#i don't give a good goddamn what happened in origins

[postcardsfromheapside]

A guy makes a post in one of the two BG3 groups I still am in on FB, expressing frustration about romancing Astarion - he just can't seem to click with him. We have a pretty amicable back and forth about how you don't actually have to "be evil" or suck up to Astarion in order to earn his approval in Act 1, as well as how we just grok different characters. It's all good, surprisingly, a positive BG3 interaction for once.

Then comes this comment from a completely different person.

Comrade, this is a Wendy's. What the fuck does Origins and its romance rules have to do with anything. Are we playing Origins? Do DA games even have the same romance rules from game to game? Why are you comparing that to BG3 romance issues after I spent a thread talking it out with the guy already, something you could have used your thumb to click and find out?

WHY ARE PEOPLE LIKE THIS.

[appalachiancowboy99]

After Dark

Arthur Morgan x CurvyFem!Reader Established relationship, high honor, grumpy Arthur in desperate need of release, 18+, MDNI (Minors DO NOT ENTER)

Arthur comes back to camp later than usual, with nothing but a bad disposition and a desperate need to release his pent-up frustrations.

Warnings: longer read, sexual content (oral, unprotected p in v, rough sex), mentions of violence, mentions of anger, and dabbles in sensual fluff.

Gif by: @sunwingsunset

A/N: Thank you so much to @photo1030 for not only being my sounding board in the never-ending chaos that is my writing process but also for being such a wonderful friend through it all. So grateful for you, don't know what I'd do without ya, C! <3 Thank you so much to @rivetingrosie4 for being an inspiration for my little works and being so supportive of my creative endeavors, not to mention the kind generosity of your friendship! Forever grateful for to have met you! @tortureddpoett I'm so excited to explore this budding friendship with you! Thank you so much for showing so much excitement for my work, IT MAKES ME EXCITED (EEP!). It means an absolute ton to me <3 @mr-inkslinger your friendship has been an absolute delight to explore! Thank you for posting that toe-curling smut that always has me giggling and kicking my feet! So happy to have met ya! And thank each and every single one of you for liking my first drabble and expressing interest in this next one. I'm so sorry it's taken me forever to publish this post, but hopefully, the next ones won't take me as long. I'll forever be grateful for your patience and kindness <3 But now, enough of my babbling, y'all enjoy yourselves with this one- I know I did ;)

Fuck. From the second he opened his eyes, he knew that the day was going to be fucking awful; his neck had a crick in it, his head was pounding from what little sleep he’s received over the last few nights, and now he had to trudge back out into the goddamn muggy heat to work. One disaster after another had piled up; everything that could have gone wrong, went so terribly awry that he wound up farther away from camp than he originally intended and managed to add a solid fifteen-dollar bounty to the mounting collection resting atop his head. Dutch had sent him out on a wild goose chase, following a lead from Micah that, of course, ended up being a complete waste of time. And that meant he was coming back to camp empty-handed, which almost certainly meant he'd be on the receiving end of another one of Dutch's lectures on the endless responsibilities placed upon his shoulders. He dreaded it, wanted to avoid spiraling down another conversation that would end in Dutch questioning his faith in the ever-evolving plan he’s found himself working on these days.

As if he needed any of that horseshit tonight. All he wanted was a moment of peace and quiet, a chance to catch his breath after the disaster of a day he'd just had, but instead, he was headed back to camp with nothing but bruises, a bloody lip, and a bad disposition to show for his efforts. Trees and other bits of scenery whipped by in a blur as Arthur spurred his horse onward, his surroundings melting together into a muddy mess of shapes cast by moonlight. He passed through New Hanover, his furious pace leading him down the familiar roads of Lemoyne, reaching the clearing outside of camp. Lenny and John are the first to spot Arthur approaching the thicket of trees disguising Clemens Point's main entrance. “Hey, who goes there?” Lenny’s voice echoes through the forest, bouncing off the thicket until it reaches Arthur’s ears.

“‘S me.” Arthur grunts out through gritted teeth, clearly not in the mood for any chit-chat. Even underneath the shadow of leaves and limbs, the scowl etched upon his face is easily distinguishable, a clear sign for anyone with any common sense to give him a wide berth for the rest of the night. Lenny and John, both, had a pretty good idea of what might happen when Arthur steps foot into camp and they don't want any part of it. As a result, they give each other a little knowing glance and stay in the treeline, preferring to avoid the impending shitstorm and let Dutch or Hosea deal with it instead. He strides past them in a fit of frustration, dismounting his mare with a jerky movement before she's even come to a complete stop. Kieran spots him and hesitantly approaches. That poor fool. "H-Hey, Mr. Morgan. Would ya like me to unsaddle the 'ol gal here?" Kieran's question was nothing more than an innocent query, but his expression turned the young man into a nervous wreck. If looks could kill, Arthur’s certainly could; his steely eyes are set ablaze with annoyance and irritation as he casts a hateful glance in Kieran's direction. Even Kieran knew better than to talk to Arthur when he was in this state, knowing that it would only lead to suffering at the hands of his unbridled wrath. Kieran’s eyes immediately darted to his feet, desperate to avoid Arthur’s icy gaze as his fingers trembled with the frayed ends of rope in his hands. Quickly as to not start any trouble for himself, Kieran took hold of the mare's reigns and led her away to the field of horses, putting as much distance between himself and Arthur as he could. A slight pang of guilt runs through him when he sees the way that Kieran high-tailed it out of his line of sight. He doesn't want to be harsh to the boy, he's been a useful asset to the gang, but his temper is just too far gone for him to muster up an apology. As fast as the angering thoughts snapping through his mind, Arthur turns on his heels and storms into camp in search of Dutch. His boots furiously hit the grass and reddened Lemoyne dirt as he passes by a few of the wandering eyes from those still awake at this late hour. Charles casts him a wary glance, and so does Sadie, but neither of them cares to look long enough to entertain what's about to happen. He passes by his own wagon and heads straight to Dutch's tent. Dutch is nowhere to be seen, yet the lamp light inside casts its soft golden glow upon the closed canvas flaps of the tent, indicating that he might be inside. Not wasting any more time than he has to, Arthur approaches the tent, not bothering to stop and think until it's too late. His hand raises, readying to peel back the canvas flap, when all of a sudden he hears the sweet amorous sounds of lovemaking echo through the night air.  Molly’s sweet voice gasps out between each movement of their squeaking cot, calling out for Dutch as the unmistakable sound of skin slapping skin penetrates through the thin canvas walls, revealing exactly what’s occupying Dutch’s time tonight.

“Oh, Dutch. Don’t stop,” she encourages through strained, unabashed moans of pleasure. Dutch’s deep, husky voice murmurs back something unintelligible, but the increased squeaking of their bed and the filthy little noises coming from Molly are a clear indicator that Arthur should be stepping away to give them some privacy. Embarrassment washes over him, causing a faint rosy flush to heat his face and bloom across his cheeks. For once, he's grateful for the distraction from his current frustration. On most nights, he'd find comfort in your presence, seeking you out to vent his grievances as a distraction from the ever-present aggravation that seemingly follows him around these days. But tonight, he just wants to retreat to his tent, away from everything and everyone, to try to calm down before he says or does something he regrets.

He strides past the dying campfires and tables that are askew from daily camp activities, and his mind tirelessly races from thought to thought, stealing his attention away from his surroundings. If Arthur had even bothered to look, he would have spotted your sleeping form laid out upon his bed the moment he stepped inside. You had been waiting for him all evening. After working yourself to the bone doing laundry, dinner prep, and other camp chores for Ms. Grimshaw all day long, you wandered your way over to Arthur’s tent in search of a quiet place to sit. Part of you wished to find him seated right there on his cot, wanting to simply have a conversation with the man who has stolen your heart, but to your disappointment, he wasn’t anywhere to be found. So, you waited for him.. And waited until the very idea of waiting became too tiresome and you unknowingly fell asleep.

Sneaking away from the gang for private talks with him has been one of your favorite things to do since you joined the gang so long ago. Y'all have always had a knack for avoiding the company of others. But somehow in the midst of squirreling yourselves away, both of you have come to find that you'd prefer being alone together. Eventually, this led to many nights where Arthur would seek you out just to speak his mind, allowing you to see the world through his eyes for a short while. You have not only embraced Arthur's thoughts, but in doing so, you have captured his heart all the same. If it weren't for you, he's certain he'd have lost his damn sanity long ago.

Arthur takes that dusty old gambler's hat off his head and runs his fingers through his hair, taking a moment to calm himself down. His eyes glance over the things laid out upon his bedside table before catching a glimpse of your figure awash by the pale moonlight in his periphery. Your hair is sprawled out over the small blanket you've rolled up into a makeshift pillow; curls flowing like a roaring waterfall, laying a mess, and finally free from the bun that was atop your head earlier in the day. His eyes rake over your voluptuous figure, noting every dip and curve from your plump waist and hips to the ample swell of your breast hidden by a layer of clothing. The moment his mind registers that your presence isn't a dream, his eyes soften and his mind no longer races with anger. You are his peace, the only thing in this world that he cherishes above all else. 

Sighing softly, he finally discards his hat from his hand and places it onto his nightstand before working off his worn leather jacket and satchel, resting them on the back of the chair nearest his shaving mirror. And while he's on his feet, he takes the time to carefully roll down the canvas walls of his tent, unraveling them with the quiet precision of a mouse, and securing them in a few simple knots to hide you two away from the world.

It's quite dark by the time he wanders over to the cot, dark enough not to notice himself brush against your legs as he takes a seat on the edge of the old creaking bed. The familiar, welcomed-warmth of his body pressing against your shins rouses you from your restful slumber. Your eyes flutter open to find his figure perched next to you, shrouded in a darkness so thick that you are sure you're still dreaming. His head and broad shoulders are slumped over as he begins working off his dusty boots, caked with remnants of mud and manure.

"Hmm... Arthur?" Your voice floats through the quiet darkness, laden with fatigue and clearly carrying the lassitude of someone who could fall back asleep at the drop of a hat.

He quickly glances over his shoulder at the sound of your voice, his eyes already adjusted enough to the shadows to see your tired face staring back at him with confusion. He silently curses himself for waking you. "Shhh, Darlin'. Don't wake up on my account. I'll be done in just a minute," Arthur lightly grunts out the last word as he struggles to remove his right boot.

Even in your own weary state, the exhaustion in his tone isn't lost on you. Thinking it best to rouse yourself as quickly as possible to free up his bed for him, you sit yourself up and will yourself awake with a slight stretch. "'S okay. You need rest more 'n me."

"No. You was restin' 'fore I got here. Go 'head and lay back down." He isn't having any of your courtesy tonight. He's worn out, far too tired to argue with you about whether or not it's appropriate for you to share his bed for the night.

The rest of the gang, aside from John, Abigail, Susan, and Hosea know nothing about the true nature of y'all's relationship. Although, the rest of the girls have picked up on the changes you've brought about in Arthur since your arrival so long ago now. Seeing him get all soft and doey-eyed at you over these last few weeks has most definitely tipped them off about what y'all really get up to when you're out running errands together. But they catch wind of you sleeping in his tent tonight, it will all but confirm their suspicions. And yet, you just can't bring yourself to move from the comfort of Arthur's cot with him sitting so close to you.

"What time is it?" The question falls from your lips, carried on the soft currents of a gentle breeze pushing through the tent flaps. Fine sinewy muscles flex beneath his shirt as he leans over to work off his other boot and you are powerless to admire the shape of his body beneath.

A muffled grunt escapes his mouth the moment he finally frees his aching feet from the confines of his boots, "Late," he simply replies.

You take a deep, cleansing breath, allowing the tranquility of the night to settle around you like a soft, comforting blanket. Outside these walls, no sounds of chatter or lively activity can be heard, aside from the gentle hum of crickets by the riverbank and the faint sounds of a squeaking cot stopping abruptly. The gang is unusually quiet, the air filled with repose now that Arthur's returned safely to you. Only a few stragglers tend to the campfires, their focus solely on themselves, interested in anything beyond the flickering flames; not even the sounds of Dutch and Molly or Arthur's irritation can disrupt the peaceful bubble encompassing Clemen's Point tonight.

The plush heel of your palm rubs over one of your eyes as you flit them toward the tent entrance, watching how the wind slightly ruffles the bottom of the canvas. It's only then that you realize that Arthur has tied down the walls for privacy on your account. Normally, he wouldn't bother setting up the walls before collapsing on the cot for a few restless hours of sleep. But tonight, he's gone out of his way to ensure your comfort. Your heart couldn't feel any more full of love for this man by your side, a man who puts your well-being above all else, even above his own. Never did you think that love would have been like this for you: sitting in the comfortable silence of privacy for lovers when that luxury is rarely afforded for women like you. But despite your gratitude for his thoughtfulness, a pang of guilt gnaws at you knowing he made the extra effort while you took up residence in his bed, a cot that's barely big enough for the two of you given your plump frame.

In an attempt to make up for taking up so much space, you roll yourself forward along the thin mattress and quickly slide past him, crawling toward the foot of his bed where his trunk of clothing is kept. You've decided to give him his space for the night, even though in your heart, you'd prefer to stay. Before your foot even slides off the trunk to touch the soft grass below, you're reminded of John stopping by Arthur's tent earlier in the day.

Through a half yawn, you speak, not giving Arthur the chance to catch-on to where you're headed, "'Fore I forget: John stopped by while you was out."

Arthur slightly leans back as his fingertips mindlessly fumble with the buckle of his gun belt. The slight clicking of the metal rings out as he works to remove the clunky accessory from his body. His strong back brushes against you as he moves with the comfortable ease he's come to enjoy over these last few weeks of secretly being yours.

"What about it?" His concentration is split half between himself and the presence of your body behind him.

Your words don't register in his mind until he's completely removed the belt from his body. He figures it was that stagecoach job he reluctantly handed off to John; it had completely slipped from his mind until this very moment, much like yourself. The cool metal filigree atop his trunk moves under your feet as you rest them just shy of slipping off its edge, causing the hazy memory to play out behind your tired eyes.

-

You were just settling yourself in, resting your weary body on the edge of Arthur's cot, just as you're doing now. Little beads of sweat accumulated on your forehead from working out in the intensity of Lemoyne's miserably humid heat. Grimshaw had you and the rest of the women working on camp chores, which you hadn't complained of, since it usually occupies the time until Arthur's usual return. However, the day was far too hot for you to not complain about the harsh conditions she had y'all in. Eventually, evening came and you were finally finished with the laundry, allowing you a moment's rest to seek out the comfort of Arthur's cot.

In the midst of wiping your brow down with one of his neckerchiefs you'd secretly swiped, the hard thump of boots hitting grass caught your attention. You'd anticipated Arthur's arrival, but something didn't feel quite right. The boots didn't move with Arthur's measured stride; they scuffed the grass and dirt, signaling a different, but familiar presence. The moment you look up, you spot John standing at the entrance of the tent, not at all surprised to see you sitting upon his cot as if it were your own.

For a brief moment, his brow furrowed in a mix of frustration and exhaustion. It was as if he was caught between the two warring emotions, each pulling him equally. Clearly, he expected Arthur to be back already.

