#i stand by that title

[hecoxthirst]

Thank you so much @punk-gremlin for the tag. For those who don't know how this works, you post the first and last lines of your ten most recent fics (if you have that many fics) 1. Can I guess who kissed me? Ian Hecox/Anthony Padilla (Smosh) "Courtney was the one to bring up the idea for the first time." and "This is the happiest he’s ever been."

2. Alone doesn't suit you Ian Hecox/Anthony Padilla (Smosh) "Ian has been stressing about today since Anthony agreed to meet." and "Anthony nods and places a kiss to Ian’s temple." 3. Sharing bed like little kids Ian Hecox/Anthony Padilla (Smosh) "Sharing a bed with an older version of Anthony feels so odd." and "He wouldn’t want to belong to anyone else." 4. Ivy and forget-me-nots Ian Hecox/Anthony Padilla (Smosh) "Everyone in the world is born with a little bud drawn on their inner wrist." and "Without having to think about it too much, he just does the most natural thing he could do. He kisses his soulmate." 5. Careful what you wish for Ian Hecox/Anthony Padilla (Smosh) "Anthony gradually wakes up." and "Turns out he can get adult Anthony flustered too, after all." 6. No thoughts, head full (of cum) Eddie Clayton/Charlie Ross (Ghostmates) "Charlie is quietly focusing on his work, doing some line art on his new tablet." and "He... has a feeling he’s going to be thinking about this experience for a long time." 7. Good girl Ian Hecox/Anthony Padilla (Smosh) "Ian feels like he’s perfected the fifties housewife look at this point." and "He leans in and connects their lips." 8. Oh let me use you baby, I love you Ian Hecox/Anthony Padilla (Smosh) "Anthony’s on his bed, hand in his pants, trying to picture touching his girlfriend." and "Whatever is going to happen, he knows they’ll get through it together." 9. A part of me that will never be mine Ian Hecox/Anthony Padilla (Smosh) "There’s something familiar about this scene." and "So then, why does he desperately wish he could wake up?" 10. What if you closed your eyes Ian Hecox/Anthony Padilla (Smosh) "It’s a quiet afternoon, Ian sits on his couch listening to Anthony recount what was going through his mind when they shot the Who Slapped Me video." and "To have Anthony like this, the way he has him now? He’d endure all that and more." I don't know how many people I'm supposed to tag, or who to tag for the matter. I don't know who in this fandom has already done this, but I assume everyone 'cos everyone is just tagging each other lol So I'm gonna throw in a bunch of my friends from my older fandoms! @zeldahime @prewar-james @khazadspoon @feral-teeth @blondeforyou @commander-kiranerys If any of you have already done this or have no interest in doing this feel free to ignore <333 ily guys

[beanghostprincess]

not romantic. not platonic. but a secret third more passionate thing (a captain and his first mate)

[redinthesea]

had an anxiety attack last night and coped by drawing a known fellow anxiety haver experiencing my own plight in hopes the blorbo projection game would help

[kaseri]

there's just something about characters who were romantically involved calling each other friend, in grief. they were my friend. they were my lover, but above all else they were my friend, my confidant, the one person who really knew me. i miss my friend. idk drives me insane.

[heliomanteia]

I'm honestly so glad they introduced a new protagonist. Not just because Rook is a darling, but also because Inquisitor would have been a horrible choice for the story they wrote.

[halflifebutawesome]

anyone wanna be boy bestfriends in a scary research facility and get increasingly concerned for eachothers well-being?

[sulfies]

If I Lead (pt1)

"You have to be fucking kidding me..."

He really thought the whole Isu shit was behind him. The world burned and his job was done. Nearly all of 7 billion people dead, but at least not under an evil Godesses whim as slaves. He was doing as he was told, he was leading the people out of the doom he inflicted upon them and helping them rebuild. 

His job with all the Apples and Isu bullshit should be done! So why did his eyes open in the sanctuary of Monteriggioni out of all the fucking places. 

"That's what I get for touching that damn shit!" 

He should have left it fucking alone, it was perfectly fine where it was! Hidden under rubbles and sand in a half-collapsed cave Desmond ventured in to map out to see if there was any underground water source. 

He had found a gorgeous cenote in the depths of the cave with fresh water, which was all fun till he noticed an all too familiar golden sheen at the bottom of it. 

He should have turned around and left the place, fuck the Isu's, fuck the apples fuck everything.

"FUCK!" 

He kicked the base of one of the statues. His voice echoed in the stone room.

He just had to dive in and get it, didn't he. He was conditioned like a dog. Like a Pavlovian itch, he swam into the depths just to touch it.

"Because why not huh, maybe it can help us, maybe I can learn something from it" He mumbled to himself in a mocking voice "God I am so fucking stupid! I should have left it alone." 

