#so it’s like… here jack and john are about the same age here and they both kind of had to find an independent sort of footing themselves

[strryhaze]

well okay.

[yeoldenews]

While we’re on the subject of names, is there an explanation for how traditional nicknames came about that are seemingly unrelated to, or have little in common with, the original name?

ie- John/Jack, Richard/Dick, Henry/Harry/Hank, Charles/Chuck, Margaret/Peggy/Daisy, Sarah/Sally, Mary/Molly, Anne/Nan, etc

I am actually over a week into researching a huge follow-up post (probably more than one if I’m being honest) about the history of nickname usage, so I will be going into this in much, much more detail at a hopefully not-so-later date - if I have not lost my mind. (Two days ago I spent three hours chasing down a source lead that turned out to be a typographical error from 1727 that was then quoted in source after source for the next 150 years.)

As a preview though, here’s some info about the names you mentioned:

The origins of a good portion of common English nicknames come down to the simple fact that people really, really like rhyming things. Will 🠞Bill, Rob🠞Bob, Rick🠞Dick, Meg🠞Peg.

It may seem like a weird reason, but how many of you have known an Anna/Hannah-Banana? I exclusively refer to my Mom’s cat as Toes even though her name is Moe (Moesie-Toesies 🠞 Toesies 🠞 Toes).

Jack likely evolved from the use of the Middle English diminutive suffix “-chen” - pronounced (and often spelled) “-kyn” or “kin”. The use of -chen as a diminutive suffix still endures in modern German - as in “liebchen” = sweetheart (lieb “love” + -chen).

John (Jan) 🠞 Jankin 🠞 Jackin 🠞 Jack.

Hank was also originally a nickname for John from the same source. I and J were not distinct letters in English until the 17th Century. “Iankin” would have been nearly indistinguishable in pronunciation from “Hankin” due to H-dropping. It’s believed to have switched over to being a nickname for Henry in early Colonial America due to the English being exposed to the Dutch nickname for Henrik - “Henk”.

Harry is thought to be a remnant of how Henry was pronounced up until the early modern era. The name was introduced to England during the Norman conquest as the French Henri (On-REE). The already muted nasal n was dropped in the English pronunciation. With a lack of standardized spelling, the two names were used interchangeably in records throughout the middle ages. So all the early English King Henrys would have written their name Henry and pronounced it Harry.

Sally and Molly likely developed simply because little kids can’t say R’s or L’s. Mary 🠞 Mawy 🠞 Molly. Sary 🠞 Sawy 🠞 Sally.

Daisy became a nickname for Margaret because in French garden daisies are called marguerites.

Nan for Anne is an example of a very cool linguistic process called rebracketing, where two words that are often said/written together transfer letters/morphemes over time. The English use of “an” instead of “a” before words beginning with vowels is a common cause of rebracketing. For example: the Middle English “an eute” became “a newt”, and “a napron” became “an apron”. In the case of nicknames the use of the archaic possessive “mine” is often the culprit. “Mine Anne” over time became “My Nan” as “mine” fell out of use. Ned and Nell have the same origin.

Oddly enough the word “nickname” is itself a result of rebracketing, from the Middle English “an eke (meaning additional) name”.

I realized earlier this week that my cat (Toe’s sister) also has a rebracketing nickname. Her name is Mina, but I call her Nom Nom - formed by me being very annoying and saying her name a bunch of time in a row - miNAMiNAMiNAM.

Chuck is a very modern (20th century) nickname which I’ll have to get back to you on as I started my research in the 16th century and am only up to the 1810s so far lol.

[pathologicalreid]

heart to heart | s.r.

in which hotchner!reader is set to have heart surgery, and Spencer can't help but be concerned for her

margotober masterlist

who? spencer reid x hotchner!reader category: angst content warnings: fem!reader, chronically ill!reader, spencer is anxious, inadvertently made jack hotchner a glass child, hospitals, medications, surgery, heart transplant, hypertrophic cardiomyopathy, mostly medically accurate, rejected proposals, spencer's pov, mentions death and dying and wills, howl's moving castle word count: 2.51k a/n: this might be my favorite margotober post of the week. i don't know. it's very introspective. twas a request!

Ironically, his heart was racing. Spencer made his way through the cardiac unit with nothing but his imagination to guide him. He had just left the building a few hours ago when you insisted that he sleep in a real bed, and now he was back.

Your dad hadn’t told him what was going on, he just told him to get to the hospital. It was an hour’s drive from his place in D.C. to Johns Hopkins in Baltimore—you could already be dead by now.

He didn’t even have a chance to say goodbye to you. Not a real, proper goodbye. He told you he’d come back in the morning, which felt ridiculous now.

The sterile fluorescence of the intensive care unit only added to his irritability as he washed his hands upon entry, the CVICU had been your home for the past two months, and in a way, it had become Spencer’s as well. He couldn’t be shocked, you’d been in heart failure for nearly two years, and there was no way he could ignore the worried glances between your doctors and nurses.

You slept more than you were awake most days, Spencer and your dad took turns staying behind on cases, and you usually didn’t have the energy to hold a conversation.

That’s why he’s so surprised to see you sitting up in bed with a cap over your hair, talking to your cardiologist. You looked drained, dark circles gave your eyes a haunted look, but Spencer’s chest filled with relief at the fact that you were still very much alive. “Hey,” Spencer said, looking around the room for even the slightest clue as to what was going on.