"He not back yet?" The gruffness of his voice has you believe the former, rather than the latter.

"Not yet," you say in kind, hoping to ease some of his burden. "Was you needin' him for somethin'?"

John did and the news certainly wasn't going to sit well with Arthur at all.

-

When the thoughts finally coalesce within your fatigued mind, you internally grimace knowing that Arthur isn't going to like the reality of the situation. Gentleness has always been your strong suit, especially when it came to dealing with half of the bull-headed men in camp. So, you lace your words with the softest tone you can manage, "Said it weren't as much as y'all had planned on: about fifty-dollars tied up in what little him 'n Charles found."

And you were right. The news doesn't sit well with him at all. All of the compiled frustration of working a nothing-lead and now knowing that the other job didn't pay well either boils beneath the surface of his skin until he explodes like a whistling kettle. Preventing himself from lashing out at you, Arthur kicks his boot toward the other side of the tent, knocking it into the chair. The loud thunk of its sole hitting wood claps harshly and causes you to flinch, startling you fully awake from the suddenness of noise and his movement.

"Every goddamn day it's some shit," he spits through his teeth.

Although you know he'd never intentionally hurt you, the anger in his voice sends a cold shiver down your spine and your stomach flips and churns in knots. Usually, you'd blame yourself, reprimanding your big mouth for even opening up to mention something that you knew wouldn't bode well for his weary mind. But you're in too much of a shock to even consider self-deprecation as an option. Your wide eyes search through the darkness, watching the shadowed outline of the man you love heave in a deep breath to steal his nerves. His shoulders slump forward and head hangs low as he rests his elbows on his knees, utterly defeated from the compiled anger and exhaustion coursing through him.

It's at this moment that you remember the job Dutch sent him on earlier in the day; Arthur didn't want to go and had very little sleep after working on yet another lead that barely got them anywhere. If it had been left up to you, you would've made Arthur stay right here in this bed to get some rest like he deserves. You would've taken care of him so tenderly, but, as usual, what Dutch wanted would have far outweighed any of your concerns. You've learned to recognize the pattern of these situations by now, and given Arthur's aggression, assuming that today's job didn't go quite as planned would be hitting the nail right on its head. You test the waters with a quiet question, "Lead didn't pan out today, did it?"

The soft shake of Arthur's head, coupled with the shadow of his palm running over his face tells you all that you need to know: no, it hadn't gotten him any farther than where he had started. Another useless effort. Your heart aches watching him struggle with so much weight on his shoulders. No matter how strong Arthur might be, he's just a man struggling to carry his own burdens, let alone everyone else's. Ever since settling down here, Dutch has placed so much responsibility on him that you've wanted to scold the man for even mentioning Arthur's name in passing. He's worked himself thin and thread-bare, barely having any time for himself outside of the time he spends on the road traveling from place to place at Dutch's convenience.

Empathy for the man that you've fallen in love with so long ago breaks your heart, aching in desperation to relieve some of his pain. Instead of walking away, keeping to yourself, and silently shouldering any of the blame for setting him off, you choose to stay the night. Despite knowing full well that the girls will have their gossip circulating by morning, Arthur's needs are far more important than any snickering comment or playful jest that'll inevitably come your way.

You scoot back where you were and lean toward him with less apprehension than what your words had suggested. Resting your delicate palm between the broad expanse of his shoulders, you feel him tense at the soft slip of your tender touch over his shirt. The tips of your fingers glide over his shoulder and silently take purchase on the taut muscle there. With a gentle, yet firm pull, you coax Arthur back toward you.

"C'mere. Lean back 'n talk to me..." Your dulcet tone pierces through his irritation, encouraging him to rest in your awaiting arms.

Arthur slowly reclines back, allowing himself to unwind in your embrace as his much larger body sits snugly against your plump bosom. Relaxing doesn't come easy for him. Hell, you'd be surprised if it had, given the high tensions between him and Micah these days or the tiresome back and forth between the two rival families in Rhodes. He has every right to be terse and tensed up like a snake ready to strike, but you aim to comfort him even if that means you risk getting bit. Silence hangs in the air between you, aside from the gentle breaths and the occasional strained grunt catching in the back of his throat while he struggles to get comfortable against you, due to the remaining stress insisting on clinging to his tired body. Your loving hands splay out over the firm expanse of his chest, feeling the steady and reassuring thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palms as you try your best to soothe your brooding lover. It's as if your mere presence cracks away at the anger lingering in the stiff tendons and taut plains of muscle along his torso until he relents and finally lets go. His body relaxes back into you as if he were sinking into the plush, luxurious drapery and bedding found in the finest hotels of Saint Denis; much like the bedding of the room he'd paid for the very same night he had whisked you away to bed you properly for your very first time.

He's silent for a long while, almost reluctant to burden you with his troubles. So, you take it up on yourself to start the conversation by spilling what had happened to you earlier in the day, thinking it might earn a laugh or two, "Well, I'm sure my day weren't as rough as your'n," you hum. "But I did fall off the dock, landing my hind-end right in that water."

The image would usually cause a humorous snort to escape him, but the irritation still bristling at his nerves prevents him from reacting with anything else other than a huff of annoyance, "I told ya to watch your footin' out there. Ain't no use to nobody if you get yourself drowned."

Fortunately, as he chides you his words begin to lack much of the anger from moments ago. But you sigh softly anyways, relenting to his incessant need to protect you from life's dangers, despite being able to handle your own, "I know, I know..."

With a few buttons of that old blue work shirt popped open by your deft fingers, the smallest opening there is just big enough to slip your hand inside and rest it up on the soft but wiry hairs at the very center of his chest. "You shoulda seen me, though," you murmur as you lean down toward his ear, lowering your tone as you press your cheek to the side of his head. "Was drenched head to toe, clothes clingin' to me like feathers on a wet chicken."

He sulks, trying to stay mad at anything and everything he can to give into the bristling anger at the back of his mind, but he can't. No, not when he can clearly envision you all soaked and surprised from falling into that cold lake. A faint smile curls up the corners of his lips and then, just as he almost chuckles, he clears his throat, holding his laugh back. However, you catch on far too quickly for him to play it off so easily.

You gasp softly in mock surprise as if offended by the idea of him laughing at you, "Arthur Morgan. Are you laughin' at me?"

That's when his temperament breaks, giving way to the huff of laughter rumbling through his chest. "I ain't laughin' atchu, per say..." he counters. "Just maybe at the thought of what ya mighta looked like comin' up outta that water: madder 'n hell, hair clingin' to your head," and as if to illustrate his point, Arthur reaches his hand backward and turns his head to try and catch a glimpse of you in the thick shadows, barely making your face distinguishable to his eyes, as he brushes his fingertips over the bits of hair clinging to your forehead from the muggy heat.

Though you narrow your eyes in mock annoyance, you lean into his calloused fingertips, accepting the gentleness of his touch while a giggle of your own creeps up into your throat, "Oh? Is 'at so? Maybe next time I find you out on that dock, I'll think 'bout pushin' ya in 'n lettin' you see how it feels."

He huffs out a skeptical breath and raises an eyebrow at the very thought of you even trying something like that with him. It'd be a futile effort and one that you truly wouldn't consider without the clear consequence of him pulling you right down with him.

And just as soon as the laughter came, it was gone again, replaced instead with a comfortable silence that settles between you two once more, giving him some space to think about what's happened to himself today. Long before the days of your arrival, Arthur would keep to himself and dwell on the ever-present burdens troubling his mind, brooding for hours. But with you, he feels a safety that men like him are rarely afforded.

"Well, if ya think fallin' in Flat Iron's bad..." he continues, "Try goin' halfway 'cross the state lookin' for a man that don't exist. Then when ya find someplace to get a drink, ya end up catchin' a few stray hits from some drunken bastard."

A soft gasp enters your lungs at the revelation. Another fight? You lean over his shoulder, reaching to take his scarred chin into your hand. It's hard to see through the inky-black darkness of the night, but even in the haziness, your eyes can make out the bruising along his jaw, the harsh scrapes of knuckles cutting over his cheek, and the jagged cut on his upper lip. It isn't a rare sight to have him come back battered and bruised by some job from time to time, but that still doesn't quell the uneasiness in your heart at him going through such pain and aggravation.

Your eyebrows furrow in sympathy for your rugged cowboy, eyes softening to match as you breathe out, "Oh, Arthur."

He's quick to dismiss your concern with a soft sigh, pulling away from you to lean forward and distract himself from your sympathetic gaze, "Ah, don'tchu go 'n worry yourself over me none, Darlin'."

Being fussed over or thought of so tenderly still isn't something he's used to; he's shown you that time and time again. But it never deters you from trying to make things better, to make things easier on him however you can. Whatever turmoil Arthur's got rolling about in his mind is far from the usual and it takes patience to understand; a patience that he finds only you can give.

You reach your hand out toward him. The delicate ends of your fingertips reach up to brush over the nape of his sun-kissed neck, grazing over the ends of his slightly overgrown hair, silently making a note to yourself that you'll trim it for him tomorrow. His body shuffles slightly backward, leaning in to accept your touch while he slips off his suspenders: pulling them down his shoulders heavy with burden, before taking his time to unbutton that tattered old work shirt you're so used to seeing around his muscular frame.

"'Sides..." he starts. "I did have some good that came from today."

"What's 'at?" you hum softly with a lilt of dryness. "Hittin' that feller back?"

He can't help the chuckle rising in his throat at the dry sarcasm touching your words. Arthur shakes his head softly, "Nah, Darlin', " the last word strains from his lips as he rises to his feet with a groan, leaving the safe comfort of your touch as he stands to undo his pants.

He glances over his shoulder, peering down at you through the darkness with a smirk curling up at the right corner of his mouth. Watching as your sweet eyes follow his every movement, Arthur turns to face you, allowing you to gaze at him as he slowly pushes the brass button through the eyelet at the top of his riding pants. The fabric opens effortlessly, revealing the red cloth of his union suit underneath. The sight of him before you, suspenders hanging loosely on either side of his long legs and his pants aching to be peeled from his strong form has your lips parted in awe at the man standing mere inches away from you.

He continues from just seconds before, "Seein' you laid out on my bed, purdy as a dream."

After stepping out of his pants now crumpled around his ankles, Arthur lowers one knee upon the cot nearest your thighs. He leans over you, using his thick fingers to tilt your chin upward, meeting his crystalline eyes. "Was one helluva sight I could get used to seein'."

The low timbre of his voice sends a shockwave of desire straight through your heart and into the aching pit of your stomach. Your lips draw up into a shy smile, and a faint dusting of pink envelops your cheeks just like the moment you'd first professed your feelings for him under that canopy of trees he led you through so blindly. Although it hasn't been long since that fateful night, the closeness of your relationship has escalated so quickly that your head and heart dizzy at the mere mention of his name.

Arthur's calloused thumb brushes over the supple swell of your bottom lip, enticing you to part them just for him. You comply, of course, unable to resist how a ghost of his touch makes you so pliant beneath him. And when he leans down to meet your lips with his own, your heart swells with tender affection. Those warm, slightly chapped, but pleasantly plush lips are heady as they connect with a passion that stokes the burning coals of desire in the very base of your core.

"Been waitin' to use that one for a while, hmm?" You hum contently while blindly guiding your hands toward the flare of muscle encasing his ribs. God, how you could worship this man and never tire of feeling how warm, how strong he is beneath your palms.

"Depends. It workin'?" He murmurs, smirking cockily against your lips.

Your mind begins to spin as the calloused pad of his thumb dips from your chin and swipes over your jawline. His fingers splay out over the side of your neck, fingertips gripping you with tender passion to hold you in place. He could easily break you, bend you with his finger and thumb as if you were nothing more than a twig beneath his rough and weathered hands. Never have you felt so small and fragile, always knowing in your heart that you took up much more room than other women. But, when you're with Arthur, he makes you feel as delicate as the petals on a beautiful flower, something so precious and worth loving; it's so much more than you'd ever experienced in your whole life. He touches you so tenderly as if you were made from nothing more than ash, a veritable pile of matter waiting to slip through his fingers at any moment.

You want to hum your praises to your lover, to let him know exactly how much you've wanted this, how much you've missed him, how well he's kissing you, touching you... But you can't. There are no words. He's stolen them from you, drawing all the air out of your lungs with his lips, leaving you gasping for the air coated in his divine masculine scent: sweet tobacco, wood ash, and mossy earth. He encompasses you, wrapping one arm around your waist as he pulls you close to his body, all the while shuffling himself forward to join you on the small cot. Your back presses against the hard wooden frame of the wagon making up the other half of his tent. He presses against you, holding you close to his strong body as he slides his right hand from your jaw, trailing it down over the soft skin of your neck, and down to your chest, where he heatedly palms your breast hidden just beneath your blouse. To have him touch you like this, like a man frenzied and dying for a taste of intimacy, has your head spinning and your heart on the verge of exploding if it hadn't already; for all you know, you could've died the moment his lips crashed into yours, and all that's left is a heaven you'd only dreamt of.

A low growl of appreciation rumbles through his chest for the plumpness of your body. Most men do not know the fine pleasures that extra curves on a woman can bring. But Arthur sure does. And oh how he worships your full figure, despite your opinions about yourself. His large, calloused palm shifts his attention to your other breast, kneading you tenderly while his lips work from your mouth, and instead, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses over your jawline and supple neck.

His name is a breathless sigh across your trembling lips as you allow your hands to explore his body in return. Touching over the large expanse of his torso and gliding your fingertips over the worn fabric of his union suit, you desperately search for the button that would bare him wholly to you. In the time it takes you to undo one of his buttons, his skilled fingers undo two of yours. Button after button unthreads upon both of your bodies, though his hands are much quicker at ridding you of your layers, leaving them strewn about on the ground until he's stripped you down and laid you beneath him in nothing more than your chemise and bloomers to conceal your decency. Arthur then crawls over you, his movements deliberate and enticingly slow as he cages you in with his hands pressed into the thin mattress on either side of your head. Shadows danced and shifted restlessly, playing tricks on your perception as you try to focus on what little of Arthur you could see through the haziness, making the absence of light feel alive. To feel him above you like this has your stomach in knots, tightening with a firey passion that's ready to snap at any given moment. Hearts are pounding, thrumming wildly against your ribcages like birds desperate to escape the confines of your chests. You hear it, hear how his breath shutters with each wild thump of his heart, and you feel it in his breath as it puffs over your cheek. He's losing himself to you and you him, slipping so quickly that rational thinking is no longer of use. You need him and he needs you.

The flaps of his union suit hang loosely from his body, allowing your hands to reach in and press flat over his heated skin. He shivers slightly at the contact, his muscles tensing and flexing beneath the tender meeting of your palms placed upon his scarred, goose-pimpled flesh. Your fingertips ghost over a scar on the right side of his ribcage, causing your face to crinkle with sorrow for what hardship your lover, this great outlaw, has had to endure in his lifetime. The damaged tissue is the result of a nasty fight he had as a young man: when someone stabbed him with the broken end of a beer bottle; they had aimed to kill him, but he had survived. The spot still aches with the memory of Hosea digging out the shards of broken glass from the angry, bloodied wound. But somehow, the way your delicate touch brushes over that old scar with such love and care causes the outlaw's skin to tingle, and his cock to ache with the pride of knowing that you love him so.