He knew nothing good came out of any Isu artifact! He knew it yet he still touched it and now he was here after the all too familiar light show he experienced.

He squatted on his knees, holding his head in his hands. "I am way too old for this"

He raised his head and took a look around. This place did not change at all. Even in his forties, this place was always fresh in Desmond's mind like a second home and nothing had changed at all. 

He wiped his face with a palm and shook his head. Alright...He was in Italy now. 

He had to figure out how to get back.

Thankfully Shaun and Rebecca could perfectly handle the camp while he was away but he was already a month late from his exploration and now who knows how long it would take for him to get back. Few months with a boat? That is if he could find one.

"Good job Desmond, you fucked up once again" he sighed and got up, hearing his knees crack. 

He scratched his beard and looked toward the stairs that led to the main exit. "Let's hope the fires and the rubble didn't block the exit, again"

He did not want to do the parkour thru the caves again. Especially the part where he had to swim in that slimy water.

But this place looked fine, even better than the last he remembered which did surprise him but maybe it was that well built.

He looked at Altaïr's statue, not one crack showed on his whole build. The Master Mentor of all standing proudly as always, he laughed painfully. "Things were weirdly simpler back then huh... You probably would not have failed." 

He pursed his lips in a thin line and turned back to the stairs to try the door. His hands found the mechanism easily enough, just as he was wondering if the mechanism inside survived the heat, the door slid open smoothly. 

Way too smoothly.

The hair on his arms stood up as Desmond's eyes met with the Monteriggioni villa in the night air. No destruction in sight.

"No..." 

He walked through the door as his boots met with the polished tiles underneath. His hands touched the soft fabric of the curtains. He saw the desk in the study littered with papers like someone was going to come back to it come morning. 

His head turned to the right to see the codex wall... Some pages already pinned down onto the board, more than half incomplete but on the right track.

Desmond felt the sweat drip down his back,  he breathed in harshly. 

"What the fuck..."

He really should not have touched that devil's orb. 

—-------

Once the reality actually sank in, he could not have run out of the villa faster. 

He opened the window closest to him (the glass was still intact) and hopped out to the courtyard (the healthy grass under his boots squished) and booked it. He ran into the woods (there were trees!) till his breath ran out then he ran some more. 

This had to be a joke, no matter what, he had to be seeing a vision or something. Maybe his bleeding hit him hard this time and he was hallucinating this whole thing... He had to be.

Desmond slowed down to stop at the forest once he came to the hill edge. He choked a shocked sob.

There in all its glory, the village of Monteriggioni stood in front of him. All the buildings standing up with no rubble nor the damage of the flare around. 

The sun, like a big fuck you to him only, was making its way out of the peak of the mountains slowly as torches around the buildings were illuminating the dark roads in between houses the light had yet to reach

Desmond crouched down activating his sight. Hundreds of grey figures came into his view, many of them asleep in their bed and Desmond couldn't hold his eyes from watering. He listened intently to hear some drunkards walk the street blabbering and singing to themselves as they went home. He heard the merchants and workers shuffle around their homes getting ready for the day.

He let out a shakey breath and fisted the grass under his hand. It has been a while since he saw this... 

It used to feel like such a small place when he first reached this town, the village in contrast to New York seemed like nothing…

Now, after the flare. It was insane to see this many people in one place like this again.

A boat was not going to be enough to take him back home.

—-------------------

Desmond had to be quick before the town really woke up, he was already scouting the rooftops and wires people hung their clothes on to for stuff that would suit his frame. Hopping one rooftop to another he was biting his cheek to stop himself from the slight grin that wanted to get out of him.

He had missed this. 

There were no rooftops left to climb after the flare, no buildings to scale. No points to jump off of not even trees. It had all burned away and dammit his body has missed this.

He snatched a few garments that looked roughly his size from the wires he crossed by and hopped into a rooftop garden. 

He needed to wipe the smirk off of his face...

He would have killed to be able to visit Ezio’s time before, to run these streets again, but now all he could think was; how fucked it was that he was finding a sliver of joy in this while people back at home were probably battling to stay alive as always.

He was supposed to lead them, he was too much of a pussy to save them all before the least he could do was rebuild them as well as he could as they have told him to. 

And now he was gone. All because this time he couldn't keep his hand to himself. 

He sat in the rooftop garden looking through the clothes he picked and judged their size. Truth be told at this point they were in better condition than the clothes he had on at the moment. 

He took off the scarf and the threadbare jacket and sat with his hoodie on… He could not get rid of that damn thing no matter what. It had way too many memories to him, especially after the flare where it was one of the only things left from before. 

