#idk how arthur is always like: a woman this a woman that

[portugalisinsa]

#going into the tags hoping i'd see some book reccs but its all discourse ;w;#well i'm not gonna claim these are all highly intellectual works but here's some of my fave adult fantasies#tainted cup by robert jackson bennett#the thief by megan whalen turner#winnowing flame trilogy by jen williams#locked tomb series by tamsym muir#goblin emperor and witness for the dead by katherine addison#a natural history of dragons by marie brennan#the mountain in the sea by Ray Naylor#god killer by hannah kaner#temeraire and scholomance by naomi novik#october daye by seanan mcguire#i'm also getting into t kingfisher books :)#gods of wyrdwood by r j barker was also good#i really need to find more books by non-white authors tho

No babe it’s so cool and hot that you always insist that fantasy books written to meet a 4th graders’ comprehension skills have more complex themes and a greater sense of praxis than anything written for adults

[messrmoonyy]

- Give me my sin again

Arthur Morgan x Female reader

Request- " if Arthur has a secret lover that he tells no one about and he goes to see her when he can after jobs maybe.shes so kind and devout and good that he thinks he doesn't deserve her. But he be besotted with her obsessed to worship the ground she walks on. Arthur not believing in anything but finding this good woman and wanting to be good for her but maybe knowing he can't

A/N- this is mostly a kind of dive into Arthur's head I like it idk. I also paired this with a request I had about bathing Arthur. It kinda fits. Anyway this is a lil shorter than I normally write but life had been lifing lately Imao. And this got me back into writing something for the first time in a lil bit so! Do enjoy.

Warnings- 18+ | some religious imagery, a small chunk of smut right near the end (oral, R receiving) { wc- 3.4k}

Masterlist | AO3

Arthur was not a good man . He feared he never had been. Not really. No matter how many people could try convince him otherwise. He wasn’t. He was bad. He did bad things. A good man didn’t murder, rob, manipulate.

He was no saint. So incredibly far from it.

And yet with you? Well… he felt he could be.

You with your delicate hands that soothed his bruised and battered skin, your voice like that of an angel on his shoulder that spoke to him with an airy tenderness that he did not deserve.

He was not a holy man. And yet for you he would renounce all sin and drop to his knees to beg for forgiveness and retribution. The only deity worth worshipping in his eyes. His slice of heaven always waiting to chase the darkness from his mind. If just for a few hours.

He was drawn to you like there was something mystical in your words, hypnotising him, controlling him, luring him in with nothing but a smile. He would find himself stumbling his way to your door, just to drop down at your feet and beg. Beg for you to erase his sins and show him grace, Allow him the privilege of being in your presence for a while. Because in that awful, terrible world he’d found himself in… nothing felt right but you.

And so there he was again. At your door. Standing there in the rain as he waited for you to answer. His knuckles bruised on the wood in the night, praying you’d be awake, two rabbits slung over his shoulder. As if they could be excuse enough to spend more time with you.

That he had brought you supplies. And that of course he wouldn’t mind skinning them for you. No it really wasn’t a bother.

Though deep down he knew he didn’t need an excuse. That you would always welcome him in with open arms and at times had even begged him not to leave again. But he always felt like he needed the excuse… maybe more to convince himself of something rather than you.

He knocked again. Hoping, praying you were still awake.

And you were. As if you’d been waiting. Maybe you had. But probably not. It has been weeks. 3. 4? He wasn’t sure. But weeks . Weeks that had felt like some kind of condemnation for his sins, being punished by having to stay away. Dutch in one ear, Strauss in the other. A gaggle of others behind him.

Like some guard dog sent out to attack. Kill. Rob. Threaten. And he was tired. Exhausted. He’d no chance to slip away, no chance to sneak his way to your cabin.

But he was there now.

And so were you.

“ Arthur” you looked ethereal. Stood there in the doorway, backlit by the lamp in the room behind you. You didn’t sound surprised to see him. More relieved than anything.

He knew he worried you. Knew you must be sick with it when he went away for weeks on end, no sign he was alive other than another article on the front of the paper about Dutch and the gang robbing something or other.

He walked in as you stepped aside, standing in the warmth of your small home. He’d arranged it for you some time back. Some place to keep you safe.

“ I missed you “ you said, your arms wrapping around his rain soaked torso. Your head resting against his chest, breathing out like you had just received your first gasp of air after being held underwater for too long.

“ I missed you too “ he murmured, his free arm wrapping around you. Strong. Secure. Steady. You were grounding, dragging him out of a haze he had been stuck in to coax him back to reality “ brought you these “ he said, his voice low. Gruff even. He felt like he couldn’t raise his voice in there. That if he did the illusion would shatter and he’d wake up in his tent. All of it some cruel dream to taunt him.

“ thank you “ you said, your voice soft “ I’ll skin them later “ that made Arthur smile, a chuckle escaping his lips. The first in 4 weeks.

“ darlin’ I’ve seen the way you skin game. I ain’t lettin’ you anywhere near ‘em you’ll butcher the damn things “ his voice was gentle with his teasing, but it was true. He’d once left you to it, letting you skin the game he’d brought you. Only to return to what looked like a massacre had taken place on your kitchen table “ I’ll do it “

You laughed a little yourself and nodded

“ yeah I… I ain’t the best huh “ he dropped the rabbits on the table and then turned back to you, he needed to be close to you again.

“ I really did miss ya “ he murmured, reaching out to tuck his fingers under your chin so you’d look up at him “ sorry I ain’t been around much “

He looked down at you, just looking. Admiring. You were so beautiful . So unbelievably gorgeous that it made his heart ache. So beautiful that even death would hesitate to pluck you up into his waiting arms. Because to remove you from the earth would be too vicious even for him, to devoid the planet of such beauty would be low even by his standards.

“ where y’been? “ you asked softly, leaning into his touch “ doin’ bad things again? “

“ real bad things sweetheart “ he murmured.

You never really asked him for more details. Never went delving into what dark and desperate things he found himself doing for Dutch. You'd push from time to time. But never asked anything too damning. You knew he was bad. Never asked him to confess his sins to you, you just let them lie. Let him forget them for a while whilst he was with you.

“ that mess in Valentine… was that you? “ you asked “ read about it in the papers. Claiming it was Van Der Linde boys. And I figured… that usually means you “ Arthur sighed, tucking some of your hair behind your ear as you looked up at him.

He didn’t deserve the way you gazed at him. The way you admired him. The way you peeled back each layer of terribleness to see the good hidden deep underneath.

“ yeah “ he didn’t attempt to lie. What was the need? You knew anyway “ Strauss took a bullet. Old bastards still breathin’ though unfortunately “ he murmured and stepped away from you. He felt tetchy. Needed to busy his hands.

You seemed to gather the point. That that was enough for now. That you didn’t need to know the who’s, the when’s, the why’s. He’d told you the vague outline. Skimmed the tale. And that was enough.

“ well… you gonna sort them rabbits f’me? I’ll cook you up somethin’ nice “ Arthur gave a small smile at your willingness to let his vague stories stay exactly that. To know he did bad things, but not wishing to know exactly what those things were.

And so you both fell into an almost domestic scene. The comfortable quiet that could settle around two people doing their own thing, two people just happy to be in each others company. Two people comfortable together.

He skinned the game as you pottered about doing something or other in the kitchen around him. It felt nice. A scene he could almost see himself having permanently.

Maybe somewhere back out west. Some little cabin or ranch, just you and him. And some sheep or chickens or… something. That damn rancher life Dutch had been harping on about for so long… but just you two.

A ring on your finger. A family. Domesticity that he never truly realised he’d craved.

But that was all some hopeless dream wasn’t it.

So he’d savour those moments for now. The quiet bliss. The escape from everything back at camp. His quiet comfortable time with you.

He finished the game, washing off his hands and placed himself behind you, arms around your waist and a gentle kiss to your cheek.

Those moments were his. His true escape and joy. When he could feel vulnerable. Affectionate.

You were the only true receiver of his affections. You brought it out of him. A constant deep desire within him to want to hold you. Kiss you. Love you. Something he usually tried to keep buried.

It was a tender scene. His chin propped on your shoulder, his arms around you. You often joked that it baffled you how this man that was so tender with you, so caring. So… soft. Was wanted dead or alive in multiple states.

His true moments of retribution came when he was with you like that. When he could hold you and be gentle. Pour out all his emotions and feelings via his actions.

Including the times when he was able to press you into your mattress. Your bed, his saving grace, his chance to truly worship every inch of you. And worship he did. Hands determined and insistent on your soft skin, mapping out your curves and edges to commit them to memory. Lips burning as they trailed your body to commit each inch to his brain.

The way your hands gripped at him, your fingernails piercing his skin and keeping him grounded. Reminding him it was all real and he was sane. And the sounds you made more beautiful than any angel, whispering his name in his ear.

He always made sure to worship every part of you. Kissing in the most uncommon of places. His lips brushing your hip bone. The inside of your wrist. Each and every divet of your spine. Making sure you knew he cared. That he appreciated every second he had of you. That you weren’t some hurried little triste that he kept hidden away until he felt an itch needed to be scratched. That this side of things wasn’t a necessity. But simply just a way to prove his points.

He made sure you knew you were his everything. The one thing keeping him holding on to his morality, his one tether to the right side of things.

Afterwards he would lay there with you. Your body’s intwined and your fingers stroking through his hair. And he’d wonder when he’d get to see you again. When he’d be able to return to your arms. Missing you before he’d even left

And he desired it now.

It wasn’t even an inherently lust fuelled desire. But a desire to simply be close. To hold. To touch. To feel. To be touched in a way of care and to touch in a way that showed love not violence. To prove he could touch with love. That not everything he did needed to be violent.