He takes his time with you here, laid out beneath him like a perfect little thing he's captured and kept safe by hiding you away in the privacy of his tent. After the day he's had, he wants to savor every bit of loveliness he's blessed with in your presence, so he can't rush this with you, not now. Arthur takes his time admiring you, letting his eyes rake over what he's able to see, and feeling what he cannot. Leaning down close enough to your face to capture that seductive glint in your glittering, lust-blown eyes, Arthur searches for any change within them as he maneuvers his right hand away from the mattress to trail along your sensitive flesh. The rough pads of his fingers ghost over your thigh, caressing the plump deposit of flesh along your middle, snaking up over your collarbones, and over your neck in search of your delicate face before sealing your mouth with his own in a kiss so tender you whimper from the initial contact.

Shivers of anticipation roll through him as your body responds to his touch: back arching off the bed, hands pulling on the nape of his neck to hold him down and assure that his lips won't leave yours, and the way your bloomer-clad hips roll upward in search of some much-needed friction. God how he could spend hours with you like this, letting his hands roam over your body to make you shiver and plead for any ounce of affection that he can give you. Your needy state is only exacerbated by the slight tremble in your thighs as he snakes his hands down over the pillowy flesh, seeking out the waistband of your bloomers. Ridding you of the cloth separating your pussy from his line of sight is an easy feat: the clad, slightly damp undergarment peels away from your plump hips with ease at the help of his precision; the Lemoyne heat causes the clothing to stick to your slightly dampened skin, but dammit if the temperature pales in comparison to how heated Arthur makes you feel. He tosses them down onto the ground, and places his hands upon your knees, spreading them apart as he sits above you to admire the feeling of your plump body beneath him.

His hand is unhurried and exacting, gently brushing his calloused knuckles down over your inner thigh, then lightly petting them over your soaked need covered by a soft thatch of hair. He can't see you fully, but that does nothing to stop his mind from envisioning how your cunt glistens with slick, all for him. The moment he presses his fingertips to your seam, parting you with the practiced precision of a lover, he lets a low, ragged breath escape his nose in appreciation for how wet you are. You shiver and instinctively try to close your knees from the pleasant surprise of his touch, and fuck does it feel good to have him brush over your folds like that.

"Always so ready, ain'tchya?" He murmurs, a teasing lilt to his voice as he takes his time in savoring the feeling of your slick upon his fingertips.

Your hips involuntarily twitch, bucking upward into his hand, seeking out his fingertips to make him swirl them over your aching little clit. You want him to touch you right where you need him, feel him right on that little spot upon that nub of nerves that makes your mind swirl and your body careen into a blissful orgasm. But he doesn't give that to you, not yet. He wants to work you over slowly, savoring every little sound he can draw out of those pretty lips. You're far too shy to answer him directly, instead favoring to cover your face with your forearms as he takes pleasure in taunting you like this. But the moment his fingertips threaten to part your folds, you let out a delicate little noise, someplace between a whine and a prayer to let him know that you're in no mood to endure his teasing tonight, "Arthur... Please."

Oh, how he loves to hear the sound of you begging; he's already half-hard at the idea of you wanting his touch, let alone hearing how desperate you are for it. He answers your prayer with a long, smooth stroke of his thumb parting your puffy, wet folds. You keen at how just a simple touch causes your stomach to flutter and your slit to clench around nothing at all. Your thighs, thick with strength, covered by a layer of squishy softness, part for him, relaxing lazily as he guides his thumb over each of your labia.

It was nearly impossible to get you to lay like this for him a few weeks ago; you'd been concerned about the unsightly appearance of your inner thighs: scarred over with dimples and imperfections, as well as the slight discoloration of having them rub together after so many years of being a larger woman. Most women that you've seen naked, don't have the same ailments upon their bodies as you have on yours. Just the other day when bathing with some of the girls in the lake, you'd noticed that even on Karen's body, a woman closer to your size, still didn't have the scars or discoloration across her skin in the same way that you have. And that night that Arthur had you laid out for him for the very first time, he'd noticed that apprehension in you, taking it as having second thoughts. But once you had explained how you felt about your own body, he hadn't even given the idea a single thought; his own body is mauled up, covered in old and ugly scars, and carrying more than three colors from all his time spent out in the sun. So, he couldn't have cared less about some scars, a little extra hair, weight, or even the discoloration over your thighs. What he did care about, however, was making sure that you felt loved in spite of it all. And now, it feels no different. To have you spread your legs for him like this, without a single worry holding you back, is a goddamn treat.

Fuck how good it feels to have the soft press of his thumb tease over your cunt, tracing the delicate path between your weeping entrance, to your swelling bud with a pressure so teasing and light that you squirm to feel more. Your plush lips tuck between your teeth to hold back any sounds that give away what you two are doing in here after dark, but it's useless; the lewd sounds of his thumb circling over your clit echo throughout the tent: a dead giveaway to anyone that dare walk by. Holding your breath like this isn't easy, not when the pounding of your heart echoes in your ears and your chest feels as if it's being seared from the inside out. A ragged gasp finally inhales through your nostrils, desperately trying to fulfill your body's need for air when you can no longer restrain your breaths.

He huffs out a low chuckle in amusement at the state he has you in: clearly desperate and in need to have your clit rubbed just the way you like it.

"Hmm.. Hear that?" He rasps out before going silent, letting you hear the sounds of your own slick being spread over your soaked cunt. He only continues when he finally reaches your clit, circling over the throbbing little nerve-ending to make you sigh out in pleasure for him. "So goddamn wet. All for me."

In a blur of movements, Arthur's chapped lips and teeth skim over your knee, slowly working their way down over your inner thighs. He nips at you, earning a few little squeaks and giggles until he kisses over your plump mound. His thumbs take hold of either side of your cunt, spreading you open to let the night air hit your wet skin. It's pleasant like this, to feel yourself spread out beneath him like a meal ready to be devoured and dammit if he ain't starved for a taste. Being eaten out has quickly become one of your favorite acts of intimacy in recent weeks; his tongue is so skilled at finding spots on you, making you come so deliciously, that most days it's all you've been able to think about. Hell, it's all you're thinking about now as his head sinks down to your core and his hot breath fans out over your aching need. His tongue slips out of that perfect mouth and flattens out over your seam, lapping at you once to earn him that little sigh of pleasure escaping your throat.

Your hands immediately seek out his head, combing through his slightly sweat-dampened hair as he swirls the blunt tip of his tongue over your clit.

"A-Agh, Arthur.. N-Not so fast," you whine out in protest, yet your hips bucking up into his mouth says otherwise. But he relents, nonetheless, giving you a moment of reprieve before he delves back in at the same pace.

He's aiming to make you cum quick and hard: slithering his tongue over your clit with the precision of knowing exactly what side and spot makes you writhe beneath him. Just left and then a little upward beneath that little hood of skin and he has you singing for him. Explicitves roll off your tongue one after another in between sweet little sounds that praise him for what effort he's putting in just for you. To hear you, feel you crumble beneath him like this is better than any robbery or score he gets out on the road. But just before he lets you come, he pulls his head back slightly and puffs cool air over your clit, making you whine.

"Shh.. Shh.. 'M gonna let ya cum, Darlin'. Don'tchu worry 'bout that none. 'M gonna take real good care of ya," he hums lowly as his lips and bristly scruff brush over your quivering inner thighs.

His promise isn't far off from fulfillment, not when he sinks his tongue into your heat and presses his opened mouth over the entirety of your cunt. He sucks hard, feeling your walls constrict around the wriggling muscle of his tongue as he laps inside your spongey center. Your thighs tremble with need as he fucks you with his mouth and slurps up your slick, drinking in as much of you as he can and relishing the tangy sweetness of your delectable taste. You throw your head back against the rolled-up blanket you had been using as a pillow earlier in the night, all while he eats you out like a man who's desperate to consume you.

But the aching throb of his cock, constricted by the thin fabric of his union suit, is far too angry for him to ignore. He's got to have you, now.

As he shuffles back up to his knees, leaving your cunt longing to cum on his tongue, you flutter your eyes open and snap your head up to try and catch a glimpse of what he's doing. Clearly, you ain't pleased with him teasing you like this, but when you feel his fervent movements, you realize that he's trying to work off his union suit. He wastes no time it peeling it away from his torso, but the moment he starts to tug it down his thighs, allowing his weeping cock to spring free, he nearly topples over and just about slams head-first into your body. Thankfully, he catches himself in the knick of time, grunting out a few curses as he grows impatient with his incapability to slide that damn fabric off his legs.

Amid his struggle to bare himself, you can't hide the giggle creeping up your throat as he curses under his breath, frustrated with how the fabric insists on clinging to his muscular legs. You help him slide the old red union suit off his body by digging your heels against the back of his thighs and pushing it down the long length of his legs until it reaches his ankles. The undergarment hangs loosely off his feet, causing him to kick it haphazardly off the side of the bed, letting it fall onto his trunk to skirt down on the grass below.

The instant his turgid length brushes over your inner thigh it twitches with the anticipation of feeling your tight, wet walls clamped around him, milking every drop of spend nestled away in his balls; spend that he so desperately wishes he could drain right inside of you. For now, however, just a single brush of your fingertips against him is enough. He has to hold his breath as he guides your delicate palm over his velvety shaft to stroke the needy ache away; if he isn't careful, he'd cum just like this. He hisses, sucking in a sharp breath through his teeth as your fingers wrap around him and your thumb seeks out the weeping slit of his blunt tip. Arthur is, by no means, a small man: his legs are long, torso strong and wide, feet and hands are like bear paws, and his cock.. God, his cock is big. You could use both of your hands to stroke him and still, there'd be enough room for his tip to be entirely untouched. But you make sure as you stroke him with one hand, you pay extra attention to his tip, smearing his drooling precum over as much of him as you can, even down to the dark and wiry curls along his base and balls.

He's trying so hard to hold himself back, but with each tender pass of your thumb over that sweet spot along the underside of his tip, the last remnants of his patience crack away. You feel him crumbling like this, crumbling into a frenzied mess of low-hummed breaths and grunts through gritted teeth, and you fucking love it. Before you can even think about the desire roaring in the cavernous pit of your stomach, aching to be quelled, he smashes his lips into yours so hard that you're sure one of you is bleeding. The pain of his busted lip splitting back open is an angry reminder of the frustration still lingering at the back of his mind; he's as tensed up, pent-up, as a taut rope ready to snap.

With a quick movement, he swats your hand away, preventing you from jacking him into a fast climax. Then, in one swift motion, he grabs hold of your thighs and forcefully yanks you toward him, making the round swell of your plump ass plant firmly against the hard front of his strong body. Your thighs spread out, squishing over and conforming to the contour of his hips, the intimate contact leaving you both ragged and breathless. Your heart drums a frantic rhythm in your ears, drowning out all other thoughts and sensations that belong to you alone. It's as if your mind has descended into a tangled web of strangled noises and glorious sensations that only Arthur seems able to untangle or soothe. The faint outline of his body nestled between your thighs is a constant reminder that nothing beyond this moment, beyond him hidden away with you inside of this tent, matters.

The hard length of his turgid pride parts your folds, gliding over the slick thatch of curls usually concealing your cunt from his eyes, but with his sight hindered, he can explore every single nook, roll, and crevice without you shying away. His weight bares down on you as he holds your legs into the crook of his arms, nearly bending you in half as he drags his cock over your seam. It feels so good like this, even though you can hardly breathe with the thickness of your thighs pressing against your already plump stomach, but when the tip of his cock knocks into your clit, it makes the strained pain well worth it. The back of your hand flies over your mouth as he continues on like this, pleasuring himself and you with each agonizingly slow thrust. Hearing your ragged, strangled half-breaths, he releases your thighs, leaving them to splay out lazily on either side of his hips as he leans down to steal a tender kiss.

Upon breaking his lips away from yours, the low hum of his voice finds its way through the haziness of your lust-broken mind as he murmurs against the shell of your ear, "Gonna take ya just like this..."

Chapped lips skim over your jawline and trail to your lips, where he gives you another tender kiss filled with gentle affection: polar opposite to the rough sex-driven outlaw you've gotten a taste of tonight, but aligning perfectly with the man you fell in love with all those years ago. Scraped knuckles skim against your slick heat as he slips his hand in between you both and presses flat over the thick, dark curls at the base of his throbbing length. His fingers spread wide over his pubic bone, holding his cock between his middle and ring finger, stiffening himself outward to seek out your clenched entrance. With a slight pullback of his hips, he guides himself to your slit, catching right on the taut muscle before pressing forward and splitting you open.

A soft cry hums in the back of your throat and he shushes you so tenderly, sliding his hands over your knees and down your shins to soothe the ache he knows you're feeling. You're so fucking tight, hardly different from the first night he took you and bedded you properly back at the Saint's Hotel. It nearly shatters him when your walls flutter around him, squeezing and pulling him in inch by inch as if you were carved out just for him to sink into. He stills only for a short moment, letting you feel him nestled up against your cervix before he slides himself out and enters you again with a sharp snap of his hips. Lingering anger and frustration from the shit day he's had still pulsates at the back of his mind, desperate to be released as the tension in his body rises.

The tight walls of your cunt clench onto him for dear life as jolts of pleasure and pain rack through your body.

Behind the shield of your palm, you cry out, "A-Agh, Arthur!"

You're trying your best to be quiet, to still your ragged breaths and hide your whimpers, but he's making it incredibly difficult. Each slow drag of his cock coming out of you with a satisfying pop, only to pierce you with a hard roll of his hips, sends you reeling. You're seeing stars, shaking from the pleasurable burn of the passionate fire he's stirring within you. Strong hands grip your hips, keeping you still as his thrusts guide you into a steady rhythm that makes the old wooden frame creak and groan with every subtle and sharp movement that your bodies make. Being discreet has left his mind entirely, no longer concerned with what sounds are coming out of his tent as he fucks you good and proper. No, he couldn't care less when the sounds of your slick pussy squelches as he presses himself flush against you and groans against the pulse point of your neck.

"Don't want ya hidin' them purdy sounds, Darlin'. Let 'em out for me," he grunts out between slow but hard thrusts.

Usually, intimacy like this is savored in the shaking breaths and whispered little sounds only audible to your ears, but tonight... Tonight Arthur is something else entirely. Primal. A damn, dirty outlaw. You love this new view of him, but you can't allow yourself to let the others hear. What if someone were walking by? Or Hosea or Dutch hear you two going at it? You wouldn't be able to look at them for a week! But he doesn't give you much choice in the matter: snaking his hand down between your bodies, his muscular forearm presses against your plush belly while his thumb immediately finds your clit.

"O-Oh, God," you whine as the pad of his thumb circles over you, followed by his name dripping off your tongue like the sweetest honey. "At's it... Such a good girl takin' me so deep. Mmm.. Gonna cum 'round me ain'tchu? Gonna give me a real good one, baby?"