He was attached to the damn thing even if it was holding together mostly with patches these days, stitches jutting out of the clean hems of the cloth where it had gotten town again and again. 

He took it off but stuffed it down his backpack Rebecca had found in a surviving underground bunker and gifted it to him for his 30th birthday. It was faux leather so it would not look that much out of place he decided.

He shed his shirt and pants next, shivering from the chilly air. Quickly putting on the doublet and the vest then he fumbled with the pants for quite a while… 

“I need to figure out better shoes” He had grabbed a pair he saw sitting outside on a windowsill, probably the owner had left them to dry out overnight, thinking it was high up enough for anyone to not be able to steal.

But they were too small for comfort, a week in these and his feet would be ruined. He threw on his backpack and gathered his pants, shoes and shirt in his arms. He had to burn these somewhere.

He jumped out of the garden and made his way to the outside gates before the town started its routine.

—----------

As he made it to the clearing just outside of the walls, Desmond breathed in the clean air. No smell of char reached his nose. It was wild… after twenty years of inhaling the slight burnt smell of the world, all he smelled now was the fresh air.

He found a less grassy spot and piled the clothes on, retrieved his flint from his backpack pocket.

As the fire burned the only clothes he had for a while he listened to the birds chirp. Those were gone as well, as most of the animals were. Only the ones lucky enough to be near an artifact at the time had survived. Shaun had come up with the theory.

Once again the sense of peace he felt was quickly replaced by his guilt. He rubbed his chest, it ached with every memory. He didn't deserve to see all of this. Not when he was the sole cause of that madness people back home were subjected to daily. 

Twenty-plus fucking years he tried to make up for his mistake. He found whoever he could and took them back to their camp. He gathered whatever he could, and used every bit of the knowledge he gained from the apple to lead what was left into a better place, and now he was gone.

Abandoned them to their fates on a random weekday.

Because he could not keep his hands to himself.

He rose up from where he stood and kicked in the dirt to smother the ambers. Watching them sizzle down.

He had to find a way to get back… If a piece of Eden took him here, it could and should take him back.

—----

He needed to figure out what year it was first, and where Ezio was. 

Not to meet him of course, If all went well he would never see the man and no one here would know he even took a step in this time.

But he needed to know where Ezio was so he could know where the apple was. 

Since Monteriggioni was standing perfectly intact, it was before he embarked to Rome. The codex pages were just starting to get collected so he would have been quite young. This meant the apple was barely even on his way to Venice on a ship…

“Shit, he must be what… 25-27 at best?”

God…. Thats so young, was he even officially initiated yet? If the age he guessed is right Ezio should be in Venice, either with the thieves or the courtesans… he needed to know the date to be sure.

Ezio did not even know of the apple's existence yet probobly.

He so wished he could just go where the ship was right this very moment and get to the apple but truth be told his memory of Ezio’s life after 20 years of apocalypse wasn't too fresh on his mind… So even if he knew the date It wasn’t like he could sail on a vessel and interrupt the ship alone.

Which meant Desmond had to track the apple at the same time as Ezio. 

—-------------

Desmond sat on top of one of the watchtowers near the walls, watching the town come alive as people went about their day. It was overwhelming yet he couldn't tear his eyes away. 

To think he lived in one of the most populated cities before, and now seeing 500 or less people in one spot made him nauseous with awe. So many mouths to feed, so many resources to find….

He looked away,

these people weren't his commune. He wasn't responsible for them but he couldn't shut his mind up. 

It felt unreal, like in any moment he was going to blink and this was going to reveal itself to be a one extreme bleeding episode.

He did still have those, but he knew they were never like this.

After decades of living with it, he knew what a bleed felt like. They rarely caught him off guard nowadays unless he was having particularly bad days.

But this wasn't one.

[sky-scribbles]

'The Chantry's authority supersedes the crown in this matter,' says the Templar.

Anders almost splutters says who, but the words never make it out. Partly because he knows the answer is says the Templars, it's always says the Templars, they've never needed any other reason. But mostly because the Warden-Commander steps in front of him before he can speak.

'That's funny,' she says, so brightly that her tone somehow manages to circle all the way around to being extremely dark, actually. 'Because I happen to be the crown. So let me ask you this: are you so desperate to execute one mage that you're willing to kill the Queen of Ferelden to do it? Are you prepared to go back to Denerim and explain yourself to the king? Oops, stabbed your wife. Not an accident, actually. She's dead now. Are you ready to do that?'

They are, Anders thinks helplessly, they absolutely are, there's no point trying to bluff them -

And then he sees the Commander's hand drifting to her shoulder for an arrow; sees the immovable plant of her body between the Templars and him. And he knows with a shock of wonder that she isn't bluffing.