So he turned you gently, cupping your face in his hands. And kissed you. Firm. But not rushed. Purposeful. His hands moving and pulling gently at your hips to hold you flush against him. Some silent request for more.

But you held your hands firmly to his chest as he kissed you, like you could read his mind.

“ ain’t lettin’ you into my bed like this “ you said with a slight sternness to your tone that made him smile “ you look like you went swimmin’ in the swamps “ he chuckled at your words and nodded.

“ and I thought you enjoyed a rugged man “ he teased, his voice low and thick. He always spoke like he needed to be quiet with you. Like inside those four walls of your cabin if he spoke any louder he’d shatter the facade and you’d vanish.

“ rugged. Not swampy “ you teased with a smile and pressed a kiss to his cheek “ I’ll draw you a bath “

He watched you slip from his grasp, disappearing to arrange it. Simply because you wanted to. You didn’t have to. You weren’t the type to be some slave of a wife to a man that demanded everything of you. And he was not the type to be that kind of husband.

You simply just cared. Had too much care and kindness in your heart.

When it was ready you called him through. The whole thing still as quiet and calm as it had been since he’d stepped through your door.

The contrast always shocked him.

“ c’mon. Whilst it’s hot sugar “ you said softly, grabbing gently at his jacket from behind to help him shed it.

Being naked in front of you wasn’t always some lust filled moment. It was… natural. Intimate in ways different from those fuelled by sex. Vulnerable. Completely bare and unarmed. A way no one but you got to see him. A way he was certain he could never really trust anyone as much as you.

“need some time alone or ya want a hand? “ you asked softly, perching on the side of the tub. It was a little small. Or maybe he was a little big. Probably both.

He didn’t need your help not at all. But he’d take every single second he could have with you. Each tick of the clock was precious.

“ like my own personal bath girl ain’t ya darlin? “ he said with a smirk which made you smile, but roll your eyes.

“ I don’t think I’m as complimentary “ you said softly, dipping a cloth into the water to wash away the dirt and dust that came from sleeping outdoors and riding on horseback all day “ god the state of ya Arthur “ you sighed, gently washing over bruises and cuts.

You were used to that though. Arthur’s body had been littered in scars and bruises as long as he could remember.

“ ain’t nothin serious “ he said and it just made you sigh.

Your touch was so gentle against his battered skin. As if washing away all the bad he’d done in the 4 weeks between seeing you. As if he would step out of that tub and out of your door a new man, that he’d be restored to new from your gentleness alone. He could pretend at least.

“ need t’eat more “ you murmured softly, your fingers trailing down his side “ gettin’ skinny “ it felt nice to hear concern. For someone to worry about him. For someone to notice “ I do worry bout ya Arthur “ you said quietly as if reading his mind “ more so lately “

He sighed and nodded

“ I know my darlin’. I know “

“ ain’t never been this bad “

“ I know ” he glanced up at you as you ran soap suds through his hair, your fingers soft and gentle on the knots.

“ cant help feelin’ like… like one day you just ain’t gonna come back here “ he closed his eyes for a moment and nodded. He knew that this was how it was. That he worried you. That he caused you so much stress and anxiety “ I knew the deal when we first met but… Arthur what the hell happened back in Blackwater? “

His jaw involuntarily tensed at the mention of Blackwater. Because Arthur didn’t really know what had happened. He’d heard different accounts. Dutch said one thing. John another. The papers something else.

All he did know, was deep down even without the evidence to prove the fact, it had something to do with Micah. Micah and his impulsive tendencies

“ darlin’ “ he sighed again “ I ain’t even sure. I weren’t there you know I weren’t “ he hung his head a little and closed his eyes for a moment “ whatever it was it was bad. And Dutch… he’s got all these plans. Ranching or god damn mangoes in Tahiti I don’t know look- “ he reached out and grabbed your hand, squeezing it softly “ whatever that mess was, I gotta help them pick up the pieces. Y’know I do “

“ yeah. I know “ you said quietly

“ but once they got enough money, they can go off and have their South Pacific dreams… and I’ll be free to go where I like. Right back here. T’you “ he didn’t quite believe it himself. And it felt cruel to say it when he truly thought about it. But some part of him felt that if he spoke it out loud, maybe it could happen.

But then again. Maybe not.

You didn’t seem convinced. Not at all. That look in your eyes that seemed filled with sadness and longing. Longing for a life he couldn’t give you. Not yet.

“ sounds like a real nice dream “ you said quietly, standing up to grab him a towel to dry off

“ it is darlin. It is. And you keep dreamin’ it cause I will make it happen. I swear it to ya I will “ he wrapped the towel around his hips and stepped out of the tub, placing his hands on your shoulders “ I will darlin “

You gave him a gentle smile and reached up to brush the backs of your fingers across his cheek, nodding softly

“ I’ll keep dreamin “

As was the usual he ended up in your bed again, desperate to prove his point and show you his true devotion. Purging his sins with his head between your thighs.

His fingers softly traced along your folds, spreading them gently. He groaned as he felt you quiver and twitch under his touch, the feeling and sound making him more and more insatiable. More desperate to please. His thumb ran up and pressed against your clit, rubbing firmly, almost possessively like he was trying to mark the territory as his. Watching your reactions as you squirmed below him, heavenly sounds escaping your mouth.

“ so good Arthur “

Your mewling and whining was like music to his ears, he could listen to it all day. Hearing you moan out your praises only made his tongue move faster, his efforts to bring you to climax increasing. His hands gripping your thighs, using his free hand to push your hips down gently.

It was never about him in those moments. Didn’t care for getting any kind of release himself. He just cared about you. As if doing something so selfless would free him of his vengeful, selfish ways from the last few weeks.

He circled your clit, giving you the attention you needed and wanted from him, making up for his absence with every swipe of his tongue, listening to the pretty moans you made. His tongue swiped across you again and again, licking a strip over your sensitive skin just wanting to touch you everywhere.

Your soft moans and writhing movements were enough to drive him crazy, his hands gripping tightly at your thighs.

“ m’so… Arthur I- “ you spoke brokenly, your hand patting around softly before grabbing onto his “ Arthur “ your soft whimper of his name made him groan hungrily, his fingers instantly lacing with yours

“ right here darlin. Ain’t goin no where “

He hummed softly against you, feeling your muscles tighten under his tongue. He pressed his tongue flat against you, giving a long, slow lick. He was addicted to the taste, he just wanted more of you. Like he couldn’t get enough. Couldn’t get close enough. He groaned softly again, the vibrations of the sound clearly doing you wonders.

He could feel your walls beginning to clench around his tongue as he thrust it inside of you,your hand squeezing down on his and you softly mewled his name over and over . And a few more flicks of his tongue was enough, your back arching from your bed with a high pitched whine. Your thighs clamping around his head making him moan against you, not stopping in his ministrations. Fervently licking and lapping until you went slack, gently pushing at his head.

“ oh Jesus “ you whispered with a soft, breathy laugh “ I don’t know how you’re so good at that “ he smirked softly and crawled back over your body, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“ you give me enough practice “ he murmured with a smile, tilting your head so that he could kiss you.

“ did you really mean what you said earlier?” You asked quietly as he pulled back, your fingers brushing his hair back from his forehead “ that dream. We’ll really have that some day? “

He looked down at you. So hopeful. So desperate to love and to be loved. By him. He wanted to give you the world. To hand you anything and everything you wanted and needed on a silver platter before you could even ask for it.

Deep down he wished he could. A small, tiny part of him hoping that one day he really could fulfil that desire. Be… normal. A rancher or a farm hand. You, his wife. A kid.

But a louder, stronger part of him told him he couldn’t. That he’d never really escape. That something would always be in the way. Something would always stop him.

But looking down at you, that loving hopeful look. He couldn’t tell you that.

“ yeah. Yeah darlin’ we will “

[kitixie]

Little Girl Gone

Little Girl Gone / T.S. (pt. 1)

part two: here

Synopsis: Having been several years since you’d last seen your favorite gangster family, you return to Small Heath a changed woman with a stronger attitude than you had when you left. 

information: this will be a multi part story! idk how many parts exactly, but there will be more!

warnings: none for this chapter!

please leave all comments and reccommendations below! thank you for reading!

“Aye, what does a woman have to do to get a whiskey around here?”, you shouted, rapping your hand on the bar counter. 

You were seated at The Garrison, it was your first stop back in town. You had lived in Small Heath most of your early life, but five years ago you were forced to leave due to your fathers death and your mothers general distrust (and dislike) of the Shelby family. Your mother had kicked you out a few days ago, claiming that you were old enough to be married now, and that she wouldn’t stand for you staying in her house if you weren’t going to look for a husband. 

“Calm down Lady, I’ll- Holy Shit! Y/N, what are you doin’ back!”, a man's voice rang out, making you and the rest of the bar look in his direction. 

Arthur Shelby had always been one of your favorite Shelby siblings, and for good reason. He was loud, funny, and typically a gentleman if you caught him on the right day. You leaned over the bar and wrapped your arms around his neck, nearly bruising him in the process. You had hoped your whole journey here that he would be the first Shelby you saw, and luck had worked out for you this time. 

“Arth, I am sure glad to see you! It’s been a long time, aye?”, you spoke, removing your arms from him and sitting back on your barstool. 

“Hell, it’s been about, what, five years? You don’t show your face around these parts for five fuckin’ years and then you just come back?”, he said, staring you in the face, with a somewhat more serious look in his eye than you had expected. 

‘Yeah, had some family troubles, but I’m back for good now,” you swallowed, “how's all the Shelby’s doin’?” 