God damn him if his mouth ain't filthy. The way he croons out those little praises and words of encouragement has your climax building faster than you ever could have anticipated. And the swirling of his thumb? It has you shaking, whining, pleading, practically begging for your release as he talks you through it, "C'mon, Darlin'... I feel ya squeezin' me real tight," he praises, "'At's it. Focus on me."

With one more swipe of his thumb over your sensitive clit and his cock hitting that sweet spot right against your cervix, you're tensing, digging your heels into the thin mattress, and cumming around him so hard that you see white. It takes everything in you not to scream, but the strangled sound coming out of you is loud enough to warrant some head-turning if anyone were awake. The moment your walls flutter and start milking him, he falls forward and drops down onto his elbows to cage you in. His thrusts are relentless as he takes his anger out on you in this way, using every movement of his body to release the bristling anger clutching onto his mind like a damn vice grip. No matter how fervent and frenzied, he's still careful not to hurt you, always thinking about how good he's making you feel while chasing his own release.

Arthur isn't a man of many words, but when you're gripped around him like this, clutching him with your arms, legs, and your fluttering pussy, he is downright mouthy. "Oh, such a good girl for listenin' to me. Shh.. Shh. I gotchu, baby. I gotchu."

His mouth hovers over yours, claiming your lips as he kisses you hard and possessively. Moans spill out of you, traveling through the expanse of his throat until it hums within his chest and he echoes one back. To talk like this with him, in a language only two lovers could understand, is far more intimate and pleasurable than anyone could ever know. Arthur is yours and you are his, no ownership or proprietary claim, but just the pleasant knowledge that both of you choose to love each other is enough.

With a few more rolls of his hips, he's nearing his own orgasm: length twitching and engorging as his balls tighten. In desperation, he quickly climbs off of you and pulls his cock out from your core. His right hand tightens into a fist around himself, and although you can't see it, you hear the lewd, effortless slide of his hand vigorously pumping over his tip like his life depends on cumming for you.

Finally, his orgasm hits him, working its way out of his tightened balls and spurting over your plump mound and belly. If he could see his spend on you like this, it'd be enough to make him cum all over again. But both of you are far too exhausted to even consider that so soon. You're still shaking, panting heavily as he lowers himself down onto you, not caring that his sticky spend is now covering the front of his body as well, as your sweaty bodies come down from such an enormous height.

His touch traces a slow, deliberate path down your leg until his fingertips reach the softness of your hip, where he gives your flesh a gentle but firm grasp. Reveling in the smoothness of your skin and the feel of your curvy form beneath his palm, he lets out a slow exhale through his nose. The heat of his breath spills over your neck and shoulder, doubled by the heavy breaths leaving his lips as he lazily peppers your clammy skin with kisses.

After a long stretch of quiet spent nestled into his hair, breathing in the comforting remnants of campfire intermingled with his musky scent, your breathing finally begins to steady. Slowly, your senses return to you one by one, like pieces of a puzzle falling back into place. Shock and disbelief jolt through your entire being as it finally hits you how easily he manipulated your body with his own strength and skill as a lover. You'd heard of men being rough with women, but never did you think it could be this pleasurable.

Your voice finally cuts through the relative silence, carrying a deep sense of satisfaction and astonishment with it, "Wh-here in the hell did that come from?"

An amused chuckle rumbles inside his chest, slightly huffing out of his nose as he slightly pushes himself off of you to gauge your reaction, "Reckon I were a little pent up. Why? You like it?"

To say you liked it was an understatement, but you'd like anything as long as Arthur were right there with you to experience it just the same. While his right hand slides up over the plump contours of your body, appreciatively grabbing at the plushness of your stomach and breasts, he lovingly brushes a few stray strands of hair off your forehead stuck there by the sweat covering your body. You hum softly in agreement to his question, deciding that you did enjoy this different side of him you hadn't expected, despite his rough exterior.

"Mhmm.. 'S always good with you," the loving words you murmur cling to his heart and earn you a pleasant kiss that tastes like the remnants of his busted lip.

As his lips trail back down over your jawline, his beard delightfully scratches over your sensitive skin, causing you to hum in appreciation for him loving you like a man who worships the very ground you walk upon. Your own body follows his lead, fingertips glide down the entire length of his back, tracing the contour of muscle that hint at the immense strength lurking beneath. You can't help but marvel at his shape, this man you love so dearly, and how his body was molded for love and carved from such a hard life. While your fingertips glide across his muscled frame, you can feel the subtle shift of his body as he adjusts himself on top of you, notricebly more relaxed than before: a clear testamanet to the calming eddect your touch has on him.

Curiosity peaked, you murmur, "You relaxed now?" as your fingertips idly trace the two little dimples that grace the base of his spine, just above the firm and muscular curve of his ass.

An amused smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, obviously enjoying the path your fingertips are carving out over his back. He'd never admit it, but he loves it when you grab him unabashedly, palming his ass like he so often does to you. The warmth of his cock brushing over your leg, hardening much faster than he expected for a man his age, tells you all you need to know.

He agrees with you, humming softly against your chest as he inches himself down to where his mouth hovers over the plump swell of your breasts, "Thinkin' that we just might need a little more time for relaxin', don'tchu?"

A/N: Big thanks for the divider from @saradika-graphics and the beautiful gif from @sunwingsunset, please go send them some love for their work! <3

Other creators that expressed interest and drew inspiration from: @subpopizzy , @cassietrn , @coltermorning , @redwritr, @zae-heeyyy, @twola , @amorgansgal

Please do go check all the blogs I tagged! You surely won't be disappointed!

As always, sending my love - M. <3

[palmettoshenanigans]

also ALSO-

I know the old "AFTG is badly written" jokes but hold the FUCK on for one goddamn second

I have been writing for almost 20 years. I got my college degree in English and the only reason my specialization wasn't creative writing is because I had bad time management skills and missed my chance to do my final creative writing workshop. I'm autistic and Storycrafting and Wordsmithing are my special interests. I understand writing pretty well.

AFTG opened my fucking eyes to a blind spot of the utter craftsmanship of writing sticky characters that infect you with brain worms, and here it is:

The Conflict of Material and Form

AKA the Character Creation version of Nature versus Nurture

"This isn't who I truly am. This is who I've had to become, what I've had to fashion myself into to survive. The original me is buried in there somewhere, if only you knew how to look. If only you knew to look beyond the mask."

Easily exemplified with our fave lil guys-

Neil Abram Josten:

Material: smartass with a smart mouth, attitude problem, cares about people deeply, sharp tongue to cut a bitch with, kinda feral, a lil unhinged, oblivious idiot

Form: quiet and hidden, liar liar pants of fire, run rabbit run, docile and tame, hyper-vigilant and hyper-observant

Andrew Joseph Minyard:

Material: caring, protective, strong sense of justice, gentle even, cares deeply, give me sugar or give me death, yearning

Form: cold, apathetic, ruthless and unforgiving, allow me to introduce you to my knife, regret? don't know her, i want nothing nothing nothing

Why am I using 'material and form' instead of 'nature and nurture'? Because I am a subscriber to "Characters are not meant to be real people; they are mirages of real people meant to encapsulate a function or idea that serves the story". But use whatever terms click with your noggin.

This isn't about 'want vs need'. This isn't about 'lie believed and truth learned'. This is about Presentation and Basic Action - how would this character react here? Which part are they reacting from?

With Material vs. Form, one isn't the 'true' version and the other the 'false' version of the character. They are both true and real in their own right. The Secret Sauce is that the Material and the Form fight 1v1! And regardless of which part wins, there will be consequences and rewards; so which rewards do we want and which consequences are we willing to suffer? And this fight happens beat by beat, scene by scene, plot point by plot point.

At one point in TFC Neil laments his inability to shut his fucking mouth because his Form of 'don't stand out dipshit' and his Material of 'initiate smartass.exe' are disagreeing with how to respond to his circumstances! It's that fucking meme "My healed and unhealed versions of myself deciding who is going to handle this situation" but as Storycraft!

Now, I don't think this is a new idea by any means. But sometimes to make the essence of an idea truly stick, it must be presented in multiple different ways until one triggers a "Eureka! By Jove! Aha!", and this was the way that truly made this concept stick for me. And why did it stick? Because AFTG is a labor of deep love and passion for Characters and all their complexity and inner machinations, and that depth of devotion had to manifest as some good ass writing somehow my homies in christ.

I have a collection of my favorite Storycrafting Wisdoms and one of them is effectively:

"Put Compelling Characters into a Compelling Situation and see what happens."

And Nora does Compelling Characters beautifully

[radiance1]

Vlad has been asleep for a few centuries now, in a goddamn coffin that he specifically made just for that like the weird rich person he is. He was also, the phoenix king.

Or at the very least, one of them.

Honestly, Danny couldn't give less of a flying cheerio how long Vlad would sleep for if it wasn't an inconvenience to it.

But it was.

You see, he's the ghost prince, prince of the infinity realms, dragon of infinity, son of war and ward of time, etc, etc.

And somehow, he has bloody paperwork.

Even though the Infinite Realms fell into Anarchy eons ago.

So he honestly doesn't know why he has paperwork, and it's so much that Danny has been spending centuries doing it and he's so tired of it and then he remembered, hey? Who likes can do mountains of paperwork without breaking a sweat and could finish this way better than Danny could?

Vlad Masters.

Hasn't seen the guy after his mother died, don't know where exactly he is, but he isn't in his lair (yes Danny managed to get in, don't ask how) and Danny is going to find this man by the Ancients because he cannot deal with those anymore.

He barely even made a dent!

Anyways, so Danny goes over to Earth because he hasn't been there for a hot minute, and that's probably where Vlad is and uh, woah there is this really Earth cause it's lookin mighty different to how he saw it last time-

Why was the Earth currently covered in flames? Black flames that look mighty familiar to someone else's that he knows actually. You know, someone who should have been sleeping the centuries away instead of, oh he doesn't know.

Taking over the mortal world?

It even seems that Vlad got himself a goddamn cult too! How neat! How much time did it take you to assemble all these people Vlad? You even gave out pieces of your power when you could've been, oh, he doesn't know.

Helping him with paperwork?

So, he's kinda mad about this, pissed, actually. So, he goes to find where exactly Vlad is in this reign of madness, finds a literal crack in reality and just heads on through because he couldn't care less about that actually.

What he finds is not what he expected.

Cause you know Vlad? Phoenix king who is probably trying to take over the mortal world instead of helping him with paperwork and was supposed to be sleeping inside a coffin?

Yea scratch that. Because that isn't a coffin.

When the hell was Vlad sleeping inside a magical barrier-

And who the heck was that spamming Vlad's signature black flames while laughing manically, and who in the infinite realms were those guys who were currently fighting said spammer.

"What exactly, in the Infinite Realms, happened while I was doing paperwork?"

===

So, the Justice League is now combating a new world ending threat. Some cult who wants to cleanse the world in the name of their deity so they could hand it to him once he reawakens.

Which, apparently, might've been around for centuries, slowly preparing for this day which, dedicated, but not the good kind of dedication really.

So, back to the fight, they're fighting this possible immortal who's been taking over the bodies of each new head of the cult for centuries and, well, he genuinely had power to back him and his cult up.

Not really a shock there, to be fair, since he claimed his powers to originate from the sleeping deity who blessed him with a portion of his power.

Vlad didn't, bro just stole a portion of his power and claimed it as a blessing lawl. Not that the cult knew that-

So the Justice League managed to break their way into the place holding said sleeping deity that also acted as the base for the cult leader and, well. Yea he truly does have the power to back himself up and, if the magic users had anything to say about, a very magically powerful deity he follows too.

So they're kinda screwed if said Deity wakes up, they don't even know when he will actually, neither did the cult leader. He just will 'eventually' which isn't as descriptive as some (read: Batman) would like.

First things first, beat up and disband the cult, figure out a way to prevent the sleeping deity's awakening later.

So they were fighting a battle (shocker I know) with their forces spread between their world and the pocket dimension and things weren't looking quite as good as they hoped. Lots of causalities, both civilians, heroes and even villains alike, a whole lot of magic and powers being thrown about and the monologuing of the cult leader who was floating above said sleeping god.

You could even think it to be symbolic in some way, that he thinks himself above a god.

So, safe to say, in all of this chaos they weren't exactly expecting a new voice to join the fray.

"What exactly, in the Infinite Realms, happened while I was doing paperwork?"

And the owner of said voice, to be a goddamn dragon.

[eddiezpaghetti]

It has come to my attention that SOME OF YOU who read my last Byler post remain UNCONVINCED. So I'm gonna tack onto it this:

I'm older than fucking God and air, and I've been out and proud since 2007. Yes, I know what homophobia is, and yes, I know what queerbaiting is. I know about Supernatural and Teen Wolf and Sherlock and blahdyblahdyblah. No new ground is being covered here. I thought I made that clear in the original post, but, clearly, I did not.

I am aware of queerbaiting and homophobia, and I'm still wholeheartedly certain in Byler being canon anyway.

Okay, so there are three types of relationship I want to discuss when it comes to queerbaiting. They're all, like, "queer relationships that could have happened, but didn't".

First off, queer-coding. This isn't really a thing so much anymore, but it still crops up every once in a while. I'd argue it probably happens most with male-male relationships in family shows these days. First example that comes to mind is Mr. Smiley and Mr. Frowny from Steven Universe. You can't make a relationship canon because some shitty overhead bastard overhead said no, so you get as close as you can without compromising the show. Can't make someone gay? Well, now their comedy routine is a blatant allegory for a romantic relationship. Boom-shaka-laka. This is something I don't see being a problem with regards to Stranger Things, but I want it to be there as contrast, a demonstration of one of many things queerbaiting is not. However, one could argue that, thus far, Will Byers is, canonically, queer-coded. It's pretty fucking heavily implied in the show, and the creators have confirmed it, and you're gonna be able to see it if you're not FUCKING BLIND, but word of god is not technically canon which means that interviews don't technically make something canon, blahdyblahdyblahdyblah, technicalities, Robin has been explicitly stated in the text to be queer while Will has, thus far, not, outside of good ol' Show-Don't-Tell. Of course, anyone with two brain cells to rub together can tell that that's going to change by the end of Season 5, but, hey, for what it's worth, I'm throwing this out there.

Alrighty, Thingamajingama Number Two: "Oops, I accidentally made the greatest love story known to man." AKA, a genuine, honest-to-goodness mistake. Unfortunately, we do live in a heteronormative society. Sometimes people who don't think about being gay much write a friendship that's incredibly compelling and don't even consider the possibility that it could have been read as romantic. Something something Top Gun something. This is, again, not queerbaiting. This is Steddie, this is Ronance, this is Elmax, this is your favorite flavor of non-canon ship this week, this is not Byler. The creators know DAMN well what they're doing. They've talked about it. We know this. Nothing new here.

