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obsessedelusional · 2 years ago

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In Your Dreams

parings ✦ Eddie Munson x Reader

summary ✦ Eddie was your childhood best friend. What happens when he was a dirty dream about you? Will it tear you apart or bring you two closer? contains smut

authors note ✦ feedback and reblogs appreciated <3

I’m reposting this one because a few hours after posting this my account experienced a glitch. That stopped my posts from showing up in tags. Tumblr claims they fixed it so hopefully you can see this

⊹ ꙳ ✦ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹

“What the hell was that?” Eddie groans looking down at his morning hard on. The details of the dream he had replaying in his mind, over and over again. He just had a sex dream about his best friend.

Eddie still remember the day you moved to Hawkins. You were so young, moving into a trailer a few spots down from him. Eddie was only nine years old and was ecstatic when he found out there was a kid moving just down the street. He was surprised when he found out you were actually a little girl but that never changed anything. Didn’t take very long for you two to become best friends.

Never once had he thought about you in any way but platonic. Sure he knew you were beautiful. He also definitely noticed when your breast started to grow in junior high but tried his best not to stare. Even when Jeff and Gareth were gawking at you, whispering behind your back. Eddie always telling them to shut the fuck up.

So when Eddie woke up from a dream he remembered so vividly, the dream where he was balls deep in someones pussy. Only to look up and it was you, smiling down at Eddie. The worst part is he enjoyed it even more when he realized it was you. The sound of his alarm had woke him up from the wet dream.

He thought for a moment about rubbing it out but deciding that’d be too weird. Stroking his cock while thinking of his best friend. Instead letting himself suffer, giving him self blue balls.

Eddie’s been giving you rides to school ever since he saved up enough money to purchase the van. Something you’ve done hundreds of times. This morning it felt different, Eddie wasn’t nearly as friendly as he normally was.

“Hey Teddy.” You smile, climbing into the passenger seat. Calling him the nickname he pretended to hate but you knew he secretly loved it.

“Hey,” he says flatly, not daring to look your direction.

“Everything okay?” You ask, concerned.

“Yeah I’m fine.” He finally looks your way and gives you a not so reassuring smile. Only for you to notice he’s shoots a glance to your chest. He notices you noticing and scrambles to start the car. What the fuck was that?

The drive was filled with silence, not a word said between you two. The tension thick enough you could cut it with a knife. Pulling up to school Eddie gets out without saying a word, leaving you in the car alone.

Your mind starts to race, trying to remember what you could of possibly done to make him so short with you. Also what was that about, he was definitely checking your tits out. You look down at your cleavage, it’s not anything more then it usually was. Eddie’s seen you in less and never let his eyes wonder.

—

The first half of the school day was absolutely miserable for Eddie. Normally couldn’t focus in class but today it was ten times worse. The mental image of your chest bouncing in his face as you rode his cock, heavy on his mind. Walking from class to class, book covering his boner.

He felt terrible for being so short with you but when he did look your way he was most definitely checking you out. Which you noticed so he freaked out and drove off, not saying a single word to you. Even leaving you alone in his van. He cursed himself for being so rude knowing he’d have to see you at lunch, the meeting tonight and when he gives you a ride home. Thinking to himself, ‘I could give her something else to ride’ before pushing the thoughts away as quick as they came.

—

When lunch finally rolls around, your a little late but you make your way to the lunch table. You’ve sat here hundreds of times, only this time Eddie was no where to be seen. Your sat next to Jeff, quiet which was strange for you.

“Everything ok?” Jeff asks, noticing the change in your behavior and the absence of Eddie.

“I dunno, Eddie was really weird this morning.”

“How so?”

“So short with me. Haven’t seen him since, I feel like he’s avoiding me. I saw he yesterday and everything was okay. Suddenly this morning he can’t stand to be near me.”

You sigh frustrated, “Do you know what his deal is?”

“Never know with that dude.” He laughs, obviously not taking this as seriously as you.

“Where even is he? We always have lunch together at this table.”

“I have no idea.”

“He’ll have no choice but to face me at tonight’s meeting.” You groan annoyed, standing up deciding to head to class early. No reason to sit here and let your mind race with the worst possible outcomes.

“Yo Eddie what’s your deal?” Jeff asks walking into the drama room. Eddie is busy setting up for DND.

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve been totally M.I.A today dude. Stressing y/n out.” Jeff says, plopping down in his regular seat.

“Nothing. It’s stupid. I’ll get over it.” He mumbles to him self as the rest of the guys start to pile in.

“She totally likes you, don’t give her the cold shoulder dude.” Eddie looks at Jeff more confused then ever.

“Wait what? There’s no way.”

“Dude be so fucking for real right now. I know your a little slow but it’s so apparent.” Jeff laughs.

“What? Y’all talking about Y/Ns undying love for Eddie?” Dustin chimes in, laughing with Jeff.

“You guys don’t know what your talking about.” Eddie says matter of factly.

“What are you guys talking about?” You ask startling Eddie. None of them had noticed your arrival.

“Nothing.” Eddie spits out. Against your better judgement you take a seat next to him. You sat next to him every time, so what makes today any different. That’s until you realize all eyes are on you.

“Just tell me.” You whine, curious what you interrupted. Wondering if it has to do with why Eddie’s acting so weird today.

“Just talking about how you have a giant crush on Munson.” Gareth laughs, everyone shoots him a ‘why the fuck did you say that’ type of look.

“In your dreams.” You tease, laughing because they’re right and now your embarrassed. Your attention goes to Eddie trying to gauge his reaction but his eyes go wide. Can’t even look your way. He stands up and runs out of the room, leaving you behind with the guys staring at you.

“Gareth why would say that?” You say before leaving the room to follow Eddie. Knowing that things will probably never be the same.

“Eddie wait!” You yell as your catching up to his van, where’s he’s sat inside. Just as your about to let yourself in he locks the doors from the inside.

“What the fuck Eddie? Why are you avoiding me?” He turns the key in the ignition like he’s going to leave.

“I swear to god Eddie if you leave me I will show up at your house, break your fucking door down. You will have to talk to me sooner or later.” He sighs giving up and shutting the car off before unlocking the door so you can get in. You sit in silence for a few moments unsure of what to say.

“Is this about what Gareth said?” You speak up. Eddie’s looking out the window, his body language is stiff.

“Did I do something? Whatever I did I’m sorry I hate whatever this is. This has been the worst day ever.” Eddie’s heart aches knowing that your so torn up because he’s too scared to look at you after the dirty dream he had. Awakening feelings he didn’t know he had. Wondering if they’ve always been there just too afraid to act on them because he never wants to lose you.

“No you didn’t do anything.” He finally speaks up.

“Then what is it?” Silence fills the air again.

“You know you can tell me anything, Eddie.”

“I’m terrified.” He says his voice low and shaky.

“Of what Eddie?”

“That if I say what I’m thinking I’m going to say. You’re gonna run away. I can’t lose you.”

“You’re never gonna lose me. Just spit it out.” Eddie’s hands cover her face before he lets out a large sigh.

“I had a dream about you.”

“What were we doing?” You ask, curiously.

“We were uhhh,” his voice trails off. Now you need to know what this dream consisted of. You have an idea.

“Say it.”

“We were fucking.” He finally says hands still shielding his face.

“How did that make you feel?” You ask, scooting closer.

“I liked it. Probably liked it too much. Then when Gareth opened his fat fucking mouth you said in your dreams, I lost it like fuck she has to know. How the fuck did you know?” He whines, removing his hands so he can finally face you.

“I didn’t.” You laugh.

“I’ve been avoiding you because I can’t stop reliving the dream in my mind, walking around with a boner all fucking day.” You look to his crotch and there is a tent in his jeans. It turns you on thinking you’ve caused Eddie all this torture today.

“I bet the real life thing is ten times better.”

“What?” Eddie asks.

“Maybe we can make your dream a reality. Just an idea.” You shrug your shoulders, trying so hard to read Eddie’s response.

“Are you being serious?” He questions.

“What exactly were we doing?” Eddie’s dick twitches thinking about his dream for the millionth time today. Excited because it might become true.

“You were on top.”

“On top of what?” You ask innocently, wanting to hear all the details.

“Me. You we’re riding me, your tits bouncing in my face.” His voice is shaky and you’re enjoying it.

“Is that why I caught you staring at my cleavage today?” Eddie nods yes like he’s to ashamed to admit out loud.

“It’s okay, you can look. You can even touch if you want.” Eddie looks but it’s not nearly enough for you.

“Can I kiss you?” He nods yes again and you waste no time, kissing his lips. Eddie’s hesitant but that quickly fades when you guide his hand under your shirt, he cups your breast. You take the opportunity to explore the tent in his jeans, palming his dick through his jeans. He lets out a small moan so you pull away from the kiss.

“Did you like that?” You ask hand still on his groin.

“Yeah.”

“I can make you feel so good. You want that?” You ask, still palming his cock through his jeans. Eddie moans yes, so you lead him to the back of his van.

“Here?” He asks, getting comfortable.

“Yeah we’ll just have to keep it down.” You grin sitting between his legs pulling the waist of jeans down along with his underwear. Revealing his large throbbing dick, pre cum sitting on his tip.

“Where the fuck have you been hiding this?” You start pumping his cock, watching the pleasure flood his face. Small whimpers leaving his mouth.

“So good,” he whines.

“I bet. Walking around all day long hard because of me? No way to release it.” He nods as your lips meet with the tip of his penis before swallowing as much as you can. Your tongue moving as you go up and down. You hand playing with his balls. You look up and through your lashes you can see Eddie unfolding in front of you. His moans fill the van, not being quiet at all. Eddie starts pushing down on the back of your head, forcing you to gag on his dick. Tears start to fill your eyes. You can feel the pool growing in your panties.

You push against his hands to catch your breath, spitting all saliva that’s built up onto his dick. Going back down on him, this time pushing your own limits. Making your self gag on his giant cock.

“If you don’t stop I’m gonna cum,” Eddie speaks panting. You stop what you’re doing and start taking your shorts and panties off, aligning your entrance with his cock.

“You weren’t wearing a shirt,”

“What?” You ask confused.

“In my dream.” You laugh before ripping it off throwing it to the side. Eddie’s eyes gawk at your exposed tits, even bigger and better than he had imagined. You grab his hand, leading it so he can feel how wet your cunt is.

“See how wet you make me.” You moan as he explores your pussy, fingers sliding through your lips before making slow circles on your clit.

“It’s about you today. Making your dreams come true, Teddy.” He helps you line up his dick with your hole. You slowly drop onto it, enveloping his whole cock with your warm wet pussy.

“Fuck.” Both of you are moaning. You move your hips back and forward, Eddie’s hands find you hips, guiding you. His dick fills you up perfectly. You’ve never felt so full. It’s like his dick was made for your pussy.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” Eddie whines.

“Everything you’ve ever dreamt of?”

“Yes,” he moans, you drop to his level still riding him so you can kiss him intensely. You’re sweating, it’s hot as fuck in this van. The windows fogging up. The thought of possibly being caught turning you both on more. You pull away so you can pick up your pace. Eddie’s hands find their way to your boobs, squeezing tightly.

“I’m so close,” he says.

“Cum inside me.” You purr sending Eddie over the edge. His warm cum shoots inside you, you ride out his high slowing down.

You lay down next to him, breathing heavily. You two take a moment to catch your breaths. Trying to wrap your mind around what just happened and what would happen after this. You two could never go back to just being friends.

“I feel terrible.” You whip your head towards him.

“I just sucked your dick and then rode it till you came inside me and you feel terrible?” Anger threatening to come out in your voice.

“It was amazing. I just so caught up in it I didn’t make you finish.”

“I said today was about you. Making your dream come true. It can be all about me next time.” You laugh.

“Next time?” He asks.

“If you want that.”

“I definitely want that.”

“Good.” You smile kissing him one more time.

—

“What happened? Where did you guys go?” Jeff asks as you two sheepishly rejoin them in the drama room.

“We talked it out,” Eddie says sitting down. More like fucked it out but whatever.

“Just made his dream come true.” You laugh, Eddie shoots you a look.

“What?” Jeff asks.

“Ignore her.” Eddie demands and everyone goes back to playing DND. Eddie and you spend the whole game eye fucking each other. Counting down the minutes till you’d have him alone again, him doing the same.

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comicaurora · 1 year ago

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Just a quick question as someone who is well-meaning but just a little confused about the kindle thing:

is it just the filesize of the pages that's the problem w/ downloading? I'm not sure what the difference between dl-ing up front or while reading would be from a hosting perspective. (unless ppl are actually wanting every page at once instead of like a few chapters' worth)

Sorry if all this is annoying, I'm just trying to better understand the problem. I don't mean to bother, so if it's not something you want to talk abt, then that's completely fair.

I guess the thing I keep snagging on is that it's not at all what I intended for the comic and it's not what the site is optimized for. My site follows an extremely normal webcomic format, the tumblr mirror has multiple pages in each post if people need improved loadtimes, and I'm getting kind of thrown that people are suddenly asking for it to be in a completely different offline format? A webcomic has "web" right in the name. It doesn't work that way, it hasn't worked that way the entire time the comic has existed, and frankly, while the intent was definitely not malicious, being asked "hey I'm having a lot of trouble pirating your work, you should make it easier for me" feels Weird And Bad for reasons I would assume are self-evident.

From my side of things, I'm hoping to get Aurora physically published in the future, and physical publication these days usually also goes hand in hand with an ebook release. Publishers already need convincing why they should physically publish something that exists for free online. If I jerry-rigged a downloadable ebook version myself, why would a publisher go to the effort to do it for me? It'd be like self-publishing the book first and then asking them to pay to do it all over again. I would very much like to not fuck up the publishing thing and that means I'm not touching anything a publisher would want to do.

Aurora is entirely free. It has no affiliated patreon, and after a brief run and some laughably poor policy management from google's ad plugin, the site no longer has any ads. I'm not saying this to guilt anyone - just to contextualize why, after finally completing the work of four and a half years of my life that I shared 100% freely with the world for the sheer love of creation and the profound joy it gave me to see people fall in love with this story I care so deeply about, why it sucks that people immediately, not even 24 hours after the final page of arc 1 goes up, start complaining that it doesn't exist in a nice little bundle on all platforms on and offline.

I promise it's not a big deal, but it's not a pleasant experience either.

#asks

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asteraddicted · 4 months ago

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Small interaction idea I got for the Supersons (pre-Jon age up; I HATE THAT PART) soooo sorry if this is bad its my first official drabble post (did i use that term correctly???)

Based on this (one part blacked out bc idk how tumblr would take it)

[—-—-—-—-—-—-—-🫧🪼-—-—-—-—-—-—-—]

"Hey, Damian?" Jon spoke up, he and Damian lounging in Damian's room because— no offense to Clark, but Wayne Manor was cooler for sleepovers.

"Yes, Kent?" Damian huffed, focused on sharpening one of his many daggers. Despite the dynamic, the two were undeniable best friends. It was surprising at first, with Damian's blunt, down-to-earth personality with snap backs and insults that would make a grown man cry. Damian Wayne, best friends with a sunny, optimistic, 'blinding everyone with his smile' Jon Kent. But of course, the two didn't start out that way.

"Remember when you practically- no, you DID kidnap me after I accidentally.. killed a cat and a hawk?" Jon mumbled the last part, clearly still ashamed of it. He hadn't told Damian the whole story yet, despite how long it had been. Damian's eyebrows furrowed, and he got a little closer. He remembered those times, back before they were friends.

"Yes, I remember," he replied, his voice still firm as he inquired. "Why are you bringing that up again, Kent?" Damian — despite his almost inhuman abilities, talents, and feats — was still human, and still had the ability to forget things.

"..Nothing! It's just.. the cat. Goldie was her name. It's her deathday today." Jon frowned, having always been one to wear his heart on his sleeve. Jon couldn't help but mistake the sting building up in his eyes as the burning feeling of letting his heat vision go off and MURDER cremate the two innocent creatures on accident. It was only for a second, but Damian could see how Jon panicked in that little moment.

"And? Your point?" He said, his tone a surprisingly a tad bit softer than usual. He didn't really know what Jon was talking about. Really, he did remember kidnapping Jon because he didn't trust him. But to Damian? That was like another regular Tuesday for him.

"..I didn't mean to kill Goldie, or the hawk. I know you know that. But Goldie had escaped her house, and I was chasing her to get her back." Jon began to explain, and he wasn't as cheerful as he usually was. Not as he finally told Damian the full story. Jon couldn't help it. It had been at the very least a few years ago, but the horror Jon had felt that day was something Jon himself never forgot.

"..their bodies were charred and burning. Couldn't tell hawk from cat.. only Goldie's collar remained! I.." Jon had to go quiet to compose himself. His hands were actually shaking. Damian listened to the story. He knew something was wrong with Jon. He was not his usual cheerful, confident self.

Damian looked at Jon, his expression hard to read. He didn't know what to say. He didn't know how to comfort him. Damian was never good at comfort. He just sat back in silence for a while, processing what Jon had told him. Being from the League of Assassins, death was nothing new to him. Hell, he's killed animals on purpose for mission and training before he was taken to Wayne Manor. Whales and tigers and lions and eagles, on and on. It was a little hard to see from Jon's perspective, but Damian tried.

"..Y'know.. I don't think you remember what you said to me when I woke up after you kidnapped me. Hehe.." Jon let out a chuckle, smiling with his teeth to try and lighten his sadness with humor. "You told me.. 'You are a threat to every living thing on and off this planet.' And Damian, I know this is stupid, but.." Jon curled his knees to his chest, eyes on the blank screen as a movie they were watching played it's end credits.

"..I believed you. In a way.. I still do. I'm scared of myself, Dami." Jon admitted quietly before grinning and wiping his tears.