“Eh, the usual. Tommys about to run himself ragged, Pol acts like she owns us all, I’m workin’ here now, I actually own the place!” he said, spilling out most of that information in one breath. 

You took a quick survey of the bar, noticing how the decor and table setup had changed since you’d seen it last. The floor was still the same sticky, slimy feeling though. 

“Glad to see you doing well, Arth. Now, please get me a whiskey an i’ll be outta your way!” you spoke, glad to have reunited with Arthur, but not glad to have been out in public this long. 

“Ah, ah. If you think I’m letting you get out of here without seein’ Tom, you’re messed in the head!” He joked, but as you watched him move towards the window to the private room, you realized he wasn’t joking. 

You had not come prepared to see Thomas. He was the only one who never got a goodbye, even though the rest of them didn’t know they were goodbyes at the time. When you were being forced to leave, you managed to sneak over to Watery Lane and have one last conversation with all the Shelbys before you left, and you never told them you were leaving that night. Thomas had been on business, but got home a few minutes after you left. You had regretted not speaking to him then, but now that regret had turned into a fear after hearing about the man he had become while you were away. You had heard things about Thomas Shelby, and they were not things any girl would like to hear about her long-time crush.

‘Oy, that Tommy Shelby is a real whore’

‘I heard he gets around Small Heath like its a full time job’

‘He pays them ya know? Every girl he fucks gets paid, even if theyre not workin’ for it!’

Those were all just some of the things you had heard, and those weren’t even the things you had heard that were related to his newfound habit of murdering those who crossed him. You’ve had your eyes on Tommy Shelby ever since you were 16. Now aged 21, it had been a long enough time that you realized what kind of person you needed to settle with, and logically, he wasn’t it. 

While this entire catalog of thoughts was running through your head, your eyes watched as Arthur got closer and closer to that window. You knew you weren’t ready to see him yet, if you ever would be. So acting on those primal prey instincts, you ran. You hopped off the barstool, and started pushing your way through the crowd of bar patrons, finally having the door insight. You wrapped your hand around the handle, and pulled it open. Stepping into the cool air of the night, you took a deep breath and closed your eyes as you closed the bar door behind you. Just as you were stepping away from the door to begin your walk to the apartment you were renting, you bumped into something, or rather, someone. 

“Thought I’d let you run from me a second time, aye?”

Fuck. 

Fuck. 

“I-I-”, you stammered, not having any idea what to say, now that you were staring at the face of one Thomas Shelby. 

“It’s okay, I’d be nervous too if I ran into someone I left in the dust five years ago.”, he laughed, letting a puff of cigarette smoke roll out of his mouth. 

“Tommy, how did you even know I was out here? I watched Arthur and left before he even opened the window, I don’t underst-”

“Shh. I have my ways, ya know I have my ways.” he spoke, that cool, gravelly voice still hadn’t changed, even after all this time. 

You finally looked up at him, releasing the death stare you had on his chest. He was more handsome now, if that was even possible. His dark hair styled perfectly, like he had touched it up before meeting you outside. His hat was missing, which was a rare occurrence, but you were enjoying the unobstructed view of his face. He was lean, only muscle was visible through his white shirt, and his pants hugged his legs perfectly. He was beautiful, especially in the face. You could see more defined freckles in the glow of the street lamp, along with more defined lines carved into his forehead. You continued to study his face, while his studied yours. You had definitely matured in your time away, but not only on your face. Your lips had gotten fuller, cheek bones more pronounced, and hair longer; but you had also grown tits and an ass. You knew you had assets, and fully planned on using them to your advantage, just not on Tommy Shelby. 

“My God, Y/N, I’d say you grew up…”, he trailed off, eyes looking all over your face and body. 

“Yeah, that tends to happen to people as they age, Tom.” you laughed, feeling suddenly insecure as you stood under his microscope. 

“What are ya doin’ back in town? I imagined you ran off and got married or somethin’,” he spoke, “But, I don’t see a ring on that finger so either that can’t be right or you married a poor bastard.” 

“Not married Tom, never was. It’s part of the reason I’m back in town, but-” 

“What are ya doin’ tomorrow evening?”, he cut off, not even letting you finish explaining how you didn’t want to talk about it right now. 

“Nothing I know about, why?”, you asked, having no idea what was about to come out of that pretty mouth of his. 

“Join me for dinner, yeah? I’d love to sit down and have a chat with ya, but I got to go handle some business right now.”, he spoke, suddenly sounding strained. 

“Uh, I guess I’ll get dinner with ya, where at?” 

“My place, I’ll come pick you up tomorrow at 6, Goodnight, Y/N.” Tom spoke, brushing shoulders with you lightly as he passed by, heading back into The Garrison.

[wobblesthecowgirl]

Hii! I literally love your page so much! If you don’t mind, could you write an Arthur x Fem reader fluff?

So I was thinking, Arthur and the reader are close friends and she has feelings for him, like I mean she is HEAD OVER HEELS for him! But she thinks that he likes Mary-Beth or something and somehow he finds out about her feelings towards him and how she thinks he likes Mary-Beth and he confronts her and is like “I don’t like her I like you” and they kiss or something idk I JUST NEED HIM SO BAD RN😭

I Only Want You.

Arthur Morgan x Femreader

I apologise for the long delay! But thank you so much for your patience and request! I hope you enjoy it! And thank you so much for the love! <3

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“Why not write him a letter?”

Y/n was sitting on a log with Abigail under the sun, looking out to the beautiful scenery before them on the edge of the cliff. They were discussing Arthur, a common topic between the two, and Abigail was trying to convince her friend to finally confess.

“A letter?” She tilted her head.

Abigail nodded, “Yes! I mean, you love to write, and you’re too much of a baby to speak to him about your feelings. I think a letter is perfect. You can leave it for him without seeing his face.” 

Y/n thought about it and agreed it wasn’t a bad idea at all. She could sneak into Arthur’s tent with a letter telling him everything she’s always wanted to say, and wait for a response. So, she smiled and hugged her friend tightly, before standing up quickly and making her way to her own tent to begin writing. 

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This was harder than she thought. She assumed being able to sit and think carefully about what she wanted to say would be easy, but it just filled her head with more doubts. Before she could start her fourth draft, she heard a ton of horses outside and quickly hid the crumpled up pieces of paper. Most of the men were robbing a wagon and had just come back; from the cheers and laughs, she could only assume it went well. She got up from her chair and peeked her head out of her tent and almost screamed in surprise. Arthur stood right outside her tent.

“Oh! Mr Morgan, you scared me!” She laughed it off, a hand to her chest as he chuckled with her.

“I apologise, I didn’t mean to sneak up on you. I just wanted to tell you how the robbin’ went.”

“I assume it went well, given the smile on your face.” Y/n smiled as she looked around to the other men already cracking bottles of beer. The pair went quiet and the woman wanted to burst into a confession then and there. The sun was setting and it casted a orange glow to his face. His hat caused a small shadow over his eyes and his smile was small and earnest. The little wrinkles around his eyes and mouth only made him more attractive, and his moustache had been recently trimmed. 

“Well, I best get back inside now. I’m a very busy lady.” She excused herself. He smiled a little wider and watched her close the tent, almost disappointed with their short exchange. 

After their conversation, Y/n got back to her desk and this time, the words began to spill out onto the page with ease:

Dear Arthur,

Firstly, I must apologise. I am too much of a coward to face you, so I’ve resorted to writing this letter.

The truth is, I have fallen head over heels for you. You may not agree with me, but you are a good and genuine man. You’ve helped me in more ways than you could ever imagine. The day you rescued me from my burning horse from the O’Driscolls, I thought my life was over. But, to my surprise, it was the start of an even better life. I truly can’t thank you enough.

I don’t expect you to reciprocate these feelings, and that is ok. I wouldn’t want to ruin this friendship we have formed.

Yours, Y/n.

She kept re-reading it over and over again while a million what ifs ran through her head. What if he’s put off by the letter? What if he has someone already? What if he laughs at her? 

She shook her head. She had written it now, all she had to do was plant it in his tent and hide, wallow away in bed while her anxiety ate her up. She folded it and wrote his name on it before peeking her head out the tent again and tip-toeing to his tent. When she saw he wasn’t inside, she snuck in and placed the letter on his bedside table. 

Y/n felt satisfied with herself, until she saw a letter on his desk with the name ‘Mary Linton’. Her stomach dropped. Who was this Mary? Was she a lover? A relative? Feeling sick, she rushed out the tent, leaving her letter behind.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

“You alright there, Y/n?” Tilly asked her while she zoned out. It was now night-time, and her mind was eating her up all evening. The women were sat around the fire doing what they do best: gossiping. Of course, Grimshaw or Molly hadn’t joined them, but that was always the case. 

“Hmm? Sorry, yeah I’m good.” She brushed it off, taking a big swing of whiskey. The rest of her friends spared glances at one another. Karen piped up while also taking a swig of her own whiskey, “Yeah, I ain't buying that. You’ve been sulking all evening.” 

Y/n sighed and began biting her nails out of habit, wondering if asking them about Arthur was a smart idea. But she couldn’t keep letting the question eat away at her.

“Do any of you know who Mary Linton is?”

Mary-Beth looked surprised at the question, “Mary? You don’t know?”

Her stomach dropped again. 

“No I don’t.” 

Tilly shook her head, already feeling bad for her friend. Everyone but Arthur knew that Y/n had feelings for the older man, it was a miracle the man himself hadn’t figured it out. Tilly sighed, “She used to be his woman. About ten years ago now, but her daddy didn’t like him so it didn't work out. I keep telling him to let it go.” 