Which brings us to the topic of discussion here. Actual queerbaiting. This usually starts out as an "accidental greatest love story", and then reacts to fan response. And when I say "reacts", I mean like a goddamn chemical reaction. Like bleach and ammonia, bitch. It's noxious and it's gonna kick your fucking ass without mercy. This is when a creator is like, "Hey, let's get our queer audience invested, but we're not actually going to give them what they want because our straight audience isn't here for that/we personally think it's gross/we don't give enough of a shit to want to research a goddamn thing to write a real gay character," blah blah blah whatever excuse they want to come up with this time.

And when you think "queerbaiting", I want you to think "bullying". Because that's what it is. It's lucrative bullying, like beating us up and taking our lunch money, but it's bullying all the same. And it's a real goddamn thing, even if people misuse the word a lot, often when they mean one of the two above, sometimes when they mean "bury your gays", which is another homophobic thing entirely that I'm not going to get into here. Queerbaiting is the thing we're focused on, and it's real, and it's bullying. And here's the reason I want you to think of it as bullying:

They

Think

It's

Funny.

They are actively making fun of us.

That's why Dean had the "Cas, get out of my ass," line in Supernatural. It's why the "Do you like boys?" line happened in Teen Wolf. It's why "Lie with me, Watson," happened in the RDJ Sherlock Holmes movies. Because "It's just a joke, mate." "It was just a prank, bro." "You didn't really think it would happen, did you?" "You should see your face."

So here's probably the biggest reason I don't think it's specifically queerbaiting in this specific instance of Will Byers and Mike Wheeler.

Stranger Things has never, not once, made a gay joke. Ever.

Every single time queerness comes up, it's dead serious.

Lonnie calls Will a fag, and the show is not at all reluctant to show what a goddamn horrible person he is. And when Hopper latches onto that, it's not as "Hahah, is he gay, though?" It's because he's trying to determine a potential motive for Will's disappearance, and even if someone had interpreted it as a joke, Joyce immediately has a line that functions as snapping her fingers in front of the audience's face and yelling "FOCUS" when she says "He's MISSING." Basically outright saying "This isn't funny!"

Troy calls him a fairy, along with targeting Lucas and Dustin for their skin color and disability respectively, and Mike gets damn near murderous. Troy is portrayed as a goddamn monster and the show portrays it as justice when El makes him piss his pants and later breaks his arm.

Steve calls Jonathan "queer" as a slur and gets the shit beat out of him for it.

Billy's father is revealed to be homophobic and abusive in the same breath.

Mike says "It's not my fault you don't like girls!" and we're shown how devastated Will is and Mike immediately follows him to beg for forgiveness.

There is a joke in Robin's coming-out scene, but it's not at Robin's expense. It's at Steve's. Specifically for being heteronormative.

Jonathan has multiple scenes where he's trying so hard to tell Will that he's always going to love him as he is, whether he's gay or not, without pressuring him to come out before he's ready.

Even when there's a little bit of ribbing at Robin's expense, it's always because she's an awkward nerd who's nervous around pretty girls, just the same as Lucas and Dustin are teased when they both first develop crushes on Max, and even then, even then, it always comes as a package deal where they make fun of Steve's girl problems at the same time.

Stranger Things is an emphatically pro-gay show. It may not be the core point of the show the way it is in, say, Our Flag Means Death, but there is nothing less than respect for its queer characters. Its queer characters are always taken completely seriously. No one is making fun of us. They never have. That's why I have serious doubts that this is queerbaiting. It would come completely out of left field for the bullying to start in Stranger Things' final season.

So it's not at all likely to be queerbaiting because queerness is taken completely seriously. The creators have talked about Will's queerness, at least, so it's not an accident. And queer-coding would be silly to expect from this show when it's already on its final season. Like, what is Netflix gonna do? Cancel it? Not to mention all the explicit queerness that's in there already. And no one's gonna "What about the children?" a show that's had sex scenes in it since the first season.

There's no fakeout here. It's gonna happen. Breathe.

[greenerteacups]

Hi GT. I hope this message finds you well. I am sending all the good vibes and we'll wishes your way! ♥️♥️♥️ I hope you've had a wonderful summer.

I'm such a big fan of your work. Lioneheart is amazing and has stuck with me for such a long time.

I was wondering if you had any other stories you'd like to explore one day (even if you never get the chance to write them.) Whether it be fanfiction or original work, I was just curious because sometimes I feel as if I have hundreds of stories inside that I could tell, and I am not sure how to pick just one and see it to completion.

First of all, thank you! This is a fun one. I have a few enduring ideas for longfics I may or may not ever write (i.e., ideas that would have been projects already if I didn't have an ongoing longfic). I don't get stuck in them mostly because I try to remind myself that the idealized story you imagine when a concept occurs to you will never actually exist as it does when it's unshackled by the constraints of execution. What you'll get if you actually sit down and hack it out is (1) a real and imperfect piece of writing, and (2) the satisfaction of having written it, which is by far the more reliable source of motivation, if we're being honest. That being said, here are some ideas I've always wanted to explore, if and when I finish Lionheart:

I've always wanted to write a longform canon-divergent Tomione fic about Tom Riddle's 7th year at Hogwarts. Big honking political melodrama ft. the original Knights of Walpurgis, a Triwizard Tournament, and realistically functioning time travel (hence why this one's always been kicked down my list of projects, because writing a time-travel plot is like running through a minefield made of trampolines). I've already got character concepts sketched out for the Hogwarts cast — sooooo many fun ideas for the teenage Walburga. But I'd still need about a week of solid fic preproduction on the plot alone before I was ready to boot up and start writing, and it'd take at least 250k words — closer to 300k, if I'm being honest about myself. So this probably won't see the light of day anytime remotely soon, if ever.

A canon-compliant Dramione war fic, diverging from the Malfoy Manor chapters in Book 7, picking up from a speculative thread I read once about what would happen if the war didn't end after Voldemort died at the Battle of Hogwarts. I've always thought it would be fascinating to see who Hermione and Draco would become if they were actual soldiers in the war (and my disappointment with how Book 7 handled the "war" of it all has been established). That being said, Book 7 of Lionheart will probably give me a lot of similar ideas to chew on, so I don't know what my appetite for this one will be once I'm finished with it.

Durmstrang AU. This one's barely a fic concept so much as it is a mental moodboard — I just want to worldbuild the hell out of Durmstrang. And the international wizarding world, generally. It's a delicious sandbox.

A longform canon-compliant fic or series of fics about the previous generation of Blacks (Sirius/Bellatrix/Narcissa, namely). If you look at the books, there's a huge amount we don't know about the fall of the Blacks. I always found it bizarre that the sisters and Sirius seem to be the only ones left by 1995. No one else has a claim? No one else from this all-powerful wizarding family wants to step in and claim this big honking townhouse in the middle of London? Or its attendant fortune? Dude, what happened? Also, we don't see nearly enough of the Black family melodrama in canon. They lose 4/5 children of a generation in the span of almost single decade. And then (presumably) all of their parents die in the span of another. Goddamn. Just imagine the character work you could do there.

A No Chosen One/Voldemort Wins (The First Time) AU where Hermione never gets her letter, and meets Draco much later in life as a self-taught witch. The dynamics I have in my head for this are really enjoyable, and it would be a chance to finally write Hermione POV, plus the Draco I've cooked up for this universe is [chefs kiss]. I also just love the idea of Hermione as a feral witch-child running around muggle London. I love it a lot.

[starsomens]

Okay hear me out

Noah and the reader have been together for years and one day when he came back home preparing for a special date with the reader she came in and they had a huge argument because of fake dating rumours about him and someone else online and the reader goes back to where she originally lived and the guys promised her that they wouldn't let Noah go but eventually he does chase after her to explain everything but here's the thing the day of the date...

He was going to propose.

idk if you like this idea just something that came up in my mind at 3am I just need you to write a actual good version of my version

Love you so much❤

Hello my love! It did not ignore this it’s because I took THAT long to get it all done 😭

I will use Poppy as a place holder of the rumors for this ask. I DO NOT CONDONE SENDING HATE TO POPPY OR SUPPORT OR SPREAD ANY RUMORS OR SPECULATION ABOUT HER!

"Don't act like you don't love the attention you getting from her!" you yell back at him

"Are you fucking stupid? Do you fucking hear yourself?" he yells back

This was a very explosive argument. This was their biggest tour yet, and successful nonetheless! But...there of course is always a downside to things and in this case it was, rumors. Specifically, romance rumors with Poppy since he had been seen with her a few times. The first was at the release party where Noah was attending without you....then the tour started.

You were tagged in countless pictures and posts of Poppy and Noah how everyone was calling them a cute couple, asking about you and asking if you both had split. Then the handshakes started, no it wasn't a big deal but with everything piling on....her doing something like a handshake...something so cute....you only wanted it to be with you

He came home wanting to take you out but you were just so tired and over everything. You didn't even give Noah one of your long passionate kisses like you usually did

"Yeah I do! It sounds like one of us is making sense!"

"Goddamn it Y/N, what the fuck is your problem?"

"You and her are my problem!" you were trying hard to hold back tears and keep your voice strong

"Will you fucking grow up, she toured with us, she sang on stage-"

"She wore you jacket, she did handshakes with you, you twirl her-"

"Are you fucking kidding me? A twirl? How old are you 5?"

"You don't fucking get it Noah," you sigh sitting back down on the sofa massaging your temples "it's more than that-"

"No it's not Y/N! You're fucking jealous over an artist who toured with us! You're so fucking insecure you can't stand to think I'm talking or interacting with some girl I work with," he snapped "i bust my ass on tour, show after show and I come back only for you to put up this bullshit?"

"......"

"Yeah keep you're fucking mouth shut because you know you're on some bullshit letting social media dictate our relationship like the gullible dumbass you are!"

You felt your chest snap and you bite your inner cheek as you stand from the sofa and go near the front door.

“Y/N….Y/N wait, I didn’t mean that you know what I mean- it’s- you’re not-“

The door slams and you left your shared home. You just walked instead of taking the car and that way he just wouldn't know where you were since the car was home. You even texted Nick and Jolly to keep him at bay because you just wanted space and to be alone.

This is NOT how this night was supposed to go....at all. AT ALL! He wanted to come home, take you to your favorite place, some ice cream after and then ask you to-

*Knock knock*

It was Nick and Jolly, they had com initially to try and calm the situation down, mostly Noah and to figure out what happened and how it all went down hill. Well, Noah explained what had happened. He started to hear the story for himself from his own mouth, and he stopped in the middle of the story and just stood up from the couch.

“I need to find her.”

“Look man, I think she just wants her space this was a lot-“

“You don’t get it Nick I NEED to find her. One way or another I’m gonna talk to her and apologize”

They really did try and stop him. They tried to stop him from leaving the house, but somehow his lanky ass got out the door. He gone to the car and drove around for a few minutes thinking of where you could possibly be. He tried calling and texting you and you were completely ignoring him. He even asked your friends, but he knew that they wouldn’t give him any information knowing that if he told them, he upset you, they would never want to hear from him again.

“Come on think! Think!” He scolds himself “…….wait what if-“

He makes a sudden turn on his next right. There was one place he could try, it may have been a slight chance but he remembered you said that it was strangely cozy and calming to be there. And it was a close enough walk to get there in about 10 minutes or so

As soon as he makes it to his studio building, he parks quickly and makes his way to the door and upstairs. Usually he would like doing some studio work at Home, most times when he is in the studio it’s when he’s working with the rest of the boys or really just needs to focus into the song he’s working on. He had you with him couple times and you really liked it there. He had given you a copy of the key to the studio only because if you ever felt that you were unsafe or you needed somewhere to go he wanted me to be somewhere where people knew you and he knew you’d be safe there. It was more than an emergency type of thing for you to have the key, but this was the one place he knew that you may be in.

He he he thought that you may have not been there, but he heard the very familiar sniff of you when you were crying….shit.

He gives a knock to one of the tables as to not startle you. He sees you and walks over to you, huddled into a ball and you were facing away from him. You knew his presence was there, but you didn’t want to look at him he said.

“Hey…..” he has no idea why he would start that way when he knew that you wouldn’t answer that

“Y/N, look I know I fucked up and I shouldn’t have said what I said, and you know that I didn’t mean it. I never think of you that way-“

“ but you still said it. It Hass to be true for you in some part of your mind…..” wasn’t true at all. He was just spewing bullshit. He doesn’t think any of that you ever in his entire life.

“No I don’t. Y/N, was being stupid Oky? I didn’t mean anything when I said that. None of that is true. I’ve never seen you that way in my eyes you know that….im sorry.” he knew that no matter what his explanations were he still had to apologize to you and he really was sorry from the deepest parts of his heart. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt the person he loved the most in this world.

His heart broke every time he heard you sniff, or he saw the very faint shape of a tear falling down your cheek

“Y/N…. You know when we started dating I had a really deep talk here actually with Nicolas. that’s when I told him that I was seeing you, but I also told him that I was really scared…” he admits, you never heard from him “ I was scared because I didn’t know I would be doing the right thing and I didn’t know if I knew how to be a good partner in a relationship, especially because of growing popularity of the band I was…afraid that it would scare you off”

You turn your head just a bit, but not completely as you listen to his story

“ and Nick gave me probably the best advice I could have for that moment. He told me that relationships wouldn’t be easy because they never are and I’m going to fuck up really bad sometimes….. and you’ll forgive me even though I fucked up really bad. You should have forgive me still did.

“I-“

“ if you don’t forgive me, I understand. But I need you to understand that I know in this world you’re…you’re my entire world at this point, my source of happiness. Was supposed to go this way. I had an entire thing planned and I fucked it up because I didn’t reassure you in the right way.”

“Noah I….maybe I was-“

“No you weren’t. I know what you’re going to say and you weren’t being overdramatic you weren’t being jealous. Miscommunication, but that wasn’t your fault. It was mine for not clearing it up. I wanted to do this in a different setting and a different way but…” he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a tiny box. He opens it to reveal delicate, like it was personally crafted to his design.

“Noah…..” you just couldn’t pinpoint your mix of emotions. You were still mad at him but at the same time you should have known better than to believe rumors and he pulled out.

“Y/N, my princess, my world, my muse, my everything. You’re the reason I keep going and keep trying to be a better person. The amount of questions I’ve answered as to how I’ve been able to do so many things and accomplish so many obstacles and just improve myself as a person and an artist…. All my answers come back to you. You are the reason for everything. We had a lot of thinking to do and one of the constant thoughts in my mind was you….”

You turned around fully facing him, fat tears running down your cheeks, and all you could do was just guck at him while he poured his emotions out. You were mad at him you knew how hard it was for him to fully express himself emotionally.

“… constantly every issue, every decision I always went back to you and how he would feel and what you would say. I love you. I went to the local jewelers and looked at rings and I bought it without hesitation because I just knew. I’m an asshole, and a jerk,”

“And a big fat meanie pants” you throw in your inside joke and he chuckles

“Yes, the biggest meaniest pants in the world. But the one thing I know I’m sure of is that I love you and I don’t want to picture the rest of my life without you. Y/N….will you give me the honor of being your husband? If you’ll still have me.”

You chuckle as the tears still fall

“ you are the dumbest guy I’ve ever dated…..”

