#dakota mill

[dakotamill]

Episode 4 has been released

It’s much shorter than the others I released but it looks a lot better

Go take a look

[violet-phoenix-nebula]

Flooding of Falls Park

Sioux Falls, SD, USA

June 21, 2024

[adtothebone]

What’s your personal system (order of preference, number of fingers used, etc.) for getting these into your belly?

(Traditional Chex Mix w/ Bagel Chips)

[astr0logies]

‧₊˚⋅  ♯  𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆  𝐌𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐆𝐄  !  :    the  self-destructive  loner  ,  violet  ross  :  dynamics  tags  /  ft.  @wkdys . 

[naturexrural-photography]

Faulkton, South Dakota

My dad's hometown

[zooophagous]

So why do you hate the advertising industry?

Hokay so.

Let me preface this with some personal history. It's not relevant to the sins of the advertising industry perse but it illustrates how I started to grow to hate it.

I wanted to be a veterinarian growing up, but to be a vet you basically have to be good enough to get into medical school. I do not have the math chops or discipline to make it in medical school. I went into art instead, and in a desperate attempt to find some commercial viability that didn't involve moving to California, I went into graphic design.

I've been a graphic designer for about seven or eight years now and I've worn a lot of hats. One of them was working in a print shop. Now, the print shop had a lot of corporate customers who had various ad campaigns. One of them was Gate City Bank, which had a bigass stack of postcards ordered every couple months to mail to their customers.

Now, paper comes from Dakota Paper, and they make their paper the usual way. Somewhere far, far from our treeless plain there is a forest of tall trees. These trees are cut down and put on big fossil fuel burning trucks and hauled to a paper mill that turns them into pulp while spewing the most fowl odors imaginable over the neighboring town and loads the pulp up with bleach to give it a nice white color.

Then the paper is put on yet another big truck and hauled off to the local paper depot, then put on another big truck and delivered to my print shop, where I turned the paper into postcards telling people to go even deeper into debt to buy a boat because it's almost summer. The inks used are a type of nasty heat sensitive plastic that is melted to the surface of the paper with heat. Then the postcards are put on yet ANOTHER truck and sent to the bank, which puts them on ANOTHER truck and finally into the hands of their customers, who open their mail and take one look at the post card and immediately discard it.

Heaps and heaps and literal hundreds of pounds of literal garbage created at the whim of the marketing team several times a year. And thats just one bank in one city.

I came to realize very quickly that graphic design was the delicate art of turning trees into junk mail.

And wouldn't you know it there are a TON of companies that basically only do junk mail. Many of them operate under the guise of a "charity," sending you pictures of suffering children or animals and begging for handouts and when they get those handouts the executives take a nice fat cut, give some small token amount to whatever cause they pay lip service to, and then put the rest of the cash right back into making more mailers. "Direct mail marketing" they call it.

Oh but maybe it's not so bad, you can advertise online after all. Now that there's decent ad blocker out there and better anti-virus ads usually don't destroy your computer anymore just by existing.

Except now when I search for the exact business I want on Google it's buried under three or four different "promoted search items" tricking me into clicking on them only to shoot themselves in the foot because I searched for the specific result I wanted for a reason and couldn't use those other websites even if I felt like it.

And now we have advertising on YouTube and on every streaming service, forcing more and more eyes onto the ad for the brand new Buick Envision that parks itself because you're too stupid to do it on your own.

Oh thats ok maybe I'll get Spotify premium and go ad free and listen to some podcasts- SIKE we have the hosts of your show doing the song and dance now. Are you depressed and paranoid from listening to my true crime podcast about murdered and mutilated teenagers? That's ok, my sponsor Better Help can keep you sane enough to stay alive and spend more money.

It's gotten so terrible that now you have content farms, huge hubs of shell companies that crank out video after video to get more and more precious clicks. Which if the videos were innocuous maybe that wouldn't be so awful except now you have cooking hacks that can actually burn your house down and craft hacks that can electrocute you being flung into your eyes at the speed of mach fuck so some slimy internet clickbait jockey doesn't need to get a real job.

It of course goes without saying that animals are also relentlessly exploited by clickbait companies that will put them in compromising situations on purpose to create a fake fishing hack video or even just straight up killing them for sport by feeding small animals to a pufferfish that rips them apart for the camera.

And all of this, ALL of this doesn't even touch how adveritising is the death of art in general. Queer topics, any kind of interesting art, any kind of sex or substance use topics are scrubbed clean and hidden at the behest of advertisers.

Sex education, a nude statue, topics such as racism or sexism or bigotry in general have tags purged or hidden from search, even life saving information about SDTs or drug use, because if someone saw that and complained then Verizon might sell fewer tablets and we can't fucking have that.

Conservative talking heads often bitch and moan that they're being censored on social media. The stupid part is, they're right! They are being censored! But it's not by a woke mob, it's by ATT and Coca Cola not wanting their adspace sharing screen time with their stupid fucking opinions.

However, they won't ever figure that out, because the talking heads they get their marching orders from like Tucker and Jones ALSO rely on the sweet milk flowing from the sponsorship teat and they aren't about to turn on their meal ticket so they have to come up with even stupider shit to say for the train to continue rolling.

I managed to rant this far without even getting into the ads I see for the beauty industry. The other day a botox ad described wrinkles as "moderate to severe crows feet" as if wrinkles are a symptom of a fucking serious disease! Like having a flaw in your skin is a medical problem that you need thousands of dollars of literal botulism toxin to fix! I was incandescent with anger.

Advertising is a polluting, censoring, anti educational and anti art industry at it's very core. It destroys human connections, suppresses human thought and makes us hate our own bodies. It ads no value, actively detracts from value, and serves no real purpose and I believe it should be almost if not entirely banned.