There it was. Her what ifs became reality. She couldn’t hide her disappointment and took another swig of the whiskey. And another. Then another one. 

“Slow down girl! You’ll end badly!” Tilly tried to grab the bottle out her hand but she moved it out of her reach. By now, Y/n vision was hazy and her head felt light. The smell of whiskey was strong on her breath but she felt a little more relaxed at least. 

“It’s obvious Arthur likes you back.” Mary-Beth tried to help her feel better, but all she did in response was roll her eyes.

“Oh please. Don’t get my hopes up.” She pouted as she finished the whiskey off. All the women were getting up and getting ready for bed but she decided to sit by the fire a little longer. Karen patted her back, “Please just take it easy. Get some rest soon.” And with that, she was left alone. She just stared into the fire, her mind restless, when she heard a twig snap. She snapped her head back and saw the root of her problems. He looked confused at her state. 

“Y/n? What are you still doing at this hour?” 

“Nothing.” She frowned, facing away from him, kicking a stone away despite being sat on the log. Arthur sat down next to her, his knee inches away from hers. 

“You smell of whiskey, doll. You been drinking too much to handle?” His voice was laced with concern, which only infuriated her more. Why care for her when he already had a woman he cared for? 

“Why do you care?” She sounded harsher than she meant to. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was her patience running thin. Maybe it was her disappointment. Either way, her response still shocked him. 

“Why wouldn't I?” He asked, and her heart kept sinking lower and lower. They fell silent, and Y/n heard him reach into his pockets and took out the letter. Her eyes widened as she tried to snatch it out his hands but he raised his arm higher. 

“Just leave it Arthur!” She shouted, still trying to grab it as he kept his arm in the air, a firm hand on her shoulder to push her lightly. 

“Why are you behaving like this? I just want to talk about it.” He tried to calm her down as she stopped prying at him. 

“I know about Mary.” She stated which caused his eyes to widen slightly. He glanced at the letter before folding it and putting it back in his pocket. 

“The women gossiping again?” He chuckled a little dry, so she only hummed in response. Their gossips were never wrong though, she thought to herself. 

“That's history, love. She was only writing to me to help her brother,  but I don't like her like I used to.” Arthur grabbed her chin much to her alarm, and gently turned her to face him, before brushing a strand of hair in her face out the way. 

That damn smile. 

“I love you too. I ain't need a silly little letter, you could've told me and I would've swept you up in a heartbeat.” 

It's like time stopped. The alcohol must've gotten to her head. She must've blacked out. Died even, and seen the pearly gates. 

But when he leaned forward, and softly kissed her, she felt more awake than ever. He pulled away before she could even react, and his face was bright red. 

“Was that a bad kiss? It looks like it was.” He coughed awkwardly. 

“No…no not at all. I'm just in shock. I didn't think you actually liked me.” 

He laughed light before leaning closer again, a hand on the back of her head, “I don't like you, sweetheart. I love you.” 

This time she kissed back, harder. Months of pent up tension between the two was finally being released. It was surprising the two didn't go mad.  

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

They spent the rest of the night sitting next to the fire, holding hands, and Y/n rested her head on his chest as he held her close. His tumb traced her knuckles as she listened to his heartbeat. She felt protected, safe, warm, and comfortable. She could happily stay like that forever.

Unknown to the pair, the women of the camp were watching from a distance, with giant grins on their faces.

[adhd-merlin]

the nerds in the notes are my friends

I think one could totally write a lil' essay about misogyny and witchcraft in bbc merlin. if one were so inclined

[heavenlymorals]

Do you have any tips for how to write Arthur Morgan’s personality in general? I’m trying to write a fic but I feel like no matter what I do it somehow just makes him feel out of character haha. It’s probably since I’m writing one with a reader/oc character x Arthur. Like I don’t want to remove Mary from the story because she shaped so much of his character’s pain (since in my opinion I assume that Arthur probably got Eliza with child from a one night stand trying to bounce back after Mary had told him that she was engaged to some other man). But I also don’t know how to really write Arthur as he’s completely over Mary and how he is instead with someone he considers the love of his life, cheesy I know but I had too haha. I’m also trying to somewhat do a slow burn and trying to instead have Arthur seemingly brood over his love for the reader rather than how he did with Mary in the game.

I don’t know if this makes sense and feel free to ignore it LOL

Ahah here goes nothing- my consensus on a general understanding of Arthur Morgan-

I think the biggest thing that people should focus on when writing Arthur is his personality differences between men and women. There is a pretty clear divide between how behaves with men compared to how he behaves with women. It can change slightly between how close he is with the people, but it's pretty much the same.

With women, Arthur is very respectful and chivalrous. He even gets mad at other men if they don't behave accordingly. He is more interested in them as well in the sense that he'll listen to their dreams and hobbies and either add to the conversation or encourage them in some way that seems more meaningful, even if it can be at times superficial, just a way to be polite. However, he is no push over. You know that meme that's like "Me and my girl don't argue, she tells me to shut the fuck up and I do"? Yeah, that is NOT Arthur. He can raise his voice, call them out, etc etc. when he feels disrespected in some way or if the person is doing something stupid. We see this with Mary, Sadie, and Abigail. He is also more likely to talk about his emotions with women, but not really BE emotional. Idk if that makes sense, but I don't know how else to say it.

However, Arthur is more inclined to be disrespectful to women who don't fit into his view of life and the status quo of the time (ie. Prostitutes, masculine women, etc.)

Honestly, just think of that when writing him with your oc (I'm going to assume they're a woman 😭). Is Mary a big part of Arthur's character? Yes and no. He can obviously make time for her, but she isn't controlling his every action and thought process. His main focus is the collective of the gang and once the gang is safe, that's when he'll actively start looking for love because that's when he'll have the time and energy for it.

Now with men, Arthur is much more rough. He is very much a suck it up kinda guy with other dudes. There is clearly a hierarchy in the game and he enforces it, especially with the men underneath him. He forces them to work, doesn't take their excuses really, will call them out, will be mean, and will even make threats (ie. Sean). He likes men who are hard workers and are always on the go (Lenny) and is more likely to be jovial, open, and willing to talk. He also will take NO shit from other men and that will either leave the other man read to filth or a black eye. Arthur also does not disclose feelings of fear or inadequacy to other men, but he will show more active emotions like joy or anger.

Honestly, whenever I feel like writing Arthur, I just think of the average older American outdoorsman and it helps me out pretty well. Chivalrous and respectful with expectations and a no bullshit attitude.

Hope this helps and happy writing 🫶🏼

[hauntedparkinglot]

This probably isn’t gonna come up in the show but i feel like Arthur has a massive problem with women, lol. Not in a chauvinistic sense obviously, but the entire show is haunted by women who died around him, or died inadvertently by him. Bella, Sarah, Faroe etc. The lack of women with speaking roles makes sense of course but I feel that Arthur carries a shattered saviour complex around with him.

He’s always saying he “failed”. I wonder how motivated he is by the sensibilities of his time, if he believes he “failed” as a man, as a protector. I feel like he might unconsciously have avoided forming any type of connection with women after Faroe.

Idk, I’ve been thinking about Malevolent’s relationship with gender recently. It doesn’t overtly explore anything, but there’s so many major female players, weighing heavily down on the story, but never fully emerging. I think it’s interesting that all of Arthur’s female loved ones died young, and the only women who are able to appear ‘onscreen’ are undead, or elderly. When women show up, he’s either forced to reflect on the deaths he feels guilt over. Or, he has to confront reality, he’s not a saviour or a massive failure. Here’s a woman who didn’t die young, who he can’t save, who doesn’t need him too.

And LILITH. Unknown being who might be the most powerful thing in the multiverse. Who could be running the whole fucking thing. Protecting Arthur, shielding him from death. How the tables turn.

Also the show is voiced by a single guy so, y’know.

[lotsnlotsofsoup]

Genuine question why do so many people say Mary is a bad and toxic person.

Also minor spoilers for chapter 4 (the mary linton missions)

Yes, it's true that she always called him when she needed something, but in a historical context, she didn't have much of a choice as a woman. I mean, after her husband died and her father has shown to barely care about her, she had no one else to reach out to.

Sure, some of her lines weren't my favorite, such as, "You could have cleaned yourself up a bit" and she definitely has her flaws, but I honestly enjoyed their dynamic. I liked the subtle nature of their relationship and how their love for each other didn't feel overly forced. Yeah, it was sudden for her to ask him to be with her, but the tension between them has been happening for years. The love that both of them felt for each other never truly left ever since they were young.

Even in their first mission, Arthur gets upset at her for calling him, but you have to admit that some of his anger is his fault as well since he chose to go and see her, too. Arthur can bicker about the fact that she had the audacity to send him a letter, but he wouldn't have shown up if he didn't care.

(IMO, even though I haven't seen the cutscene yet where he declines to help her brother on the first mission, I'm convinced that the reason why he declined is because he regretted showing up in the first place to go and see her. Probably why he thinks he's such a fool in his journal.)

Idk if I'm a hopeless romantic or not, but those are my thoughts. Also, apparently, she is supposed to send another letter to Arthur in chapter 6 and I haven't gotten it yet (I don't know what it's about) but I'm curious to see what she has to say. I wonder what's going to happen to their relationship since they obviously won't be able to be with each other.

Also, here's a photo of Arthur and Mary back when I played chapter 4 :D The fact that he can make a move on her but embarrassingly chickens out is so funny to me 🤣

[paxerle]

saw your oc and not surprised that it’s a child. no wonder aoex fandom has so much pedos in it that have child characters. go and delete yourself

okay normally I don’t answer on those hate messages but this one is personal so I try my best to explain what happened to me somehow idk my English is not the best and I’m not used to talk about personal stuff online.