"But I guess that's pretty dumb, right?" Jon grinned widely. He was half-Kryptonian and his dad was Superman! He shouldn't cry, and he didn't have any reason to! He was growing up, and he should be more in control of his emotions.

Yet Jon had let his mind wander multiple times, whenever he passed by where it happened. It was ironic, but Jon couldn't help but be scared of himself. Yes, himself. He had the powers of Superman — the Man of Steel himself. And he was also a young boy who could be easily tricked and manipulated. Jon was strong and carefree, but he wasn't stupid. At least not all the time. Jon has witnessed some extremely traumatic events in his life. The possibility that he had the power to massacre entire cities — maybe states, countries, or eventually the world? That was something that made Jon want to lock himself up in a kryptonite cage and hide away.

Jon was afraid of his powers and the destruction they could bring. He was immune to fire, but still couldn't stop himself from imagining the burning, mangled, charred bodies of a hawk and a cat each time there was a fire that was large enough.

Damian clenched his jaw. He remembered that day. He remembered telling Jon that he was a threat. Listening to Jon talk about his fear of himself and his own powers made something inside of Damian ache. He didn't like it. Not one bit.

"It's not dumb," he said, his voice softer than usual. Damian didn't know why he was being so soft (he knew exactly why, but he didn't want to admit it. Not yet.). "And you're not a threat, Kent. You're not. You never were. You're the last person who's a threat to anything."

"That's EXACTLY why I'm a threat, Dames! I'm part Kryptonian!.. I'm invincible to most on Earth." Jon exclaimed, sighing. "I can still go rogue! Dad has gone rogue before. I don't.." Jon trailed off.

"Kent. If you think for a second I'd let you go rogue, just know my Father has plenty of Kryptonite stocked away that I would not hesitate to use." Damian narrowed his eyes, but not in an angry way. It was affectionate, though it would be hard to tell from an outsider's perspective. Jon, oddly enough, felt reassured. Reassured that if something goes wrong, that Damian would be there to stop him. He'd always be there to stop him.

"You promise, Dames?" Jon couldn't help but whisper.

"Yes, I promise. Now come on. Didn't you want to show me this movie called 'Legally Blonde' or something?" Damian rolled his eyes, but they still held that tinge of care. That hint of affection that was only reserved for Jon, and wasn't the type that Damian held for his family. No, Damian had a part of his heart specifically reserved for Jon Kent.

"Okay, good. Now come on, let's watch a pretty girl kick legal butt!" Jon grinned, ultimately feeling much better. He was so lucky to have Damian.

[—-—-—-—-—-—-—-🫧🪼-—-—-—-—-—-—-—]

AN: First post, not beta read and written in the dead of night lol. I do not write much. Romantic or platonic? Idk you choose :P

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asher-agere · 1 month ago

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For the ask game:

🦄🎡🔥🌷 :3

No pressure to answer any of them! I wish you a lovely time zone ^^

YAY ASK GAME. Also “I wish you a lovely time zone” is my new favorite way of saying that-

🦄 - What animal do you have the most plushies of?

Last time I was asked this I just guessed- But this time is for real! The winner is… My cat plushies! I have 10.5 (One is half unicorn…). I thought dogs would win cause of my Cinnamoroll obsession but I only have 8 :0

🎡 - What’s something nostalgic you do when regressed?

Honestly a lot of regression for me is about making a new childhood rather than reliving my own! Howeverrrr I’ve always loved to play with Legos! My dad loved Legos hehe so I’ve been playing with them since like birth

🔥 - Babble about someone you really love!

Hehehe… My time has come��

@sasha-romeave IS THE BEST CAREGIVER AND LITTLE BABY AND SHE’S SO MUCH FUN AND SO AMAZING AND I LOVE THEM SO SO MUCH. SHE DESERVES ALL OF MY LOVE EVER

@babyniigo BEST BIG SIS EVER. GENUINELY MY FAVORITE BLOG EVER AND THE FIRST PERSON I FOLLOWED (Not counting my friends who helped me learn to use tumblr-)

@twinypwupy BEST SIBBY EVER. I’m not in the fandom they post for a lot, which is sad BUT THEIR POSTS ALWAYS LOOK SO SO PRETTY AND THEY’RE SOO MUCH FUN TO TALK TO GUYS

@sunny-silly AHH SUNNY. LOVE YOU SO MUCH. THEY ARE SO SO FUN TO TALK TO. I LOVE GETTING TO SHARE MY IDEAS ABOUT CHARACTERS NOT MANY PEOPLE KNOW, AND SUNNY CAN ADD TO MY IDEAS. AND LIKES MY IDEAS. AND WE SEEM TO ENJOY SIMILAR THINGS AND IT MAKES THEM SO SO AMAZING TO TALK TO

@starb4byy MY NEW RP PARTNER. THEY WRITE SUCH BEAUTIFUL AMAZING WONDERFUL WORDS AND THEY’RE SO SO CONSIDERATE AND GIVE THE BEST COMPLIMENTS

🌷 - When/why did you start regressing?

I started regressing around 2 years ago! Give or take a couple months. I started regressing because I realized. Hey! I remember like 10% of my childhood! And I feel miserable! What if I just. Y’know. Tried again? Then I’ve been hooked! I did stop for like 6 months after losing a caregiver though, definitely a low point-

YAY I FINALLY GOT TO BABBLE ABOUT PEOPLE I LOVE. I love each and every one of you! Those 5 are just like the ones I interact with most, they’re in no specific order, except for my caregiver who’s obviously in first place! Sorry guys but no competition there

#age regression #agere #sfw agere #safe agere #agere sfw #age regressor #agere little #agere positivity #agere ask game #agere ask #༄ Requests #༄ BB Request #༄ my regression #༄ Ask Game

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snotty-zombie · 2 months ago

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Rageous-tober part 4 (final)!!!

Day 27: Crossover (2 parts)

Day 31: Halloween

More under cut >xP

totally disregard all the writing if you dont care lmaooo this is just me word vomiting about my ocs and thought process when doing this haha i just thought id give some context cuz i always forget you guys know literally nothing about my characters

Day 27: Crossover! So this is a two parter, part 1 is Gumlee x Ritzneer obvvvvvviously because I’m basic I can’t help but compare them and a lot of others can’t help it either from what I’ve seen I had an insane stroke of genius calling Veneer ‘Prince Gumdrop’ and I don’t think I’ll ever reach those heights again

Part 2 of the crossover is MLP CROSSOVER!! Including unicorn ‘Colt Ritz’ which I am quite proud I must say considering I hadn’t drawn a pony in like- 10 years AS WELL AS Pegasus ‘Boogie Bomb’ which I am ALSO quite proud of, he has very big wings and is covered in little green spots (which mimic the spotty design he has on his shaved scalp as a Rageon) he looks a bit like a donkey but I think that’s just because of his little facial hair bits and massive pointy ears I gave him hmmmm Also, siren Velvet and Veneer!! I can’t remember the exact lore of the sirens since I haven’t seen the film in a real long time but I got some help from my friend who is a big MLP fan and she filled me in on the lore etc, as well as inspiration from another artist on here who also did a VV x MLP crossover, I reposted their amazing art on my other blog so def go check it out. Anyway, VV are sirens and disguise themselves as alicorns (but also hide their flanks as they have no cutie marks)

Day 31: Halloween!!! 🎃 👻 💀 🦇 🐈‍⬛ Last one!! This one took foreveerrrrr and again, I just had to try to outdo myself with the amount of bs happening on screen at once I tried to include all my main fav ocs, as well as the twins and KR all going door to door in a massive trick or treating horde

I called this the 'soft launch' of my Velvet and Veneer fan parents, Dr Velocity (mum) and Dr Voltage (dad), they're in matching Frankenstein and Frankenstein's wife costumes :3. They mean well of course as any parent does but their good intentions can get lost in translation (harsh punishments and struggling/refusing to understand their bizarre children). I will definitely give them their spotlight when I eventually get around to redesigning them (slightly) and writing out some information about them to share with you guys because I like them a lot :P

-Theres Glow Worm getting her costume repaired by Rhinestone after she ripped it doing multiple cartwheels in a row -Velvet and Veneer trading their sweets that they collected (you'd think they were discussing border placement or something, they take it so seriously) -Veneer and TV Girl finally getting along after telling their lame boyfriends to stop fighting with each other -And a zombie Boogie sketch I refused to finish whoops

SO YEAH THATS ALL I DID FOR RAGEOUS-TOBER, finally posting it to tumblr half way through November. be sure to check out the creators account, jobiesayscheese 😻😻😻 thanks for checking my art out, and if you read all of my stupid ramblings ily sm and thank you for hearing me out

I also did in fact win a raffle for Rageous-tober not to flex but yes to flex (totally wasn’t rigged cuz tf)

Part 1! Part 2! Part 3! Part 4!

#mount rageon oc #mount rageous #trolls 3 #velvet and veneer #kid ritz #trolls orchid #trolls band together #mlp oc #mlp art #gumlee

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swiftllama · 1 year ago

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Anthony Complimenting Ian ☀️🔍

“I think that’s a big difference in us reuniting, is I am so willing to praise you and mention your strengths.”

Hey guys! Been working on this post for a while and so happy to finally share!

Before we knew of their reunion, there was this window of time where Anthony kept complimenting Ian on social media. That stood out to me then, especially after having very little interaction between them in so long. But now having the context that they were actually hanging out again behind the scenes, and that Anthony now makes a conscious effort to compliment/praise Ian makes it all the more sweeter. The said compliments I mentioned were posted at the time but the fandom wasn’t as active as it now is again so I wanted to compile a list of all the moments of Anthony complimenting Ian from their reunion to present for anyone who might’ve missed it. Enjoy!

Pre-Reunion

Okay so this first post is actually from before they reconnected. We know from the Smosh Reunion t-shirt that they reconnected in November 2022 and this post is from July 2022.

I like to think Anthony was in a better place with his emotions towards Smosh/Ian by this point, and that Ian had been on his mind and so a nice little compliment was to be had.

Post-Reunion

April 2023

5 months post-reunion and Anthony’s feeling more confident to joke around whilst still complimenting Ian. You love to see it! And Ian’s reply, him getting all embarrassed is cute 🤭

It also reminded me of these tweets from back in September 2017 :-

Confirmed: Anthony has a thing for calling Ian ‘daddy’. Noted. 👀

May 2023

Less than a month later and Anthony was back at it again with the compliments

Ian looks good and Anthony is determined to tell him at every opportunity!

And then…

June 2023

THE (PUBLIC) REUNION

And so ensued an abundance of compliments.

Anthony’s Interview

First lot of praise we saw from Anthony to Ian was in his interview with him. Tumblr sadly doesn’t allow you to add more than one video to a post so these are all quotes from said interview.

Like the tweet above of Ian getting his first chain necklace, they reference it once again. Ian is talking about how even though they’ve grown as people they haven’t changed that much, he references the fact Anthony has “more bling and tattoos” now, Anthony then interjects with :-

“Hey, you got a little bling too, let’s not discount it.”

Ian then shows the jewellery off and Anthony comes in saying “Baby’s first chain.” I like to think he was the first one to say that when Ian got the chain and where Ian got the inspo for his Twitter caption. Anthony then finishes this topic of conversation off by adding on that Ian also got “face bling too” in reference to his glasses. I know this isn’t really a full-out compliment and they’re just kinda messing about, but I think it still stands with Anthony saying that’s something that’s changed between them now is that he’s willing to compliment him, and I love how when Ian tries to downplay something about himself, Anthony jumps straight in there to lift him up too.

Another complimentary moment from the interview was when Anthony was talking about when he was 15 and came down with an autoimmune disease resulting in him missing half a year of school and Ian got a bunch of people to sign a ‘Get Well Soon’ card to give to Anthony to make him feel better.

“There is one moment, one thing that you did for me, when we were younger that really stood out to me that I never mentioned to you and I never thanked you for. I’ve been holding it in and I have never expressed it…. I don’t know how you got it to me, but somehow you got a ‘get well soon’ card that you gave to me - Okay, I don’t know if it was you who came up with the idea or your mom, or if like your mom told you, you had to do it. And a whole a bunch of people signed it and you wrote a message like ‘get well soon, we can’t wait to see you again’. And that, it really meant a lot to me, and yeah, it kinda kept me motivated and focused, and I don’t know why but for some reason it motived me to learn how to program a website, program a game, and I feel like because of that in some ways I was able to channel all my energy into creating the things that eventually culminated in what the foundation of Smosh was.”

I really love this moment, and I think it really shows Anthony’s growth. As was revealed in his letter to Ian, there was a period of time in which he felt he had more of a hand in creating Smosh in the early days, but the fact he can now acknowledge and recognise Ian’s input in it all, even before Smosh was a thing, and thank him for it really shows how far Anthony has come.

The last lot of praise from the interview is actually something Anthony has mentioned multiple times as you will see later on in this post and that is about their dynamic and how they work together.

“I think the fact we work in such different ways, like I’m able to really hyper-focus on something and put all my energy, just like back-to-back constantly in one chunk, I think that works really well when compared against the way that you work, where you are super creative and..”

Ian interjects by saying his head is “up in the clouds” when he works. Anthony continues by saying that Ian needs to be there to come up with the ideas that he does and then praises him once more :-

“I could never come up with most of the ideas that you come up with, but I feel I know how to formulate it and put it together.”

Next lot of praise for the month was this tweet :-

Anthony praising Ian, along with everyone else who had a hand in keeping Smosh going all these years. Similar to something he said at Vidcon when he interviewed Ian once again :-

“I just want to say huge, huge respect to you for staying with Smosh. For having that faith in it that it could continue to grow and be something bigger…” [audience cheers and Anthony points to Ian] “So huge, huge respect to Ian. That took a lot of tenacity - the tenacity you said I had, that’s where you really showed up. And Ian had to learn how to be a leader, Ian had to learn how to do all these things where he was just thrown into that because I made the decision to leave because Smosh, what it had become, was eating a hole in me and I felt I needed to walk away to figure myself out, to just grow on my own and I’m so thankful that you stuck around to keep it going so that we could do this [own Smosh again].”

And there was more where that came from and leads me onto the next lot of compliments :-

Vidcon 2023

“When Ian came over to my place to write… I remember I was sitting on the coffee table writing these jokes and you would say something and it would totally catch me off guard just like you used to do.”

Anthony said this so fondly to Ian, the “just like you used to do.” It goes back to what he said during his interview with Ian, which he got emotional about, that during the lunch where they reconnected properly for the first time, he saw his childhood friend in that moment. That despite how much they had both changed, the Ian he knew, the only one who can make him laugh like he does, was and is still there.

Anthony goes on to bring up their working dynamic again as he did in his interview :-

“While we were writing that sketch, while we were shooting it, there was this feeling - I didn’t realise it, but there was something missing from my creative process. Especially in creating comedy, that Ian just perfectly… I don’t know if I want to say yin and yang - I don’t know what I want to say about it. But it was just this perfect balance, that feels like in order for us to reach our fullest potential creatively, us working together is, in my heart, the only way for that to really reach its fullest capacity.”

Ian then responds in his usual way, trying to downplay his efforts by agreeing that their dynamic works well that way because he’s, in his own words, “kind of lazy.”

Anthony is quick to jump in though :-

“I think that’s a misconception, you’re not lazy.”

I love how he just outright refuses to let Ian talk down about himself nowadays. He will absolutely not have it!

Ian continues on and compliments Anthony in return by saying he is very ‘tenacious’ and ‘focused’, and ‘particular about things.’ Whereas Ian’s way of working, as Anthony goes on to say, is “throwing stuff out” and Anthony likes to pick out the best of the best from those ideas. And this is when we got the first of the ☀️🔍 analogies :-

“It feels almost like Ian is the sun radiating all these ideas in every direction, and then I’m the magnifying glass that’s like ‘let’s focus on this one, let’s make this one fire. This one’s amazing.’ And something about just the way that we work together just meshes so perfectly, and I think that’s how we became best friends in sixth grade, that’s how we established our sense of humour and why the Smosh videos that we created resonated with so many people, is because there is that perfect dichotomy between us.”

Do you think Anthony thinks their dynamic is perfect? I don’t know 🤔 I don’t think he mentioned it enough.

Jokes aside, it is very sweet. And I love how much he loves their connection.

The next lot of compliments come straight after the quote of Anthony praising Ian for sticking with Smosh whilst he was gone :-

“I’m super thankful - you know for the past six years it just felt like there was a hole in there [in his heart]. You know I’ve been creating my own interview series and it’s felt like this is a great way for me to be able to express a part of me, but not all of me. And that other part of me that wasn’t being expressed is that part of me that I now get to experience with you, and working with you, my childhood best friend, in creating something and being able to capture that magic and express it, and be able to present it for all of you [the audience], it’s a really, really great feeling.”

Ian then responds with another little compliment of his own :-

“I think on my side, you know when you left I was still making sketch comedy, I was still writing, but I never found the same kind of writing partner that I did after you. It was never the same. The way that we work together, I never quite found that kind of person to easily bounce ideas off to, so I kind of stepped back a little bit from the writing.”

It also reminds me of something Ian said during Anthony’s interview, about how they have this level of ‘trust’ between them, that Ian never found again with anyone else after Anthony left. Makes me so soft, they feel so lucky to have each other again. No one quite gets them like the other does and they can never replace what they have. Their connection truly is special.

This is more of a silly one and just them joking around but I’m including it anyways! They had a Q&A session with the audience after the interview and the person asking the question starts off by introducing themselves and saying how they met Ian the other day and apologises for calling him “old.”

They both laugh and Ian pretends to begin to walk off stage. And then, you guessed it, Anthony swoops in with a retort :-

“Hey! He’s 35 years young.”