'Because if you want to take my Warden,' she says, every word suddenly snapping cold, 'that is what you're going to have to do.'

The Templars try to do just that, of course. But they don't get to try for very long.

[backjustforberena]

Princess Rhaenys + the positions of power that were never hers and yet...

[whoyacallinyellow]

To The Fallen

Charles Smith x F! reader

Spoilers: major RDR2 events Content: 18+ mdni, m/f smut, drunk sex, angst, tension, possessive, canon typical events / violence, possible unintentional spelling mistakes Type: second pov (wc - 3693) / pc: pinterest

Summary: After the gang’s downfall, you join Charles on his endeavors. While roughing it in the woods, you convince him to share a drink with you…

“C’mon Charles, live a little.” 

You encouraged the man, sat upon a log as he tended to the small campfire you shared. He sighed at your relentless begging, gazing at you over the orange flames. Truly torn, he hated to turn you down, but your safety was more important than your idea of a good time. 

“What if something happens?— besides, someone needs to take care of you.” 

The man reasoned with your buzzed mind, gesturing towards the half empty glass you cradled on your knee. 

Your eyes followed him as he joined you, carefully studying his every step before he sat next to you, tobacco leeching off his clothes and filling the air. 

“It’ll be fine.” You reassured softly, watching him glance longingly into the flames once again. His eyes carried a certain sorrow that did not leave since Beaver Hollow. Apathy had stuck to Charles like a ball and chain, burying his friends was a pastime he did not favor, with Arthur being the final nail in the coffin. 

After the fallout of the gang, the two of you spent your time roughing it in sticks, you reckoned somewhere between Canada and northern United States. You felt as if it were the smartest move to be as far away as possible, while Charles was a man who did not like running. He was fully aware the severity of his actions came with a big price— but he was willing to compromise for you. 

Charles always seemed to know what to do, and where to go. He found refuge in your company and trust, the close bond you shared only flourished after being by your lonesome. The man wouldn’t want it any other way, sometimes pondering where he would be, or what he would be doing without you. The doubts he kept quiet and buried deep often resurfaced the moments he was reminded how sweet on you he was. 

“You could use one.” You continued, placing a small hand on his knee with the attempt to break his trance. You so desperately wished to lend him a penny for a thought, but your attempts usually went nowhere. 

The man huffed in defeat, encapsulating his hand over yours tenderly. 

“Maybe just one.” 

Charles reluctantly agreed, his words barely finished before you filled his unused glass with a much needed relaxation aid. 

You scooted closer as a Canadian breeze whipped past, which made his grasp slip politely around you. The man’s arm alone somehow carried more warmth than any blanket could give you. Or perhaps it was the security he offered with each touch.  

“Uh— to the fallen.” 

You propose awkwardly, raising your glass lazily to the man who met you with a stupid smirk. 

With your tipsy state being more than amusing to the outlaw, your words would be teased and mocked in the morning, in addition to gentle kisses as compensation— if you were lucky. 

“To good health, my girl.”  

He compromised huskily, his words presenting a much more giddy side which had been long erased with time. Charles lounged in the moment, the drink would allow a disconnect from his thoughts, unwilling to think about the gang under the grip of a bottle. 

You took his offer with a small clink, the contents of his glass sloshing and spilling into yours. 

Charles always knew you had his best interest in mind, the same he held for you. And with everything that happened in the past year, maybe he’s been too uptight and miserable. He reasoned that self reflection would come after a night of fun, maybe he did need this. 

The night seemed to slip from his grasp after that point. His incoherent banter blew through the trees and vacant wilderness, undoubtedly scaring any animal or man for miles. Charles would often lean against you for temporary support, his hand sneaking through your inner thigh, and lingering for a moment to prop himself upright before continuing his casual slurs. The bottle loosened his tongue more than you expected, allowing him to exaggerate a memory or two. 

You have not seen the man wear such a toothy grin since Sean was rescued, a celebration where he took the liberty of more than one drink. As you walked past the rowdy group by the fire, he would match Sean and Karen by pulling you onto his lap. A drunken stunt he would never dare pull sober in front of the others, denying every bit of the scandal once teased the day after. His leg would bounce effortlessly to the music beneath you, wobbling you tightly to his chest. All you could think about was the stubble of his chin digging into your shoulder, the way his fingertips treaded dangerously close to your waist—as if he was taunting you. His hard bulge you rested on would go unacknowledged by the man as he bounced his leg, but not you.

It was a sick game he played and perhaps enjoyed a little too much, testing your willpower for him every moment available.  

Charles’ one ended up being your three, his glass being long retired in favor of the bottle, swaying between his fingers as he nursed it sporadically. 

As the man went over the deep end you just spectated, you figured the least you could do was take care of him for one night, as he does for you every other. One night off was the very least he deserved. 