[pupsmailbox]

SCENE︰EMO ID PACK

NAMES ⌇　acid. adder. adrian. aisling. alex. alice. alix. amethyst. annabelle. aqua. ash. ashlee. ashley. aspen. astley. avril. awe. axe. ayesha. bates. bell. bella. belladonna. bellatrix. billy. blade. blair. blitz. bloodie. bloodscene. blythe. bow. bree. butterfly. callie. candi. candy. celeste. chase. checkerz. clarity. click. coraline. couture. crow. cyril. cyrus. dakota. demi. demonia. devin. dino. dizzy. doge. dom. dominic. ebony. electra. elliot. emery. emmett. emo. epic. erin. evan. flash. fred. galaxy. gavin. gerard. ghostie. gif. gloom. gray. grayson. grim. gutz. happy. havoc. hazel. heyley. hunter. hyde. indigo. ink. iris. ivory. ivy. jack. jade. jason. jasper. jax. jeff. jet. jett. julie. kai kandi. kandiz. kat. kayden. killer. kit. kitt. kobi. kyler. lady. lapis. lee. lexie. liam. luna. lurk. lynx. lyric. lyxzen. mace. maddox. madeline. mae. malice. marceline. marcie. mars. mavis. meow. mia. midnight. mika. mill. nana. neo. net. nick. nina. noah. noob. nora. nyan. nyx. obscene. octavia. olivia. onix. onyx. opal. orange. orchid. pearl. phantom. phoenix. pierce, pierce. pitch. pixie. pop. punk. pusheen. rain. rainbow. raine. rainer. rave. raven. raver. rawr. razorz. reaper. ripley. river. rogue. ronnie. rose. rouge. roux. rubi. ruby ruby. sable. salem. sally. sapphire. sash. sasha. scythe. silvi. silvia. smiley. smoke. smokey. snap. snow. sonya. soot. sparrow. spike. splatter. spook. stella. steve. stripe. sunny. suzi. suzie. suzy. taffi. taffy. tag. tech. tempest. travis. trend. tyler. vesper. vine. vista. vivi. waffle. wave. web. wentz. wesley. wild. willow. wound. xander. z!m. zach. zack. zade. zaire. zak. zander. zara. zero. ziggy. zim. zircon. zoe. zoom. zyair.

PRONOUNS ⌇　awesome/awesome. ay/aym. bark/bark. bi/bim. bite/bite. black/black. bling/blingee. blood/blood. bone/bone. bow/bow. brace/bracelet. bright/bright. bright/colour. byte/byte. cat/cat. cata/catatonic. ce/cer. check/checkered. chem/chem. cir/circut. color/color. computer/computer. cool/cool. cos/cos. creepy/pasta. cringe/cringe. cry/cry. cut/cut. dead/dead. death/death. die/die. dino/dino. emo/emo. emoticon/emoticon. epic/epic. ev/ev. exe/exe. ey/em. eye/strain. fang/fang. fringe/fringe. game/game. gamer/gamer. ghost/ghost. gir/gir. girr/girr. glit/glitter. glitter/glitter. gloom/gloom. glow/glow. glow/stick. gore/gore. grr/grr. gun/gun. gut/gut. hor/horror. hx/hxm. hyper/hyper. hyperpop/hyperpop. internet/internet. it/it. ix/ix. kan/kandi. kand/kandi. kandi/kandi. kill/kill. kit/kit. knife/knife. lix/lix. loud/loud. luv/luv. mask/mask. meme/meme. meow/meow. mew/mew. mlp/mlp. mon/monster. mspaint/mspaint. music/music. neo/neon. neon/neon. net/net. nostalgia/nostalgia. nya/nya. nya/nyan. nyan/cat. old/old. online/online. pika/pikachu. pix/pix. pixel/pixel. plur/plur. pony/pony. pop/pop. pop/tart. queen/queen. quiet/quiet. rain/rain. rainbow/rainbow. random/random. rave/rave. rawr/rawr. raz/razor. red/red. rei/reina. scene/scene. scene/scenester. scenecore/scenecore. scream/scream. shx/hxr. si/silent. silly/silly. skull/skull. slash/slash. slice/slice. sound/sound. spi/spider. spook/spook. stab/stab. stick/sticker. sticker/sticker. stud/stud. swag/swags/swagself. thxy/thxm. troll/troll. tutu/tutu. txt/txt. vamp/vamp. video/game. virtual/virtual. vocaloid/vocaloid. web/web. windows/window. x3/x3. x]/x]. xD/xD. xe/xem. xey/xem. xP/xP. xy/xyr. youtube/youtube. ze/zem. ze/zer. ze/zero. zi/zim. zim/zim. zom/zombie. zomb/zomb.

[deancasbigbang]

Marriage of Heaven, Hell &Humanity

Author: draechaeli

Artist: seidenapfel

Rating: Explicit

Pairings: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Kaia Nieves/Claire Novak, Charlie Bradbury/Gilda, Garth Fitzgerald IV/Bess Myers, Pre-Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, pre-Donna Hanscum/Jody Mills

Length: 139514

Warnings: N/A

Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Demon Dean Winchester, BAMF Castiel, Possessive Sex, Public Sex, John Winchester’s A+ parenting, Crowley Ships it, Found Family, Dean Cooks

Summary: Castiel isn’t hacking up a lung when Sam calls him to say that Demon!Dean is in Amherst Junction, Wisconsin, so he reaches Dean in Beulah, North Dakota before Sam. Dean’s a bit surprised to see Cas in the bar because as a demon he could sense Castiel, Angel of the Lord, some distance away. After all, they have a profound bond...and, as a demon, Dean’s finally not afraid to admit it. And perhaps that's ultimately all they need to bring together Heaven, Hell, and humanity, as long as they can get Sam on board.

Link to Fic | Link to Art

[visceralprayers]

his return to the village seemed much too late when he arrived. dakota had written to him, of course, but his travelling did not go too smoothly thanks to bad weather. he wondered if the village would be flooded, if fences and houses were destroyed as penance for what they did to the young woman. he'd wished to be back to provide comfort to his friend, but he was much too late for that.

his return came after the two strangers arrived, those that had already began to churn the rumour mill. friends of the witch? family? they had greeted nobody but dakota, broke bread with nobody, refused to attend church, refused to greet their neighbours. it was likely, then, that they had come to mourn their loss. after all, witches were not real. a man had lost his daughter to the superstitions of a power-hungry man, a woman had lost her sister to delusion.

joshua, refused to treat them as pariahs, but instead intended to meet them, to share his sorrow for their loss, but he was yet to cross their path. the man sat in the dimmest corner of the tavern, nursing his drink and attempting to think of ways that he could console dakota, who had only agreed to see him once since he came home. his gaze lifted when the woman entered, immediately earning her an audience that fell into silence. even the faint music strummed by the keeper's boy came to an abrupt halt. josh sighed, " would you like a seat, miss? " @wailingbones

[glamnessaaumisc]

FUN AMERICA FACTS!

