   ROMANCE.   is your muse a romantic or a cynic?

S   :   SWEETHEART.   did your muse have a childhood sweetheart?

E   :   EMBRACE.   does your muse like hugs? what are their hugs like?

A: In the main, Frankie shows his affection through touch; a touch to the arm, to the lapel, to the knee, it’s a tapping motion mostly, completed in quick succession, a distinct number of times, but it is a sign of affection and an attempt at forming a bond. Frankie also shows his affection through remembering things you like and listening intently when you speak, your favourite flowers, music, movies and food he will have committed to memory the moment you say them. It makes him very good at giving personalised gifts. The unpredictable nature of Frankie’s tics mean he isn’t likely to take you to a quiet restaurant or to go catch a movie. But he’s happy to snuggle up and watch a movie together at home, if you don’t mind him stroking your hair or kissing your face excessively. He also loves loud music, so would show affection by taking dates to gigs, singing (shouting) and dancing, all things which help him suppress his tics.

R: The above relates quite closely to him being an old romantic at heart. Frankie has never really experienced love or romance to any great extent, certainly not since his accident in his early twenties. Most of his references therefore are from movies, that’s where his conception of love comes from and while that might make his outlook seem naïve or idealistic, he doesn’t mind. The problem however, is that there has never watched anyone with Tourette’s fall in love on screen and so this failure of representation has made him feel like love is something that will remain elusive to him, because maybe it isn’t meant for him. 

S: In his youth, before his accident, Frankie was highly promiscuous; a natural flirt, he was the type of guy to bed a lot of people, guys and girls but never make any firm commitments to them. It’s for this reason that he never had a childhood sweetheart, but rather many sweethearts who often benefited from his ill-gotten gains, a life of crime affording him a decent amount of money at a young age. 

She was walking through a shady park, her heels marking her confident steps as she made her way to the donor club. The path was usually lonely, but this time she stopped by the lure of strong whiff of something interesting, hidden beneath layers of cigarette smoke and a pretty nice aftershave. It was the dead of night, and nobody walking in the street at this time was up to no good. As she approached the stranger, Mirna could smell the drugs on him, and wondered if some of that could spice up the night at the club.

Sunday Meme;