“S’enough now, reckon you oughta sleep.” 

Your words interrupted Charles, an unmistakable hum rattling through his chest. It hurts you how much the gang lived within the man, even while blackout drunk, Javier’s rhythms that played years ago flowed through him. 

You arose stiffly to your feet, which the man unsteadily followed, his arms swaying and outstretched to recoup some balance. 

The fire had died down along with his energy, Charles’ half-lidded eyes wandered, barely illuminating off the flame. 

Your unexpected touch at the man’s nether region triggered his reflex with a stagger as you unclasped his taut gun belt. Relieving him of today's responsibilities. 

“Oh hush,” 

You murmured, your concentration ignoring his sudden silence. 

Glancing up at the man who towered over you was now stiff as a board, arms hung by his sides as he stared back directly into your soul. 

His lips parted ever so slightly, but nothing came out besides a sigh, the bottle dulling his expression, but emphasizing fervency. 

All Charles could do was stare, his mind clouding over his better judgment— the thought of you seemed to do that often. 

He remembered a particularly sunny day at Clemons Point, a job gone not to plan. You tended to the man’s wounds as he recovered in a cot. Your eyes heavy and looming over each part of his injured body, a sense of worship you held for his temple he simply did not. White bandages decorated his torso and bicep, a familiarity with his body and scars that only you held. The sacredness and safety your touch gave him made his pride not allow anyone else to see him in such a way, not that he would ever tell you. 

You would not speak while focusing on him, not even to ask for an explanation of the wounds. But your vibrant presence would keep him company in the midst of your silence. 

The feeling would eventually leave him as you wandered off, he would watch your figure lingering in the distance, pondering while gazing off the beautiful lands camp offered you. Your apprehensive mannerisms worried the man, which he mistook as forlornness. Charles would justify the scenarios, a double edged sword he deemed to be second nature— you knew what type of man he was. 

You would bide your time against a nearby tree in eyeshot of the cot, ensuring his peace. But would return before too long, your eyes slightly uplifted in spirit. Once again presenting Charles with the same feeling he had before you left the tent. 

Perched up on the barrel level with the cot, the back of your delicate hand would linger on his forehead before caressing down his scuffed cheek, the same touches his mother would give him as a boy. 

Your silence was louder than any words you could have said, you loved him and he always knew.

—

“M’sorry.”

The man uttered after a needy kiss. Insincerity snuck upon his lips, unsure of what exactly he was apologizing for— was it to you? Or was it guilt of the broken man he’s become?— when exactly did he dismiss the morals he subscribed to? 

Now laying in the tent you shared, your lust for him kept him far from his drunken mind, his pants you had undone tempted his desires over redemption. Charles somehow held no recollection of your hands working down there.

Once again your silence was louder than words, fingertips tracing gingerly over his bulge. Subtly begging him to give into his desires, give into you. Charles always had different plans for your first time together, but the past years haven’t been kind, making the time never right— he never once considered taking you while a drunken idiot. 

But your body would soon be consumed by that very same desire, he would only leave your lips momentarily while clothes were kicked off. 

The unsuitable lighting made the man rely on his hands, touches that were a test of how well he knew your body, by now considering it an extension of himself. 

“Charles,” 

His name deliciously exhaled from your lips at the slightest feel of him. Your voice saying his name in such a manner forever burnt a mark into his mind. You molded into every touch of his, which only encouraged his high. His calloused fingertips ran from your hip bones to your breasts, touching the off guard parts of you to everyone but him. 

“Yeah?” 

Charles eventually answered, his gruff voice lowly exiting his chest with an unforeseen force. 

Stroking himself, the man positioned at your entrance, his tip preparing you extensively. Charles’ neck craned back as pleasure began to soar through him, a sharp sigh being exerted at the slightest feel of himself in you. 

“Think you can take me?”

Less of a question, the man wondered out loud through a slur. The syllables lazily slid off his tongue as he teased his head back and forth through your heat. His jaw had gone slack from a combination of ecstasy and concentration, your wetness and anticipation only grew with each of his strokes. 

He hoped to get more noise from you. So desperately wanting you to be loud for him, no camp, no one to worry about— just you. You were his one and only focus, as it should have been from the start. 

Your silence was temporary, captivated by your lover teasing you between your legs. 

“Go on then,” 

Your voice came out as a pitiful whine, a beg of yours he would not take lightly. 

The large man hummed through his amusement and pleasure, his hands covering every area of skin he could on you. Scooting you closer to his preference came with ease, his pull on your hips united your thighs to his. With how light and sweet Charles’ casual touches were, you sometimes forgot how strong the man really was. 

“Charles!”