Moving on to later the same day, after playing a live version of TNTL with the cast, they all had a sit-down Q&A :-

Q: “What inspires you? What made you who you are?”

And of course, as if he hadn’t already killed us enough, Anthony has to go and say this :-

“I’m about to say something totally whack. I’d say, Ian and my friendship when we first started really connecting. I feel like Ian taught me to not take myself too seriously and his sense of humour is just all over the place and I eat that shit up, I think it’s so funny.”

Like wtf. WHAT THE FUCK.

Ian’s reaction to him saying that pretty much sums up my emotions.

And that was it for Vidcon!

Except if you count this little cherry on top and the perfect closing to June as the picture is from Vidcon :-

Anthony being obsessed with Ian on main! You love to see it!

July 2023

Started off July with a bang and the ☀️🔍 article :-

Never getting over this! Anthony just loves the sun and magnifying glass analogy and I couldn’t be more here for it. Ian is the sun in his life 💛🖤

Ian Reads Anthony’s Angry Letter

And then came the infamous letter video. Which even though there were a few hurtful things revealed, there still managed to be a few nods of acknowledgment towards Ian even in that hurt Anthony felt.

As mentioned earlier in this post, in part of the letter Anthony writes that in the early days of Smosh he wanted it to be something ‘he’ made with Ian’s help, and that he considered Ian to only be “tagging along”. He goes on to apologise [in the letter] for if he ever made Ian feel like he didn’t deserve as much credit as he did.

“You may not have done some of the heavy lifting I did in the early days, but definitely encouraged us to keep going and you kept things light and full of laughs as we did it. We accomplished so much and I am just now realising how important you were in making that happen.”

Anthony then brings up something that happened recently between them :-

“But that thing that you read there - you did, and this was actually really nice for me to hear from you. It was a few days after we had confirmation that we had bought Smosh, you came over to my place, we had a little celebratory hang; very luxurious. We chilled with cigars and some whiskey, and we just bro-ed it up, and you said that to me. That exact thing - you said, “hey, I don’t think I ever really acknowledged the heavy lifting that you did in the early days” and you said that you “felt really lucky to be there at that time and that I included you in that.” And that was really nice to hear, even though I know.”

So I know technically this compliment/praise/acknowledgment isn’t new as the letter was written in 2017, but it’s ‘new’ to us. But I’m glad to hear that Anthony does acknowledge Ian’s involvement in Smosh’s success, even in the early days when Anthony was doing more of the technical things. He acknowledges that Ian still had a role to play in it all being what it was.

Ian agrees with what Anthony is saying, and that he always felt ‘guilt’ over the fact Anthony had to do the things he didn’t have the skillset to do, but recognises that he didn’t acknowledge or thank Anthony enough for it because he was ‘afraid’ that he might have to do more when their whole thing was about doing “equal work” because they felt as a duo they had to, and that if the other felt they were doing more work then there was some resentment there. Ian tries to downplay himself by joking “In most cases you were doing more work than me…” but Anthony is quick to jump in again and not allow it.

“I was doing more hours, but I think you were doing more of the creative heavy-lifting which is more taxing in many ways. So I think that you needed your time to recoup your energy, cause you’re coming up with funny stuff, and at that time I was like ‘I’m doing so much work’.”

Also another mention of Ian’s creativity and humour when it comes to writing, that Anthony acknowledges he wouldn’t be able come up with. But you can see where the ‘resentment’ they talked of came from, and why Anthony felt he was doing more. When in reality it’s just that’s their strengths lie in different areas, but that doesn’t make the work they both do individually any less important. So I am happy they can see that now and praise each other for the unique ways in which they shine which compliments their own strengths in their own special ways.

WE WERE ROBBED! Watch Party

It happened again. Anthony calling Ian ‘daddy’. Can we just all agree that he has a thing for it? Okay. Good.

They’re discussing how everyone in chat is poking fun at Ian for saying “you guys are a fun bunch” to the rest of the group during the ‘Do Men Know Reproductive Anatomy?’ Smosh Pit video and how it was a ‘dad’ comment. Ian reads out a comment talking about how Arasha called him ‘dad’ and he says “[she] can because she’s my son”. And then Mr ‘Ian is Daddy’ Padilla jumps in with the correction once again :-

Anthony: “I think you’re becoming ‘daddy’.”

Ian: [asks if it’s when he puts his glasses on]

Anthony: “Especially.”

Ian: [puts glasses on]

Anthony: “Oh damn, daddy.”

Like why is this Anthony’s thing now? Whatever the reason - I’m here for it.

Also, Ian doesn’t like to be referred to as ‘pops’ but Anthony’s into it. So, Daddy and Pops. It’s settled. Love our parents 👨‍👨‍👧‍👦

Smosh Mouth

And just like we started July, we ended it the same - with a bang!

I urge you if you haven’t seen it yet (or even if you have), to go watch this video. It may as well have been named ‘Praise Ian Hour’. Not only have we got Anthony, but also Shayne and Amanda coming in to add to the many compliments.

I know all these compliments the others were giving Ian were probably making Anthony’s heart swell with pride. To know that not only himself, but everyone else also recognises Ian’s strengths. To know that these things he loves about Ian, others see in him too.

So a lot of the video was the others complimenting Ian rather than from Anthony himself, but he agreed with everything they were saying and added a few little tidbits. So this next lot of compliments will be what Shayne and Amanda said, along with Anthony’s comments :-

Amanda: [talking about when she first auditioned for Smosh] “And I’ll never forget after I did that [read the script], it was really fun - they asked me a question, and I was in a really interesting place in my life… And they were like “If you could have one superpower, what would it be?” and I just said “Vulnerability.”… And I’ll never forget, Ian stood up and went “Do you write comedy also?” and I said “Yeah!”, and he went [nods] and he shook my hand.”

Anthony: [grinning ear to ear] “He knew. He knew.”

Happy boy loving hearing people praise his bff 🥰

“I think honestly that statement alone is exactly why you’re doing a podcast. I think Ian was able, if he really did know in that moment, I think it probably was seeing that there was more to you than just the comedy, there’s more depth there, there’s multiple layers, and you can build on that a lot more than just somebody who can only do one type of thing.”

A very sweet comment. How Ian recognised the talent in Amanda from that one thing she said, and also cute how well Anthony knows Ian so can see exactly where he was coming from in seeing that talent in her and why she ended up at Smosh.

Shayne: “…I’m curious how you [Anthony] think things were going in the years you were gone? It’s been fun to see this arc of Ian. And being honest I’ve gotten to know Ian so well over the course of 6 years and that’s what’s so interesting about you coming back. You know Ian better than any of us-”

Anthony: “But I don’t know the Ian from the past 6 years as well as well as you guys do.”

Shayne: “…But you haven’t seen president Ian.” [talks about how when Anthony was still there both him and Ian were so busy under Defy that they weren’t around much to act as leaders]

Anthony: “Yeah, there was no leadership really coming from Ian and I, except that I think we showed excitement and passion… We showed that, and I think that’s where we kinda led, but it wasn’t really ‘we’re the leaders’ and when I left, and especially when Defy collapsed and Ian was left there making a lot of those decisions, he had to be the leader that had to lead by example and get everyone onboard with his ideas, and that was a really unique role for him because he was kinda forced into that position, and he was forced to get really good at it. And I think, over the 6 year time period that I was gone, I’ve seen him, observing from the outside, I’ve seen him get better and better at that role. Even though I know he doesn’t ‘love’ it, he’s not like ‘I can’t wait to go and be a leader when I go to work’, and he’s told me that he feels like he thrives most when we have the dynamic between us where I can pick up when he’s not really-”

“observing from the outside” 🥺 the fact he was still checking up on Ian even when they weren’t close anymore, it shows that the care was still there despite the strain on the relationship. It also reminds me of what Ian said during Anthony’s interview, that he could tell Anthony was floundering when he first left :-

Ian: “I could see very clearly what you were doing and what was going on. It was very clear that you were trying to find your individual creative voice. And with the types of videos you were putting out it felt very much like you’d throw this out and see if that would stick, you’d throw that out and see if that would stick. You’d get excited about something - I could tell there was a time when I think you were watching Nathan For You, and you were getting excited about this one kind of style.”

Anthony: “Damn, you read me like a book.”

It’s just like Shayne said - they know each other better than anyone. And that extends to even when they weren’t speaking, they still knew the other inside and out.

Amanda: “He’s glowing right now.”

Shayne: “He’s been so happy.”

Anthony: “It’s really, really cool to see because you know watching from the outside, I was able to observe his mannerisms and kind of get a general idea of where his headspace was at, but even then I wasn’t able to fully understand him because I didn’t fully understand him for so many years leading up to it, so I was just an outside observer trying to just keep tabs. But I do notice a stark difference, ever since Ian and I had that discussion, and were like ‘you know what, let’s buy Smosh and anything we can do to make that happen, let’s do it’. And after that conversation I’ve been keeping up-to-date with the content a lot more and I’ve seen Ian shine in such an interesting way, where I don’t even know if you guys felt it - like before the announcement, you felt something good was coming?”

Is everyone sufficiently in tears? Good, because me too. This isn’t even the end of this convo, I just had the pause to go over all of what was just said. Both Amanda and Shayne saying how happy Ian is now, I don’t know how Anthony didn’t cry on the spot! I did and it’s not even about me! Like hearing that, knowing it’s because of him that Ian is so happy 😭 and I think the same can be said for Anthony. They’re both so happy to have each other again ❤️

Shayne: “I did start to notice a change these past few months. I started to notice - this dude, there’s something about him, like the ‘cool’ factor started to change. He started wearing a chain! He started tucking shirts in.”

Amanda: “Oh yeah! He tucked in every shirt. He wore a chain. He was glowing. And our conversations were about life and joy and not really what he was reading on the internet.”

Shayne: “His confidence level has changed this year. When you guys announced the whole thing [buying Smosh], you walked into the building and I was like ‘Okay this makes sense!’ He’s feeling a lot more confident because things are feeling more certain and this place is going to turn into more of what he wants.”

Anthony: [agrees, and talks about how he thinks the confidence comes from a place of Ian now knowing the future of Smosh is secure under them after not knowing for a long time] “And I think for some reason, just naturally his confidence started growing as - I don’t know if this is related, but he is so good at writing and coming up with jokes, and I think for a long time he got the impression in his head that he wasn’t good at that anymore. And I think the Smosh channel moving away from written stuff, which I feel like he just really shines at - these absurd ideas, and when they come to life on screen maybe I’m able to help keep them a little bit more focused. But I really love that, cause he has so many great ideas and I started noticing just how many good ideas - he would throw out like 30 ideas and 20 of them were brilliant. But I feel like he started to gain confidence too in our writing sessions where he realised, ‘oh this isn’t a fluke, I wasn’t just funny in the past’ - I don’t know if this was the worry that was going on in his head, but it certainly was in mine. I was like, ‘was I only good at this in the past? can I be good at this now?’ and we both discovered together that what we were good at in the past, was more of a representation of our innate abilities and personality on our own but also the dynamic between us, and it seems like his confidence was growing there, and on camera when I would watch him from the outside, even hosting ‘Let’s Do This’ - when I saw him hosting these things it seemed like he was much more confident and he was able to take initiative.”

I love how much Anthony talks about how good Ian is at writing and coming up with jokes, and how much he reiterates that nowadays. I love that he recognises that talent in him and acknowledges how his own abilities complement Ian’s so well and why their dynamic is so special and works so well.

Shayne: “Ian is so much funnier than he realises. And maybe he’s realising it now-“

Anthony: “Yeah, I hope so.”

Aw Anthony 🥺 well if he doesn’t, you’re there to remind him tenfold.

Shayne: “But over these past years, I think the thing that has always frustrated me is - as you said [Anthony], he’ll throw out ideas but he’ll be like ‘oh this one’s dumb’ and I’m like ‘no that’s really funny, man’…. But whenever he goes 100% and he commits fully it’s always great.”

Anthony: “Always great.”

Shayne: “And I think he really does that in your guy’s sketches, there’s no doubt - the Ian that people know and love is that guy. And I think when he’s able to write and know what it is, he goes full force. But I will say even with the improvised stuff he held himself back - he’s so good, but he just needs to allow himself go full force.”

Anthony: “I think he would second guess.”

Shayne: “He second guesses. And I feel bad talking about him without him here, but it’s all good things. Cause reality is he’s really, really talented.”

Anthony: “The truth is he was doubting himself, but the less he’s doubting himself [he’s able to go full force].”

Shayne: [talks about how Ian has said 2019 was one of the hardest years after Defy collapsed and he had to step up as a leader and figure things out on his own] “So suddenly one day Smosh is gone and all these people are just gone, they don’t care. And I remember talking to Ian and being like “hey, so what are we gonna do?” and I remember this look of just - it’s still Ian where everything’s very casual and just kinda shrugged off almost, but I remember him just being like “We’re gonna figure it out. I’m gonna get this together”, and I was just like “That’s the most confident you’ve ever sounded about anything.”

Amanda: “It’s cause he was a single dad, he had to figure it out.”

Shayne: “But Ian’s always like ‘yeah, I dunno’ but this was the first time he was like ‘we’re gonna - I’m gonna - we’re gonna have it.’

Anthony: “And I feel like we see that [confidence] a lot more from him now.”

Shayne: “Yeah, and that was the first time that I was like ‘Dude, this Ian’s crazy. This guy’s not fucking around.’ and he had to do so much behind the scenes that I didn’t see, but he was making business deals and he was working all day, every day to get that shit together. And you know people say Rhett and Link saved Smosh, it’s like Ian saved Smosh. Rhett and Link were there to make that deal happen, but Ian was the one who put that shit together.”

Anthony: “For sure.”

Loved this from Shayne! Because it’s so true, yes R&L were there when Smosh needed a home, but Ian was the one who put in the hard work to make that happen. None of it could have happened without him. And I’m glad Anthony agrees, and as his comments at Vidcon suggest, he’s very thankful that Ian was there to save Smosh so he could come back and they could rightfully own what is their’s, doing what they love, together again.

Shayne: [talking about how Ian and Anthony going their separate ways needed to happen] “You started this thing forever ago when you were kids and it’s completely overshadowed your own lives and your friendship. To be able to take a step away and figure out who you guys are on your own and then come back - you guys at a certain point were forced to be best friends on camera and that’s tough and it becomes a product more than an actual friendship, so to be able to walk away and leave that alone and then choose to be best friends again.”

Not so much a compliment, just loved this. It’s the choice to be best friends again that gets me. Something they’re actively choosing and put above everything else, they’re never going to let anything get in the way of their friendship again and that is so special.

The famous quote comes to mind :-

“If you love something, set it free. If it comes back, it’s yours.”

Shayne: “I said it to Ian when he was on the podcast - I really respect both of you for your both individual journeys in all this. Like your choice to leave the thing you made forever ago as a kid, that meant everything to you, that’s an insane choice. And you made it for your own good, and you recognised your own happiness and that was gigantic. And Ian, I think really was scared to be a leader here, he was scared to be on his own, like president, and he really did it and he’s stuck with it through crazy [times] - not only the shutdown where he stepped up, but the pandemic as well, where we were all filming stuff on our own by ourselves, and he stuck with it, man. That dude, he’s had some endurance with all of this and so to see you guys back together, I know for him there’s pressure taken off because he has you, and I can see there’s so many aspects of the job that he questions himself - I think he’s great at it, but he questions himself and I think you can fill in that part for him where he’s like ‘oh sweet, I know I can rely on you’.”

Anthony looks like he’s about ready to cry when Shayne said that and I don’t blame him because I could too.

Knowing just how important he is to Ian. That he is the only person Ian can rely on when it comes the leadership side of the business, an area where he’s been alone in for so long, doubting himself, I’m sure it makes Anthony want to hype him up and reassure him even more that he’s doing a good job.

Shayne: “And I said this to you, I think the day you first came back, but I’m like - you both together is one of the greatest YouTubers ever.”

Anthony: “I appreciate that.”

Shayne: “You individually - super successful. Like you went and you were successful on your own. Ian maintained Smosh on his own. That’s really cool to see that there was success from both of you individually, but together - I mean when we’re at Vidcon and we’re talking to other YouTubers, Smosh has, there’s something to it right? Like other YouTubers go ‘Oh! Smosh!’ that’s a big deal.”

It’s so emotional how this thing that Ian and Anthony created together as teenagers is what it is now 🥲 and it’s so true - together, they’re something special.

Anthony: [discussing how he discovered his interview format for his videos after trying lots of different kinds of content after leaving Smosh] “I thought that my lane was making sketch comedy so I was writing out some stuff. But I realised that on my own, without Ian, I am not a very strong writer. I do not have the funniest jokes.”

Again, Anthony recognising Ian’s talent when it comes to writing and the Yin and Yang of their dynamic, and how they need each other to really be at their best.

[Amanda says how Anthony seems like an extrovert in his interviews. He says it’s an illusion and that he’s really introverted - Shayne agrees that he is]

Shayne: “I mean I’m just now hanging out with you again recently, but I always got the sense, and I get the sense still, that Ian is the outgoing one.”

Anthony: “Yeah.”

Shayne: “Ian’s super outgoing, and people maybe don’t clock that… At parties, Ian will walk up to any group of people and he’ll just join the conversation.”

Anthony: “For sure.”

Amanda: “You’re right, he does.”

Shayne: “It is shocking to me. And he’s so chill about it.”

I know this was mainly just Anthony agreeing, but I found it interesting and it made me wonder if that is another reason their dynamic works so well and if it’s maybe also a comfort for Anthony? As a fellow introvert, I know how much easier it makes things when you have an extroverted person with you in social situations that you feel uncomfortable with. So I wonder if it’s the same for Anthony with Ian, that he has him there to lean on, knowing he’ll take the forefront in those types of situations if he needs it.