He could feel his heart sinking his chest, thinking that you were about to rip him a new one, and he wouldn’t blame you….

“But, you’re also the most sincere I’ve been with……Noah, somehow always find a way to make up for your wrongs and I have no idea how you do it” you giggle as you closer to him, he was still holding the box waiting for your response

“ as long as you promise you’ll make up for tonight I think I can marry you”

“Awh even after I poured my entire soul out to you?” he says, sarcastically holding a hand over his chest. “ I think I can work something out.”

“You better, I can take my back answer back” smile slides the ring onto your finger and hold your hand tightly

“Eh I don’t think so baby, you’re stuck with me for life now,” he slides his hand up your arm after he puts the ring on and gently squeezes and caress the skin with his thumb

“I really am sorry baby. Truly deeply sorry.” he stands up and holds your hands as he do to bring you up with him and he brings you into a hug as he repeatedly kisses your head. “ and makes it up to you. I think I know a way to put those rumors to rest.”

“You do?” You looking up at him and he gives you a nod

The next day, Noah takes it upon himself to get back onto his social media platforms and announce his engagement to you. He made sure to include some of his favorite pictures of you guys together and wrote a heartfelt small paragraph. Putting arrest to the rumors and addressing who it was in his life that he loved the most.

It was saved to say that the band and him had blown up over the next week with the engagement course, Noah wasn’t big on social media as he has stated before and it wasn’t a huge deal but him going out of his way to put a statement out there on your end his behalf really did mean something to you. Next step was to plan for the actual wedding.

[purpledemonlilyposting]

Oh good Lorch is opening her mouth about Utena again. A series she only talks about because ND Stevenson and Rebecca Sugar made references to it, and because I criticized her takes on it.

Spoilers and long ass diatribes below.

[Lily's Post]

Let's do this point by point shall we?

The Thermian Argument was coined by Dan Olson... you know the Breadtuber who uploaded lolicon onto 8chan so he could write an article about how there's lolicon on 8chan. So that's a good start.

What it apparently means is a logical fallacy wherein someone uses the text of a work to quash criticism of something offensive in that work.

I'm sure Lily is going to use it to mean you can't use the text of the work to quash her own misinterpretation of that text.

Ah this is how we know she has FINALLY maybe actually watched the series. She has never mentioned the incestous tones between the three different sets of siblings in the show before now.

It isn't really played for a joke. With Nanami it's her immaturity. She doesn't really get why its inappropriate to hold her brother up as the ideal man and want chaste kisses from him like when they were little. Just like she doesn't get why its inappropriate to refer to her elementary schooler simp as her "boyfriend". She's clad in yellow when she tries to take her brother's place on the student council for a reason. She's very naive, very immature, still clinging to childhood notions of the world. Akio tries to encourage Touga to take her affection in a sexual direction to manipulate both of them, but Nanami resolutely rejects it. Because the adult reality of her childhood fancy is not what she actually wants.

Some people also speculate Nanami is a deeply closeted lesbian, given she's quick to accuse Utena of being one. And that by holding up her brother, an unattainable man, as the ultimate ideal man she's excusing herself from having to engage with other men.

And yes she drowned a kitten she originally gave to her brother out of jealously. By putting it in a box and pushing it into a reservoir. When she was a little kid and didn't know any better. And regretted it immediately.

Get this Lily: characters... can have flaws.

And that's probably why she constantly has bad karma with animals. Well also Anthy fucking with her.

Kozue and Miki are a whole other story. There was one event in their childhood that shattered how close they used to be, then their parents divorced and neither one of them really knows what to do with those feelings as they enter adolescence.

At what point is any of it fetishistic? It's always depicted as a negative thing. Do you just think it's fetishistic because of your own very obvious incest fetish Lily?

Also we're talking about princes and princesses here when the reality is often times there were arranged marriages between siblings among royalty so. You know. There's that too.

Something happening in a piece of fiction isn't an endorsement.

Lily stop treating goddamn TV Tropes as your media criticism bible.

Maybe instead of just going by what Noralities says you could, I dunno, just watch the show, and pay attention, and try to follow what it is communicating to you, and then draw your own conclusions? Wild idea I know.

Well golly gee and who was the one out here saying "Utena isn't yuri" "Utena isn't gay rep" and getting shat on on Twitter for it? You know the same Twitter conversations YOU try to use against me?

More like it's impossible for you to understand the themes because it is a very abstract, metaphorical and surrealist piece of media.

By the way Lily the primary driving theme of RGU is adolescence. That "apocalyptic" period between childhood and adulthood. The process of the death of the child and the birth of the adult. Those inbetween years when you are neither. And all of these people are within a hazy endless summer at Ohtori Academy until they find their path to adulthood, with Akio and Anthy preying upon them.

You don't have to like it Lily. No one gives a damn. The fans will continue discussing and analyzing this work as we have done for the past almost 30 years. Your input is not needed.

https://ohtori.nu/analysis/

https://satirist.org/essays/utena/

So absolute proof Lily had not watched the show in 17 years when she ran her mouth about it in her 2023 SU video. You know the thing that directly lead to me becoming a YouTuber and a thorn in her side:

(pun absolutely intended)

Again: no one gives a damn if you don't like it. And yeah, it's not a very accessible series to the average viewer. Oh well!

You said it, not me.

Utena is an important piece of art beyond it being anime, Lily. Suck it up. It's a product of the people and time it was made in, by their own studio with their own rules. Only that exact confluence of events could have lead to its creation.

[beauty-and-passion]

Love Olympus: the "charming" lessons we learned from it

Hi! Are you searching for a good story, filled with creativity, care, coherence and beautiful art style? Then please, turn left and you will find something worth your time.

Here we will talk about that beautiful, terrible disaster that is Lore Olympus. Ah, it's always so nice to read a new retelling of Greek mythology and find out it's basically the same 200 stereotypes slapped together into something that's way older and staler than the original. What did my ancestor ever do to the world, to be treated like that.

But I've already talked about what a waste of potential Lore Olympus is, how pathetic the writing is and how bad the protagonists are. I've spent more than enough words commenting on why this series could've been great and came out like this.

Now there's only one thing left: to make fun of it. To draw our conclusions on the whole thing and the finale and find out what "wonderful" messages we got from it.

Don't worry: the messages are absolutely wonderful and I'm not sarcastic, not at aaaaall.

_______________________________

Planning in advance is for the weak

Don't you know how to fill your third season, after the "battle" that closed season 2? No problem! People will read you anyway, so instead of planning and moving the plot forward, waste everyone's time writing chapter after chapter of pure nothingness: your characters can have discussions so stupid, that people will question if they have been written by using ChatGPT. That will surely prove what a great writer you are!

And don't worry too much about the plot: just wait until inspiration magically falls from the sky. That's how it works, isn't it? Stories are just random events slapped together, with no planning, care or coherence whatsoever. When we write a story, we don't want to treat our readers like intelligent human beings, oh no: people are idiots, so we can just throw them the first shit that pops out of our minds and everything will be fine.

_______________________________

Coherence is for the weak

After waiting for inspiration (that somehow hasn't fallen from the sky yet, jeez I wonder why), you still don't know what to do with your plot? Easy, use one of the villains! Like the rapist guy! Now he's running for President.

Yes, we know there is a monarchy in this land, because there is a king, but it doesn't matter. The rapist is trying to be President now. President of what, you ask? It doesn't matter! Presidents exist, right? So he's trying to be one, that's all you need to know.

Will he become President? He's running from it, that's all! You don't need to know what happens after that! As we all know, stories do not have closed plot points, they're just random shit thrown around. So why care about solving a problem you just raised? Just forget it, it's not important.

Is the story supposed to take place in Olympus or, at least, in Greece? Well, what's the problem? As we all know, Europe and the US are basically the same thing, so how different can Greece and America be?

I mean: one is a huge country with many climate zones and wide areas, the other is a small, hot country mostly made of mountains and islands. One has a millennia-years-old culture that influenced the entirety of the West, the other is literally called the New World, to emphasize how young it is. Same place.

So, since they're so similar they're basically identical, just fill your Greece with American stuff and give your characters English names. Greece is notoriously full of English names. It's not like there are millions of people with similar names because parents give their own parents' names to their offspring and sometimes all siblings give their parents' names to all their children and the result is that your cousins all have the same goddamn name and you all came up with nicknames to distinguish between them.

No, that's not based on personal experience, what makes you think that.

_______________________________

The protagonist is better than anyone else

Is Zeus telling you he wants to give his child to some nymphs, because he knows won't be a good father? Well, clearly the most normal thing to do is steal his baby. No, not because you're a psychopath, but because you clearly know how to handle the baby better than some nymphs. Remember: you are the protagonist, hence you are better at everything anyone can do, especially a stupid nymph. You will care for the baby more and better than anyone else, no doubt.

Is the child you stole running around without supervision? But you took care of him! You even hired a babysitter! No, of course you didn't spend time with him, you were busy! What? It could've been better to leave the child with the nymphs as Zeus wanted, because at least they would've spent their time with the child and not hired someone else to do it? Listen, we don't work with logic here and you are the protagonist, so of course all of your decisions are perfect and should never be questioned.

Speaking of kids: is your mother telling you she had a son who died? Time for some favoritism! Your husband is the god of the dead, so death isn't a problem anymore. What? Death is supposed to be impossible to overcome? But you're the protagonist, so the mere mortals' rules do not apply to you. Death is nothing, compared to your perfection.

Oh no, you accidentally caused winter! And a genocide! But remember: you're the protagonist, so of course you're always perfect. And you didn't do it on purpose, so you're automatically innocent and people attacking you are just mean and jealous.

See? You're so perfect, you found a way to solve the problem! How? Easy, by believing in yourself ✨✨✨ And by talking (badly) about how life and death are linked. Yes, we know it's the equivalent of saying that 2+2=4, but we don't want to treat our readers like intelligent people, here. All they have to do is just revel in your perfection.

_______________________________

More villains! Because Yes!

Do you still have no idea what to do with your plot, after too many useless chapters? Easy, use the cartoonish supervillain! He will do the trick! And throw another naked woman to defeat him: it worked once, it'll work again.

Is your cartoonish supervillain actually useless? No problem, make another villain even more useless. And make him appear out of thin air for two chapters. And since readers are stupid, just tell them that he was the evil mastermind behind everything. They'll eat it up.

Oh, and President Loser is in cahoots with SuperMegaVillain now. Why? Because Yes, of course.

You don't know how to defeat SuperMegaVillain? 🧑‍🤝‍🧑Avengers Assemble🧑‍🤝‍🧑and you're done. It worked for Marvel, it'll work for your story too. I know it's settled in Greece and fertility goddesses do not have resurrection powers or whatever the fuck they're doing, but shhhhh.

_______________________________

Random justice is good

With all those villains to defeat, you forgot your story is supposed to be a retelling of the myth of Hades and Persephone? No problem, just stick a "Gaia Ex-Machina" here and let her solve the story with a power and authority she doesn't have. No one will notice the difference.

Speaking of justice: is the rapist gonna get the punishment he deserves? Sure, get this: he will fall in love with you and turn himself in. And he will get community service as punishment.

Are you saying that this isn't a real punishment? But of course it is! He turned himself in! The victim isn't allowed to expose him, nor to see him actually getting punished. All the victim can do is walk away. It's not that lack of control is a big deal for a rape victim, right? And seeing the rapist finally get punished won't give them the catharsis they need, right? And it definitely won't free them of the huge weight they carry on, because of the awful, horrible act they suffered from, right?

Of course not, so ah ah ah, the rapist gets to build places, very funny. And aside from that stupid punishment, of course he's free to walk around and, who knows?, maybe rape someone else. Wow, justice truly works well in this place! I would feel so safe to go around there!

_______________________________

Queer people are stupid too (and ghosts, sometimes)

All those villains could've been great in a story centered around Zeus? We don't work with Zeus here: we hate men, all men except for the capitalist hubby of our dreams. So Zeus is a useless piece of shit and he will keep being a useless piece of shit until the end. Also, he's not a real king anymore, because apparently democracy popped out of nowhere and everyone just rolls with it. I wonder why it too centuries to accept it all over the world...

And Hera is a lesbian now. Why? I already told you we don't work with logic here. She's a lesbian because queer people are idiots too, so thrown them a queer character and they will like it, doesn't matter if it makes zero sense.

Uh? Are you saying that asexual and aromantic people exist too? No, of course not: they're just waiting for the hot lesbian of their dreams or for the hubby that will turn them into wives and mothers.

Hence why the organization centered around celibacy closed: it was just a cover for lesbians after all! And we all know that women can only be lesbians or mothers. A woman doesn't want or feel any romantic attraction? She doesn't exist, then.

Wow people, I don't exist! I'm a ghost!

_______________________________

Feminism means gender stereotypes

As Wikipedia says, feminism is:

"... a range of socio-political movements and ideologies that aim to define and establish the political, economic, personal, and social equality of the sexes."

But Wikipedia is stupid, while we won a shit ton of prizes for some reason, so we're the good authors here. And we decided that feminism means "women good, men bad". This definitely isn't a point of view based on a warping of the original concept of feminism, that focused on helping women because, since societies are patriarchal, men already have a powerful position. Hence why, feminism fought (and fights) to give women a powerful position too: to make both genders on the same plane.

But nope, this is all stupid and wrong and doing research is underrated - after all, we wrote a story entirely based on the first shit that popped into our mind, so why do research about this? Let's focus on the superficial vision of feminism and fight for women's equality, by making them lesbians or mothers.

Because sure, feminism is good, but capitalism is better. And since capitalism wants you to have kids, go home to your rich hubby and have a ton of kids you definitely won't neglect, like the child you stole or the supposed godson you never cared about and only after he's an adult "sometimes" you have a conversation with. That's how a perfect, traditional family works, after all. And we know this didn't lead to any generational trauma at aaaaall.

_______________________________

In conclusion

I don't know if you noticed the teeny tiny veil of sarcasm in my words. I know, it was so subtle, almost invisible. I made it oh-so-hard to find it, please let me know how hard it was.

But you know what? This story is over and I needed to let some sarcasm out. I am finally free to read something else, possibly (hopefully!) better.

And the next time I will approach another retelling... who am I kidding, I know I will fall for it like an idiot because that's what I do every time. They get me with something I love and once I find out it's shitty, I keep reading because I want to see how bad it is.

In this, Lore Olympus didn't disappoint: I expected something bad, I got something bad. And, sometimes, it was so bad, to make me laugh, so extra points for the stupidity: I appreciate something that makes me laugh, way more than something that makes me angry.

And, as I said in my previous posts, even something bad is useful, because it teaches you how NOT to do something.

So thank you, Lore Olympus, for being a terrible teacher. And thank you for making me appreciate the original myths even more. There's a reason why they still stand after millennials and can still capture the popular imagination, while this series will probably be forgotten in a couple years.

To you all, my readers: if you managed to reach the end of LO like me, congrats for surviving it, I hope you learned something useful about how to make better art.

But if you never approached Lore Olympus, don't do it: it's not worth the time you will lose.