Your frustrated moan was music to his ears, it broke through the man’s clouded brain like the sound of a gunshot. A distracted hand was still placed on the base of his cock, threading it through your lips in awe. 

“Okay— ok, sweet girl, don’t know if I’ll fit s’all.”

He contemplated out loud, his voice remained low and primal, glossed over drunken eyes lustfully staring into yours, a hint of playfulness being held within the brown wells.

It was the same look they held the day of your hunting trip for Mr. Pearson. You insisted on joining Charles, less to assist and more to loiter and encourage the man. A simple and innocent request he would never refuse. You held onto his torso as he rode Taima, to his dismay your hands would wander further, and further down, until resting prettily on either side of his groin. You would see the man headbob towards the saddle, infatuated with both your boldness and touch— needless to say, you both returned to camp empty handed that day. 

—

The wind that rippled through the tent canvas sent chills through your bones, your naked frame being consumed by goosebumps which the man took humor in. His rough fingertips wasted no time fiddling with your nipples before covering you with his body. Finally exchanging his body heat with yours that would not be needed for long. 

Now fixated on your upper body, it did not take him long to cover you in his hungry mouth, his shaft still grinding against your lips as he eagerly thrusted, barely touching your entrance with each movement. 

Taking matters into your own hands, your patience grew thin, reaching down and directing the man where you needed him. 

The abrupt contact caused spots to flood in vision, Charles’ pleasure and whiskey filling his palette in a way he did not know possible. A part of him wasn’t sure if he would be able to stop after taking you, afraid he would accidentally hurt you in his drunken stupor. His lack of control over his dire state only showed the desperateness Charles usually hid from you. 

Your fingers laced around the man’s bare chest, little nothings you would mumble as you took his length. Charles still doesn’t know what got into him, all the pent up desire for you finally being spent with a slow and powerful thrust that swooped to your core. Despite his eagerness and your moans, he somehow mustered up enough composure to allow you to get used to his size. 

“So tight for me,”

Was all the man grunted through his drunken lust, he thought you took his size so well for him, almost as if you were made for him as a lover. 

Your fingernails that dragged along his back earned you some groans and abrupt movements that were particularly passionate.  

Hearing him in such a worked up manner only made you tighter around him. It was enough to nearly make the man lightheaded as pleasure roamed throughout the tent. 

Words weren’t needed for Charles to understand that your desperation was mutual to his. Your walls continued to grow wet and clench around him with every adjustment and word of his, making a mess of the bedrolls beneath you both. 

“You should’ve took me that night— at Shady Belle.”

Your unsteady words momentarily stopped the man in his tracks. His body frozen atop of yours as he mentally mapped out just how long you’ve been wanting him this way. 

Charles remembered the look you gave him as he peeled off the layers of his bank heist clothing, gun belt falling to his ankles with a clank. He was the only man to return from Saint Denis that night. You followed him around camp like a lost dog, eyes glued to him, silently begging for an ounce of him. You always knew if any man were to return from a botched heist, it would be Charles Smith. 

Your need for him then would go unfulfilled, his large hands lingered lovingly on your waist everytime he rushed past you to assist what was left of the gang, as if he silently acknowledged your desperation. Charles always carried that sense of urgency and composure you did not— he was the last man with a lick of leadership, afterall. 

You wore a similar look now, needy and willing.  

A lazy chuckle filled the tent before he planted a sloppy kiss on your lips, feeling your breath quiver against him was a reminder to continue. 

“Should’ve said, my girl.” 

Charles rebutted simply, allowing your moans to once again fill his ears as he moved swiftly but rhythmically. 

After all this time Charles knew what kind of lover he wanted to be for you, in his mind he earned you and your desire to be with him in such a way. Which meant you deserved to experience your importance and much more. 

Sensual and with purpose—at least for the first time. Each of his actions would show how much you meant to him. Charles thought about it more than he would like to admit, the days you would patch him up only encouraged the back door thoughts of showering your body in his devotion, your lingering touch merely drove those thoughts further. 

But the whiskey consumed his prior plans of reverence, only to reveal how badly he needed this— how badly he needed you. 

Every last bit of his self-control was thrown out the tent along with your clothes, discarded in the dirt by the fire.  

His hands gripping whatever skin of yours he could, small marks of his fingertips peppered on you, further demonstrating the long overdue tension he held prior to taking you. 

Lips and tongue that traveled on your breasts occasionally came with teeth, his excitement winning and the principals he usually held washed away with the prior drinks you shared. 

These marks the man would notice in the morning, guilt and embarrassment surging through him while planting soft kisses upon the possessive marks— Did he hurt you? Was he too rough?— Was he foolish?— he doesn’t remember, his head hurts. Your words of praise would feel just as genuine as it did the night prior, reassuring the man you enjoyed him just fine.