🌼

Hi! My name is Pax and I’m receiving hate messages since I started posting art of my favorite character from Blue Exorcist.

At first it was only on twitter. I started posting around a year ago and then people sent me messages like how they hate Arthur. I wasn’t used to be part of a fandom so I thought it was kinda normal. I just blocked the people and yes it became calmer after that. Then it started on tumblr too. I love to get questions where I can draw something in return but I also got anon questions that are just rude or weird. Luckily you can block anons too but somehow they always come back to me after a small amount of time and tbh idk what I do wrong.

I am ignoring, deleting and blocking those all the time. Don’t get me wrong I really don’t care much but saying stuff like I’m a pedo is WRONG just because I have a child OC. I’ve never drawn him in any romantic way and I’ll never do. I don’t even think about that. Why should I? OCs are often like own children and my oc Kingo is like my own son. He was originally created for a roleplay where Arthur decided to adopt him after a lot of things happened to him. They are only father and son and they love each other because Arthur is trying to be a really good dad like he always trying to do his best with no matter what he do. The point is Kingo became my OC after I got the diagnosis that I’d never be able to get own children after trying it for 4 years. It was my dream even if a lot of people couldn’t imagine how important it can be for a woman who really wants this. I build a house where everything should be safe for my future child. Getting this result of all my tests and my health conditions was a shock I’ll never get fully over it even if I pretend. My relationship broke after 8 years and I never felt so useless.

This is the reason why I created my OC Kingo. Not because I am a pedo or something wtf. It was because I found consolation in having a fictional son and that he has a family that cares about him. Thats why Kingo will always be a very special OC and I get very emotional when it comes to him.

I know I don’t need to explain myself and who the fuck is gonna read that text hmm but yes. Stop hating me I just wanna do art. Nothing more. You’re annoying go out and do something nice instead of hating each other ✨

[cowboyfromh3ll]

Charles smith is usually a very quiet, reserved man. But when he hears Micah insult fem!reader (Whom charles is sweet on) for rejecting his advances, the reader pushes him away, which he responded with slapping her hard enough for her to fall down.

Charles couldn't help himself, and he tackled Micah and would have beat him to death if Arthur and John didn't pull him on.

Afterwards, after his adrenaline seems to wear off, he starts to feel pain in his knuckles. The reader pulls him aside to set his broken knuckle back into place and to wrap his hand up. She thanks him with a kiss :) fluffy, angsty, the works <3

Million Dollar Man

(Charles Smith x Fem!Reader)

This was so cute. I love my followers' reqs. Also I have a near identical request after this which is kinda freaky but they are literally asking for the exact same thing and idk how to do a different spin on this so this will be for both of y'all anons whoever you are.

Warnings: Man on woman violence, then man on man

There was something about the vulgarity of a man that made you all the more appalled with them. Often when Micah would be near you, you’d have to swallow hard in fear that you might abruptly throw up on your shoes. There was nothing appealing about the man. Whenever he spoke to you, you would’ve liked to wring his neck for disturbing your peace. And his tepid attempts at flirting were described as otherwise laughable. His initial advances were turned down politely, not something you wanted to make a big deal out of. But he was consistent, so much so that your patience began to wear down with him. 

You once giggled and waved your hand dismissively, repeating reluctant no’s over and over until Micah finally got tired and left you alone. It seemed to be a ticking time bomb though, because the next time he approached you his advances would increase tenfold. Walking around freely in camp felt like walking on eggshells, and you’d often have to duck behind someone anytime you heard the familiar raspy, drawl of Micah. Your polite refusals slowly transformed into you demanding he leave you alone, hoping and praying that one of the men in camp would come over and help you get rid of him. Occasionally it’d get as bad as Micah calling you a whore, before throwing a flurry of other insults at you and storming off angrily. It was times like these you wished you were a man, so you could possess the same mass as one to hopefully beat the hell out of Micah. But your limber body provided no such abilities. 

“C’mon sweetheart, just let me take you on one date.” He invited himself over to your tent, leaning on the wagon situated behind it with crossed arms, eyeing you uncomfortably. You were sitting there with Mary-Beth, who was just as uncomfortable, and frankly scared, as you were. She offered you a sympathetic look, mouthing a “sorry” to you before averting her gaze back to her sewing. 

“Micah, for the last time, leave me alone already. I said no.” You were firm in your inflection, your body rigid and shaking out of irritation and fear. As much as you hated the man, he also intimidated you. You knew how violent he could get, and the fact remained in the back of your mind always. 

“You don’t know what you’re missing out on.” He insisted, chuckling afterwards in a way that made you swallow a gag of disgust. His attempts at having a sugar sweet laugh that could seduce you were fruitless, sounding instead like the metallic screech of a train braking. 

“I could show you a real good time…” He added.

You stood at once, gathering your things to move elsewhere in camp and bidding Mary-Beth a silent farewell. You bunched your fabrics and sewing materials against your lap, moving to walk away until you felt Micah clamp his hand down on your upper arm. You tried to push him off but he was using all his strength. 

“You ain’t going nowhere.”

“Micah, you're hurting me.” You warned him, your voice inflected with actual fear. It wasn’t so much the pain but the act of him holding onto you that felt so awful, the knowledge that he was the one in control of the situation. You weren’t sure, despite his violent streak, if he’d actually hit you right now. But he definitely wasn’t opposed to using applied force.

“This is the last time you say no to me, you hear?!” He yanked you towards him by the arm, looking to Mary-Beth, who had already gone up and left to retrieve someone for help. When your chest met his, you dropped your materials and instinctively put up your arm between the two of you, your elbow acting as a protective barrier. You shoved as hard as you could, just barely managing to push him off of you. 

“Let me go you fucking creep!”

Before you could even register him stepping forward, he delivered a heavy slap to your face. Your body jerked to one side from the force of the slap causing you to fall on your hip. You raised your elbow once again to protect yourself from the fall, promptly moving to cup your stinging cheek. You were seething at this point. 

“What the fuck?!” Your voice trembled in your rage, squeezing your eyes hard with each blink so as to not allow tears to escape. You dare not look up at him again in fear, only staring at the ground beneath you. You hoped to god people from around camp had noticed by now. 

God himself seemed to have answered your prayers, because not a second later you turned to see Micah tackled by Charles. With a guttural yell, he pinned Micah down to the floor, swinging his fists at him with his full force. You weren’t sure of the force intended by Charles, but the impact of his fists alone caused Micah’s flesh to lacerate, forming raw gashes that began to bleed in seconds. Charles’ anger was near animalistic, seeing red and blinded by rage as he continued to strike Micah’s face, who was helplessly clawing at him in an attempt to get him off. You’re sure he would’ve killed him, if not for the fact that Arthur and John had to pry him off. You hadn’t even registered the horrified screams of people around camp, some even clicking their tongues and slyly commenting that Micah was asking for it.

You felt two gentle hands lift you up, presumably Miss Grimshaw, who was frantically asking you if you were alright. You whispered out a yes, the stinging of your cheek reduced to a throbbing warmth. No one offered Micah any help in getting up; everyone was far too focused on getting Charles’ to calm down so he wouldn’t charge him again. 

Once the dust settled, you insisted you were fine and walked past Miss Grimshaw, approaching Charles who still seemed to be grappling with his anger and keeping it in check. In unison, the two of you looked at eachother and asked, “Are you okay?”

The two of you stared at each other, and you felt a small laugh bubble up in you at the coincidence, Though your amusement was replaced by horror when you looked down at Charles’ left fist, which was swollen and bruised. 

“Oh my god!” You cried, moving to cradle his hand but promptly retracting your own when you heard him hiss. “Your hand! It’s broken!” You looked back up at him in concern, feeling the heavy weight of guilt settle within you like a boulder thrown into a lake before sinking to the waterbed. He shook his head, wincing as the pain became more prominent as his adrenaline wore off. 

“Don’t worry about me. Are you okay? Micah hit you pretty hard… I…” Charles pursed his lips at the very mention of his name, having to suck in a deep breath before he looked back at you. You shook your head, grabbing Charles’ arm and leading him to your tent. 

“I’m fine! But we need to tend to your hand asap.” You sat him on a crate just outside your tent, briefly venturing inside before remerging with some bandages you had sourced from your satchel. You sat before him on your knees, taking his massive hand into your own. You felt your heart swell in tenderness for him, wanting to throw yourself on him as an embrace to thank him for the valiant act. 

“You didn’t have to do that…” You began carefully coiling the bandages around his knuckles, looking back up at his face occasionally to spot any signs of pain you might be causing. 

“He had it coming anyways. It was bound to happen. But I’m sorry it had to happen this way.” He motioned to your cheek once again, which was still a flush red. You were sure it would bruise, but you tried not to think about it. As you tightened the bandages around his fist, he hissed, his body jerking slightly. 

“I’m sorry…” You stilled your ministrations, looking up at him with a pout. 

“No it’s okay… Thank you. This means a lot. And it was worth it to defend you from the scum bag Micah.” He smiled warmly at you in a way that made you giddy.

“Well.. thank you for that. It was actually quite satisfying to see.” You admitted with a sly smile, breaking into laughter. 

“Anytime, I mean it. Anytime.” 

You finished wrapping his knuckle up, planting a gentle kiss on it to finish your care off; a bold act that left you internally panicking. But he found it rather cute, and continued to hold your hand as he moved to stand.

The final act of your boldness would be you leaning forward and landing a kiss on Charles’ lips, leaving him standing there in bewilderment and pleasant surprise. 