And that was it for the podcast and for the month of July.

And so draws to a close the first instalment of this compliments series. I plan to continue this month to month, or every few depending on how much content there is - you’ll be able to find all parts in the Compliments Masterlist.

Thank you for reading and catching up with the world of the Anthony Padilla Ian Hecox Fanclub with me. Hope you enjoyed and I shall see you next time!

#this took me so long so rb are appreciated 😅#wanted to get this out end of July but didn’t finish in time #started adding august onto it forgetting you can only add 10 photos on a post 😑#but anyways! so happy to finally get this out to you guys!#smosh #ian hecox #anthony padilla #ianthony #☀️🔍#ianthony compliments #ian and anthony #smoshian #smoshanthony #smosh ian #smosh anthony #my posts

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infiniteglitterfall · 7 months ago

Text

the worst part about the i/p discourse

it's NOT the posters of Nazis with the swastikas on their flags replaced by stars of david. or the pages and pages of blood libel conspiracy theories in instagram posts about why local pride organizers are such big meanies. or the newfound insistence that jews just exaggerate and make up antisemitic incidents to smear the pro-palestine movement....

it's the fact that every. single. time. i try to post anything about any of these things, i end up in a rabbit hole SO DEEP IT'S IMPOSSIBLE TO GET TO THE BOTTOM.

Yesterday, I saw a --

YOU SEE? I went to Reddit for a second to find the link to the post about the Melbourne protest this week that had people carrying the Nazi-star-of-David posters. But first, I saw a post that began, "All I see on social media and the news is more and more attacks. Who beat up a Jewish family here, who stabbed a 1 year old in front of a synagouge. Those are two examples, I've lost track of all of the other ones."

and I was like, SOMEONE STABBED A ONE YEAR OLD IN FRONT OF A SYNAGOGUE?!?!

And I started to look that up. AND THIS IS EXACTLY WHAT HAPPENS. EVERY SINGLE TIME.

Two days ago, I saw an article about Cincinnati Socialists setting up a table at North Kentucky Pride without asking, it sounds like, to hand out flyers saying the war in Gaza was Netanyahu's "Final Solution" for Palestinians. Cincinnati Pride organizers alerted the NKY Pride organizers, who kicked them out.

I was like, "okay, well, let's see what Cincinnati Socialists say about it." Then I discovered that their instagram not only "names and shames" the two Cincy Pride organizers and one NKY organizer. Which led to the Cincy ones getting so much harassment and violent threats that they resigned....

But also has a related post that goes on for pages and pages of pure blood libel.

So then I sat there fact-checking all their blood libel and finding out that not only was it untrue and impossible, but half the stuff they referenced didn't even exist.

Then I ended up fact-checking things in the "article" that they'd clearly used as their source. Fact-checking things I found while fact-checking those.

Trying to write a Facebook post about how fucked up it all was. Giving up on the Facebook post after several hours because it made more sense to write it on Tumblr, or at least to write it on Tumblr FIRST.

Then I'm also looking at the post they made "naming and shaming" the organizers, which is like... "the Cincy ones are partners! two days after Hamas's incredibly violent and brutal massacre, one of them changed his profile picture to a photo of them honeymooning IN ISRAEL two years ago! they did it through some group that COVERS A LOT OF THE COSTS FOR HONEYMOONS IN ISRAEL!!!!" and "the other one went to a protest of Hamas's massacre!!! with a sign saying to free the hostages!!!"

oh no. the fucking horror. truly how did these genocidal monsters even end up on the pride organizing committee. this is a shanda scandal.

then I'm responding to people's comments, trying to talk them down from horrible positions. telling people things like, "I know it's asking a LOT, but if people could grasp the idea that "going to Israel for your honeymoon" ISN'T "committing genocide," it would be really great. Or that wanting the hostages freed is actually something that both Israeli AND GAZAN protests have called for, and it's only Westerners who are opposed to it. Or that in fact, saying you "Stand with Israel," a few days after an incredibly brutal attack that burned multiple towns to the ground in one day, killed entire families and their pets, an attack which Hamas has promised to repeat "again and again and again" till Israel is violently destroyed... is opposing that attack, NOT calling for genocide."

then i'm like, "oh, i should edit these images to show the correct info, and i can explain that I drew arrows and added the correct info!" so then i'm doing that and working on writing alt text, and holy shit??? how many fucking hours??? did i spend on this?????? just because i read a frigging reddit post that linked to an article about it?????????

and like. i can go through and debunk all that shit in the comments. (and did. i responded to every single comment that believed this shit.) but ultimately, everyone who pulls this shit has way more reach than I do.

just. like. THAT'S ONE ORG IN ONE PLACE. And it was bad enough that I persevered and finished debunking it and commenting on it today and started telling people about it. Do you even know how many more of those I've seen?! How many I would see if I looked for them on purpose?!

The tsunami of deliberate disinformation is SO FUCKING BAD. All of it is SO FUCKING LAYERED. In any single bullshit post, there are SO MANY horrifically bad and wrong assumptions. So many of them are DESIGNED, BY HAMAS, to lead people down the path to "All Zionists should die! Israel should be violently destroyed!"

There were so many comments on a "Free Palestine Melbourne" group's instagram post (Sydney? Could've been Sydney) asking, pointedly, how many Jews are Zionists. What percentage of Jews are Zionists, again?

One (1) had a response telling them it doesn't matter what the percentage is, no percentage would justify collective punishment of Jews.

The rest all said things like, "Too many."

It feels like constantly being lied to. Just constantly being lied to about things I have looked up and verified myself from solid sources, now and in the past, by people I counted as my community.

Then just now I opened Instagram because I hadn't taken screenshots of a couple of the pics I wanted to add. And I'm hit with these:

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by jewsinschool (@jewsinschool)

instagram

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Jewish on Campus (@jewishoncampus)

instagram

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Jewish and Proud (@jewishpridealways)

instagram

Then some brighter posts (including one of a baby bat!!) and then a post which sums up a lot of what I'm feeling right now.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Jess Cook (@jessicagcoook)

instagram

It's like, yes, that, plus the uncomfortable sense that some people are getting thisclose to going, "Most Jews are Zionists anyway, so YEAH, I DO think most Jews deserve to die."

#antisemitic tropes #blood libel #depressing discourse #fuck hamas #long post #wall of words #Instagram

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everlastingdreams · 2 months ago

Text

The Weeping Monk x Fem!Reader : Forged Of Fire : Chapter 1

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Story Summary: Raised under the tiranny of your own family, and forced to steal to earn your keep, you struggle to survive. Born from a Fey mother, and a Manblood father who wanted only sons, you are forced to hide your Fey side. When you are ordered to steal from Father Carden by your half-brother, Cassian, your life spirals out of control and you find yourself at the mercy of the Weeping Monk. The life you knew changes drastically when Cassian betrays you in the cruelest of ways. A trade is made, a promise is broken, and a debt must be paid.

Chapter Title: The Group

Notes: Finally it's here! Tumblr is messing up the way the text is posted so yeah… sorry about that. I write on Reedsy but copying it here always makes it look a little wonky. There will be some tags added on later chapters, this to avoid big spoilers.

Warnings: Angst. Hurt. Trauma bonding. Intrafamily violence. Depression. Self-harm. Suicidal thoughts. Violence. Torture. Gore. Pining. Trauma. Self-Flagellation. Manipulation. Strong Language. Blood. Misogyny. PTSD. Spicy and smut parts. Slight redemption arc. Lima/Stockholm syndrom-ish. Childhood trauma.

Other warnings: Jealousy. Forbidden Love. Romance. Slow-burn Found Familly-ish. Comfort. Fluff. !SMUT and SPICE!

Word count of this fic: +250K

Chapter: 1/47

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The sun had only just risen in the sky when your half-brother, Cassian, slammed his fist against your bedchamber’s door.

His voice thundered through the wood, “Get up! Father wants to see us!”

You had jerked awake violently, hating that tone that he used far too often.

He hammered on your door again. “Did you hear me?! Get up!”

“Yes-,” You swallowed down your awakened fear to say it louder, “Yes! Coming!”

He walked away from your door, leaving you to get dressed in a haste. As always. Rest was not something that was really granted to you and Cassian enjoyed to take away what little joy’s you had in life. Needless to say, there weren’t any actually left. Your father had been married twice, his first marriage ended when Cassian’s mother died young. His second ended when your mother died after childbirth. Cassian was just two years old when you were born. Your father, Lord Aldith of Ravenwick, blamed you for the death of your mother ever since, so much so that he had refused to even tell you her name no matter how many times you had asked. And had he known that you were born with the same Feyblood as your mother after all, instead of Manblood like him, you doubted he would have bothered to keep you alive for as long as you had. He detested the Fey and you had no doubt that he made your mother hide what she was once he had her fully in his control. You had never told a soul of what you were, the only luck you had was that your markings were not visible to the eye. For a while you had believed to be normal, until you were five, then your whole world changed. It also took some time to fully understand what you were, had you not seen a description that matched you perfectly in a book once you would have never known. Secrets and lies, all of it needed to keep yourself alive, to keep yourself safe from your own family… And even then they still treated you ill.

You pulled your shirt on, wincing at the dull pain from the bruise on your arm. Closing up your bodice hurt your still healing wrist. It were common discomforts you had learned to live with. Once you had tried to run away, just once, and Aldith had send his mercenaries to find you. They had dragged you back to the village, into your home, and tossed you at your father’s feet. He didn’t need them to enact the punishment for your actions, he did that all by himself. The bruises had taken weeks to heal, and ever since that day loud noises and shouts tended to make you flinch.

You rushed to the great chamber of the large manor, the place where the Lord of the village always expected to see you when called upon. After taking a deep breath, you entered the room. Cassian was already waiting impatiently for your attendance, as was Aldith.

“What took you so long to arrive here?” Aldith asked annoyed.

Your head tilted down, eyes fixed on the floor, “I was getting dressed, father.”

There was a scoff, but thankfully he seemed to accept the excuse this time. He pointed to a place on the map that was splayed out on the table. “I am sending the both of you on another errand. The paladins have set up camp not far from here and if the rumors I’ve heard are true then there will be gold present in those tents. Go there, take what you can without being noticed. Ava and Bertram will join you on this task.”

It was true, your father had never earned his wealth in an honest way and expected his children to do as he did. No matter the risk.

“We are stealing from the Church?” It slipped from your thoughts.

Aldith glared your way. “Would you rather starve than earn your keep?”

It was a blatant threat, he was wealthy enough to feed the whole village if he wanted to. But this was your life with them, obey or suffer the consequences. Cassian grinned, clearly enjoying how you were being put in place.

“No, father.” you quietly said.

“No more questions from you then. You do what Cassian tells you to do, understood?”

“Yes, father.”

You knew better than to ask for a weapon to aid in this errand, they would never trust you with one. And you knew not to tell them how stupid you thought it was that they would risk the anger of the paladins, they didn’t care for your opinion. At least Bertram would come along, he was perhaps the closest thing to a friend you had, even if he was just being polite it was more than you were used to.

“Any questions, Cassian?” Aldith asked.

If no one had been present to see it, you would have rolled your eyes at the blatant favoritism. Of course your brother had questions about this task, and your father saw no problem in answering them.

After midday, you sat on the wagon next to Ava. Bertram was steering the wagon, following the directions Cassian was feeding him. The plan was to hide the wagon at quite a distance from the paladin camp, then continue the rest on foot and gather at the wagon again later. In case things went wrong, you were to scatter and meet at the wagon when it was safe again.

You were chewing the small piece of bread Bertram had given you before the group had left the village, was it so obvious to others that your body was growing weaker? Meals were something you had to earn according to Aldith, and it was far harder for you to earn them than it was for Cassian. You said not a word during the entire ride. Ava, a Sky Folk woman and Bertram’s sister, tried to flirt with Cassian quite often. But Cassian looked down on the Fey even if he never spoke it out loud outside the walls of your shared home. To him, Ava and Bertram were just pawns to use.

The wagon came to a halt in the forest on the spot that Cassian had chosen. The four of you got off the wagon and gathered together to walk the remaining distance. It wouldn’t take much longer than an hour and the paladin camp should be reached by the time it got dark. During the walk it became painfully obvious again how little Cassian cared to talk to you, but you didn’t mind, talking to him always ended in being affronted or threatened.

Just before the sun went down, the group reached the paladin camp. The four of you were hiding in the bushes, trying to detect weaknesses in their camp to use to your advantage. Cassian was quick to figure out which tent belonged to Father Carden. And of course, considering the risk of getting caught was the highest, he ordered you to go and steal what was there for the taking. The others picked tents that were closer to the edge of the camp. It always went like this, you were always the one having to take the most risks, because you were expendable. Often it had crossed your mind to just walk up to a paladin and tell them of what you were, to let them end your life and suffering. The only thing offering some consolation were the faint whispers in your ears whenever you thought of it, if you could even call it consolation. It was something you had never spoken a word about, these barely decipherable voices talking to you… people would learn that there was something wrong with you and treat you even worse than they already did.

“Did you hear me?” Cassian’s irritated tone pulled you from your darkening thoughts.

The flash of panic in your eyes betrayed you.

He gave your arm a rough pull. “Get over there and earn your keep!”

With a slight shove, he pushed you towards the camp. You hurried away from him, keeping yourself low and hidden behind the bushes whilst moving towards your target. You had enough experience to stay undetected on your way towards Father Carden’s tent. After waiting for a moment to see if there was anyone inside, you hurriedly made an opening in one of the tent’s walls to crawl under. Crawling over the ground wasn’t your favorite past time, it ruined your already worn down clothing further.

Father Carden’s tent wasn’t as modest as you had believed it to be, there was a large carpet inside that looked like it must have been worth quite some coin. But a carpet was too large to sneak out of the paladin camp undetected. What you were looking for was found inside a large wooden trunk. Hidden between a lot of red robes, you found a heavy ring made of gold and encrusted with red gemstones that you believed to be rubies, this would sure earn you your keep for a while. Just when you wanted to slip the ring into your pocket, the owner of it walked into the tent. Father Carden looked absolutely shocked to see you there and you used that moment to bolt out of the tent. The priest was shouting something that were undoubtedly commands to his paladins. You even ran into one of them and the paladin ended up falling as a result of the collision. It didn’t make you slow down at all, you needed to get out of there. You reached the trees by the time the whole camp seemed aware of intruders. From the corner of your eyes you saw Ava dart into the woods as well. It wasn’t the first time you were caught on one of these errands, but Father Carden and the paladins were not afraid to enact severe punishments. Fey or not, death was an acceptable measure for them. You kept running as the darkness fell over the lands, the advantage of working in a group was that it was far harder for them to catch you if there was more than one target to capture.

The noise from the shouting paladins did not reach your ears anymore after running for quite some time. You began to walk to let your legs rest but still in a fast pace, and not much later Ava found you. Together you walked in the direction of the wagon, whilst she asked you if you were able to find anything worth the trouble, you had shown her the ring in response. The wagon couldn’t be far off anymore, running would have brought you closer to it quicker than walking.

“Stop!” Ava suddenly grabbed your arm, she hushed you when you tried to ask why. She gestured to let you know she had heard something.

You held your breath. She drew her sword. You envied that she had a weapon to defend herself. Another sound came and she spun around, it had come out of the other direction.

“It’s an animal?” She whispered doubtful.

A branch snapped and made you turn to the sound. The voices in your head were growing louder the more you panicked, something in you told you to run but what direction was safe?

It was Ava who made the decision. “We need to run. NOW!”

She followed her own advice right away and you followed her without questioning it. You could tell that she was running in the direction where the wagon was waiting, was she hoping to find the others there to help? That hope was cut short when the sound of a galloping horse gave chase not far behind you. Like a shadow chasing the two of you, the horse closed in, it was terrifying.

“Ava! Look out!” you tried to warn her.

She barely had enough time to throw herself out of the way of the horse’s path. Both of you hit the ground hard. The horse’s rider swiftly dismounted, the sound of steel being drawn made Ava get to her feet immediately. She barely had enough time to ward off the sword lashing out at her. Fear engulfed you both when you realized who the enemy was that you were facing. Father Carden’s most loyal soldier, the Weeping Monk.

Ava did her best to stand her ground but she ended up falling. You prevented him from being able to deliver the killing blow to her by running up to him and grabbing his arm, halting his movements.

“Leave her alone!” It was a rare thing to hear your voice be so loud.

He had thrown you on the ground so fast you didn’t even understand how he’d done it. And still it didn’t stop you from trying to stop him long enough for Ava to get on her feet again. You grabbed hold on his leg, he pulled free just as Ava attacked him. And then she was bleeding, his sword had cut through her sleeve and wounded her. The voice of Bertram rang from close-by, he ran to come to his sister’s aid.

You crawled backwards, away from the fight that ensued. In the darkness it was hard to focus your eyes on the Monk, his dark attire worked to his advantage. It all happened so ridiculously fast. The Monk fought brutally elegant, as if he was the personification of death itself. Bertram hit the ground after being struck by the Monk’s elbow. Ava barely kept her footing against him. You tried to help Bertram back to his feet. And then from the corner of your eyes you saw Cassian, with a rock in his hand.

Cassian struck the Monk just once against the back of the head and neutralized the threat you had been fighting. The Monk was unconscious by the time he hit the ground hard. Everyone was shaking at the sight of him, even then they still feared him as if he was a vengeful spirit that would come to haunt them for this. Cassian cursed and dropped the rock. Bertram was still holding your shoulder for support. Ava held her wounded arm.

“How the hell did he find us?!” Ava questioned out loud, voice shaking.

“The bastard is know for tracking down Fey.” Cassian said irritated, glancing at both of the Sky Folks.