Unless you want to see with your own eyes how does it look a story with zero planning and random ideas thrown everywhere. In that case, please, be my guest: read it and learn how not to write. You will learn a lot from this.

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(How about a coffee? ☕)

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[arcane-vagabond]

Hey.

Go ahead and get settled because this will be...long, in true Liz fashion.

So, by now I'm sure most of you have heard what's happened. If not, you can search this blog for some answers or others for more.

I joined this fandom offiicially at the end of September after being a long time lurker. I had just lost my job and times were uncertain for me. I felt inspired to write, and as someone whose formative years were shaped by the fandom experience, I wanted to feel that sense of belonging again - to feel like a part of a community. I've talked about it on here before, but I started my fandom days in the original Hunger Games fandom when the first movie had just come out, and then I shifted gears towards the SuperWhoLock fandom. If you know anything about SuperWhoLock, then you know you had to have pretty tough fucking skin to be a part of any of it.

Of course, this was back in the day when fandom was an actual community and not authors having to beg for scraps of engagement and people thinking its a numbers game. I was a fairly large blog within the SuperWhoLock community (Waywardly-Carrying-On was the username), but I left fandom for a few years because life got hectic and I felt like I had outgrown the fandom itself as I was no longer watching any of the shows. As the years went on, I started to yearn for the fandom experience again, which is how I found myself dipping toes into several different ones.

I was so excited to publish my first fanfic. I had convinced myself that I wasn't a good writer (much to the chagrin of my irl friends), and I had put a pause on writing my original story. I wanted to write this idea about a cowboy and a girl using characters that I had grown to love like I did way back in my older days. So, I started posting, and I was so excited for the story, that I kept posting almost daily. MamaMay was one of the first people to embrace not only my story, but me as a person into the fandom. She made me feel welcomed and wanted.

Pretty much right off the bat I was already getting anons telling me that I was being too much and that I needed to calm down with all the posting. I was confused because...this is Tumblr. It's literally a blogging website? Why wouldn't I post? I decided to ignore the mean words (not before giving my opinion, of course) and kept on doing my thing. Well, the anons got continually worse and worse. I had a suspiscion as to who the anons could be, but I never had concrete proof. So, I experimented with blocking suspects until finally it worked. I'm not naming names because that's not my style, so don't even bother asking.

The fact of the matter is, some of you have entered fandom spaces for the first time, and you don't know how to act. You don't care to learn fandom etiquette as you've made abundantly clear by calling fandom olds every name under the sun while utilizing the anonymous feature. Newsflash, you're part of the problem. You're the reason why authors don't want to publish anymore. You are the reason that something that's supposed to be fun is starting to feel like a goddamn chore.

How many times can authors on here say that we aren't machines? We have lives outside of this website: family, friends, jobs, school, etc. Some of you really are just hellbent on making everyone around you miserable, and it's sad. You can't just leave well enough alone and let people enjoy something, no you feel like everyone has to enjoy it the same way as you.

Some of you go after authors on here because of some weird sense of jealousy too. I don't know why my shit blew up, babe, I really don't. But I started out with no followers and no support just like everyone else. I'll tell you what helped me though: following fandom etiquette and reaching out to other creators to build an actual community. None of this "I've reblogged three of your things and now I'm messaging you so that you return the favor." No, I reached out to make actual friendships which is what fandom is SUPPOSED to be. If someone was clearly not interested, it was fine!! I backed off and kept doing my own thing.

Some of you think being mean on the internet makes you big and bad. Guess what! It doesn't! It's loser mentality and I feel genuinely sorry for you. I'm sorry that people in your own life made you feel so small as to feel like you had to lash out at strangers on the internet who are just trying to have fun.

Anyway, this is my really long way of saying that I am taking a break for a little bit. I have no idea how long it will be - could be the weekend, could be a couple of weeks, could be forever. I need time to decide if this is something I want to keep persuing. If I come back, I don't know if I will remain a TGM blog or if I'll shift gears and hop into another fandom with a rebrand. Guess we'll just have to see.

To the people on here who have been a constant source of joy, laughter, and support: thank you. From the bottom of my heart. Your presence has meant everything to me, and I hope that my break sees me wanting to come back and giggle about the silly plane movie with you all again.

Nothing but love,

Liz 💛

[dickgraysonsptsd]

Also, pleaseeee expand on incestuous teen titans!! Like the original 5 or all of them? :oo

ALL OF THEMMM and by all of them i primarily mean the original fab five and the ntt/tntt gang! based on who appears in titans 99/08 i would say my like core mental group of "Oh My God, That IS Incestuous" Titans is: dick, roy, donna, wally, garth, raven, gar, vic, kory. maybe i'm forgetting someone. if i am don't worry about it.

the "incestuous" comment specifically is from titans (1999) #13 when jesse quick calls the titans out for being "like a family... in all the worst ways":

Jesse: When you told me the Titans were like a family--I guess I thought you just meant in the nice way--closeness, you know. Loyalty. But you're also a family in all the worst ways. You may all be great heroes in your own right--I know, I've studied some of you--but together you're disorganized, reactionary, and incestuous.

we're using incestuous in both the "you're a family who has romantic/sexual relationships with each other" way + the less literal secondary definitions (which is what jesse primarily means in context):

"designating or characterized by a relationship of exceptional closeness or interrelation, often one regarded as unproductive, unseemly, etc." (collins english dictionary)

"being so close or intimate as to prevent proper functioning" (dictionary.com)

"excessively or improperly intimate or exclusive" (merriam-webster dictionary)

it's obviously not literally incest for the titans to sleep together, but i loooove jesse using "incestuous" because of that overlap between "you guys are a so-close-you-literally-see-each-other-as-family friend group AND YOU KEEP FUCKING EACH OTHER" and "you guys are sooooo goddamn strange about each other and it makes it weird as fuck for everyone not in your... THING."

like they are suchhh messy weird enmeshed bitches! they are not reasonable or normal about each other! and the core titans are fine with that. all my saved panels re: this are about dick because i have literally 1 personality trait (liking dick grayson) but this is true of the other titans as well and their intensity about each other is present in all post-crisis titans runs that i know of.

for dick-based evidence, see titans (1999) #13, when vic vents to gar about dick keeping secrets from him:

Garfield: Nightwing manipulates people all the time, man. It's a Bat thing.

and later, titans (1999) #43:

Dick: Jesse hates me, Argent's scared of me, Donna hung up on me, and Wally thinks I'm nuts... and I just committed you all to fight a war in another dimension without so much as asking. Roy: Is that what's bothering you? Man, that's why we love you! You've been that way since day one!

for more direct "hey, are those guys a polycule?" implications, we get titans (2008) #2, when toni is talking to the elder titans and she asks "are you guys back together?":

Toni: Are you guys back together? Dick: No, not exactly. Donna: Well, in a sense. Roy: It's complicated. Well, not complicated-- Garfield: Geeeez, people. It's not like we're sending out invites and picking out china patterns. Relax.

going back in time to jla/titans (1998) #2, we get a thesis statement for the titans as a whole:

Dick: Unlike the JLA, the Titans aren't just about a promise to the world--it's also about a promise to each other... to ourselves. We swore on our childhood nightmares that we'd be there for one another. If I don't honor that I don't honor who I am.

and then the excellent "til death do us part" scene from jla/titans #3:

Dick: Did you give up, Vic? Is that what happened? Because if you did, even for a minute, I've got a secret to tell you. You can't give up. And I don't just mean because it isn't a good idea. I mean your friends. Your family. This fighting the good fight thing we're all in together until death--whether you realize it or not. It's under your skin, Vic.

they. are. so. SOOOO. SOOO resembling incest as by excessive intimacy HOLY COW. ITS UNDER YOUR SKIN ITS IN YOUR BLOOD... TITANS TOGETHER FOREVER BABEYYYY

[tamaruaart]

Keep in mind this isn't me hating on Kirke, I love that fucked up goddess she's such a fun character. But goddamn I hate her fans.

It's all just people trying to push feminism where it wasn't 🙃 Yes, it's true ancient Greece was kinda shitty towards women. But goddamn that was 3000 years ago. We can enjoy these stories but it's important to not push modern perspectives and view points on these stories while also not condoning these actions. Not to mention we may very well experience this kind of thing with future generations that will come after us so it's important to simply stay humble. Civilizations and humans are constantly evolving and viewpoints are constantly changing so it's not exactly fair to history nor ourselves to take these ancient ideologies to heart. Grow up.

Anyways Circe/Kirke is not your hot little witch cutie 🥰 She's a goddess and the daughter of the Sun Titan. She's done terrible things and that's what makes her iconic. Istg if she wasn't so infamous no one would even know about her. She's morally gray and that's what makes her so neat >:D Now, is it unforgivable to paint jer in a good light? No, but I think if you remove ALL of her questionable morality she losses her charms. She isn't the same Kirke anymore. (Looking at you MM, your writing is good but holy shit.)

It's not unforgivable, but it's simply incorrect. If anyone wants to learn more about Kirke's original/actual character, I don't really recommend most modern interpretations- (MM's novel, Hades 2, DC, Odyssey Movies, my bbg Epic the Musical etc...) I'd say just read the Odyssey, reasurch some older mythos and read the Argonautica.

Can you still like these interpretations of Kirke? Yes. Of course. I love Epic's Kirke even though she is pretty inaccurate. You just have to acknowledge they aren't the real thing! :D That happeneds with most characters ngl, no adaptation nor interpretation is going to be 100% accurate to the original, but with Kirke it's always so... Apparent? So visible. They never make her at LEAST 50% accurate. Which 🤬

She was not a victim, she wasn't incredibly horny, she wasn't a girlboss, she wasn't love sick for Odysseus (it's hinted she only found him to be an 'interesting mortal' of sorts) she wasn't 100% cartoon villain of the week either. She's MORALLY GRAY 🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️

She holds Odysseus' men hostage, she turns Scylla into a monster out of jealousy, she turns a man into a woodpecker because he didn't want to sleep with her. But she ALSO helps out Medea and Jason (even though it's because Medea was her neice but STILL) and she gives Odysseus instructions on how to head home.

She does BAD things that shouldn't be forgiven and aren't at all justified, but she also does GOOD things that should be acknowledged. She's a goddess. She's a character. She's morally gray. WHAT THE FUCK IS NOT CLICKING???? 😀

I just don't like modern interpretations of Kirke and I'm a meanie so I made this ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯

That's why I stick to my 3000 year old books instead of these puny ones that were written in my century 💪💪💪

Do not apply feministic messages or themes on Kirke. Nor any Greek mythology figure for that matter. This was 3000 years ago 😀 if you want to focus on feminism FOCUS ON WOMEN WHO ACTUALLY HAD TO STRUGGLE ABOUT THESE THINGS AND THAT EXISTED IN THE 19-21 CENTURY 😀😀😀😀 WHEN PEOPLE KNEW OR WELL WERE SUPPOSED TO KNOW FUCKING BETTER. OR JUST FOCUS ON MODERN FEMALE STRUGGLES THAT ARE RELATABLE??

Also, if I haven't already made it clear. LIKING A CHARACTER ≠ CONDONING THEIR ACTIONS. I'm just talking about all the people who either call her a girlboss, hate on other figures for being morally questionable but turn a blind eye when it comes to Kirke, and people who make fun of Odysseus and call him a man whore for sleeping with Circe and Calypso. (Despite the fact he's a literal victim)

And for the last time:

👏 THIS 👏 IS 👏 NOT👏 A 👏KIRKE 👏 THE GODDESS 👏 HATE 👏 POST. 👏 THIS 👏 IS 👏 ME 👏 SLANDERING 👏 SOME 👏 OF 👏 HER👏 FANS 👏 AND👏 MOST 👏MODERN 👏INTERPETATIONS👏 OF 👏THAT 👏TWISTED 👏MORALLY 👏GRAY👏 BITCH.

Also I made a typo in the meme. God damn it dyslexia. (It's should be 'transforming' not 'transformed')

[ohbo-ohno]

if the 1k game is still open, I’d like to throw in my two cents!

Ghost (or Ghoap) with Forest and Only (allotted amount of time) to escape before (bad thing happens)

I’m sure there’s plenty of ways to go with that!~ please take your time and remember to drink water today!!!!!

~🦋

1k game here - no more please!

i will drink water just for you babe. also i did ghoap x reader & forest & trying to escape, but ended up not including an allotted amount of time, hope that's alright!

1.5k of ghost watching soap and reader run from him during a zombie apolocypse. except the apolocypse is really more of a background thing and i just throw in mentions of zombies. no smut! (cw for a very brief mention of cannibalism, a sprained then broken ankle, kidnapping, and very light puppyplay at the end)

"You fucking idiot, Johnny," you hiss. "You're gonna get us killed!"

"Me?" He snarls, whirling around to glare at you, hackles raised. "You're fuckin' shoutin' like you want the bastard to find us!"

"Shhh! Could you be any louder?!"

"You goddamned feartie, I hope he kills you first!"

"What the fuck did you just call me?!"

Ghost just barely manages to bite back a laugh at your offended tone, the way you're nearly spitting at Johnny, even at nearly a foot shorter than him. It's like watching a kitten try and fight a dog - cute, but you know the dog could crush the kitten if things went a little too far.

But Simon doesn't mind watching you hiss and spit at Johnny, certainly doesn't see a need to step in any time soon.

He hadn't expected to find much more than a few corpses when the motion sensor around his property triggered an alarm in his base. He figured it was probably a few zombies, easy enough to deal with.

But then he spotted the two of you - a big Scotsman and his far smaller girl, bickering playfully and totally unaware of him in the shadows.

Originally he'd planned to kill the two of you. He's got enough food stored to make it through the winter, so he wouldn't have to bother with freezing your bodies for later. It would be almost comically easy to kill you, take a couple shots from far enough away that you'd never see them coming, drag your bodies off his property, and forget all about you.

But then Johnny - who's name he only knows because you use it frequently - had spotted him. And wasn't that interesting? It's been a long time since someone managed to spot Ghost while he was trailing them.

He'd noticed Johnny's injury soon after that. The two of you had taken off running - he's not sure why, but apparently you haven't had the best experience with strangers - and Johnny had limped beside you, his right ankle clearly giving him trouble.

That was near sunrise. Now, there's an hour or two before the sunsets.

Simon would like to have the two of you in his base before night falls. No point in risking losing one of you to a zombie, not when you're already vulnerable.

He's been herding the two of you in the right direction since about noon. The two of you had picked the right direction to run, almost making it fully out of Ghost's territory before he started redirecting you. It was easy to land a few shots in the dirt in front of you, send the pair of you scrambling in another direction.

You're closer to his base than either of you realize. Ghost's muscles twitch at the realization, the thought of having the two of you locked up fueling his adrenaline.

He already knows you'll both put up a good fight. He can't wait to see which one of you gives in first. He thinks it might be Johnny, can already picture the man being good after seeing how Ghost might treat you.

He tunes back into your argument as the land becomes more familiar, unable to resist smirking as he sees the path that Johnny's about to walk.

"I told you we should've been more on the lookout for other people."

"Don't even start! Ye know as well as me that the bastard came out of nowhere, don't act like we woulda seen him anyway."