The US invented the Navy. The first boat was invented by Massachusetts native John Boat, who made boats so he could bring Christopher Columbus over.

The first Pilgrim to arrive at Plymouth Rock was Scott Pilgrim, who was famous for fighting the world. This fight is commonly known as World War I.

People know about the Lincoln and the Jefferson memorials, but few know about the 42 other memorials hidden all around the United States. Can you find them all?

Oil is grown on American soil and then exported around the world so other countries can dig it up themselves. This is known as OPEC, which stands for Oil Places Everywhere, Crazy! (Huh?)

Atlanta native Joey Steele was the second President of the Soviet Union. The Russians, humiliated that they elected a capitalist pig from the West, posthumously changed his name to Joseph Stalin, but do not deny he was born in Georgia.

Hurricane, Utah is technically the only state due to a legal loophole. The only reason we recognize 50 states is because that is how it has always been.

The least populous state in America is West Dakota.

Slavery was only banned in 2015 because they discovered the 13th Amendment had a typo all that time and "slavery" was misspelled as "slovery," thus invalidating the document. You can sue the government for making you think you weren't allowed to own slaves. Try it!

Few people know about the Understates. Go there.

There is a document hidden in an abandoned steel mill in North Carolina. Find it and you will legally own Mississippi.

[grafity-cc]

✨ Edwards Sparkly Top ✨

Original mesh;  

35 swatches;

Smooth Bone Assignment;

Has Morphs ;

HQ Compatible;

[ DL ] (free!)

—————————

💖 Mills Dress 💖

Original mesh;  

50 swatches;

Smooth Bone Assignment;

Has Morphs;

HQ Compatible;

[ DL ]

—————————

☄️ Ferguson Belted Skirt ☄️

Original mesh;

20 colors;

Smooth Bone Assignment;

Has Morphs;

HQ Compatible;

[ DL ]

—————————

🌾 Harding Top 🌾

Original mesh;

60 swatches;

Smooth Bone Assignment;

Has Morphs;

HQ Compatible;

[ DL ]

—————————

💓 Ruiz Necklace 💓

Original mesh;

28 colors;

Smooth Bone Assignment;

Has Morphs;

HQ Compatible;

[ DL ] (free!)

—————————

Now free on my patreon:

-> Dakota Dress: [click] -> Levine Knit Dress: [click] -> Daugherty Necklace : [click]

—————————  

TOU (terms of use)

You can recolor / retexture my cc as long as you don’t include the mesh!

Do not share or re-upload my cc;

Don’t put my cc or retextures / recolors of my cc under any paywall;

Do not convert my cc to any other game (conversions for the sims 3 / sims 2 are allowed with proper credits given and as long as the conversions remain free at all time!)

[dakotamill]

Part 3 of the Chaotic Commute has been released

Did they find out what or who has been ailing Hazel?

Is it this weird, sharp hat man?

Will he ever actually get to work?

[thewalrusespublicist]

Re: John and domestic abuse, and your tag: 'John as an abuser is something I don't think the fandom knows what to do with'. 

I think my big thing about why and how it's all so difficult to unpack this is that the stories predominantly stem from and around the Dakota years and that is an incredibly murky time, in terms of straight facts and reliable narrative. Most of what leaks out of there comes via blackmail or disgruntled ex employees who are then silenced with gag orders. I think only May Pang's version of events is the most clear cut, level headed. And for what it's worth, I think she describes a mutually abusive relationship between John and Yoko, which I can believe. (I also take from it that she was in an abusive relationship with John, but that’s my take and I’m not going to put words in her mouth). And I know that you link to AKOM's discussion about John's beatings and abuse of Yoko, where they read from Goldman's book, but I think it's worth saying that AKOM wrote a eleven episode series to highlight how important it is not to take Tune In at face value because of Mark Lewisohn's clear bias in favour of John, and against Paul, and how this bias can inform a narrative and therefore objective facts can become subjective statements... and then go and quote *directly* from Goldman, who plainly and nakedly despises John - even three year old John is held in utter contempt! That doesn't mean that I don't believe the stories aren't true; as you point out, John and Yoko themselves have openly discussed John's violence. But just like I can't use Lewisohn as a source, unless it’s for a specific recording date, say… I can’t use Goldman either. 

So with regards to fandom, yeah, many people don’t know how or where to put John’s violence and abusive behaviour. But that is true of *all* of the Beatles. It’s an undisputed fact that three quarters of the Beatles have been accused of, or admitted to domestic violence, yet it’s airbrushed from Paul and Ringo’s stories. Ringo will forever be a beloved king and no-one will bring up the fact that he beat his wife so hard that he believed he had killed her. And as for Paul and Heather Mills; while those allegations have a right to be strongly contested, it’s a fact (and I am old enough to remember), that Mill’s was utterly destroyed in the British press (Amber Heard has nothing on the sheer hatred that the media had for Mills), to the point that her testimony was obliterated and has been erased from any narrative to do with Paul. But Paul is a Blorbo, and no one wants to fold any negative character traits into his persona. And as for John - I’m not surprised you got it in the neck for saying that John had mental health issues - but I am surprised that it came from John stans! I got yelled at for trying to discuss John’s very likely mood disorder, but the yelling came from influential Beatle people who saw that as an ‘apology’ or defence of his behaviour (which it wasn’t). I actually think of all the arena’s of fandom, Tumblr has the healthiest approach None of them are held in reverence or as Saint’s, and they aren’t just out and out assholes either. 

t/w coercion, abuse, child abuse

Hi anon, thank you for your message and for putting forward your perspective! This is a difficult topic, and I am not an expert in these matters. However, I’m going to try and answer this the best I can and with the amount of sensitivity I think this conversation needs.

Just to start off,I totally agree with you that Tumblr is by far the best place in terms of their approach towards the Beatles and their behaviour. I think in other places like Reddit, some of the fans there are older and grew up with the ‘Saint John’ image put forward by the Lennon estate. If you have that context, the minute it’s revealed that maybe your hero wasn’t perfect, the natural response is to either deny it completely or start to demonise them. It’s not healthy or productive but it’s understandable. I also agree that the fandom does not know how to deal with the allegations of domestic abuse with all the Beatles and that is a widespread problem. In the case of Paul, I think his negative traits are acknowledged and there is good discussion about it, though equally some of these issues are played more for laughs. I’m also not the right person to do a deep dive on the flattening and cinnamon-rolling of Ringo in the fandom but I think one needs to be done. I do however want to put forward an alternative perspective on a couple of points that you mentioned.