Questions were fired back and forward between them, but their voices faded out in your ears. You were transfixed on the Monk’s face, on the marks he bore beneath his eyes, and understood why they called him the ‘Weeping’ Monk. You couldn’t believe the terrible truth it revealed to you. He was Fey. Cassian was saying something about tying the Monk up, it brought your attention back to the group.

“He’s too dangerous.” Bertram protested.

Cassian would not hear any reasoning. “He’s worth a lot of coin to the many he has crossed. This is the chance of a lifetime, we are doing this. Ava, fetch the wagon. My father will reward us all royally for this.”

Ava was angry with the decision but did as he asked, she was far too eager to win his affection, it would be a while before she would reach the wagon and return with it.

“Get that rope from his horse’s saddle!” Cassian barked the command to you.

This plan was insane. The Monk was far too dangerous to be kept as a captive, but Cassian saw no risks, he only saw the mountain of coins he’d get for the Monk. You approached the horse and the stallion turned his head to you right away, you patted the beautiful creature’s neck and took the rope from the saddle. Bertram met you halfway, so you wouldn’t have to get too close to Cassian, and took the rope. He used it to help Cassian tie the Monk up and to a tree. Your hands were sweating from anxiousness. This was perhaps the worst idea Cassian had ever had and you could only pray that it wouldn’t backfire on everyone involved.

Taglist:

@ourlazydetectivekitten @the-great-adventures-of-me @linkpk88 @fxrchxldws @elenaoftheturks @slytherlight @beananacake @crystallizedtime @moonlightaura03 @angrygardendeer @have-aheart @5am-cigarette @arcanenature @thewinterskywalker @notyourwildestdream @coloursforyourportrait @koressecretidentity @nike90 @n1ghtlux @rachlovesactors @luckyzipperscissorsbat @morena-doing-stuff @the-fangirl-diaries @gipsydanger17 @heavenly1927 @phantasmalbeiing @labyrinthonmymind @asarcastic-thiamstan @rainyv-skies @stclairesplace @katjusja @isla-bell-blog @beebeerockknot @sahvlren @lancedoncrimsonwings @weird123abc @elizabeth-holland24 @kissingandromeda

Please let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist of this story. Using this old list from the previous fic.

#weeping monk x reader #weeping monk #cursed netflix #the weeping monk #weeping monk x you #cursed lancelot #the weeping monk x reader #cursed weeping monk #weepingmonk #lancelot/reader #lancelot x reader #lancelot x you #lancelot

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bronx-bomber87 · 2 months ago

Note

Hi!! I just spent the last hour scrolling through your page and I adore everything you have to say about tim and lucy…

So I was curious (because I’m a month into the fandom and I don’t really know anyone yet) what your thoughts, predictions, expectations for season 7 would be?

Sorry if you’ve posted something similar before, please point me in the right direction if you have :)

- Loren

Hi! @moderatelydelusional Nice to meet you, Loren. Thank you for the lovely ask :) Making me all red with your nice comment. So glad you liked everything I've had to say about our lovely ship. Appreciate it so much. Before I answer I want to say welcome to the fandom! We are glad to have you here. 😊 There are so many good blogs on tumblr for them. Glad you chose me as one of them. I am honored. ❤️ I haven't really tackled s7 at all so this is a good ask. Excited to answer it. I'm a detailed woman. So imma break your question down into sections if that's alright. I legit don't know how to be brief about this show or them haha Also will do it with gifs cause that's my thing. Here is my detailed answer below. Hope you enjoy it.

Thoughts on S7- Well we've had ZERO and I mean ZERO spoilers or indicators about this upcoming season. Which I do love them keeping it close to the vest. Honestly I do. Just means they have something incredibly good lined up. They just want to make sure we are surprised. Can't fault them for that. But I'm dying for anything. The end of s6 left us wanting so much more with the scene above. We are all chomping at the bit for any content. I know Eric had a interview couple weeks back about s7. From what little he was able to divulge I am EXCITED.

Here is the link to it. Talks about Tim needing to EARN Lucy back in more ways than one. How she is the love of his life. (Tell us something we don't know haha) But I love Eric referring to her to as such. The personal development for Tim to come as well. Like I said they haven't given us much of anything yet. It's hard to have thoughts when we don't have much to go on. But it seems like it'll be well rounded season. It's always been a character driven show so I think it'll be more than just our ship. Which is fine with me. It is an ensemble cast after all.

I fell in love with this show as a whole when it first launched back in 2018. Give me more Tim/Angela, Lucy/Nyla and Wopez. I'll take all of that. I have been all in from the Pilot. I remember watching it on my lunch break on my phone when it first premiered. I was hooked. When we finally get a promo and a friggin premiere date I can probably be more in depth with my answer. Since we don't have a lot to go on it's hard to have in depth thoughts ha But from what little they've let out I'm quite excited for the journey we're going to embark on. We just need a start date for said journey. All we know is Jan but I need a hard date LOL

Expectations For S7. -I expect Chenford to get back to the softness above. It won't be easy but I expect we are headed back there. I think it's gonna be quite the journey to get us there. Both Tim and Lucy are going to need to grow before we do. They both still have shit to work out. Lucy with her career path and the rough time she had last year. It wasn't just Tim that crushed her. I mean it was a huge headliner but wasn't the ONLY one. Our girl has some communication problems and is like her soulmate in how she handles emotional distress. Expect that to be addressed on some level.

Tim obviously has a lot to make up for and he knows it. That is the first step. I expect we see Tim working constantly to improve himself as a person. To be worthy of Lucy again. He's not going to half ass his healing. He is going to be very Tim in how he goes after it. This is going to bleed into every part of his life. I expect to see that all over his character development in s7.

I also anticipate that we'll see an even stronger and more refined version of Chenford in Season 7, with their characters continuing to grow and evolve. Strong separately and even more so together. I cannot wait for the slow burn of their reconciliation. Going to make all the hurt worth it. It'll be Chenford 2.0 and we are all going to be grateful for that. While losing our minds together it's happening. I would rather have our ship and characters be real and develop. Better that than to be puddle deep like John/Bailey. I'll take the pain of growth over the stagnation of boredom. i.e. Bailian.

Predictions-Obviously I want to predict something like above. Them starting over. Kisses, hugs, and if we're lucky enough to get a repeat of 5x12 on screen. That one I'm straight just trying to manifest lol Possibly Celina catching them or almost doing so when they get back together at her place. These are more hopeful than actual predictions lmao But I mainly predict a deeper intimacy between them when they do reconcile. Stronger communication. It'll be beautiful. I also think we're about to see a side of Tim Bradford we haven't seen before. As we know Lucy brings out the best in this man. The absolute best. We're going to see that on full display.

I think he will continue therapy. I also think we’re going to see a very determined Tim driven in his quest to make amends to Lucy. Which will bring out that new side we haven't seen. It's one of the facets of s7 that has me most excited. And not just for the Chenford portion. (Which does make me giddy to no end) But for him as well. You follow me long enough you'll know I love Tim development. So this excites me so very much.

We watched Tim take strides in his mental health walk and as a person in s6 after 6x07. I expect we're going to see the fruit of that not just in his amends to Lucy. But professionally as well. Tim took quite the fall professionally after being bounced out of Metro. He has fences to mend to Grey, Lt. Pine, and those around him as well in patrol. I see him making those strides and then some.

I predict Lucy is going to finally going to get grounded professionally and personally. (She does have a new roommate. I can see development here too) Lucy got very lost in s6. I think s7 she will be righting her ship. Finding her purpose. My guess was T.O. for her with her dipping her toe with Celina in 6x08. She's so empathetic and willing to slow down and teach. I think that could be a good path for her. Whatever her trajectory is I think it's going to be be worked out in s7 for our girl. It's time for her to get some damn wins. I hope that answers your ask LOL Or maybe was too much? HA Either way I can't wait for s7. I need a promo and a premiere date. Seriously ABC, you're killing us.

#chenford #the rookie #s7 #asked and answered #moderatelydelusional #tim x lucy #otp: doing my job #otp: unless it is #the rookie s7 #tim bradford #lucy chen #tim bradford x lucy chen

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eri-pl · 1 month ago

Text

Announcement: Silm Advent calendar

OK, so you know how Advent calendars work, right? I imagine it's a known thing, not only for Christians, because every chocholate making company makes them and supermarkets shove them in people's faces.

Anyway in case you don't: You have a box with 24 (or whatever amount of days depending on the year) slots, and each day you open the one with the day's date and there's a small treat in there.

So I'll be posting something like this. Every day there'll be a scheduled post (not all on the same hour) with a title "Silm Advent calendar [day]" and a "read more". And under the "read more" there'll be a small treat for y'all.

They are all already scheduled.

All treats are entirely SFW: The images are mostly kid-appropriate (some have too much fire for small kids, also: quality may vary). The texts are… if you're old enough to use Tumblr, they're age-appropriate four you. Not all would beappropriate for, say, a 7yo because sometimes there's a little violence or cursing. Some are very fluffy, some are sad or somewhat ominous. Also, they are related to the Silm, so the implications/context are sometimes much, much darker (or lighter). All potential triggers are hopefully tagged and listed, please let me know if I missed something. The quality may vary too (but hey, they're proofread, we die like Men!)(well ok they aren't proofread that well obviously. But they are proofread) which is still something.

They aren't necessarily 100% consistent with each other or other stuff I wrote, but there are some connections.

So:

Silm Advent calendar 1: Day

Warnings: teenager PoV in late Númenor and he's not even Faithful. No triggering details, but it's late Númenor.

Too young.

Too young to sail with everyone. (They really meant "not good enough", didn't they? Not good enough with the ship, with the ropes, with the sword, with the lessons, with anything. It's not like there's an age limit after all.)

The air is thick, too hot for the season and the street is black. The soot stains Zâinathôr's new shoes.

Too young to sail, not good enough to sail and to return with the glory of immortal lands. (Will they all be immortal when they come back, or just the important ones? Or just the ones who fought best against the jealous, lying "lords" who claim those lands?)

Not enough and now they're probably fighting already and Zâinathôr has to wash a damned wall like a peasant, because some traitor had vandalized it—again—with strange, wicked letters. Is it a threat? Is it a curse? Hopefully even if it is, it will befall on the broom, or on the wet cloth on it, not on Zâinathôr. He mutters luck-bringing proverbs just in case.

His life is cursed enough already. The younger son, and also the less gifted one. Too young to sail.

They'd been gone for over a month and yesterday the abandoned island shook without its king. Will they ever return home? Or will they bask in the immortal glory and leave the weak ones waiting forever?

Zigûr has stayed, but the island doesn't seem to care. Or maybe he does not care. The black smoke rises into the sky, but it changes nothing, except the state of walls and streets. Apparently the rebels don't care either.

Zâinathôr smears the watered down paint in all directions, now it's dark from the soot, but the hourglass and the curse are still visible below the black. Why do those people want everyone to die? What has anyone even do to them? Well, except killing then, but, damn, they started it! They tried to usurp the king. Zâinathôr curses them quietly, unsure if he's more angry about the murder plots or about the stubborn unreadable vandalism.

It's been over five weeks already, maybe five and a half. Hopefully when the King defeats the cowards who live in the west, the traitors would finally understand that they can't win and go away or... something. And leave Zâinathôr and his friends alone.

The street beneath his feet vibrates with a low murmur again, and he continues washing. His thoughts are already at next week's play. What should he wear?

It gets darker. Why do those damned clouds always have to appear when he needs to see clearly? Even in the dimmed light, the paint on the wall is still visible, despite all the washing. The only difference is that now large part of the wall is black.

For a moment Zâinathôr wonders again what those words mean. Something nasty, that's for sure. Better no not think about it. (The air smells of fire.)

He'll wear the sea-blue tunic. It will look better in this weather.

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epicbuddieficrecs · 7 months ago

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Weekly Recap | June 3rd-23rd 2024 ~ Podfics

Had to split the fic rec cause Tumblr couldn't handle how long it was 😅

Podfic

[Podfic] i want your midnights by Cass_Caelis/ @cassiopeiacaelis for heartbeatdiaz/ @loserdiaz (New Years Eve, First Kiss | 10-20min | Teen): Buck wasn't expecting his exes to show up at the New Year's party and he certainly wasn't expecting all of them wanting to kiss him at midnight. He only has one person in mind that he actually wants to kiss.

[podfic] trade amber clay roads for the sea foam by Matriaya // fic by @hattalove (Post-S5 | 10-20min | Teen): “It’s the thirty-seventh couch you’ve looked at today,” Eddie finally replies, trying to ignore the headache settling into his temples. “And I'm gonna guess there's something wrong with—what, the headrest?” Buck blinks at him. “It's the feet,” he mumbles, his gaze falling to the floor. “They're weirdly shaped.” in which buck is finally ready to buy a couch, except he doesn't seem to actually want one.

we made these memories for ourselves by half_bakedboy [Podfic] by Rhea314 (Rhea)/ @rhea314 // fic by half_bakedboy / @half-bakedboy (Love Confession, Chris&Buck | 10-20min | General): Buck (accidentally) starts a baby box for Christopher and Eddie finds out.

🔥 [podfic] the sound of love astounds me by All_I_Ask/ @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove for fleetinghearts/ @shitouttabuck (Getting Together | 10-20min | Teen): “All the more reason to sleep,” Eddie presses. Buck looks at him, blinking tiredly. “Okay,” he says, suddenly amenable, rounding the couch and climbing onto it. He drapes himself across it, settling on his back and shoving his head into Eddie’s lap with a contented sigh. Eddie sits frozen, book in one hand and the other hovering over Buck’s chest. or, there’s not a lot eddie wouldn’t do for buck

🔥 [podfic] share this hour of make-believe by All_I_Ask/ @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove for fleetinghearts/ @shitouttabuck (Quarantine, Getting Together | 10-20min | General): or, quarantine finds eddie sharing a bed with a pillow-thief and sleep-talker. he minds less than he thinks.

🔥 [Podfic] you knew the password (so I let you in the door) by RhetoricalQuestions/ @rhetoricalk // fic by lilythesilly / @lilythesilly (Post-S2 | 20-30min | General): “Last year,” he starts again, “We had this really rough call and Bobby—well, Hen and I went to check on him. We didn’t break down the door or anything because Hen had a key to his apartment.” His throat clicks when he swallows. “Said that they had keys to each other’s places in case one of them couldn’t make it home. And I don’t know I—it sounded nice. To have someone looking out for you like that. Just in case.” Eddie seems to come to a decision about something, because he nods once before pulling a key off of his own keyring and handing it to Buck. “Sounds nice to me too.” Or, Buck gives Eddie a key to his loft.

[podfic] but it feels like a fortress when the weather gets bad by TheBoyWhoWalksInTheLight/ @aro-of-artemis (Post-3x15: Eddie Begins | 20-30min | Teen): Turning his face to the side, his eyes landed on the collection of house keys that sat in a bowl on his counter. A key for his apartment, one for Maddie’s, the key to his Jeep and one for Eddie’s front door. Eddie had given it to him one day as though it were the simplest decision in the world. “Y’know. In case you ever need to watch Chris or something. Or in case of emergency.” OR Buck has a nightmare about Eddie dying, but he also has a key to Eddie's house.

🔥 Relationship Advice from Complete Strangers Online by HMSLusitania [Podfic] by Rhea314 (Rhea)/ @rhea314 // fic by @hmslusitania (Getting Together | 20-30min | Teen): When he gets home for the night, Buck turns to the one source of information that’s never let him down: the internet. But where does one go for relationship advice from complete strangers online? Which is how, ten minutes later, he finds himself on Reddit with a shiny new account and username. It takes him a while after that to craft his question for r/Relationships, but he thinks he’s got it pretty accurately conveyed before he hits post.

🔥 [PODFIC] Into the Unknown by TheyReadWhatWeSow (TheyReapWhatWeSow) // fic by benjaminrussell (Canon Divergent, S4 | 30-45min | Teen): Buck is cursed. Cursed to have visions of the future but for no one to believe him. Over the years he’s got used to working around it, until one day, the 118 gets a new firefighter who believes him without question. Okay, Eddie does have some questions, but he believes Buck, and that’s the important thing. But then Buck wakes to a vision of Eddie getting shot. Will he able to prevent his vision from coming true or is he destined to lose the one person who believes him?

🔥 [podfic] I Opened My Eyes and There You Were by All_I_Ask / @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove (Post-S3, Getting Together | 30-45min | Explicit): In which Buck provides the dots and Eddie finally connects them.

🔥 [podfic] i have dreams where i kiss you and it’s pink by All_I_Ask/ @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove for fleetinghearts/ @shitouttabuck (Getting Together, Fluff | 45-60min | Teen): or, jee-yun buckley-han's third birthday party is in dire need of some fairy tale magic and buck's attempt to save the day might just be the thing that finally kills eddie

[podfic] fall right into me by Matriaya // fic by therainbowsedge / @therainbowsedge (PWP | 45-60min | Explicit): They plan the evening on a Tuesday afternoon while on their way back to the station from a call. “Wait.” Buck waves his hand in the air to pause the conversation. “You’ve never smoked weed?” “I’m a firefighter,” Eddie says like that’s an answer to Buck’s question. OR: Buddie gets high.

🔥 The Red Means I Love You by EtoileGarden [Podfic] by Rhea314 (Rhea)/ @rhea314 // fic by @etoilegarden (Post-S4, Angst | 2-2.5h | Mature): How stupid was it that a song that freaked him out so badly was still catchy enough that his brain decided to just play it on random repeat? He held it together for long enough to set the washing machine, to press start, to stumble upstairs to his bed, to lie down. For weeks and weeks after Eddie had been shot, Buck kept dreaming of different endings to the scene. Most of them involving Eddie just dying right there on the tarmac, just out of Buck’s reach. Buck trying to hold him together in the back of the engine even though Eddie was already gone. Buck begging him to stay, to stay, to hold on, please hold on, and Eddie letting go. ~ Eddie's left the 118 and Buck is definitely coping with that.