“Thank you, again.” You cooed, your face burning up and blending in with the shade of your already red cheek. In the morning, your cheek would ache with the memory of the pain inflicted on you, but your heart would swell in remembrance of your salvation.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Million Dollar Man - Lana Del Rey

[shower-phantom-ideas]

You guys just don’t understand

You can’t even begin to grasp the amount of pranks Danny could pull on super heros (is that one words? Superheros?)

Added a read more because I hate long posts

Danny as a ghost is so powerful. Like our boy can walk through walls, disappear, and fly! Do you even grasp how much more unique he is than the others guys??

Jokes aside just imagine if you will. Danny could leave batburger cups next to Batman all the time (he comes back later to toss em out of Big ol B doesn’t)

Like hell we talk about Danny just showing up basically stalking the heros but ok hear me out. He didn’t mean to figure out Batmans identity ok but he was in the right place at the right time and over heard some stuff. Now he follows Bruce Wayne around instead. Always spitting out if a batburger cup. Maybe Bruce makes eye contact with him and one time Danny just leans his drink out to as one does to offer a sip xD the man is horrified.

For the ?Robins? The other bats maybe he leaves gifts of sorts. Stuff they would like made from his ice or something. He can understand becoming a hero young and most (if not all) of them did that. He plays favourites with the younger Heros for sure. But hes still making them have there “God?? Is that you” moments like everyone else.

Hell he could follow Superman around and always make his cape flow against the wind and the Hero wouldn’t know wtf is going on. Maybe Superman hears a very slight snickering maybe but the prank is harmless enough so why worry too much. I mean it’s probably bad someone can do this without getting detected till they give themselves away by laughing but nothing harmful yet. (Yet would emphasise Batman)

I don’t know anything about GreenArrow but I assume he uses a bow and arrow so I could imagine Danny grabbing his arrows and making them fly in crazy wild paths before hitting their mark.

Idk honestly how he would fuck with GreenLatern besides like using his ghost powers to try and one up his ring. Like Lantern makes a shield? Danny makes a better one next to it or in front of it. Tbh it’s actually helping Danny get better at his powers so he does this a lot rip Hal (I did not know he was played by Ryan Reynolds maybe ill watch the newer movie)

He refuses to mess with Wonder Woman because the Phandom has told me she is his fav thus he refuses to prank her. He respects her too much and is a huge enough fan that hes too nervous to even approach. Thus she thinks she is this pranksters least favourite since she is never bothered.

Aqua-man (thx for the correction siri) is pretty fun to prank because Danny can follow the man underwater. Idk anything about science of it but imagine Danny like making a space he can talk in with his ice powers (making a bubble of sorts) to make spooky noises at ?Arthur? (R we seriously going with Arthur in this one?) like I assume without actual fish related powers, or with them I havent seen any thing aquaman, you can’t talk underwater. But also if Danny figures out his real name hes 100% gonna be playing the Hey Arthur theme at this man all the time.

He just lowkey overshadows cyborg. Not in a controlling way but just along for the ride kinda way. He was gonna make remarks about his tech but ended up being stunned by how good it is. “Fam I aint gonna lie. I came here to follow you around and make comments like a streamer but your tech is crazy cool. I mean you could have saved a little room with a more compact cooling unit but I mean this is probably some of the best stuff I have seen outside my family!” Or something idk. Maybe he goes full on antman in coldwar

As for the Flash thats pretty simple. He doesn’t let the Flash run from him. I don’t think Danny could keep up with the Flash at all. Like man cants have everyones powers (can’t he tho) but he just hangs on and pretends to have followed. I mean hes invisible the whole time so not like anyone can see lmao though if (idk who the flash is? So ill use Barry cause thats why google say) if Barry goes too fast he might get Danny to give up the game cause boy is on the side vomiting. Barry is pretty smug about probably being the first to throw the prankster for a loop but Danny is just on the side like “how can you go that fast and not be sick dude”

Like tbh I was gonna just make a list of pranks he pulls on Batman but yall seem to enjoy the Justice League so here go off I guess.

Honestly I had to charge my phone so I forget a lot of the post rip this kne

[moliathh]

This had been irking me so i have to say it. I know Hellsing is a horror media with a LOT of flashy action scene, however, it is unjust to see it as solely gore and fights. I've seen complaints about how adding a "romance" in will reduce the quality of the story as an "action horror". (specifically speaking is between Alucard and Integra because of course in the end of the day this is just ship war, not a serious discussion whatsoever) I would argue that Hellsing is never ONLY about the actions. Yall might have already noticed how Alucard is too OP, and it was not even because he got any tricks up his sleeves. He is simply invincible, his mechanism is just that hes a "deus ex machina". He did NAWT need to start out with zero and levelling up like your common action anime protagonist. It's not a first time a central character is overpowered in an unreasonable way. A way you could interpret this trope is that it was not about battles, not the physcial one, but the development in their characteristic, their thoughts and emotions and ideology all that stuffs. A classic example is Sir Gawain and The Green Knight (TGK), where all of their (physical) battles are nonsense and did not mean anything in terms of combat, they dont even fight each other, even the climax (the decapitation of TGK) was dismissed into a looney tunes moment. BECAUSE OF COURSE IT WAS NEVER ABOUT THE BATTLE NOR PHYSICAL DEVELOPMENT, it was the internal struggle and maturing in character. THAT is what's happening in Hellsing IF yall look pass the very flashy facade of gore scenes Hirano put up. READ BETWEEN THE LINES, because he's not gonna hand it out to you on a plate. If you want to see how each character developed you have to look closely at their reactions and dialogues, not how they fight.

SO, imo, it's reducing the quality and message of Hellsing to interpret it solely as an action horror media, not the other way around. AND MIND YOU, romance subplot and action horror can coexist. For what does the character fight? A higher ideal? Power? Fun? Love? All that is noteworthy to think about when you engage in a media display many fight scenes. DONT YOU WANNA KNOW WHY THEY FIGHT THAT HARD ???? and in this case it is VERY obvious that Alucard is motivated by Integra. LIKE it cant be more obvious

And I'm so tired of seeing "Alucard only listen to Integra because of the seal and shes a Hellsing". Bestie, he literally ripped Richard's hand off, we dont even know the extent of the seal, like how far? or can it REALLY control Alucard? Besides, if you have read The Dawn you would see what a damn lazy ass Alucard was, Arthur sent him on a mission and he didn't even bother to walk on his own and just sleep safe and sound in his coffin until he felt like waking up??? Compare that to his enthusiasm to beg Integra on four just for her order and even purposefully tick her off by asking about her enthusiasm for war, oh and did we collectively forget this

(This is the Dark Horse eng scan if i remember correctly? i might be mistaken idk)

Sure it could just be a mere parallel, "The woman he personally desired" might only means Mina Harker and not directly Integra herself, I see. But, why bother choosing this parallel, and RIGHT after this panel he went STRAIGHT to Integra to ask for her order.

You know how enthusiastic he is with a fight and everything was already laid before him, worthy enemies and all. Yet he would not act without her words? I did not see him needing permission before ripping Richard's hand off... Also the seal did NAWT ask him to do all this

There are more of his sickening and excessive display of obedience but i don't have time to pull the panels out yet, but we all know its there since Alucard's submissive attitude and Integra's bossy demeanour is one of their most appealing traits, I know, because it is literally one of the BIGGEST selling points and running joke of the fandom, funnyyyy how people always love to call Alucard a sub and use words such as "freaky" and "slutty" to call him as if he didn't reserved this treatment for ONLY Integra. Sure Integra is a demanding boss to even her enemies, and it works like wonder everytime, because she's Integra, she mastered Alucard, others are just piece of cake to her. But that's not the same case with Alucard. Major literally said "She is the only authority Alucard recognizes". And have Alucard extended the phrase "My master" and all the begging and insinuating jokes to anyone else? It's so convenient isnt it, to just take one specific trait of Alucard's personality and make it his entire character without considering to WHO he directed those innuendos to.

Oh and I haven't walk us to the final chapter yet, like the seal did NAWWWWWTTT asked him to call her "Countess" (or Count, depending on the translators) and literally he could accept his death becoming a paradox? Wasn't Alucard had been craving an end for a long while now? Why the need to return just because Integra asked him to??? Be serious for a moment here

Also a personal interpretation of mine that could be a stretch or just pure delulu is that, in the manga AND the anime adaptation, the last word Alucard said after goodbye is "Integra" (In both Japanese and English dub, the word order is exactly the same), not "Master" or "Integra HELLSING". The same goes when he addressed how he can kill without remorse but the decision is in her hand, he also said "I am a monster, now regarding you, Integra". To me that is an indicator for how he CARED for her not just because she's a Hellsing or his master but she's Integra, from the first of their meeting it was very clear, that Alucard wounded A HELLSING to protect Integra.

So... even non-romantically, you cannot deny that Alucard voluntarily worked for Integra. They DO care about each other a lot, even platonically, their bond is almost like soulmates with how well they trust and understand each other. I just don't like it when people keep side-stepping the depth of their relationship just because you don't like to ship them romantically. These are the canon informations you can't just seriously unironically say that there was nothing there.

And oh don't even get me started on the "But he is a vampire, the enemy of her family and he hates Hellsing because of Abraham something something stockholm syndrome something she's ace coded she's lesbian coded she swore to be a virgin until death she wouldnt throw it away for the enemy of her family etcera etcera" you're saying it as if ace people aren't allowed to date or have sex and you're saying it as if Alucard isn't canonically genderfluid. Why always view the ship as solely heteronormative while they were never conventional to begin with. And MIND YOU, i thought everyone love the enemies to lovers trope?? they were BARELY stockholm syndrome at all did we forget about the Bird of Hermes analogy as a metaphor for loyalty voluntarily given.