Despite my belief that all of the Beatles probably engaged in terrible behaviour towards women (the repeated mentions of Paul’s control issues from multiple sources really concern me), what sets John apart from the others is the consistency and the severity of the allegations. With Paul and Ringo, the allegations or the incidents are, as far as we know, situated in the context of a crisis and not an established pattern. This could be wrong, but we don’t have any further information to dispute it properly (Paul’s long, adoring relationship with his first and third wives and his children suggest not in his case at least). The same can’t be said for John. You raise the point that AKOM cites Goldman and how this could be seen as hypocritical and that a lot of the information comes from the murky Dakota years. I understand where you’re coming from but I don’t think this is is 1000 percent accurate. On the AKOM point, I think this mischaracterises what the ladies were doing as they were citing direct reports from staff in Goldman’s book, not Goldman’s interpretation. As Beatles historian Erin Torkelson Weber states, Goldman was excellent in obtaining information, it’s how he construed the information that raises severe problems for his credibility. As the ladies said as well, whilst they acknowledge Goldman’s problems, the tapes with this information on are available in the archive. Still, he is a dodgy source, so the points need to be cross-referenced with other sources. In this instance, the sources are John and Yoko themselves.

It’s also true that a lot of the allegations for the Dakota years are from the disgruntled employees pack and so are harder to verify, however allegations of violence and abuse both predate this period and are corroborated later on. Whilst John Lennon fanboy of the decade Lewisohn tried to downplay it, John did hurl insults and abuse at one of his early girlfriends to try and force her to sleep with him. John did beat up a random woman in the Bob Wooler incident and barricaded Little Richard in his own dressing room whilst hurling mocking abuse at him. Further, whilst Cynthia said that John rarely hit her, John himself disputes that in Hunter Davies. Post Yoko, we have reports of continued violence from different sources like Nilsson that corroborate stories like John choking May. Mintz, who was/is doggedly loyal to Yoko, was the one to repeat the story of John purposefully humiliating Yoko at the party by loudly sleeping with a stranger. Then you have Sean and Julian’s own recollections of abuse. These aren’t one off incidents, this is a repeated pattern of documented abusive behaviour that exist throughout John’s lifetime as well as the well-worn pattern of victims trying desperately to defend his behaviour in language hauntingly familiar to most abuse victims (‘he didn’t mean it’, ‘he’s sensitive’, ‘he didn’t know what he was doing.’) In this context, it is hard to say why the disgruntled employees narratives should be seen as so outlandish.  This is what sets the conversation about John apart from the others as his pattern of abuse is inescapable and entrenched in all his close interpersonal dynamics (yes, including his relationship with Paul but that’s for another time).

I’m not saying all of this to demonise John, all of this has to be understood in the context of a man with a deeply traumatic childhood, who likely had a severe mood disorder as you said, was in what I believe was a mutually abusive relationship as you and May Pang posit, and was trying his best to improve in a time period that could not give him the support he needed. But this is a lot to ask a fandom to deal with and handle carefully so often it gets shoved down or outright ignored when it’s integral to understanding who John was and why we need to take so much care in certain discussions about him.

[adtothebone]

“You miss 100% of the naps you don’t take.” — Mills

“Opportunity naps.” — Nills

cdhs.net

[onlydylanobrien]

‘SNL 1975’ Finds Its Garrett Morris, Dan Aykroyd, Chevy Chase And John Belushi

By Justin Kroll, Anthony D'Alessandro January 30, 2024 10:00am

Lamorne Morris playing Garrett Morris, Dylan O’Brien playing Dan Aykroyd, Cory Michael Smith playing Chevy Chase and Matt Wood playing John Belushi

EXCLUSIVE: Lamorne Morris, Dylan O’Brien, Cory Michael Smith and Matt Wood have joined the cast of Sony Pictures’ SNL 1975 that will be directed by Jason Reitman and based on the real-life behind the scenes accounts of the opening night of Saturday Night Live. Morris will play Garrett Morris, O’Brien will play Dan Aykroyd, Smith will play Chevy Chase, and Wood will play Belushi. The original screenplay is written by Reitman and Gil Kenan.

On October 11, 1975, a ferocious troupe of young comedians and writers changed television forever. SNL 1975 is the true story of what happened behind the scenes that night in the moments leading up to the first broadcast of NBC’s SNL. It depicts the chaos and magic of a revolution that almost wasn’t, counting down the minutes in real time to the infamous words, “Live from New York, it’s Saturday Night!”

The screenplay is based on an extensive series of interviews conducted by Reitman and Kenan with all the living cast members, writers and crew. Reitman, Kenan, Jason Blumenfeld, Erica Mills and Peter Rice are producing.

Morris can currently be seen in FX’s fifth season of Noah Hawley’s hit drama series Fargo as North Dakota Deputy Witt Farr. He joined the cast of Netflix’s Unstable for season two opposite Rob Lowe. Prior to this, he starred as the titular lead in the hybrid live-action/animated Hulu series Woke, inspired by the life and art of cartoonist Keith Knight.

O’Brien was most recently starring in Ponyboi, which premiered as one of ten films in the U.S. Dramatic Competition at the 2024 Sundance Film Festival. Up next, he will be seen in the feature films Caddo Lake, from the writing-directing team of Logan George and Celine Held and producer M. Night Shyamalan, and Anniversary, a thriller co-starring Diane Lane, Kyle Chandler, Zoey Deutch and Phoebe Dynevor. His other credits include Searchlight feature Not Okay from writer-director Quinn Shephard, the critically-acclaimed crime drama The Outfit, opposite Mark Rylance, Zoey Deutch, and Johnny Flynn; Paramount’s Love and Monsters and the popular Maze Runner franchise

Best known for his role on as the Riddler on the popular Fox series Gotham, Smith can currently be seen as Julianne Moore’s son in Todd Haynes’ May December. He most recently starred as Varian Fry in Anna Winger’s limited series Transatlantic opposite Gillian Jacobs and Corey Stoll for Netflix. Smith has also worked with Todd Haynes in both Carol (as private investigator Tommy Tucker) and Wonderstruck.