Your touch ghosted down his chest and to his bucking hips, tracing the muscles that flexed with each thrust. Both of your thighs now sopping, Charles let out a low moan, his stomach knotting and quivering under your spell. He guided your hands back up, not wanting to reach his peak quite yet, and your excessive touch would overstimulate him to that point. 

“Easy now.” 

Charles whispered, his voice gravelly and hoarse, a vague warning which slipped from his lips as smooth as the booze went down. The man knew you were close under his control, and how malleable you were only drove him closer to the edge. 

His braided hair had gracefully come undone from the intimacy, loose strands both dangling over your bare skin and sticking to his shoulders. 

Your body quivered beneath him, sensing your climax was near with excessive moans and breaths you gave him. Hearing you moan his name fully unleashed would replay in his mind for days to come, your pretty lips trembling was a sight for sore eyes. Hoisting himself back to his knees, his bottom lip slid between his teeth, rubbing your clit while he admired how you gripped his cock. So trusting, so excited, so wet, and it was all for him? 

His thrusts became more attentive, each one pressing and lingering deep within you, his back arching to meet your pelvis, ensuring no part of his length went neglected. 

If Charles didn’t know any better, he would have lingered in you a moment longer before finishing, basking in the pleasure your high presented him with. The same high he has been subconsciously chasing since Clemons Point. But instead his shaft planted onto your stomach as he climaxed, animalistic groans exiting the man as he marked you. 

Your lover’s chest heaved, lingering momentarily as he finished. Both soaked and relieved, he weakly lowered for yet another soft kiss. His necklace and hair tickling your collarbone as he recovered from his high. 

The mind fog prevented any sort of disruption of his focus on you. Charles studied your torso as you recovered yourself, the small faded scar he stitched up for you back in Colter now glistened under his love for you, it seemed so long ago to the man. He never once thought in this lifetime the girl he saved from a seemingly fatal stomach wound would be the same stomach covered in his seed. 

“‘Look real sweet like that.” 

He hummed, pride and satisfaction littering his tone. His voice rumbled in his chest, presenting signs of sobering up after his chase. 

“Oh?” Your lips formed into an amused grin, staring at your tired lover laying beside you, his toned figure barely visible in the tent besides the glossy formations of sweat beading down his chest. His dark eyes still hooked onto the mess he created on you.  

“Real sweet.” 

The man affirmed gently, figuring he would put you out of your misery and clean you off. 

How whipped was Charles? He could not tell. Every kiss you would give him later that night threw him over the moon. Your fingertips soothingly outlined the scar on his jaw as he held you tightly, your frame curled within his, thighs that pressed against him unknowingly gave him a certain friction that begged him for another round. 

But he decided you needed the rest, as he felt there would be more where tonight came from. He would make it up to you then. 

The embers cracked in front of your tent, with the trees swaying the distance, the white noise was enough to lull you to a slumber. But the man forced himself awake just moments longer to experience you. Relishing in a feeling he never wanted to leave him. Charles wished the night lasted a little longer, as he did with most good things he was fortunate enough to have come his way. He always wondered what he did to deserve those things, especially with all the sins under his belt. 

He felt as if he were sinking, or spinning, maybe it was spinning, his fingertips tapped rhythmically down your spine in his subconscious state, gaining your attention. 

“Sleep with me.” 

You cooed against his chest, words he could barely make out from your state of delirium. 

The man kissed your forehead in response, his mind that tried running off into the night was anchored back to you. Like most things were.  

Your wish was Charles' command, and he knew it would be the beginning of many more.   

~

[zorosroronoas]

absolutely hate how hard gail simone is pandering to romy shippers. nothing to do with the ship in specific, it could be any other & i'd feel the same way, but it always makes me uncomfortable when creatives behave like that.

[illmoraineakoi]

As much as I adore the idea of Alan being like a dad to the Color Gang, I am absolutely feral for interpretations where that’s not really the case.

Or, more specifically, when those feelings are very one sided.

The CG look up to him and adore him as a parental/guardian figure, loving him almost like a father, especially Orange in particular who 110% sees and loves Alan as a father figure, while Alan himself sees himself more as a tolerant friendly landlord; just a dude who’s letting five stick figures live on his computer and not really interacting with them (except for Orange) very much beyond playing a few games for them or sparring with them. And even with Orange, it’s more of a friendship relationship than a parent-child one. Just generally pretty emotionally detached/distant towards them, not really feeling very strongly about any of them. Sort of how IRL Alan speaks about them as characters; fond, but not loving*. He still largely just sees them as stick figures. Like smart little living desktop pets.