If you care so much about "monsters and humans are forbidden" and "they are not canon" maybe treat every ship with the same attitude since MOST of hellsing most popular ships fit into that exact two sentences above, maybe except Pip x Seras is canon, but they're also human x monster, so what now???? Just hate on a ship all you like, I hate ships too and I hate them because I don't like them, that's all, no need to do extra mental gymnastic to prove the ship is "wrong" or their shippers are "wrong".

[2demondogs]

For an August Moon | Bessie/Hosea/Dutch

Tags: canon compliant, canonical character death, afterlife, angst and what the fuck the rest is idk, drabble Words: 1.5k A/N: Reading Just After Sunset by Stephen King and having very evil thoughts and ideas. First line more or less paraphrased from "Harvey," since it's the thing that made me start formulating how to write this; concept from "Willa."

Hosea lifts his head, and Bessie is there.

Whatever came before mustn't have mattered, but some things never change.

The vision of her in her most beloved dress, outlined by the sun filtering through the window, has always been his favorite. Hosea knows that it's Sunday, how he isn't sure, his internal day-clock hasn't worked right in years; that he's always disliked the way it covers her throat and wrinkles loosely across her chest, unfitted as it was once, but that's fine because he likes seeing her feeling good; that while her hair always looks very orange in this light, something about it this time is divinely colorful— which he knows he repeats to himself, but he likes to think every look at her is new, that he's never seen her and thought of a rainbow until then.

"That's a fine suit," she says, which is normal enough until he remembers they have never gone to church together and there is little else to do in a suit but be buried.

She'd wanted to. Go to church, that is. Once or twice, when she felt lost, but he ever wanted to accompany her. That's one of the compromises they make: you go, I'll wait, over and over, about anything and everything. She's constantly telling him he's getting stale, even if she only teases at it, so she might be forming a point.

Bessie's always right, in the end. It's one of the first things a man learns when he is married: his girl's always right, or she's simply mistaken. It would be very handy, if he ever listened the first time.

"That's a lovely dress," he says, as if he hasn't seen it a dozen times before and wasn't the man who stole it for her. A six month's gift, because six months was essentially two years in their life.

His life.

Hosea's about to wonder if that's why it was her favorite until she smiles, waist pressed back against the wooden counter of the kitchen, hands draped over the ledge. Bessie only smiles for morose reasons, like Dutch's jokes at his expense or bearing bad news about Arthur finding a woman, as if she enjoys bringing everyone a little misery — as if, he knows she does, he loves it about her — but it's sadder now than it ever has been, drawn into one side of her face.

Her frown lines— aren't they quite faint?

Hosea begins to wonder when now is. The shadows are too soft, and they fall on her too gently. Bessie doesn't speak, just the same as when she gives bad news, and he knows that she's got something terrible to say to him. Whatever it is, he already understands it, can feel it scraping at the inside of his skull.

She looks too good to give him that sort of news. There still lingers something akin to happiness beneath that awful smile, so it must not be as terrible as he's feeling it to be. But she's an odd girl; she loves him, so her taste is not perfect.

"Hosea?" She says it to get his attention, like it would ever be anything but her.

He blinks and focuses anyways. Must've been, despite the odds. And because he needs to orient himself, because the world is tilting a little to the wrong side and the floorboards are too cracked, he asks: "When's Dutch comin' by, again?"

It would've sparked something like a pissing contest on a normal day. Don't you keep track? She would act like she'd been scalded or scolded until he assured her that, even though they woke up together everyday, she was the one he was most worried about visiting with. Only then was the jealousy posthumously playful, and she'd answer. Bessie liked Dutch more than she'd admit to either of them, so she had the answer from the start.

Now, whenever now is, her cheek bulges with the tip of her tongue running along her teeth. Her fingers tighten on the counter ledge, and although she doesn't flinch, Hosea sees an internal recoil on her face. That pressure in his head sounds again.

He wants to open his mouth to ask what's wrong. Bessie never says when something disgusts her. She was raised a little more than right, if the distaste she has for being proper says anything, but she still retains the knocked-in instincts of holding her tongue now and then. For the things she doesn't express often, anyways, like joy and love. She's as close to speaking disgruntlement as he has ever seen her, and he's unsure what to think about the fact it's after looking straight at him.

Self-conscious, he looks down. The shadows are not sharp on himself, either. Fuzzy. There are slim knuckles on his fingers, not the arthritic knots he'd— well, that he'd had, and his slacks are don't seem right, although he can't place why. More pressure. He hasn't worn these shoes in many years. They were burned in—

Blackwater. This pair of loafers burned in Blackwater.

Bessie is dressed how he'd fixed her body those years ago. Working against the onset of rigor mortis, he'd wasted the hours in drink and sleep and hoping, like some petulant child that doesn't get his way, that she'd wake up if he simply slept long enough beside her. When he looks up from the toes of her white shoes peaking from beneath the green of her dress, he's certain something flashes across his own face.

For a moment, they are both dead. His blood is rushing, odd considering he hadn't felt it beating moments before and now it is weighing his clothes down, melting them into his skin; she is blue, and he hurts everywhere. The window is busted out, those godawful curtains she'd made — that he loved, somewhere in his heart — moving in an idle breeze.

Then, it is whenever now is.

"Are we—?"

Bessie nods, so he doesn't finish his sentence. "What'd they do to you, Hosea?" She asks the same way she asks John how he's doing. Did ask, anyways, when John still looked more like a wild dog than the teenaged boy he was and bit just as hard.

He can tell she doesn't expect an answer, which is good. She won't get one yet. "Don't know." He rubs at the backs of his hands, blessedly cracks the knuckles and feels no pain, but the satisfactory popping of nitrogen in his bones. Things start to make sense, and he can't focus on her without seeing what he had seen a moment before, so he tries to look around instead of inside. "What's— all of this? Heaven?"

"Don't know," Bessie echoes. Corner of her mouth lifts, just the same, but it's easier now.

He's become half convinced she cannot move until she does, steps as normal as ever towards him and smells just the same as she had half a decade ago. God, it's been that long. Hosea can feel the strength in his arms when they're around her, the wrinkle of her dress, the softness of her hair as he buries his nose into her neck and breathes in nothing but lively flesh and perfume and that spice she'd always smelt of.

"Y'don't seem dead," he says, voice muffled. Of course, he'd only be able to say that awful word with her hand stroking his hair.

"You don't think I am." It's not a question, but a statement. It doesn't make sense, not yet, but he knows she is right.

It must be Heaven. He stands with her like this and does not move. Hosea intends to cry, but it doesn't come, he isn't sure that it even can. If he thought it would come, would it? But Bessie is warm against him, she's touching him for the first time in years, and Hosea wouldn't be able to cry in any life with his face in her hair. He's never been the kind to cry for joy. He doesn't think he's cried for anything, since she passed away. It felt like a dishonor.

If it's Heaven, he wonders if Annabelle is around. He intends to pull away and ask her, though the thought is flippant. Hosea only opens his eyes, blinking away the strands of hair that threaten to fall in them and stares closely at the freckles along the back of her neck. Then that is too much, and he closes them again, presses to her skin as if he's trying to sink into her.

Is this Dutch's? Arthur's? Tilly, John, Lenny— any of his boys, his girl. He feels tears then, but they still feel a dishonor, he realizes, even with Bessie in his arms. That had been their life, not only his. Their sweetheart, their secondhand children. They should cry together, if they do, and Bessie isn't one for it, either.

Just how long did she wait on him this time?

It must be Heaven, because he doesn't want to think it's Earth. Where, exactly, he won't let himself figure out this soon— but he knows he was too far from their old cabin in Cumberland Forest for this to make sense on the same world. It's both comforting and disquieting to think Dutch is breathing miles away, standing on the same ground as them. People cannot be so close to death.

He couldn't have been that close to her.

[inscribedlighter]

Hi, I've never done prompts before so idk what I'm doing but hopefully this works

Marie Pilon & Arthur(+John ofc), "morning glories"

Marie & Arthur, Morning Glory

Malevolent Mini Prompts are open! Any malevolent relationship or pairing and I'll try to write at least a short scene. Askbox open.

(Couldn't really fit a solid John angle in as it's Marie's POV sorry.)

Tags can be viewed on Ao3

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Her home had been dark and dreary. She got on with it because that’s what you do when you need to get on with things. She looked after Hattie.  Took some temporary borders. Watched as Hattie woke up less and less. She left her home at 7am. She came home for a light lunch at noon. She went to church twice a week. 

She didn’t pray for a miracle. She didn’t ask God for anything, not since Freddy died. There was nothing in the world she needed more than having her son back from the war and God’s answer had been no. 

Sometimes the answer is no. 

Continue here or on Ao3

A bitter pill to swallow, but one she didn't resent. God helps those that help themselves. She kept on. She followed her routine.

It was harder to see the light though. Hard to catch the sunbeams she could hear Freddy’s laughter in. 

There was something about Parker. Something different than the others. He was shifty and easily startled. Didn’t meet her eyes properly. He looked too young to serve, but had scars. She was old and not senile. Perhaps he was a criminal. 

He wasn’t like Fredrick in any way, shape, or form.

And yet, when he stood in her foyer, looking up at her startled and already ashamed…

Sunlight came in with him. 

The windows on the door were so dusty she didn’t even know that was possible anymore, and yet, there he was, backlit in a golden light. 

Yes, that was the moment when Parker and Freddy overlapped in her mind. A boy coming in from the light. 

He said he wanted to make amends with his father.

Family is important. 

She let him stay even. Sense told her not to, but instinct gave him a room.  

Trouble followed him in. 