Wood has appeared in the original Broadway cast of Spongebob Squarepants and as husky kid icon Augustus Gloop in the Broadway First National Tour of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Television credits include Law and Order: SVU, Instinct and Difficult People.

Morris is represented by CAA, Entertainment 360, The Lede Company, and Myman Greenspan Fox Rosenberg Mobasser Younger & Light. O’Brien is repped by William Morris Endeavor Entertainment, Principal Entertainment LA, and Lichter, Grossman, Nichols, Feldman, Rogal, Shikora & Clark. Smith is repped by Circle of Confusion. Wood is repped by BRS/Gage Talent Agency.

Source: deadline.com

[sad-sweet-cowboah]

The Heart of Your Home Pt 2

Summary: Arthur comes across a woman in need. What he thought was a simple good deed would take him down a much further path than anticipated.

Warnings: Cursing, eventual canon-typical violence, eventual smut.

Word Count: 4,976

A/N: I hated how long it took me to write this piece, ugh. It's a slight slow burn, but it becomes much juicier later.

Arthur awoke to the quiet, drowsy chatter of the women in camp. He slowly sat up, blinking the remnants of sleep from his eyes as his body drew in a wide yawn. With the sun still somewhat low in the sky, the air was frosty. He grabbed the jacket that was draped across the clothes chest at the foot of the cot and pulled it on as he stood up, letting the warmth sink into his stiffened limbs. 

He made his way over to the cooking fire, looking for the familiar black kettle resting upon the tiny flames, but was disappointed to find none. Abigail and Mary-Beth were standing around it, their shoulders wrapped in shawls to cover their thin sleepwear. They greeted Arthur with tired smiles, their eyes still bleary with sleep. 

“Coffee,” Pearson’s voice broke through their barely started conversation. The balding cook lumbered toward the small crowd and placed the kettle just over the fire. “it'll be ready in a few,” he straightened up and met Arthur’s eye, bidding him a good morning as well. 

It was going to be a dull day, and Arthur could tell. One of those days where he was free to mill around camp or venture out, although he preferred the latter, lest he was pulled aside for some job or another. He’d hunted a gargantuan beast with Hosea, robbed a homestead belonging to some odd folk with Javier, drank himself silly with Lenny and had nearly gotten caught by the Valentine lawmen after a drunken ruckus, begrudgingly rescued Micah from being hanged in Strawberry, and rescued Sean from the Pinkertons just outside of Blackwater. A day to himself was desperately needed, even if it meant just mounting his horse and riding aimlessly for a few hours. 

He thought, maybe, he ought to have a hot meal at the Valentine saloon. Perhaps he may pay for a bath in the hotel, Lord knows he needed one, and taking quick rinses in the Dakota River could only do so much. 

“Arthur,” 

Hearing his name severed his train of thought. His eyes swiveled to meet Mary-Beth's, who was patiently holding a tin mug of steaming coffee to him. “Oh,” he said, taking it with a smile. “Thank you, Mary-Beth.” 

A smile of amusement crossed the young woman’s lips. “Get your head outta the clouds, Arthur,” she joked. “Nothing good up there, except rain.” 

Arthur exhaled slightly through his nose with a small laugh. “I'll keep that in mind,” he took a sip of his drink, slightly wincing from the scald that passed across his tongue. He began to trudge back to his canvas outcropping, starting to plan his day once again. 

He was able to leave shortly thereafter, heading off through the thicket as the chilly morning air steadily began to warm up. Valentine wouldn’t be his first choice in a day of relaxation, but the convenience of its proximity outweighed other less than ideal features. After a short trip he arrived, passing the busy stockyards and bustling side streets, his sights on the hotel first. 

With a quick interaction with the hotel clerk, Arthur soon found himself in the bath. The warm, soapy water was a welcoming touch to his wind-weathered skin and aching muscles. He rested his head against the lip of the tub, closing his eyes and allowing relaxation to overtake him. 

It wasn’t much longer until a small knock on the door announced the arrival of a bath girl, which he accepted. A young woman came in with a smile on her face, dark hair falling in gentle curls around her shoulders, and her chemise sitting low, which Arthur never glanced twice at. She had a sweet voice and a gentle touch, freckles dotted her nose and a touch of red on her lips. He would have called her pretty if he had the courage, but instead made admittedly awkward comments about his life that she giggled at. 

“I was almost married once, she never bathed me,” he said with a half-smile. 

“Well how about that!” The woman said with a soft chuckle as she smoothed a sudsy hand along his leg. 

Although he’d never admit it out loud, he truly did miss the touch of a woman. Quiet moments stolen from a harrowing life lead to guilty afterthoughts. He didn’t deserve a woman, not any more than he deserved kindness from strangers, even if they were paid to do so. 

The bath finished shortly after, with a soft kiss planted against his cheek and a well wish for the remainder of the day. The water had cooled then, prompting him to reluctantly redress and leave. 

He wasn’t exactly sure how much time had passed during his bath, but the morning sun since disappeared behind a blanket of cool gray cloud cover, a gradient casting into iron just north, brooding over the Ambarino mountains. A cold gust carried the scent of rain with it, gathering underneath the brim of his hat. 

The last thing he wanted to do was to get stuck in the rain. 

Arthur’s gaze drifted to the saloon across the way, which from what he could see wasn’t all that busy. It had to be around lunch time now, and the uncomfortable gurgle in his stomach agreed with his thought. He began to cross the street, although something caught his eye. 

He wasn't sure how he noticed it; horses lined the posts along the muddy pass. Sorrel and bay and palomino, except that one, the distinctly patterned overo coat shining like a beacon amongst the others, settled more toward the doctor’s office down the way. That mare he'd plucked from the wilderness to return to her once equally as lost owner.   

It'd been some weeks since the encounter, one having blurred in with every other fleeting job he’d accomplished during their relatively short stay at Horseshoe Overlook. The memory which was buried in the back of his mind unearthed fluidly: the wolves, the screaming, the delicious and hearty stew. His mouth watered at the thought, and another memory surfaced; you, all smiles and hospitality, not timid in the slightest even after your close brush with death. You welcomed him in for a hot meal and then further gave him permission to stop by your little homestead if in need of a moment to rest his feet and fill his belly.   