🔥 [Podfic] listen to you breathing (is where I wanna be) by Itty_Bitty_Blondie/ @itty-bitty-blondie // fic by Yavilee/ @theladyyavilee (Major Character Injury, Angst, Getting Together | 4-4.5h | Teen): The thing is – and Eddie should have known this, has been taught this cruel lesson over and over and over again – the thing is most of the time the worst day of your life will start like just any other day. A million small moments, so familiar and mundane you almost don’t even notice them slipping by - until you would give anything to go back and get just one more. (You can’t.) - Or the one where Buck is presumed dead after a building collapse and Eddie has to live through the reminder that tomorrow isn't promised to anyone

#buddie #buddie podfic #buddie fanfiction #buddie fic rec #buddie fanfic #buddie fic #epic buddie fic rec

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xelasrecords · 23 days ago

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Once again I forgot that September 29 is this blog's anniversary, so I'm celebrating now woo! Thank you guys for sticking with me and being my friends. This year has been tough and I probably would've hit an even rockier bottom without tumblr and the people I've talked to here. No matter how short the interaction was, it helped. (MAJOR shoutout to @brighteststar707 @juminies and Lola)

When I hit a milestone, I like to look back on what has happened, so I decided to write unserious summaries and commentaries on my fics based on my recollection of them.

MYSTIC MESSENGER

As One So Half - Oh my God my loved ones are dead it's time to kill V and make Jumin mourn so I have an outlet to grieve.

Violent Need - Insane MC to match a controlling Jumin. The most passionate smut I've ever written. The passion is violence not lust.

Locus of Pain - She's so bitter and they're borderline toxic but at least Jihyun has his GE persona!! My possessive awakening, as in it turns out I don't hate possessiveness if it works for both sides.

Secrets and Sacrifices - I couldn't breathe so I suffocated everyone.

The Oasis Is Beautiful From Up Close - I easily forget about the fics I've written, so what I remember in this one is Jumin/MC/Jihyun, jokes, sexy scene almost sex but not, thoughtful conversation, then jokes again. Also my first romantic smut.

The Final Night - My life finally got a bit better so I allowed Jumin and MC to have a fleeting happiness before plunging them into a final battle.

All That Is Lost - Alas, Jumin is the target of my grief again. He's the one I'm killing now.

As Daylight Comes - Jumin and MC wish they could fuck in front of Jihyun but they respect their friendship too much to ruin their breakfast time.

The Love We Live For - Jumin, MC, Jihyun are falling for each other. I looked back on this with nostalgia because I don't think I can perceive love with as much altruism anymore.

Tea! Would You Like Some? - Jumin excessively promotes his tea because he forgets he likes wine after reader enters his house.

Haven Burning - Finally got the guts to write about Jihyun and it was about being codependent to hell. The start of my angsty smut as personal comfort.

Thank You for the Food - My most romcom fic ever. Wrote it as a pick-me-up to my younger self when I had to juggle a lot of things when I was sick and fantasising about Jumin taking care of me. Looooved writing the banter. My fics haven't been this happy since.

Wedge the Knife Under My Skin - Pent-up anger needed to go somewhere and the best course was through cheating on an abusive boyfriend with Jumin. This nourished my suppressed need for revenge. I was also interested in exploring the grey areas of cheating.

Greatest Kindness - I had an obsession with breakup stories that time so I had to give Jumin one.

Wedding Scene - My friend got married so my brain dramatised the whole thing. I was also grappling with guilt about something else so I smashed them together and it turned out to be a post-breakup fic set after Greatest Kindness.

In the Dead of Night, You Bring Me Back Alive - Tipsy thoughtful conversations inspired by my two brain cells debating each other. Might as well get them out. Oh, and the reader dazzles because we shouldn't be damsel-in-distress all the time in Jumin's fics!!

Cold Wrath - Jumin and the reader try to fight healthily. I got triggered writing the fight and reached a revelation™.

The Worth of Gifts - I haven't deleted this purely to show myself how much I've improved. A part of me wants to slam on this, but it was also my entry into fic writing so I'm just gonna be grateful that my past self got covid and was so bored that she entertained the idea of writing fanfics.

THE SSUM

The Great Anguish of Our Separation Means Nothing to Me - I was soooo excited when I saw Harry's potential for HUGE angst! Break them up, as I like to say.

Go, Go, Stay - A moment of relief when I finally understood Harry's inner working.

Lovely Walk - Persistent reader with a douchebag guy whom I would never recommend to pursue IRL, but this is all fun and games so it's aight. Beat this man into a pulp—metaphorically.

#mystic messenger #jumin han #jihyun kim #the ssum #harry choi #mystic messenger fanfic #the ssum fanfic #xela writes

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concretevampire · 2 years ago

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Early Morning Breeze

arthur morgan x f!reader ꔫ 9.7k ꔫ emotionally fueled smut, icky gooey lovey-dovey stuff for thou // based off of the Dolly Parton song // religious themes

A/N: this is my first rdr2 fic & my first post on tumblr & english is not my first language so critique is highly encouraged

You sniffle, forearm coming up to wipe away stinging tears clinging to lashes.

A rough exhale escapes your lips, and you can feel the sweeping glance Abigail sends you. Sniffling again, you press the heel of your palm to an eye, the other shut just as tight.

“Guess a couple’a vegetables is all it takes to get you cryin’,” she jokes, cleaver slicing off the head of a trout; her apron stanches the briny blood, scales scattered across her forearms like small slivers of moonlight.

“Onions,” is all you can muster as you finally allow yourself to turn away from the cutting board. You turn your face upward, cracking reddened eyes open to peer at the sky.

Big clouds– white, ozonated mountains beyond imaginable reach– float by lazily.

Another sniffle escapes you, but the dam of your eyes has been rebuilt, and the tears secede. Your sinuses still burn though, sending a horrible ache to the back of your throat.

Swallowing, you return to chopping onions.

Other than Abigail’s humming and the incessant clucking of hens in the distance (Grimshaw and chickens alike), the camp is quiet.

Shady Belle is certainly an improvement to dirt-ridden tent floors and crickets in your pillow, but it’s rather gloomy at times. You’re sure that it’s simply the haze of Bayou Nwa and the spectral creeping of ivy along chipping, gray paint. But it would be foolish, and most of all, naive, to ignore the simmering discomfort lingering under everyone’s skin.

Kieran’s death. Jack’s kidnapping. Dutch’s… nerves, if you were to give it a name.

Arthur feels it, and so do Abigail and Hosea, but all four of you are unwilling to mention his waning psyche for fear that it’ll only darken the already half-lit moon of his mind. It isn’t worth it.

And frankly, Arthur’s loyalty to Dutch is suicidal.

He will hem and haw, but in the end, orders are followed with abandon. Loyal to a fault, you tell him. It’s all I know, he says back, gently smiling as if an inside joke has been said. This ol’ dog can’t learn new tricks, and he’ll chuckle wryly at the quip, head shaking like the sins of the world have been settled and folded into the intestines of his mind.

You can only let him wallow for so long when he gets like that.

Though you’ve learned (after too many years as friends and a few more years as something quaintly more) how to put an end to it: a routine. Artfully mastered, a precariously balanced act that includes a succinct scold paired with a slap to his shoulder before pressing a soothing kiss to his cheek as he grovels over his journal like an overgrown child.

But another layer to the quiet and unease around camp is unarguably Micah's presence. Filthy, bastard leech of a man. Suckling away at Dutch’s good faith.

The fifth horseman of the apocalypse: treachery.

The way he saunters about is simply nauseating— skinny fingers pricking and prying into people’s souls. And he’s always been particularly taken with you. Disappointingly.

Micah finds sheer amusement in laying out your arteries on cork board, needles stabbing; displaying your heart like a prize butterfly, blood glittering like topaz stained glass.

It was simply infatuation at first, back all those months ago.

A game he had played with many women before and one you brushed aside easily. And then he discovered that you and Arthur were something— and Micah became a true savage, fueled by both contempt and his peculiar fascination with having taken women.

Even now as he makes his rounds with the gang, purposefully adding to the gloom, his eyes linger on your figure.

Micah veers closer, and you take a step towards Abigail. Her shoulders straighten, so do yours– a useless attempt to create some sort of fortress. He’s approaching in your peripheral and Abigail slams her cleaver down onto another trout, a singular clawed scale landing on your blouse.

You’ve moved from onions onto potatoes, your knife cutting away skin in precise shallow strokes.

When he’s close, Micah says your name– a horrible rasp of letters strung together by cigar smoke and glowing ash– the depths of hell holed up in his esophagus. You ignore him. And in turn he grins wildly, as if presented with riches beyond King Midas’ imagination. Your jaw clenches, eyes set on the knife and the naked, golden flesh in your palm.

“How’s Morgan’s broodmare?”

Abigail side eyes him. Your next slice is thicker than the last, heavy handed, taking off more flesh than you’d like. A waste.

“Or has he moved on after all these years? Got tired of the same fuck.”

You set the nude potato aside, picking up a new one. You imagine it’s Micah’s prick: dirt ridden and calloused. You begin to skin it too, taking extra care to needle out any dark spots.

“Been awhile since he’s been back in camp too. Makes you wonder.”

“Oh piss off, Micah,” Abigail hisses, her cleaver resting threateningly against the dark wood of the table. A sharp, glaring warning.

His smile widens.

He shifts his stance, shoulders slackening as his thumbs hook on the flap of his pockets. “Hit too close to home? Remind you too much of Johnny and how he ran off?”

“Micah,” you finally interrupt, picking up a new potato. “Shut up.”

“So that’s how I get you to talk.”

You stay silent, returning your attention to vegetables and other honeyed daydreams of skinning the Devil alive.

“Ignoring me again.” His eyes linger, thinking of horrifically creative ways to dissect and tear you apart as you stand. “Wouldn’t you be worried though? He’s been gone for a week.” The statement is mocking and cruel.

He wouldn’t know what concern was if it ate his face off, ravaged his eyeballs and devoured his tongue.

Abigail glowers, this time pointing the cleaver at Micah. “Yer just jealous.”

Micah sneers, the cylinder in his revolver shaking off a warning like a rattlesnake curling up to bite. “Jealous of what Miss Roberts?”

“Jealous she ain’t with you.”

Micah opens his mouth to retort something evil and violent, obvious in the way his pupils have contracted, gray eyes gone silver with wrath. You stab the knife into the cutting board, punctuating the air.

Both of them have stilled, turning towards you.

“Quit it.” You snarl. Abigail gives an apologetic look, but not before sending Micah another scowl. She’s back to chopping off fish heads.

And Micah, damn him, always needing the last word spits out a, “Bet he got himself killed,” before he rushes away, seething and gnashing his teeth.

It’s quiet again.

You get through six more potatoes before speaking. “You didn’t have to do that.” It’s a gentle chide towards Abigail, one that makes her huff.

“I just hate how he talks to us. ‘Specially you. And I hate how you don’t do anything.” Her hands wring together harshly, not having any more trouts to dismember.

“It’s best to ignore him. He gets off on it, the sick freak.” You keep your gaze fixed on your work.

Abigail relents, fingers stilling momentarily.

Her gaze rises, eyes trained on Jack’s small silhouette at the far edge of camp, playing in the weeds and brambles. He seems completely ignorant to such plights. What bliss.

Abigail’s raised him well.

“Ain’t ya worried though?” She says suddenly, spinning to look at you. You pause your ministrations, glancing into her perturbed blue eyes. “I mean,, well, Micah had a point, I guess.” She’s annoyed at the admittance, even if it is her own. “Arthur’s been gone for a while. It ain’t like him.”

You sigh. “It is like him,” your teeth chew at the flesh of your cheek, “but you’re right. He wouldn’t leave for a week without saying something.”

Abigail nods but her fingers have knotted and tangled once again. “Hunting trip?”

“Yeah, but with how long he’s been gone you’d think he’s trying to take down an entire herd of angry caribou in heat.”

She snorts. “He would try. Strong enough for it.”

“Bullheaded, that’s what he is.” And you scowl, starting to dice the potatoes far too quickly; bound to cut yourself. Abigail sends you a sympathetic, knowing smile.

“So you are worried.”

“Whatd’ya mean?”

“I mean you ain’t as calm and cool as yer pretendin’ to be.”

You continue chopping away, somehow not having cut yourself. Years of practice you suppose.

“Course I’m not. I’m always worried when it comes to him.”

Abigail snorts. “Well, ya never act like it.”

“Because if I act like it,” and you finish dicing off the last potato, ‘then that means something bad would actually be happening’, “then who would you have to talk to when you’re worrying?” And you give a knowing smirk.

She laughs, shaking her head, hands coming to a rest. You feel your own face brighten to a smile.

That’s the way it is with her; with all the girls. Quilted conversations complaining about men and life and backaches all riddled with coy smiles.

The breeze picks up then, and Jack comes tumbling along it, hands rusted with the red Lemoyne dirt and beaming at his mother like a little sun; too bright; seen without looking.

His eyes barely peek over the table, but he’s determined, placing a bundle of messy daisies next to dismembered fish, yet to be fileted.

“For you Mama,” he adds with his gift, hands clutching the edge of the table to watch her. And Abigail smiles tenderly, picking the flowers up. They drip, raw with dew and fish blood. She tries, ever so delicately, to wipe away the crimson stain on their petals.

“Thank you kindly, Jack,” she says. And he gives a toothy grin and runs off— on the breeze once again. Abigail ponders the daisies for a moment before offering you one with a teasing smile. “M,lady,” she jests, giving a sloppy curtsy. A true country princess. You snort, but fawn delighted shock, pricking the flower from her nimble fingers.

“Oh how romantic,” you add, putting a hand to your chest. Pocketing the daisy, Abigail does the same with hers, now fully smiling.

And with a few giggled words you separate; the chores around camp looming as Grimshaw’s eyes sharpen into blades, her tongue preparing to tear you both apart.

You help Tilly with the laundry.

Karen and you care for spare guns.

Under the shade, you patch up holes in socks and shirts and handkerchiefs all while Mary-Beth tells you about her new book— a romance, of course— about an outlaw and upper class woman finding love.

It makes you snort.

Amusement brewing in agitated, annoyed swirls in your chest as you’re reminded of Mary.

You’re too smart to be reading those kinds of things, you tell her, needle pricking your finger as you push it into the cotton of Dutch’s union suit. She shrugs; tells you she likes it.

You don’t blame her. You used to too.

And the sun has begun to set, casting long shadows on long faces after a long day. And people begin returning.

Javier and Bill from a home robbery.

Lenny with a wagon of purchases from Saint Denis.

John and Sadie each with a few rabbits in hand.

But no Arthur.

It’s a bit disheartening. Like a sunshower with no rainbow. What’s the point of the rain then?

You’ve grown anxious, your hands fussing the linen of your apron though there’s nothing to wipe away. And you don’t have the stomach to eat or the heart to make conversation— so as the gang begins settling in for the night you grab a basket, your revolver, and leave.

Charle’s, keeping watch, eyes you like a ladybug in winter, but keeps quiet.

You thank him with a glance.

And you’re not stupid. You know it’s dangerous in Bayou Nwa— whether it be under God’s sun or the Devil’s moon— crawling with bipedal predators and freaks of nature beyond comprehensible understanding. Arthur has warned you. Don’t you go out, firm words with even firmer hands on your shoulders. Not without me.

But you go.

You need to, if only to catch your breath; to steel yourself away from prying eyes if he doesn’t show up for yet another week.

And in the tall, marsh grass and bundles of cattails you’ve found something quiet and private; a place where you can crouch and pick away at plants with a frown you don’t have to hide.

And your fingers are shaky and uncalculated as you rip apart the oleander and sage, like a newborn colt, teetering across grass. You shove the foliage into your basket as if it took Arthur away personally. As if they’ve laced their way into his veins, choking and drying him out.

You’re upset, but you won’t cry, obviously. There’s no reason to, it’s hysterical and ridiculous, but you’re frustrated.

Because even if Arthur is painfully terrible at communicating, he at least has always told you how long he’d be gone for.

It’s a luxury you’ve gotten used to. And out of all the silks, jewels, and luxurious baths the world offers, it is your favorite.

The promise of his return.

“Yer mutterin’.”

The voice would’ve made you jump if it weren’t for the far too familiar rumble of it. Too often has it soothed you and brought you to climax for it to scare anymore.

You look at Arthur over your shoulder, glaring. “I do not mutter.”

“Sure ya do,” he says, stepping over a log to reach you.

His horse stands in the distance behind him, grazing and chuffing indignantly at the occasional alligator. Flighty things, horses are. Arthur’s is braver than most.

You turn back around before said man reaches you, hands resuming to the ripping and the pulling and the tearing.

“I told ya not to come out here without me,” he’s standing right behind you now.

“I know,” you grunt. And it’s quiet— heavy under the screeching of crickets and cicadas— until Arthur sidles his shins up to your skirts and places his hands on your shoulders, leaning.

“Yer mad.”

“I am not mad.”

“Sure ya are.”

“I am not,” and you look up, seeing him gaze out into the bayou with a gentle smile. “I’m annoyed,” you correct.

“Did Reverend chat ya up again?” And he chuckles, stepping aside to finally crouch beside you.

His knee brushes against yours, a touch starved way of saying hello. Under the golden sky, his blue eyes have filtered into grays and greens, seafoam and jade alike.

He looks tired but that pleasant smile is still there; too happy with your presence to be bothered by such ridiculous notions as the human need for sleep. And as much as you’d love to sooth the eyebags away, you continue frowning.

“You may be surprised to learn that Reverend was astonishingly quiet. For a week.” You add the last part roughly, hoping Arthur gets the message.