Which makes all of the potential scenarios where they meet on more equal grounds (Stick!Alan AUs and IRL!Sticks/Human!Sticks AUs) potentially very juicy.

The CG and Orange in particular are always very excited to meet and actually interact with Alan, and Alan just feels overwhelmed and awkward by all the affection/attention. Or perhaps even confused about why they seem to like him so much.

Which can very quickly turn into a situation where the Gang notices that Alan doesn’t seem very comfortable around them, that he’s not nearly as excited and enthusiastic about finally being able to touch and hug them as they are with him. That he seemed to be kind of distant from them, withdrawing away from them. Oh, he’s friendly and polite, and he’ll talk to them, he’s not being mean or ignoring them or anything, but it’s not really like how they always imagined meeting him would be. It’s not as happy and joyous. He doesn’t interact/engage with them on his own. Doesn’t offer hugs or pats or much affection at all. He’ll do it if they initiate or ask, but he never gives anything of the sort freely.

Perhaps they think it’s because everything is so new and fresh, that maybe he’s feeling a bit overwhelmed. Maybe he just needs a little time to get used to them.

But when they give him that time…nothing seems to change. And they’re just left even more confused and concerned. Why was he acting like this? He was never like this before… (or so they think.)

Or perhaps a situation occurs where it’s revealed that Orange sees him like a father, or perhaps Orange even calls him his father, and Alan denies it. Corrects him. Tells Orange that he’s not his parental figure, that he always thought they were just friends. That all of them were just a bunch of sticks he was letting live on his computer. He wasn’t their dad, where in the world did they get THAT weird idea from? He was just Alan, the owner of the computer they made their home on. He barely even knew them.

And the Gang is both shocked and heartbroken. They hadn’t known Alan felt that way, just as Alan hadn’t been aware of how they felt. It was so easy for misunderstandings and misinterpretations to happen between them when they couldn’t really communicate very well.

But Orange, Orange is devastated. It hurts, so bad, because Alan literally created him. Alan was his creator, the closest thing to an actual parent he had. And yet Alan didn’t want to fill that role towards him, didn’t want to be his father. He could have seen and understood Alan not considering himself the others’ parent, since Alan hadn’t made them, but Orange was undeniably his.

But Alan didn’t want him like that. Didn’t see him like that.

He was just a stick figure who frequently helped him animate and lived on his computer. The fact that Alan made him appeared to be irrelevant.

So Orange puts on a smile and accepts it, apologizing for misunderstanding. But inside, he’s raw. The rejection feels so awful.

And it stings just how relieved Alan looked after his apology, like he was grateful that they weren’t arguing about it.

Because they don’t. What more was there to say? Alan had made his feelings on the matter very clear, and who were they to try argue against that? To challenge him, and demand he change his feelings towards them? To demand he love them? No, that’s not how things worked. That wasn’t how love worked.

You can’t try to force someone who doesn’t love you to love you.

Instead, Orange goes to his room, and sobs. It hurts so much. It feels like a chunk of his heart has been ripped out, leaving a giant empty gap where it had been. He can’t stop thinking about why Alan didn’t love him even though he made him. He can’t help but wonder if it’s because somehow he wasn’t good enough. Or if he’d done something wrong.

Or if it was because he was just a stick figure. Not human. Not a “real” person in Alan’s eyes.

He doesn’t know, but it hurts all the same.

The others, too, mourn the loss of the only parent-like figure they’ve ever known. They never knew their own creator, whoever the person who actually made them even was, they only ever knew Alan. It stings, how all of his weird recent behavior now makes sense. He hadn’t needed time. He had never loved them as much as they, apparently mistakenly, thought he did in the first place. It leaves them feeling empty and bereft, at a loss for what to do with themselves now.

And Alan is left totally oblivious to just how badly he’s just hurt them all.

And totally oblivious to what he himself has just lost, the potential for what could have been.

…At least, until he goes through some Character Development and inevitably has some Realizations that “Oh shit, those actually ARE my kids, oh fuck what have I done?!” And he needs to claw back the gangs’ love and affection and trust they’d since given up on.

* - [Or at least that’s how it always felt for me, watching AvG reactions, though that could just be because IRL Alan just sounds kinda bland and introverted in most of his commentary on his own animations lmao “I mean I like Orange.” Bro that is your main character that has been spearheading your entire career for a literal decade, why do you sound about as enthusiastic about him as if someone just asked you about your favorite weather type lmao jk jk]

[joshuamj]

In Time and Stars

[dykevanny]

Who are you, really?

[technikki]

mario royalty's a great scale to find how invested someone is in the series. any casual fan knows the mario princesses, and this can be said abt a lot of non-fans too. if you know the mario princes though you are autistic

[petricorah]

something something i will follow you into the dark (comic wip)