Hattie had gotten out. 

The Father had lost his arm. 

But then Hattie was returned. The monster was gone.

The nightmare ended.

And the strangest thing happened. 

Morning glory had clung to the wall of the house. She thought about pulling it every morning as she passed by on her way out the door. She wasn’t sure why it hadn’t died, it never got any light.

But she went out in the morning.

And the morning glory had opened. Triumphant white trumpets she had only regarded as a weed she didn’t have the energy to see to. 

She stared at the light, streaming down from the sky, kissing each of the flowers. 

It was nice to have the light again. 

A relief so deep after holding an unmanageable burden she wasn’t allowed to drop. 

Suddenly she wasn’t a stubborn lonely old woman with an ill sister and a dark house.

She had morning glory. 

And Freddy’s smile. 

And Parker didn’t remind her of Freddy, now that she thought about it. Not at all. Freddy was always laughing. He was loud and rambunctious.

No, Parker reminded her of herself. The way he turned his face to warm sunlight. Like he had forgotten how it felt.  

Yes. 

He promised to write her. She expected he would.

But she also remembered his scars. His weariness. His tired eyes. 

She went to the church, twice a week, and she prayed for him. 

Freddy didn’t need her prayers. She knew he was bathed in light, wherever he was.

And she prayed for Parker.

That he would come back one day.

Sometimes the answer is no.

That he would write to her.

Sometimes the answer is no. 

That he would be safe, wherever he was.

Sometimes the answer is no.

That he would be somewhere with light.

Sometimes the answer is no.

But Parker made his own light.

Sometimes you just have to get on with it. God willing or not. 

So she added one more thing to her daily routine. She would leave at 6:55am. Feel the sun on her face. Remember Freddy, and she would admire the morning glory and think of Parker. 

Sometimes the answer is no.

But that also means that sometimes the answer is yes.

[incoherent-orca]

💭

🐳

im really trying not to but damn,,,,,, im falling off malevolent

the entire last quarter of s4 and s5 so far are so ,,,,,,oddly packed with explanatory monologues and people giving extremely detailed character analyses of ??? themselves ?????

idk i just had to power through The Witch. like this woman just killed the most important guy in your life, possibly permanently, why are u letting her ask questions like its a job interview

frankly why are u justifying urself to her at all? John's return from the dark world and his deal with Kayne are things he hasn't even told Arthur, his closest friend, why is he laying it all out for some hostile stranger who asks leading questions ??

that's another thing! the witch herself is so inconsistent

does she respect John's innate power or not? does she recognize him as a godly being regardless of whether she recognizes his titles or not ?? because if Hastur/KiY doesn't matter to her because those are the gods her enemies worship, why does she give two shits about freeing John from his flesh prison?

it doesn't make sense that she's like "Hastur? idk and idc" and flexes her magic on John, then becomes subservient to him when he pretends to embrace the KiY title again

the monologues are also so,,,, unprompted and jarring. john sweetie you did not need to recite your essay about what you believe humanity and morality is

and idk the way the writing treats the concept of "humanity" just does not vibe with me, especially in The Witch ep. so the witch comes from a line of women mistreated by society so badly that she's given up hope on the human race as a whole,,,,, and the writing chucks her in the "monster" box wholesale because she has no hope and does creepy slimy things in a cave? is that not an absolutely tragic showcase of how humans can be monstrous and how things that are monster-ed & othered by society are still people?

you go through all this trouble to set up monstrous characters to juxtapose against John and emphasize how different he is, but it falls flat when the witch actually??? has a pretty good reason for turning out the way she did, and the writing gives her the barest crumbs of sympathy

has she not seen the cruelty humans are capable of? doesn't she love her maggots like a mother? why does she get slapped with the label monster and nothing else?

EDIT bc i am not immune to the spirit of the staircase:

for a show where one of the protagonists is a monster finding his humanity and regret, it seems so disinterested in exploring any other monster character. LIKE let's not forget that besides the monster-of-the-week in s1, John was the closest thing we had to an antagonist, and his arc is still one of my favorites ever. he does horrible, cruel shit, but is able to feel remorse and make some kind of amends towards Arthur. and John as the voice of morality in the mines? so fucking good

but in The Witch ?? it's such a one-sided conversation. the writing (through John) does not give a damn about the witch's trauma except in how it can be used to poke flimsy questions at John's identity. there's no fascination at all in the monsters. That's exemplified in how it's only sympathetic to John to the extent that he rejects his nature, which is a shame because holy shit John has a working monster form now!!!

YET ANOTHER EDIT:

I'm not exactly mad that arthur died but,,,, i AM disappointed that harlan did that ? the whole fake-out death. i feel like respecting the permanence of death is ,,,, idk a better writing choice. it takes more to pull that off, because you can't return to the status quo of your story AND find a way to continue the plot while providing space for grief

I get that it was meant to be a consequence of the patrons making a bad choice or something,,,, but surely there are other long-lasting effects that don't involve cheapening any consequence from now on ?

idk, any death of arthur from now on will always lack impact, because I'll be squinting at it suspiciously and thinking "well there's precedent for reversing protag death in this show, how do we know this is the real shit?"

then the show will have to spend an unnecessary amount of time providing evidence as to why he can't be brought back this time, and by then any emotional impact will be kind of dulled

[mermaidsirennikita]

Contemporaries where dirty talk is especially hot? Both during sex and maybe also over text? Thank you!!

Sierra Simone, Sierra Simone, Sierra Simone. Her books are often set in a contemporary world, but they're not, as a heads up, "light" contemporaries. Personally, I wouldn't really go as far as to call them dark romance (well. Thornchapel, I would, but I also wouldn't recommend it as a contemporary as it has such strong supernatural elements lol) but they do have some elements of (light) mysticism as some of them are retellings of old myth set in a modern setting. I'd check out:

Priest, Sinner, Saint/"The Bell Brothers": These are three standalones (M/F, M/F, and M/M) that always have a bit of a religion kink. And a by a bit, I mean a lot. Priest is the book where a Catholic priest (who is actually very naturally carnal and only became a priest because of some deep guilt issues and religiosity) meets a woman who tells him ALL the shit she's done in confession. It's naturally dirty, and he naturally falls head over heels into an affair. Sinner is about a business whose best friend's little sister is about to become a nun, and she (on the advice of her convent, naturally) asks him to teach her about sex so she can experience what she'll miss before she really commits. Saint is about a guy who became a monk in a period of deep emotional crisis, whose ex-boyfriend (he left with zero notice) ends up on a tour of monasteries with him for an article he's writing. Temptation ensues.

The dirty talk in these is naturally very tinged with priest/nun kink stuff, it's SUPER dirty, and I love it. They're also just really good.

Her Christmas Notch books she does with Julie Murphy are a little tamer, both focus on this Hallmark-esque company where the leads film these Christmas movies and, of course, fall in love. I really, really love A Holly Jolly Ever After, because the hero is a former boybander (with a dad bod!) who fucks like a demon and also owns a chain of pizza shops, and his sex tape leaks, during which he's pictured absolutely RAILING a woman from behind, slapping her ass, and saying "and THAT'S how you toss the dough" which I personally think is some of the greatest dirty talk I've ever read.

New Camelot: One of my favorite trilogies of all time, MMF, "what if King Arthur was President, Guinevere was First Lady, and Lancelot was VP, and what if they were all in love with each other and entangled in an intense affair and IT WAS AMAZING". I reread scenes regularly. I love it so much. The dirty talk is obscene. You get the very cool "sit, stay, bark" dom dirty talk from one hero and the deranged "I'm going through it and you're going to go through it with me" passionate dirty talk from the other. Our heroine ain't half bad at it either.

Lyonesse Trilogy: The prequel novella and the first book are out now; it's a Tristan/Isolde/Mark MMF retelling. Mark is perhaps like... the dirtiest dirty talker Sierra has written. He's soooooo much. Like, if you want the condescending dom dirty talking hero, he's The One. The alternating between the "look how good you take it" stuff and "you're so desperate it's pathetic" shit. Why not both???

Act Your Age by Eve Dangerfield has a TON of dirty talk, usually in the DD/lg vein. The hero and heroine roleplay dirty stepdad fantasies a lot, and the way they talk to each other is OBSCENE lol. And I love it.

Minx by Sophie Lark has some amazing dirty talk in the pet play realm. The heroine is an escort paid by the hero, and he has her dress up in a catsuit, wear a caller, drink milk out of a bowl while he calls her Minxie and a good girl and shit lol. I was into it. Idk if you'll be into it. Iiiii was into it.

Sara Cate's Salacious Player Club books have good dirty talk. They're sex club books that kind of deconstruct a different kink in each book (pleasure dom/sub in the first one, voyeurism in the second, MMF/bi awakening in the third, and femdom in the fourth... I'd stop after the fourth) and naturally are filled with dirty talk. Eyes On Me (the second book) may especially work for you because the heroine is a cam girl.

Possession by Adriana Anders has a heroine in a PR marriage with her famous husband end up in a kink camp with him after a scandal, and they... explore a lot. Including consensual kidnapping, an MFM threesome, lots of dirty talk... It's a lot.

Preferential Treatment by Heather Guerre has a heroine who becomes her billionaire boss's domme, so naturally there is a LOT of femdom dirty talk. We LOVE to see it.

Heated Rivalry & The Long Game by Rachel Reid make up a duology of hockey romances about the same couple (m/m). What I like about this is that you follow the same couple over like, a decade, starting when they're like 18/19, and they build up...? Their dirty talk? Like in the beginning, their encounters are more awkward, and then by the end they're using sex toys and like mild bondage and really KNOW each other and what turns each other on. Including the talk.