Admittedly there were plenty of moments of bone tiredness and late days, if he had remembered, he would have gladly taken the opportunity. 

“Arthur!” 

It were as if the heavens above somehow heard his thoughts. He turned to spot you just exiting the general store, a smile on your face and a bag slung across your shoulders.  

Arthur tilted his head in response. “Afternoon,” he said with a slight smile of his own. 

  “it's so good to see you again!” You say as if greeting an old friend. “How have you been?” 

  “Oh, I've been alright,” he responded with a slight shrug. “Can't complain. How about you? No more trips in the forest?” 

You lightly scoff, but the smile on your lips remained. “None of the sort, I'm proud to say. I've kept myself restricted to Valentine since then.” 

“Good,” he nodded again, and gestured toward the bag you held. “I suppose you're makin’ more stew?” 

You glance down at the bag, then back to him. “No stew, but I did pick up some chicken from the butcher around the corner. Thought I could do something different.” 

“Okay, well don't let me stop ya,” he waved his hand in an act of dismissal, the talk of food only making him hungrier. He turned halfway before your voice spoke out again. 

“Wait, would you like to join me?” 

Arthur blinked and turned to face you again, slightly confused. “Huh?” 

“Join me for lunch? I never did thank you properly for returning my horse, and you haven't stopped by since I extended my offer. Seems like a good time as any,” you explained with a half shrug. “Only if you'd like to, of course.” 

Hesitation filled his mind, completely caught off guard by this invite. He glanced at the saloon again, and then back to you, the hunger roiling expectantly in his guts. It would be easier to stay, have a few drinks and not risk the rain. But who was he to turn down another free meal, even if it meant waiting for just a little longer? 

“Okay,” Arthur finally said. “Sounds good.” 

Your smile widened, eyes brightening even with the increasingly darkening sky. “Great, please take your time, I’m going to head home and start. Do you remember the way?” 

“Course,” 

He watched as you bounded toward your mare, mounting with ease and heading westward in a smooth lope, splashing lops of mud with each hoof beat. He supposed he should allow you a head start; not to awkwardly wait in your house as you finished cooking. 

Another thought sprang up. But what of your husband? The fool that moved you out here and left you to your own devices. Would he be so lucky as to meet this unwise fellow, and wondered if this man knew of your nearly failed journey. 

  Unless said husband happened to be on another trip of his, Arthur inwardly guessed, and surprised himself with just how much detail he remembered of you. Then again you weren't the only person of unique circumstance he's met over the years, some he dared to say he called a friend. 

A heavy drop fell upon the brim of his hat, the first arrival of the storm above. Arthur automatically began to move forward, sheltering himself beneath the outcropping of the saloon. This only tempted him further to just to stay here. But it would be rude to ignore your invite, and despite his gruff exterior and lifestyle choice, he did have manners. 

He decidedly spent the next twenty minutes aimlessly browsing the general store, restocking his health cures and cigarettes. By the time he made his way back outside, the drizzle turned into a steady rain. His Andalusian sat waiting for him, the rain darkening the silver coat. Arthur quickly mounted and headed in the direction you took earlier, easing into a quick pace, hoping the ride wouldn't soak him to the bone. 

Arthur spent the remainder of the ride at a steady gallop, head turned down to avoid most of the rain spattering his face. His jacket had been soaked and the shirt beneath was beginning to as well when he finally reached your home. Leading his stallion to the barn behind just as before, before rounding back to climb the front steps. The door was closed, and he knocked and waited. 

You appeared just seconds later, throwing the door open and welcoming him inside enthusiastically. He stepped in, suddenly conscious of the torrents of rainwater cascading from his body. He removed his jacket immediately and placed it on a hanger by the door, same with his hat, a small pool beginning to form underneath. 

The warmth was the first thing that greeted him. The oven radiated a soothing heat in such a contrast to the chilling wetness that shrouded the surrounding landscape. Arthur’s tense frame relaxed, and he breathed in, taking a first whiff of the savory, herbal aroma that accompanied the heat. 

“You came just in time,” you said as you headed toward the oven, propping open the door and removing an appealing looking roasted chicken. “I was just about finished.” 

He watched as you placed the perfectly roasted whole chicken onto a large plate, his mouth watering at the sight. 

“Take a seat!” You gestured toward the table. Arthur did so quietly, taking the same spot as his previous visit. It only took another moment before you placed a generous helping of herb crusted chicken in front of him. You settled across from him with your own helping. 

“I take it your husband ain’t here,” he said, noting the size of the servings on each plate. 

“He’ll be back tomorrow, I think,” you respond. “Sometimes it’s hard to tell with that man.” 

Arthur hummed a response, taking the first bite, his stomach rumbling gratefully as the flavors greeted his tongue. Oregano and thyme, he detected, so delicately laced with moist poultry. He swallowed and took a deep breath, reminding himself to keep his manners for once again another delectable meal from your hands. 

He looked up and realized you were watching him expectantly. He blinked and averted his gaze, cutting himself another sliver. You were just waiting for his opinion. “Jus’ as good as the stew, maybe even better,” he complimented before chewing the second piece.   

“Thank you!” You say, beaming. “And thank you for ensuring my hard work doesn't go to waste once again.” 

Arthur chuckled in response. “Your husband’s a lucky feller. I'm surprised he don't get a closer job, with the way you cook, I'm sure he misses it on his travels.” 

“Oh, if only,” you sighed lightly and began to eat from your own plate. 

It fell silent from then on, aside from the scraping of silverware on the plates and the steady fall of rain outside. Arthur fully immersed himself in his delicious meal, taking slow and deliberate bites to ensure he wouldn't be soon stuck out in the dreary weather once more. You then offered him a glass of wine, which he gladly took, the alcohol dry and bitter but it further settled into his stomach, warming him from the inside out. 

The air was calm and peaceful, absent of the concern Arthur held over the past month. As chatty as you'd been before, he appreciated your decided silence now. It wasn't awkward nor tense, and he could enjoy the company of someone who didn't need to constantly talk his ear off. As insistent as you were, it didn't bother him in the slightest. Being here offered a nice break from the responsibilities of the gang, even if it meant for a short while. Perhaps he could stop by again, later in the week, should your husband accept him as a guest as well. 