For a second, you think he doesn’t.

But then his hand raises, the pad of his thumb passing over the furrow of your brow. Achingly attempting to pacify you. To tell you he’s sorry.

“What’d I do this time?” And his voice rumbles over the question, soft and sweet, a tone he takes only with you. You sigh, turning back to the plants.

His hand retracts as you pick away at the leaves, but his eyes are heavy on your face, as if he trying to kiss you with just his gaze.

You’re sure he wishes.

“I just don’t like when you leave like that without telling me, or anybody really,” you say. And with Arthur, you always keep things succinct and out in the open because lord knows he won’t read between the lines.

He’s not like you, where you can tell he’s in a bad mood just by the way he drinks his coffee in the morning.

And Arthur takes a deep inhale, and then an exhale. “Yeah, I know.”

You look up, raising a brow.

“Sorry,” he coughs and you know it’s the most you’ll get out of him. It’s always that way with Arthur. Hands-on approach. Not much in the way with words.

The only way he failed Hosea.

“Abigail was worried too,” you add absentmindedly, finally letting yourself dawdle a bit now that he’s by your side again.

Arthur scoffs. “She’s always worryin’ about somethin’. Jack, John, you, me.”

You can’t argue with that, but you can’t blame Abigail either because you worry too. You just hide it better.

And you look up, less angry this time.

He left with a stubble and has returned with a beard. And though you’re sure his hair hasn’t grown much in a week, you notice the way the sandy blond locks brush against his shoulders— like golden willow on blue hills.

Finally, you acquiesce.

Your own hand raises, reaching out. And before you can even touch him, his fingers brush against the skin of your forearm. Ferns to sunshine.

You meet his cheek, wiping away at a smudge of dirt before tucking a stray strand of hair behind his ear and hat.

“Your hair’s gotten long.”

Arthur looks amused, leaning into your palm not unlike the way a puppy does.

“Want me to cut it?”

You shrug. “That’s up to you. But at least take care of this.” And now both hands are on his cheeks, rubbing childishly over his beard. You beam at the way his nose crinkles.

“Wha’ I thought you liked my beard?”

“Not when it’s this long. You’d give me a rash every time you kiss me.”

Arthur smiles, dropping his head to laugh quietly.

And you stand, hand reaching to pick up your basket, but Arthur already has it in his grip, rising too.

“Oleander. Sage.” He notes expertly. You hum. “Tryin’ to poison someone?” He asks.

“You,” is your easy reply as you step away from him and to his horse. He follows in a pavlovian fashion, well trained.

“That mad about me leavin’ huh?” Long strides quickly bring him to you, arm brushing against shoulder.

“I wasn’t mad. I was annoyed,” you correct once again.

Arthur makes an entertained sound as he grabs for his horse’s reins. You finally notice all the carcasses strapped to the poor creature. A doe, a fine pelt, geese and rabbits hooked here and there. “Ya missed me?” He teases.

And before you can snort and tell him off, he leans down to kiss you. His hand cups the back of your neck gingerly; giving you all the ability to pull away if you’d like.

But you don’t. You never would.

Instead, your eyes slip closed as Arthur presses further. His lips are uncomfortably chapped, dried from the days on the road but so incessant in their need to feel you that you wouldn’t dare tell him to stop.

Instead your hand rises to hold his wrist loosely, a move that’s always made him melt for one reason another.

Then just as quickly, he pulls away, brushing his nose against yours.

“I missed ya.” And he breathes in as you breathe out.

“Me too,” You admit, though it’s not a secret. He knows. His favorite little luxury it is; the promise you’ll be there, awaiting his return.

Hasn’t gone a day without it since meeting you.

Admittedly, 1891 was a bad year to meet Arthur. Grieving, and angry; Eliza and Isaac freshly dead.

But you were there, picked up by Dutch, almost like a feral animal. Rabid enough to shut down Arthur’s (correction: everyone’s) bullshit immediately, yet organically compassionate to soothe him through bad nights. Even when you barely knew each other.

That was you.

Strained it all was at first. Funny, what time can do to two people.

Unraveling knots and kinks to smoothly twist two lives together.

And you watch as Arthur starts walking, not bothering to clamber onto his mount— even if the exhaustion in his step is obvious, like meatpie in a patisserie.

“You’re not gonna ride?”

He pauses and shakes his head, turning to look back at you.

“Personally? ‘M tryna get as much time alone before we have to be surrounded by fools and degenerates.”

You snort, strolling over to his side. “So what kept you away for a week?”

The back of his hand brushes against yours as you both begin walking.

“Heard about a wolf in Cotorra Springs. Wanted to check it out and well,” he eyes the pelt. “ Didn’t think it’d take me that long to hunt her down, but she was sneaky.”

He shrugs. “The rest of this I got on the way home, knowing how Pearson’ll be if I don’t come back with somethin’.”

You nod knowing how the man can get. Feisty about food, placid about most everything else. Sometimes he reminds you of a bear going into hibernation, and you doodle it on scraps of paper— messy, untrained caricatures of the gang.

They make Arthur laugh.

“Me and Abigail joked about you hunting caribou in heat. Not to give you ideas.”

Arthur flicks a brow. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“You would if there was money in it.”

“Is there?”

“I’ll say no for my own sake.”

Arthur laughs at that, and you grin, his joy infectious. A bad disease you’re willing to catch.

“So what have you been up to then, if not grumblin’ and mumblin’?” Arthur asks, eyes sweeping your frame.

“Cooking. Cleaning. Sewing.” You shrug. Arthur frowns a smidge.

“You gotta get out more.”

“I wanted to go out to Saint Denis but I got caught up with Grimshaw, I guess.”

All he can do is press against you a bit closer. “I’ll go with you soon then.”

An incredulous look is sent. “No you’re not.”

And Arthur looks so genuinely offended you have to laugh.

“What do you mean I’m not?”

“You hate Saint Denis.”

“I know but-“

You lean your cheek into his bicep. “Thank you, but you don’t have to torture yourself for me.”

He pouts. “It ain’t torture.”

“Mhm, sure.”

Voices in the distance become louder, the echo of Molly’s gramophone and Uncle’s drunken singing coming to a crescendo— smashing and breaking the isolation in a gradual blunder.

And you pull away, taking the basket from Arthur’s hand as you do.

Charles greets as you approach, and you hand him the spoils of your anger-fueled gather with another silent thank you. He nods politely, in his own grateful way.

And as Arthur hitches his horse— cooing with all the affection in the world— you leave him, going up into your shared room.

You know he has to take care of a few things before you can really have him for yourself:

Talk to Dutch.

Contribute money and check the ledger.

Load the hunt’s catches into the kitchen.

Help with any last minute chores.

Say ‘hello’ and ‘how are you’ to Hosea, Jack and John; Abigail and Tilly; Sean if he’s in a good mood too.

So you sit. Passively reading and waiting as you lean against the bed’s headboard.

And half an hour later, Arthur pulls open the door and then shuts it tight. Like maybe if he held it closed for long enough, the walls would thicken then burst fantastically into a hot air balloon; sending you beyond reach of civilization.

Under the yellowed light of the lantern, he seems entirely exhausted; the slope of his shoulders dooming, his usually straight back hunched.

Ain’t no rest for the wicked, Arthur jokes at times.

He sits down on the bed. For awhile he’s like that; just sitting and staring at the white canvas of the wall. And his eyes are flicking back and forth, like he’s sketching whatever he’s seen in the past week on the molding wallpaper.

It’s strange when he gets like this.

It’s not that he’s sad or upset, just caught up in his head.

“You should get undressed,” you command gently, sliding off the bed as you undo the buttons of your blouse.

Arthur watches. You pause. And then you deadpan.

“Are you serious?” But he says nothing, and neither do you, not as you come to stand between his knees.

You take his hat off, shoving the worn leather jacket down his arms, and he rests his head against your collar bone, pressing impossibly close into the revealed skin there.

Like maybe, just maybe, this time your atoms will combine and he won’t have to leave your side ever again.

When you begin unbuttoning his shirt, his hands finesse to undo the clasps of your skirt and you have to momentarily brush him aside, slapping his hands like a toddler gone for the cookie jar.

“Hey,” he protests, blue eyes pleading. But the way they blink slowly and idly tells you everything.

“No. Sleep. We can do that tomorrow.”

Arthur groans but listens; hands dropping, head knocking against your chest. “A week,” he grumbles.

“And whose fault is that?”

He’s quiet as you work, up until he catches a look at the thin silver chain around your neck. His finger notches on the ring that’s hooked to it.

“I wish you would wear it,” he mumbles languidly.

“I can say the same thing,” and you glance at the gold band he keeps tucked away on the rope of his hat. “Maybe if things get better.”

“When,” he amends. “When they get better.”

“Sure.”

He glares, the lines of his face darkening. “Don’t be like that.“

“Arthur.” And you cup his face, kissing him quickly and quietly. “It’s late.”

He stares up at you, an odd mix between enamored and frustrated.

A huff then escapes his lips, and he unbuckles his belt as you finish with the last button of his shirt. Your hands toys with the hem momentarily as if gripping to the tendrils of his soul.

But you let go, and turn away.

Getting rid of your own clothes is quick work, but Arthur makes even quicker work of kicking his pants and boots away, collapsing onto the furs and blankets of the bed. And as insistent as he was, he’s out quicker than nightshade, his arousal forgotten.

You’re sure he’ll remember it in his dreams. It’s happened before.

And you dim the lantern, laying yourself next to him in your chemise. Even though his back is facing you, a half-hesitant hand runs through his hair.

He’ll need a wash tomorrow.

You’ll force him into it, chase him around with a bucket if you have to. But for now, you let him rest; let sleep capture him like a firefly cupped between two soft palms. Pleased, your cheek presses against his bare shoulder blade.

Obviously, you wake before him.

Already dressed before he can even become lucid enough to call for you, hand reaching out to grab your missing form. You bend down, press a hand to his forehead, and whisper for him to forget you in favor of his dreams.

His soft snores ensue. You drift away.

And today, like yesterday, is quiet. But it’s less gloomy, more of a peace that’s settled because, praise be, Micah is out for the morning. It is both surprising and delightful, and nobody takes it for granted.

And you drift around the manor and camp, helping with the odd chore, saying hello, sipping at coffee.

At some point you walk off, where the ground is more solid and less swamp to have a quick word with God in the early morning breeze.

He doesn’t reply though you knew he wouldn’t. Still, you hope he heard.

At your return, Grimshaw unloads a torrent of harsh words, quickly placing you on dishes duty. You accept it.

Mean spirited, but kind hearted, that one. Always has been. You don’t have the will to complain though— not since Arthur’s come back.

He pacifies you, Hosea has teased, a coy smile hidden by the brim of his hat. At first it was embarrassing, but soon you came to realize denying it is like looking for oranges in an apple orchard. Psychotic and pointless.

Abigail has said the same thing, John nodding along enthusiastically.

It’s annoying and the truth, and you have no energy to argue.

Arthur is still asleep by the time you’ve scrubbed both the cast iron and your skin raw. Unsurprisingly. You’ve seen him passed out for nineteen hours once.

You wish you had that ability, especially with how hot and sticky the Lemoyne air is; boiled molasses in your lungs. You would sleep the entire afternoon just to avoid it all.

But in the slowness of the day, and your boredom, you approach Dutch, reading as always.

“Anything interesting?” You ask, readjusting the basket of laundry at your hip. It’s a conversation you have often— ever since you’ve joined the gang your time to read has dwindled— being much more preoccupied with needles and guns and terrible men instead.

He hums, flipping a page. “A collection of essays done by Ralph Waldo Emerson. I presume you know him?”

You nod, stepping closer. “He wrote before the war. A Transcendentalist, wasn’t he?”

“Yes,” and Dutch smiles. He’s always told you that you’re too smart for your own good. Smarter than he deserves— than the gang deserves. But you never indulge in his compliments (at least not too much).

And you’ve never really been sure if they’re true.

He’s kind, though that may not be the word. Merciful. Insightful. And perhaps that has fueled the compassionate part in him.

But as of late it’s all been brought into question you suppose. His sanity. Whether or not he’s still the same old, reliable Dutch that he always has been.

But you brush it aside for now, letting yourself pretend it’s all normal and everything is okay. A happy family.

“Which essay are you reading?” And you lean against the doorframe, fixing your apron.

“Man the Reformer. Do you know it?”

“Only parts. I think. Care to read me some?” You tilt your head, tucking one ankle behind the other.

Refined with him, always, even with his penchant for savagery.

“For you, my dear? Anytime,” and his eyes scan the pages, flipping through to find a piece he likes. “Ah,” he says after a moment, knuckle tapping the paragraph. He clears his throat, then starts.

“Hence it happens that the whole interest of history lies in the fortunes of the poor. Knowledge, Virtue, Power are the victories of man over his necessities, his march to the dominion of the world. Every man ought to have this opportunity to conquer the world for himself. Only such persons interest us, Spartans, Romans, Saracens, English, Americans, who have stood in the jaws of need, and have by their own wit and might extricated themselves, and made man victorious.”

He turns away from the page, his face lilting towards yours. “Isn’t that lovely?” he asks you. “Just gorgeous, isn’t it?”

And Dutch, like most men, has a strange idea of what gorgeous is. Finding it in bloodied knuckles and revenge. In essays about man and power.

In hatred. In violence.

You’re unsure why you suddenly remember this— but when you were young, still attending school, you had read that Moses was not allowed to enter the Promised Land.

It had confused you. Hurt you even.

And when you had asked one of the nuns: Why? What was the reason? Why couldn’t he? What was the point if his fate was to die?

And you remember that nun, with reverent eyes and sad smile, told you:

“For freedom to be reached, the memory of subjugation has to die.”

And that is why Aaron, and Miriam had died as well. Zipporah too.

You stare at Dutch.

“Do you see yourself as Moses?” You ask. It’s a blurted question, not entirely thought through, and you’re embarrassed the moment the words leave your mouth.

Dutch stares back, his own dark eyes swirling with momentary surprise before he laughs, hitting his knee. Shoulders slacking, your own breathy chuckles escape as you watch.

“You’ve heard The Good Word?” he questions, almost shocked.

“Read it.”

“My, aren’t you full of surprises?”

“Are you calling me a sinner, Dutch Van Der Linde?”

He tilts his head, raising a brow. “Aren’t you?” It’s said as if it were common sense.

“Maybe I’m not a saint, but I don’t think I’m a sinner.”

Dutch hums, bouncing his knee. “You pray?”

“When I’m dying,” you tell him, half joking.

“And how often is that?”

“More than I’d like.”

Dutch doesn’t laugh, but a warm, hearty chuckle rumbles in his chest and he picks his book back up.

“Isn’t that the truth.”

Looking away, your eyes flick about the greenery outside his window. The chickens cluck incessantly, bouncing about like cotton ball clouds on grassy mountains.

You can make out the outline of Jack, bounding around a tree with a stick in hand, occasionally swiping the trunk. Abigail keeps a watchful eye.

And it’s all very domestic.

A little green rectangle of quiet love, framed by rotting wood and sin. It seems so far away, you can’t tell if it’s real. But you know for a fact it is, and it makes the deep, longing pain in your chest all the worse. It’s a dream really, one you think of often and one you and Arthur have only discussed either after sex or in the early morning— when everyone is still asleep and when things are a little imaginary.

When dreams rule the plain of existence.

Suddenly Hosea passes by the room. His gaze stabs through you, a knowing familiar look he’s sent over the past few months.

Like you’ve discovered a dirty secret.

And it seems you’ve both come to a conclusion you’re both equally unsure of. Same with Abigail. Same with Arthur, even if he denies it.

“I should get back to work,” you mumble, pushing yourself off the doorframe.

“Atta girl,” Dutch simpers, but you’ve already walked off, head full of fears and doubts and thoughts you know you’re not supposed to have.

Hanging laundry is one of the easier chores, one that eases the nerves. Gentle afternoon breeze, as humid as it is, drifts by, wafting the smell of soap and swamp water. Earthy and clean, rolled into a lavender clay.

Jack hovers around your skirts as you work, and you easily indulge him in poems, songs, and stories, all with a gentle smile.

He glances at the manor. “Uncle Arthur sure does sleep a lot.”

“He does, doesn’t he?”

“Where did Uncle Arthur go?”

Clipping a bedsheet to the line, your eyes gleam, turning to Jack. “He went beyond civilization” and you crouch down, making claws with your hands, a playful grin at your lips, “hunting wolves.”

Jack beams, grabbing at your hands, easing the claws. “I wanna hunt wolves!”

You laugh a little, pulling away and reaching for a pair of drawers in the basket.

“You’re still too small— they’d eat you up.”

Jack frowns. “No they wouldn’t.”

And you hide an amused grin with the back of your hand, thinking of John. After a moment, you nod. “You’re right. They wouldn’t eat you, you’re too skinny.”

“Hey!” And Jack pouts, tugging at your skirts. You finally laugh, dropping a hand to pat his head, fingers sifting through soft brown locks.

“I’m sorry. I wouldn’t let them eat you. None of us would.”

Jack seems appeased. “Do you think Uncle Arthur will take me next time?”

And not wanting to break his little heart, you say, “I think that’s something you have to ask him.”

And Jack seems to be somewhat miffed by the answer, reserving himself to sit by the laundry basket as he watches beetles and ants march along the dirt.

Little brown capped soldiers.

“Have you ever hunted wolves, Auntie?”

You hang up the drawers, humming. “No. But one time Uncle Hosea took me hunting for a bear.”

“A bear!?” And Jack crawls a bit closer. “I don’t remember that?”

“It was before you were born.” You add gently.

“Ohhh. Was it scary?”