"Well, now we'll never know."

"Exactly! So why're you still naggin' me about it?"

"Oh, really, I'm nagging? Really, Johnny?"

"Yes! What, you think saying it twice makes it less true?"

"Oh, fuck you, honestly, I don't even know why I bother helping you."

Johnny laughs, loud and very obviously fake. "You're helpin' me? Oh, now you've really lost it, lass. I've been dragging dead weight since this whole thing started! You know, I'm getting awful tired of-"

Johnny's just a few steps away, make that final little stretch as he talks, and Ghost holds his breath, waits....

Bam. Before he can finish his complaint, he's yanked into the air. His bad ankle is wrapped up tight in rope, a trap tugging that leg into the air and leaving his torso resting on the ground.

He grunts loudly, though not as loudly as Ghost had expected with his injury.

"Holy shit!" You nearly shout, rushing to Johnny's side and abandoning your argument. "Fuck, are you alright?"

The Scot makes a half-wheezed sound of affirmation, eyes squeezed shut.

"Fuck, alright, don't move. I'll get you out, alright?"

Before you can figure out how to make that happen, Simon steps out of the treeline. You catch sight of him immediately, eyes going wide as you clearly fight the urge to run and abandon your partner. You just barely manage to stop yourself, shifting into what looks like it's meant to be a defensive possession.

Ghost tilts his head, smirks behind the mask. "Where do you think you're goin'?"

Johnny's face is twisted in pain, leaving you to respond. "We don't mean any harm, alright? Just... just let me get him down, and we'll go."

Simon slings his rifle off his back, holds it casually in his arms. The way your hands twitch, the panic streaking across Johnny's expression... fuck, it gets him hard.

"Why would I let you do that?"

There's a little furrow between your brows, and Johnny starts to really squirm in is bindings.

"We won't tell anyone about you," you try, inching around Johnny's prone form. "Promise. You let us go, you'll never have to see us again."

That, Simon thinks, is the problem.

He hauls his gun up, takes quick aim, and shoots the rope tying Johnny up before either of you can properly panic. You both still scream when the branch falls, clattering to the ground on top of Johnny.

You're quick to help him up, your argument apparently entirely forgotten as you let him lean most of his body weight on your shoulders.

Ghost slings the gun back over his shoulder, pulling a length of rope out of his pocket. "Both of you, on your knees. Hands behind your heads, eyes closed."

"Oy." Johnny tries to move in front of you, but his now mangled ankle has to be kept completely off the ground for him to even stay standing. "You can't... we'll go, like she said. Promise, mate."

"Knees."

He'd be lying if he said he wasn't disappointed neither of you put up even a bit of fight. But he doesn't complain as he watches you fall to the ground first, letting Johnny use you to help himself.

"Good," Simon hums when you both settle, forms stiff but in the correct position. "Either one of you even twitches, I'll break your legs and leave you for the zombies."

You both shudder at that, and Ghost feels his cock throb in his jeans. He adjusts himself, then steps forward with the rope.

He's quick, not giving either of you time to properly react. You both get a matching loop of rough rope tied around your necks, just tight enough that the skin is already rubbed a bit raw, just from the initial tie.

"Don't move," Simon growls when Johnny jerks away, gripping the man's wrists and tugging them in front of him. "You want to die out here? Watch your little girlfriend get eaten alive?"

He flushes, teeth gritted in what's probably a mix of rage and pain. Sweat drips down his face, streaking through the filth. "She's not my girl."

"Johnny," you hiss, shifting restlessly on your knees. "Seriously?"

"What? Yer not."

"Is that really what you want to be focusing on right now?"

"Oh, would ye rather talk about the goddamn collar and leashes the bastard's given us?"

Ghost gives said leash a rough tug for that, finishing off the loops around Johnny's wrist and moving in front of you. "The bastard's right here."

You sit still, eyes still closed and limbs loose as you let him move your arms around. Johnny's the one who starts squirming, scowl deepening. "Really? Couldnae tell."

"Lotta sass from a man wearing a leash." Ghost yanks it again, nearly sending Johnny sprawling to the ground. He just manages to catch himself on his bound hands, and Simon finishes off yours.

He steps back, holding the length of rope stretching from your necks in one hand. He tugs solidly, smirks when you both stand as quickly as you can. "Up, now. Time to go home."

He doesn't spare either of you a glance, turning around and starting the rest of the journey home. He shows a bit of kindness, keep his pace slow since he can hear the way Johnny's breathing grows more ragged, hear his limp against the dead leaves.

Neither of you tug or try to run away, and Ghost can't help but smile at the obedience. He mentally crosses leash training off his to-do list. He had been looking forward to that one, but he's sure there'll be plenty of other interesting experiences with the two of you.

He's never trained two pets at once. He can't wait to see how it goes.

[myths-tournaments]

Awful Characters Round 2 Part 1 (5/8)

Propaganda under the cut!

SHEN JIU

YES he abused a child and killed an entire manor of people, but it was probably only one child and allegedly the people sucked. Surely this is not behavior deserving of being turned into a human stick or having your body possessed by a weeb. I love him because sometimes mean people are fun and also who can resist a good redemption tale (he deserves one).

BENNY GECKO

The first thing that happens in new vegas is that benny fucking shoots your character in the face, steals your shit and leaves you in an open grave. Benny is by all accounts a bastard. He kills you, steals from you, he killed his last boss, he is the single most duplicitous man around. His gang are all about honesty- except him. He's a lying, cheating bastard. The guys who helped him catch you? He skipped on paying them and left them to get shot to death. His new boss, mr.house? He stole his robot, broke it open, got someone to reprogram it and decided to use it to TAKE OVER THE WHOLE OF VEGAS. Benny literally kills people, lies to people, steals their shit and takes charge. That's all benny does. He gets fucking CRUCIFIED if you don't help him out just because so many people fucking hate him. And yet. And yet. Benny is the single most compelling character in the whole game to me. He's just a little guy! He's just there! You can get shot in the head and come back and he goes "what in the goddamn" and then if you try and flirt with him he's like "uhhh sure? Okay?" And leaves you a polite note in the morning. He's fancy. He wears a stupid suit. He has a tiny gun with shitty bullets. He's catholic. He talks like an old timey news presenter. Literally nobody else in the entire game does that. He's got an intelligence of 3. He's my funtime boy. My silly little man. He's so funny. The antagonist in this game is a guy dressed like a tablecloth who looks at all times like a confused dog who doesn't understand what a tv is. And like. He's compelling. He robs from you, shoots you, but…. he never seems to actually wish you harm. He kills and robs and lies but like. He apologises for doing it to you. When he sees you again he doesn't attack you, he's just… confused. He tries to defuse the situation. You can convince him to talk to you, alone, with no guards and it's not that hard. If you spare his life, he doesn't go after you, like. Even if you sleep with him he doesn't take advantage of that and kill you, even if you try to. He… he just leaves. He gives you an apology. If he gets kidnapped by Caesar He just… apologizes again. He tells you his whole plan to take over the city, too. He thinks he'll die, and he wants something of him to survive. He's happy that you made it. And if you let him free, he just… leaves. He knows he's beat, he doesn't want to cause any more trouble. He walks out and leaves. The NCR will kill you if you cross them. The legion will crucify you. House? He'll blow you the fuck up. But benny, the guy who lies and cheats and schemes, he's honest. He's polite. He's… harmless. You can kill him with a single shot if you want. And he can't kill you. He doesn't kill you the first time, and he'll never really hurt you again. Benny just wanted to win. When he knows he's beat he just leaves. No lingering, no harm, he's off, off into the desert heat, and never seen again. Isn't that just insane? like have you ever known an antagonist so polite? He just leaves!! He offers you a drink!! His plan is genuinely probably the best one for the people of new vegas!!! He's. Benny is Benny.

Anyway if you want to see some REAL propaganda go to the blog @letmebegaytodd and look in the #benny tag. You'll Understand < https://www.tumblr.com/letmebegaytodd/717051175751614464/in-another-life-i-wouldve-really-liked-just> <- look at this shit man

[mooncello]

Hi friends. I posted chapter 5 of more than a footnote last Sunday. It's over on ao3.

I'm working through some beats for chapter 6. Unlike some of you magnificent plotters, I hate outlines. They feel constricting to me. And the story shifts and evolves as I write. Characters reveal stuff to me as we spend more time together, and sometimes that necessitates plot changes or deeper subplots. It's also my greedy curious distractable brain. Like: Oh, but what if this happens? What if he did this instead? Truly, squirrel brain. But y'know those lil bushy-tailed fuckers can unintentionally plant oak trees so ... I will follow those acorn trails and play with a new thought or question, even if it wasn't originally plotted, to see whether it has a place in the story. It's kinda like having an ongoing conversation with the story as it's being written. It's humbling af and takes twice as long, I'm sure, than if I wrote an outline and stuck with it. But I've tried the detailed plotting thing, and it just doesn't work for me.

So I don't have anything from chapter 6 to share just yet. But I do have something else. It almost feels like a tease, because I don't know when I'll actually sit down and write the rest of this fic, but I finally figured out what direction lost boys is going. (Sometimes you follow the squirrel, and sometimes you let a story rest to see what emerges from quiet stasis.) I'm excited about it again. Which feels amazing. Here are way more than six sentences from chapter 3, Baz POV:

“How old were you,” I ask softly, “when you first came here?” “Eight.” He switches his hands behind his head and moves his shoulder blades against the earth, like he’s trying to get more comfortable. I have a sudden bolt of reckless courage. “Here,” I say and sit up fully. I scoot closer, angle my body, and wrap my palm around the curve of his head. Thankfully, he understands what I’m communicating and shifts until his head is resting in my lap. I suddenly find Simon staring directly up at me. An easy smile slopes across his face. “Hey,” he says. “Hi.”  I feel my own mouth stretch into a responding smile. There’s a delightful tumble of butterflies in my stomach. Without giving it any thought, my fingers thread through his hair, nails skimming his skull and then pulling away with curls between knuckles. The slightest of tugs. Release. Then I repeat the sequence over and over again. Simon melts against my thigh, and his eyes flutter closed. A tiny, contented moan leaves him, and I grow momentarily dizzy because I did that. That sound was because of me. “Feel good?” I murmur. “Mmph.” I’m glad his eyes are closed and can’t see me smirking. I’m so goddamn pleased. And he looks incredible like this. Relaxed and untroubled, draped over my lap.

tags under the cut!

thank you for the tags today @monbons and @orange-peony

🩵 ✨@drowninginships @valeffelees @run-for-chamo-miles @blackberrysummerblog @orange-peony

@youarenevertooold, @shrekgogurt, @hushed-chorus, @whatevertheweather, @fatalfangirl

@cutestkilla, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe, @artsyunderstudy, @emeryhall, @raenestee

@iamamythologicalcreature, @bookish-bogwitch @thewholelemon, @best--dress, @rimeswithpurple

@ileadacharmedlife, @skeedelvee, @monbons, @j-nipper-95

@ic3-que3n, @theearlgreymage, @theimpossibledemon, @brilla-brilla-estrellita

@facewithoutheart, @larkral, @messofthejess

[magentagalaxies]

"tour of duty" (the filmed version of their 2002 tour) in general is just kind of a bizarre point for kids in the hall that i haven't really talked to any of them about but is hard not to notice when you look at their entire canon. like it's certainly good - there are some tour-original sketches that i highly enjoy and some live versions of filmed sketches that take a fun creative spin on it, but in general things just feel noticeably strange.

buddy cole specifically tells the fur trappers to "fuck off" (buddy very rarely swears and across all the buddy material i've watched for the documentary he's only said "fuck" 3 times across forty years). danny husk wins an award for being a high school vice principal and at&love isn't acknowledged in the bit. the "is he?" sketch has been revised to pack in as many euphemisms for gay as possible, putting the bit on top of another bit. and of course i have my chicken lady thoughts but i don't want to bias anyone else bc i genuinely want to know what your takes are before i share mine.

and again these aren't all bad choices - i think the danny husk vice principal monologue works really well and may not work as well as a different character despite contradicting the Husk Lore™️. but they're all very distinctive choices

idk there's two reasons i personally give for why tour of duty is so strange (to me at least, maybe other people don't notice). the first is that it comes less than 3 years after their other tour-film, the 1999/2000 tour "same guys new dresses" (also available on youtube!) i fucking love SGND and i'll be up front that it's my preferred kith tour video. but part of what makes SGND so special is that it's not just a recording of the live show, it's a full tour documentary following the guys traveling across the country performing together, occasionally showing full sketches but also delving into the stories behind why the sketches played out the way they did. and, sure, sometimes that means cutting out a sketch that i wish i could've seen in full (rip power of the suburbs) but my life is so much better for having seen the "laser eye surgery gossip" or knowing how much drama that goddamn robot-dog-prop caused.

so to then see tour of duty as a straight-up recording of the live show leaves that element of mystery, that we don't get to know why choices were made because we only see the end result. there was a conscious decision not to shoot tour of duty like SGND - the tour doc didn't do well financially, and they also had more of a reason to document that tour since it was their first time working together since the disastrous fallout of "brain candy," and first big national tour since the show ended. the circumstances were just very different

and that's true both personally and politically bc the second suspected reason for tour of duty's weird tone is you can obviously tell 9/11 just happened. two sketches directly reference it - bruce and mark's businessman characters sell scam patriotic products that are all just a rubber band, and buddy cole visits the middle east and ends up having sex with saddam hussein (tho fun fact this concept was written BEFORE 9/11). but the event casts an obvious shadow, especially since both the buddy cole bit and the danny husk monologue were recycled pieces from scott's cancelled one-man-show which was set to debut in new york city on september 19th 2001.

it's also interesting comparing this to SGND. the late 90s are often remembered through rose-tinted glasses due to a generally good economy in the united states and a lot of the social tensions with disenfranchised groups still bubbling under the surface rather than being talked about openly. SGND doesn't reference contemporary events much, but the closure of AT&Love from the KITH finale is undone since the economy has re-entered "rock-on fashion," and buddy cole comments on the Y2K computer bug being underwhelming. (i also went on a super long tangent on how the original show reflected the socioeconomic climate of the 90s but that's a whole other topic i need to go to bed)

i don't know how the KITH feel about "tour of duty." i can't know how much this strangeness was felt for them backstage, and i think in some regards it can only be picked up on as an outsider, albeit an outsider who has watched so much KITH content to know how their work evolved even when not on television. all in all, i'm glad "tour of duty" exists and even the swings that didn't really land for me are still admirable as creative choices.

it's also cool to analyze as someone who has now been to a KITH live show over 2 decades later and got to see those behind-the-scenes conversations play out. the bellini benefit also featured a lot of strangeness, caused by a limited rehearsal schedule and one of the cast members being unable to attend due to illness, but they absolutely exceeded these limitations to put on a very fun show. we did film the performance and rehearsals and that show is going to be released eventually (i'm not in charge of it but the person who is also works on the buddy cole doc so i'm involved). i don't know if it's going to be presented more like SGND or tour of duty or something completely different, but it'll be cool to be part of KITH live show canon