A cold, wet drop falling into his unoccupied left hand nearly startled him. He looked at the faint glimmer of the water that rolled along his skin, only to feel another land on his nose. Arthur blinked and looked up, noticing for the first time the waterlogged wooden panels condensed into one spot, directly above where he sat. 

“Oh, for Heaven’s sake!” You exasperate suddenly, then sigh. “I'm sorry, Arthur. Frederick was supposed to have someone come and fix that...” 

Arthur assumed that had to be your husband’s name. He simply scooted to the side, not bothered in the slightest by the slow leak, while you hurried over to place an empty can where he just was. He caught your muttering of annoyance, something about three weeks?   

“It ain't a bother to me,” he says to you. “How long you been waitin’ on that fix?” 

You look to him, your mouth tightening slightly. “Too long, I'm tired of it ruining my table,” you answer with a gesture to a spot that Arthur hadn’t noticed on the surface. Slightly raised and rough in appearance in contrast to the smoothness surrounding it, indicating water damage.   

He would have simply suggested moving the table, if the small kitchen wasn't already occupied by other furniture. Still, he could understand your concern. A roof patch wasn't a terribly difficult task, if your husband would lift a finger to learn how, instead of hiring what already seemed to be an unreliable man for the job. 

“I could fix it, if you'd like,” he offered. 

You blinked in surprise, clearly caught off guard. “Arthur, that's not necessary. I will just have to remind Frederick when he comes back tomorrow.” 

“it's necessary enough. It ain't a hard job either, shouldn't take longer than an hour,” he responded with a shrug. 

“You already saved mine and my horse’s lives. You shouldn't be bothered with such a task,” you say. 

“it ain't a bother,” Arthur shook his head to further make his point known. “After waitin’ that long, you oughta have somethin’ done.” 

There was a moment of silence. Your gaze held steady as you regarded his offer, lips pressed into a thin line. Finally, you sighed and said, “Okay, but not today.” 

“Weren’t plannin’ on it,” Arthur pointed out. “If the weather’s nicer tomorrow, I'll stop by.” 

You nodded to his plan. “Do...you live close by? I wouldn't want you to travel far for my sake.” 

Arthur hesitated, wondering if you were about to invite him to spend the night in the spare bedroom dependent on his answer. Probably not, if your husband was due back tomorrow, it would be an awkward conversation to explain another man under the roof of a married woman. So he finally answered, “Yeah, not too far from here.” 

“Okay,” you say, still looking unsure about this entire idea. You then rounded back to your side of the table, beginning to clean the remnants of the dinner. “Thank you, Arthur. You really don’t have to…” 

He waved his hand as if to brush off your words. “Think of it as a thanks for another good meal.” 

--- 

Leaving shortly after that conversation, Arthur was glad he managed to wait out the brunt of the rain, which had dissolved into a light misting by the time he mounted his stallion. His coat had mostly dried out and his body felt warm and full, which easily gave him energy for the remainder of the day. 

He’d gone back to his original plan to just relax for the remainder of the day, taking an easy ride down by the Dakota River and just enjoying nature. Another hour passed when the rain finally cleared and the clouds made way for bright blue skies, instantly bathing the land in sunlight and warmth. Time became lost as the river opened to the gray expanse of Flat Iron Lake ahead, new sunlight glinting in the still waters. 

Perhaps he should fish. 

The sun began to set when Arthur’s satchel became decently full and he took the time to fry a few once his stomach began to rumble again. Even over a campfire and a few herbs dusting the gritty fish, he had to wonder what you'd do with his catch in a better stocked kitchen. He ought to ask tomorrow, seeing as he had more than enough to spare. 

Heading back to camp just as the fiery hue in the sky gave way to a cobalt twilight, he offered some of his catch to Pearson before settling into his cot for the night.   

The next morning showed the promise of blue skies and sunshine, as Arthur repeated his beginning day ritual of bitter coffee and a few spoken words to his fellow early risers, before taking off on horseback. 

His steed settled into a leisurely trot, decidedly taking the route of the ravine instead of going around by Valentine. It was quieter, and he didn't have to subject himself to the rancid smell of filthy stockyards, even if it were just for a few minutes. The view was pleasant too, appreciating the lush green after staring at a canvas of grays and whites for weeks, reminding him bitterly of those harsh few weeks in the mountains after Blackwater. 

Arthur had become so lost in his thoughts, he hadn't realized how much time passed, or how far he traveled. Before he knew it, he was upon the smaller path that led to your quaint little house just beyond the trees. 

You greeted him with the same enthusiasm as yesterday, but still hinted that he was doing too much. He once again waved it off, then remembering the fish from yesterday, pulled them from his satchel and handed them to you. Your face was full of confusion, until he told you about his prior thoughts about cooking a better fish in your kitchen. 

“Oh!” You said, still slightly befuddled. “I don't have much experience cooking with fish, but I’ll do what I can!” 

Afterward you directed him to the barn, where the tools were, before heading back in to begin cooking. Arthur greeted the familiar mare after allowing his own horse in to share some of the hay. He gave a quick glance of the surroundings, managing to find a ladder and some hand tools. With just a few moments of carrying everything out, he climbed up top and began to work. 

The roof was shingled, and old. Moss and lichen grew a thick layer, indicating the distinct lack of maintenance. He had to wonder how long this place sat before you and...Frederick? Moved in. 

He slowly moved, mentally mapping out the room beneath him to try and locate the source. It didn't take very long; the rotten wood softening beneath his careful feet. 

Home repair wasn't a skill he'd boast about, but he’d managed well enough. Fifteen minutes into the job, movement caught his eye. Automatically tensing, Arthur shot a quick glance toward the woods, easily identifying the newcomer. It was a man, surprisingly sharply dressed and carrying a suitcase, giving him a slight air that reminded Arthur of Dutch. Very out of place considering they were on the edge of the wilderness. He emerged from the tree line, a smile on his face. His eyes met Arthur’s, and the smile slightly faded. 

“Frederick!” Your voice called from below, pulling the newcomer’s attention away. You appeared just a short second after, crossing the distance between you and your husband, pulling him into an embrace. 

Ah, that made sense. Letting himself relax again, Arthur shifted his attention back to the roof. He made a show of what he was doing, hoping not to rouse any suspicion. He could feel your husband’s curious eyes on him and caught the quick explanation you gave. The repairman Frederick had supposedly sent for weeks ago finally showed up. It seemed like a better solution other than trying to explain the man who saved your life returned to fix a leaky roof out of the goodness of his heart. 