“Well only at first. It tried to eat me, but Uncle Hosea wouldn’t let that happen.” Embarrassment bubbles at the memory. The way Arthur had laughed when you sulked, telling him and Hosea you would never hunt again.

Jack smiles. “Do you think Uncle Hosea will take me bear hunting?”

A downturned smile marrs your features. “I hope not.”

Jack complains at that, and you gently assert that bears are much worse than wolves, and they wouldn’t care how skinny he is.

And the moment is sweet and funny and utterly ruined when a horrible, rasping voice says,

“There she is.”

Micah’s back.

Setting your shoulders, you gently tell Jack to find his Ma. Tell her those stories I told you, murmured by his ear. And he scurries away, an excited smile on his face. Your full attention is then granted to the laundry basket and the sodden clothes inside.

Micah stands on the other side of the clothesline, watching you between the flaps of bedsheets and button ups. A fabric jail cell keeps you separated.

“Heard our workhorse is back, hm? Where is he?”

A sock is hung up, next a union suit.

“Oh, so you won’t even talk about your darlin’ Mr. Morgan with me?”

You’re running short on clothespins.

“You gettin’ tired of him?”

There’s still enough for now.

“Mr. Morgan, running off for days on end, only comes back to fuck his little mare good and then runs off again. Ain’t that just sad?”

You could use a new skirt maybe. You’ll head into Saint Denis tomorrow. For now though, another sock is hung.

“I could take care of ya, while he’s gone. He’ll never have to know.”

Two blouses are clipped on the clothesline and you’re officially out of pins.

“So, what d’ya think? Offer stands.”

You step away from the hanging laundry, your eyes meeting Micah’s. It startles him but turns him on just as quickly.

And then you walk away, to the manor in search of more pins. Micah doesn’t follow, though you feel his eyes burning holes into you, gaping pits of Tartarus on your skin.

You’re surprised to see Arthur leaning against the windowsill, cup of coffee in one hand, the other scratching away at his journal in long precise strokes; a wolf. And he’s trimmed his beard and hair, his skin clean.

Washed away of filth and stress.

An easy smile comes to him when he turns to see you— he downs the rest of his coffee, closes his journal, and steps over.

“Good afternoon,” you say.

“Afternoon,” and Arthur glances around for peeping eyes before kissing you chastely. “Thought we could go to Saint Denis today like ya wanted,” he offers.

You shake your head. “I can’t today; maybe tomorrow?”

He pulls away, looking bemused. “Always ‘tomorrow’ with you, woman.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “It’s too late to go to Saint Denis anyway.”

“We could rent a room.”

“I am not spending money on a bed I have here,” you chide.

He raises his head to look at the ceiling, hat tipping back slightly back as he does. A stiffness overcomes him, like a thousand rocks have settled into his stomach. “You always gotta make things difficult.”

“Shut up,” and you pat his chest, stepping around him to continue your search, “I’ll see you tonight.”

That seems to help him digest the rocks but he still grabs at your wrist, stopping you. And there’s a deep longing in Arthur’s eyes; lust and sorrow mixing to create something entirely desperate.

“I love ya,” he mumbles quietly.

And it’s not something you say often, never really finding the need to. You know. He knows. You’re on the same page.

But sometimes, you’ll indulge each other with those three little words.

And Arthur lightens when you smile and nod and tell him you love him too. It’s like he’s seen the ocean for the first time, eyes sparkling in wonderful adoration. So he lets you go, assured he has you no matter what.

Expectantly, you barely see eachother for the rest of the day, each preoccupied with your own tasks. Small glances are thrown, like pebbles against windows, but nothing more.

Not until night falls.

You’re sitting around the fire with Abigail, snorting over a not so appropriate story Karen is telling when you see him in the distance, past the embers, crawling back into the manor. Admittedly, it is late but not late enough for Arthur to call it a night.

Usually, he’d stay with the group– drink a bottle of beer and sing a tone deaf melody with Tilly and Javier. But not tonight. Tonight he’s waiting you out.

And so when Karen finishes her story, you give one last laugh and leave.

Arthur is sitting on the bed when you come in, writing something slowly; the clear mark of verbal constipation.

And the lantern is lit low, warm and golden like a dying star. He only looks up from the page when you close the door, his hand pausing. There’s a droll moment where you stare at him and he stares at you– the little lift of amusement curling your lips can’t be helped.

In a brisk moment, you’re standing between his knees; but this time it’s him who undresses you. And you let him take his time with the clasps and buttons, resting your palms on his shoulders.

“Jack asked me if I’d take him wolf huntin’,” Arthur mumbles, standing to kiss at the junction of your neck and jaw. In nothing but your chemise, it’s easy to feel the hard line of him press against your hip. “Did’ya put him up to that?”

You laugh, hands rising to undo his own shirt. “Maybe.”

A rough palm presses between your shoulder blades, the other cupping your cheek as he nudges you to tilt your head with his nose.

“Yer evil,” Arthur mutters into your skin, “making me be the one to say no to him.”

“Was he angry?”

“Nah,” Arthur sighs, knocking his hips with yours, “just said I’m no fun.”

And you slip his shirt off, revealing broad shoulders and firm muscle, laced and sewed with scratches and scars.

You run your hand down a particularly marred one at his ribs. Knife fight.

“Did he hurt your feelings?” You tease. The hand at your cheek drops, bundling the hem of your chemise up your thighs. And before you can poke his ego again, the hand dips, grazing against your bundle of nerves.

You sigh, leaning into him as he lazily dips a finger in and out, in and out.

“John looked like he was ‘bout to have a panic attack,” Arthur rasps right in your ear. “If I had said anythin’ other than no I think he woulda killed me.”

“Can’t have that,” you hum, and Arthur snorts.

“Ya need me around to fuck ya, is that it?”

Scoffing, you pull away. “You’re ridiculous.” Your chemise falls back over your thighs, covering the slick Arthur built up. And he gives a soothing smile, hands lifting yours to twine fingers together.

“Did I hurt yer feelin’s?” And though you’re frowning, you let Arthur guide you to the bed— let him push you down onto the mattress. At your silence he runs his lips across your face; kissing at your brow, your nose, cheeks and chin. “I didn’t mean any harm by it.”

Lifting himself on his forearms, he watches you. You’ve softened exponentially, pliant and willing under him.

Only him.

And the look on your face is so fond— too loving and so soft, that he feels as if you must be a figment of his imagination. A sick twisted trick his mind is playing to feel something.

But you’re here, breathing against him, and looking like a drop of sunshine under the lantern’s light.

He’s struck gold.

Bending down, Arthur kisses you and in turn you breathe him in, arms coming up to wrap around his neck. You roll your hips, and a groan verberates in his chest— the sound makes your bones rumble— the first sign of an avalanche.

He lifts the chemise once more and a knee comes up to sit between your exposed thighs. Arthur dips his hand again, this time spreading you open on two fingers.

The both of you have gotten very good at being quiet after so many years of barely any privacy; a tarp or tent at most; but in Shady Belle, bless the heavens above, you allow yourself little, quiet whimpers.

The gift of walls.

And Arthur feels himself pulse as he edges you on, fingers increasing in speed. His thumb brushes against that bundle of nerves again and you choke back a moan, hands gripping onto the sheets.

“Arthur,” you pant, eyes shining with adoration. And he pauses. You stir something in him, some sort of odd childlike devotion he hasn’t felt since he was in his early twenties.

Not since Mary.

And he remembers when you had first gotten together, back in ‘94, you had told him you wouldn’t ask him to stop loving Mary. I could never, ever do that to you. It’d be cruel and unfair of me, you had whispered.

And you knew he never would stop because that’s how first loves are. Permanent.

But maybe now, maybe in this moment— just like every other moment with you— he has stopped loving Mary. Perhaps not entirely, but he wouldn’t chase after her like he used to.

Not when he has you. Not when you beg his name.

And Arthur rises, lifting you up with him as he sits up against the headboard, huddling you into his lap. His skin is warm, as it usually is, and you can’t discern whether that’s just him or if the Lemoyne heat has to do with it too.

It’s overwhelming and you’ve barely gotten started.

Making a pathetic little noise in the back of your throat, you see the way it lights his eyes on fire, as if you hold the keys to enter the Gates of Hell. And it’s almost too easy for him to pull off your chemise, leaning forward to press his lips against yours.

He’s scarily and surprisingly gentle. Always has been. But tonight there’s an underlying torture in the way he bites at your bottom lip, then soothes it, admonishing his own efforts.

And Arthur, this sweet, sad man who has killed, murdered, and torn apart men from sanity has resorted to fluttering his fingers against your hips; as if you were a prized butterfly, ready to fly off at any second.

For one reason or another, it makes your heart ache.

Your own hands cup his stubbled jaw as you lean down, opening your mouth and letting his teeth gently collide with yours clumsily.

There’s another rumble in his chest when you kiss the corner his mouth, an apology for your gauche actions. And you can’t tell if it’s a breath or a moan, but you assume that it’s something good.

A quiet plea for you to continue. Don’t stop.

Because if you do Arthur’s sure he’ll sob in a pitiful, defeated way that would leave him rutting into the mattress.

To his relief, your thighs press against his hips all the more, and your chest meets his. One of his own hands slides up your side, and he moans into your mouth at the feeling of your skin against his palm.

Silk against stone. Soft where he is rough– ruined by bullets, knives and meaningless labor. And he decides then, he’ll preserve this. Preserve your warm humanity, if it’s the last thing he does.

And he is a fool, but he isn’t insolent. He knows you’ve seen and experienced things that would have him reeling with nausea.

You’re a woman, of course you have.

But if he can help it, he will keep you like this. Coy and kind. Too good for him and too good for what the world has to offer.

Arthur realizes he’d gotten engrossed in his worship when you pull away to look down at him, giving a shaky exhale. Running your fingers through his scalp, you let your hand settle at the back of his neck, peering at his face as if he were a saint.

Arthur can only stare back. Fervently and biblically.

He follows every unspoken order you give him with a ferocity bordering desperation that only stems from his complete adoration. And you’ll never know how or where it started and you won’t ask, in fear of an answer that that any other man could give you. But this outlaw, brute, grunt; this man of all men has become an angel under your gaze and touch.

It’s intoxicating.

For awhile this continues. The kissing– the petting and exploration. Whispered ‘I missed you’s’ brushed across your lips, neck, breasts. At some point, Arthur wraps his mouth around one of your nipples, and you stifle a whimper against his temple.

A hand pushes into the curve of your back, imploring and needy, making you keen. The other, brushes against your core unexpectedly and you almost yelp from the sudden contact. But he dips his fingers into you gingerly, restarting the ministrations from earlier.

You all but melt.

You’re panting into his neck, gripping onto him as he plays with you. It’s shameful how a week apart has ruined you so terribly.

You’re oversensitive and overstimulated.

When your breathing becomes more desperate (which happens quicker than you’d like) Arthur pulls away again. And he likes this game; the build up before breaking you. An annoyed sigh puffs out from your lips, and you find yourself grinding into his lap for some form of relief.

His trousers have become a hindrance.

Arthur’s leaning into your chest, eyes half-open and cheek pressed against the space between your breasts. His mouth is hot and open, panting as you grind further into him.

And though you can feel him twitching against you, it isn’t enough. He’ll need more than the dull pressure of your core. But for now, he lets your hips roll, watching brightly as your slick coats the seam of his pants.

“No more,” he suddenly rasps, the first words said in a long time. “Please, no more teasing.”

You ponder him for a moment, then nod.

The trousers are off in an instant.

And his skin against yours is a relieving sin. Hands on your hips, he rubs you against him— and all you can do is sit it out and watch with bated breath. Arthur, at the feeling, lets out a stilted, raspy whimper.

Before he can do more, you lower a hand, pumping him up and down, up and down; a choked sound catches in the back of his throat when you do.

He’s bigger than average, but not impressively so. The real volume of his size comes from his width, noting that your thumb and middle finger don’t and have never connected when you jerk him off.

And you do this for some time, listening to his gasps and mumbled moans, only stopping when he begins pulsing in your palm.

Arthur whines when you pull away, eyes gleaming almost angrily, and you have to smile at the hypocrisy of his behavior. He bites back a curse at the way you look at him, too entranced to be upset.

Then, pushing him flat onto the mattress and straddling his waist, you kiss him. His hands land on your back once more, begging to press you closer, further.

Wanting nothing more than to simply have you against him.

And finally, you slide onto his length.

It’s jarring at first, uncomfortable in the way it splits you open. And you feel his every millimeter and every movement. It takes a minute for your body to adjust, to realize it’s him. Arthur lets you wait it out, lets you take your time as you finally sink down completely.

He thrusts, once, shallow and uncertain, brows furrowed in concentration. And your eyes close shut with a gasp, squeezing your legs even tighter around his waist.

Then, you lift your hips off him and sit back down. And then you do it again. And again. And again.

The pace you’ve set is slow, but it allows you to further assimilate to the stretch. Furthermore, the friction is accumulative. You quickly find that Arthur’s hands have lifted to clasp around your own shaking ones in an act to sooth you.

To quell whatever ache has settled in your abdomen (for the time being).

And his eyes are shining with an indiscernible emotion as he watches you; something that makes you want to cry out of sheer wonder.

You’re so sure it’s love. It has to be. You refuse for anything else.

You refuse to be a broodmare or quick fuck.

And something must flip inside of Arthur because suddenly, he flips you two over, and moreover, he turns you over onto your stomach.

“Arthur,” you mutter, as you lift yourself up on your forearms. And he bends down pressing a kiss to the vertebrae in your neck as if they were jewels on a crown.

His hands return to your hips and bring you towards him.

“I know,” he replies. It only takes a second for him to slip into you again, letting a deep, pleasant groan out.

In this position he’s quicker, rougher. Less careful.

Arthur utters the occasional incoherent word and you can only pant in reply. After a while of this— of his hips slamming against yours— your shaking arms collapse under you, and your cheek presses into the mattress.

Arthur doesn’t stop though, nor does he slow, and the whole thing overloads your nerves.

Yet somehow, his touch is still loving— even as he takes you so harshly. It’s an odd dichotomy. You’re not quite sure he knows his own strength in this moment. Maybe he never does.

And you can’t help but be utterly grateful that this is the only way Arthur uses his strength on you. To fuck you into a mattress.

And the only noises you can make are broken little gasps for air, an entire lifetime’s worth of vocabulary forgotten. He’s moving in and out of you at a far quicker pace than you had initially anticipated; and you feel yourself begin to shake, quivering for help beneath him.

“Please,” you beg.

“Please, what?”

Your face flushes, hot and embarrassed even if you’ve done this hundreds of times before. “Arthur,” you whine, and he gets the message, quickening his pace as more broken, unintelligible syllables bumble out of your lips.

He brings one hand away from your hip to cup under your chin, lifting your face slightly so he can press his cheek against yours.

A loving act that tells you this is more than lust and cum.

Your hands claw into the mattress and his other hand leaves your hip to land on top of your own— fingers moving to curl into the spaces between yours. You’re crying now, sobbing quietly for some form of release at the absolutely brutal pace he’s set.

And you feel yourself coming close to climax, warmth pooling and subsequently dripping from your abdomen.

Arthur’s close too. You can tell by the way he twitches inside of you and by the way his groans have become hoarse and breathy.

He then removes the hand from your jaw and you sink back into the mattress, his fingers reaching for that bundle of nerves and rubbing it. You leave an open-mouthed whimper into the bedsheet, your breath and spit creating a hot and sticky spot.

Delicately, he pushes your body over the edge.

The orgasm rushes over you like a snap— quicker than lighting but drawn out like thunder. It singes and quakes as you quiver around him, moaning dumbly and begging for some form of sanity. Your back, arching, pushes him further into you, ignorant of your own overstimulation.

Arthur’s grip is tight on your hips as he watches, having to stop himself from spilling into you right then and there. He would.

He would if things were better. He would if he were stupid and ignorant.

But he holds himself back, teeth gnawing at his lip. Eventually you calm, the bedsheet loosening in your grip, leaving linen hills in your wake. And as soon as you take a quiet, deep breath, he continues to thrust just as quickly.

It’s now his turn to gasp and whimper, and you’ve never heard him so desperate— properly crying as he presses his face into your neck.

Your own tears bead at your eyelashes as you let him use you, abandoning any and all self respect for yourself.

But it doesn’t last long, as he’s quick to follow you over the edge. His hips begin to stutter and you know it’s over.

Arthur pulls out, and you feel him throbbing against you as he cums into his hand. He’s practically collapsed on top of you as well, his body gone boneless and weak from the aftershock.

He’s still for some time, catching his breath and his mental faculties.

And you’re not sure how much time has passed until his lips press against your neck and shoulders gently; but you sigh quietly at the feeling, pleased and sated.

He reaches under your body, cupping your waist so he can roll the two of you over to lay on your sides. And Arthur curls himself around you protectively, like he could obstruct everything evil with the slope of his shoulders.

It’s quiet and peaceful, as the aftermath of sex usually is.

And each time he kisses your skin indolently, you press back into him— a silent message that you want to kiss back. He seems to understand.

After a while, he mumbles your name.

You don’t expect it, his usual preference for silence being the norm. But either way, you hum in reply, entirely lost in comfort and bliss.

“I’ll kill Micah.” It’s said so simply, like an everyday part of his itinerary. Cleaning, hunting, murder. Well, maybe it is then.

You don’t open your eyes though. This is not a new conversation, nor is it one you like.

“You heard him today I’m guessing.”

“When you were doin’ the laundry.”

You want to frown. “It’s fine.” Is all you can say.

“No it ain’t.”

You pull away from him a little. “I don’t wanna talk about him. Ever. He doesn’t matter.”

Arthur’s quiet again. But then he nods and closes the space you created.

“Okay.”

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan fic #arthur morgan fanfiction #reader insert #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 fanfiction #might get a part two

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