Goodness of his heart, Arthur snorted to himself. What good? 

From what sounded like an approval from the other man, the two of you soon disappeared into the house, allowing Arthur to work in peace. 

It had to only be another few minutes when the creak of the door sounded again. Arthur glanced back down to see Frederick had appeared again, staring at him with curiosity. 

“Fine work you’re doing there!” the man spoke in a flourishing accent that almost matched Josiah’s. 

Arthur had been caught off guard by this. He offered a slight smile and called out, “Uh, thank you.” 

“And thank you for your craftsmanship! My wife will have your pay,” Frederick continued. “Find her once you’re done!” 

Arthur merely nodded, and watched in confusion as Frederick made his way toward the tree line again. Was he leaving, just five minutes after arriving? Arthur only sighed and turned his focus back to the job. 

For the next thirty minutes or so, Arthur managed to identify and fix the issue, which he found wasn’t difficult in the slightest. He wondered why no one came out sooner, and he was glad to have repaired it before it’d gotten much worse. Satisfied with his handiwork, he gathered the tools and made his way for the ladder. As he climbed down, he was surprised to see you already standing at the base, waiting patiently for him. 

Momentarily stunned by your sudden appearance, Arthur placed the tools down and gestured toward the roof. “Weren’t too bad of a fix,” he said. “Jus’ a simple patch, but it should keep the rain out.” 

You smiled at him sweetly. “Thank you, again, for that,” you held up your hand for Arthur to see a billfold in your palm. “It’s fifteen dollars.” 

Even though he offered for free, he wasn’t the one to turn down any sort of monetary gain. Just a little bit more to add to the camp. Arthur took the money from you, counting it out. It was indeed fifteen. As he placed it into his pocket, you continued to speak. 

“I also cooked the fish. Would you like some? I offered some to Frederick, but he had to leave.” 

That brought on Arthur’s previous curiosity. “Why did he leave so soon? He couldn't have been here for all but ten minutes.” 

The smile on your face faltered slightly. “He had some business in Valentine,” you say with a small sigh. “But he promised he’d be back tonight." 

Well, at least it wasn’t for another long trip. But from the look on your face, he could tell it bothered you more than you’d let on. He wondered how often Frederick left you alone these past few weeks, and how painfully lonely it must've been. Arthur shouldn’t judge your husband’s business, but it seemed shameful the man couldn’t spend at least an hour at home to enjoy lunch with you. 

His stomach rumbled expectantly, and he decided to take your offer for a third time. 

He couldn't help but notice your face light up in delight when you served him the fish. Even for your supposed lack of skill in cooking them, he found they were just as delicious as your last few dishes. The meal was eaten with mostly silence, aside from you once again thanking him for the roof job and double checking to ensure the fish was cooked properly. 

As you cleared your spot, Arthur couldn't help but notice the content look on your face, probably grateful knowing your cooking didn't have to go to waste today. He stood up and stretched a little, his belly comfortably full. He picked up his own plate and brought it over to the sink, placing it on the counter as you pumped water in to rinse yours off. 

“Thank you,” you say, nodding to his plate. “I trust it was good?” 

“As good as I said it was earlier,” Arthur assured you once again. “I promise.” 

Your eyes held his for a second, as if looking for a falter in the truth. After a moment, you chuckled dejectedly to yourself. “Sorry, last time I cooked fish, Frederick was sick for a day. I just wanted to be sure...” 

“Second time’s the charm,” Arthur pointed out. “’Less your husband has a weak stomach.” 

You laughed again, a light and hearty sound. “I suppose that could be it,” you said thoughtfully, grabbing Arthur’s plate to wash next. “Or he just doesn't like fish.” 

Arthur chuckled himself, folding his arms to lean against the counter. “With the way you cook, I find that hard to believe.” 

The smile on your face was soft and bashful, though your eyes kept on the plates. There was a slight flush in your cheeks, or maybe that was a trick of the light? “Enough of the flattery, Arthur, you've done more than enough already.” 

  With a mere shrug, Arthur stood up straight again. The need to leave sparked in his mind but dwindled just as quickly as it arrived, thinking he could drag his feet a bit. The thought of heading back to camp only to be recruited into another job didn't seem as tempting today. Strauss was beginning to look desperate, and that was the very last thing he wanted to amend. 

He could only barely hear Dutch’s tone, reminding him that it needed to be done. Debts to be paid. He shook his head slightly. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Arthur then realized at that moment, you were looking right at him, a wrinkle of concern on your forehead. 

“Oh, uh, nothin’ important,” he said. “Jus’ not excited for what awaits me back at home.” 

A frown touched your lips for a split second before smoothing out. “Then don't let me hold you up.” 

“You ain't,” Arthur assured you. “It can wait a while.” forever, he added silently. 

The corner of your mouth quirked almost into another smile. You set the dishes to dry and turned to face him fully just a moment later. “I’d rather not get you in trouble,” you tell him. “Not over some stranger who needed their roof fixed.” 

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Nothin’ I can’t handle.” 

You sighed and shook your own head at him, like a mother dealing with her child’s antics. “Well...I highly doubt you’d want to spend more time around me to avoid your responsibilities, haven’t I bothered you enough?” you ask him, placing your hands on your hips and looking expectant. 

Arthur shrugged Again. “You caught me,” he lightly joked with another chuckle, and then reluctantly added, “Though I guess I might as well head back. Don’t need your husband showin’ back up and wonder I hadn’t left yet.” 

There was a small giggle from you. “Well good,” you fake chided. “I don’t need you to be in trouble on my account.” 

Giving her a half smile, Arthur walked towards the door. “Alright alright, I got the point.” 

As he stepped out, he realized you were following him. He treaded down the porch steps and turned slightly to give you a proper goodbye. 

Your face still held a smile of amusement, but there was a flicker in your eyes. Sadness? It disappeared at an instant as you spoke. “Arthur, you're a good man. Thank you again for everything you've done.” 

Arthur tilted his head in appreciation. “You have a good rest of your day now.” 

“You too,” you say. “And please don't hesitate to stop by sometime. My original offer is still up, if you're ever in the area.” 

“’Course,” he nodded. “I haven't forgotten. I'll swing by soon enough.” 

Your smile widened. “Then I’ll see you soon.”