Sluggishly, your head turned to look at him, “Hey,” you said back, a weak smile on your face.

He wanted to tell you to lie down, sitting up was obviously draining you of what little energy you had, but more than that, he wanted you to tell him what was going on—he couldn’t guess, he couldn’t bear to be wrong. “What is it? What happened?” His questions were frantic, your father had never called him in the middle of the night like this.

“I’m getting a heart, Spence,” you told him, your voice was gentle.

So, the sky wasn’t falling. The feeling of impending doom that he’s had for the last two years was potentially going to be lifted away, “When?” He asked, stepping further into the room and setting his bag in the chair, crossing his arms as he joined the conversation between you and your doctor.

You took a deep breath, in through your nose and out through your mouth, “Tonight.”

He needed to sit down.

“We’re just waiting on some final pre-op labs,” your doctor confirmed, nodding at the both of you. “It’s a good match,” he assured Spencer, “I’ll let you two talk.”

As soon as you were alone, Spencer guided you down to the pillows. Too weak to resist, you leaned back until your shoulders hit the pillows, “Where’s Hotch?”

You hummed in response, “Jack freaked out when we told him I was getting a new heart, dad’s with him until our aunt gets here.”

“He’s worried about you,” he observed, sometimes it was hard to put the age difference between you and your brother into perspective, but at times like this, he remembered just how young Jack really was.

Clearing your throat, you shook your head once, “He’s scared that my new heart won’t love him the same.”

Spencer nodded in understanding, “So, what did you tell him?”

You smiled softly, “I told him it was like in Howl’s Moving Castle.” Pausing for a moment to catch your breath, Spencer took your hand in his, “They’re not taking my love away, I’ll be able to love him even more with a new heart.”

“So, now he thinks your heart is on fire,” Spencer pointed out, tucking a stray hair underneath your cap.

Sighing, you shut your eyes for a moment, “Sometimes it feels like it.”

His chest tightened in sympathy while watching you try to catch your breath, vaguely aware that this was the last night that tonight would be like this, “Are you scared?” It seemed like a foolish question to ask, knowing that you’d had more procedures than most people your age, but this was a big one. This was the big one.

You nodded gently, there were so many things to be scared of, surgical complications, transplant rejection, but you looked at Spencer with pity in your eyes. You were pitying him, “My will is in the top drawer of my nightstand,” you started.

“No,” Spencer interjected, denial creeping up on him.

You sighed, it took everything in you to hold back your tears, “Spence, we have to talk about this.”

He shook his head, “No, we don’t. You’re going to be fine.”

“I need you to be rational,” you pleaded. The irony of the situation was not lost on him, you were begging him to think rationally as refusal crept over him. “You know the statistics. In fact, you probably know them better than me,” you said pointedly.

He sniffled, “You have good odds,” he insisted. “Even if you didn’t have good chances, you’ve always been good at beating the odds,” he reminded you. The two of you had said goodbye before, a nasty battle with bacterial endocarditis had put you in a coma, but you had come out of it, sending you even higher on the UNOS transplant list.

Issues with your kidneys had knocked you out of the running for some hearts, so your only hope was a direct donation. It seemed like you were getting your wish. “My heart won’t be as big,” you murmured, not having the energy to debate Spencer on probability.

“No,” he affirmed, “It’ll be a bit smaller.” Your heart muscle was thick as a result of your cardiomyopathy, and your pacemaker wasn’t able to keep up with your deteriorating health. A transplant became your only hope.

You sighed contentedly, “You always made me feel so lucky.”

“Stop trying to say goodbye,” he told you, tilting his head to the side.

Nodding, he could tell that you understood him, “You’ll never get rid of me, I’ll come back and haunt you.”

Spencer shook his head dismissively, “No dying, sweet girl. We’ve got to take care of your new heart.”

A peaceful silence blanketed the two of you, sitting and waiting for someone to tell him it was time to go. He didn’t want to go. He’d go with you to the operating room if they’d let him.

He said goodbye to you in the hallway, watching you get wheeled away before shoving his hands in his pockets and walking to the waiting room, stopping in his tracks at the sight before him.

A majority of the BAU had gathered in the waiting room, taking up all of the chairs on the right-hand side, settling in for the long haul. “Hey,” JJ was the first one to speak, giving Spencer a quick embrace before stepping back, “How was she?”

“She’s good,” he answered absentmindedly, still looking around the room, a few familiar faces nowhere to be found. “She was tired,” and a bit morbid toward the end.

Jack was curled up on one of the loveseats, a blanket tucked over him. Spencer continued looking around, confusion settling in until Emily spoke up, “He’s in the chapel. Rossi and Morgan are with him.”

Hotch was in the chapel, likely lighting a candle for Haley while Rossi and Morgan said a prayer for you. Oddly enough, it brought Spencer comfort to know that his friends were pulling for you in the ways they knew how, especially when he didn’t believe in it himself.

Spencer looked at the bracelet that you had placed in his hands, it was one of your most prized possessions, and should something happen to you, he was under strict instructions to hand it over to your father.

You were still a teenager when you were first diagnosed, and you were scared of having a big scar from open heart surgery, so your mom went out and bought you a charm bracelet. For each procedure after, you’d gotten a new charm for the bracelet with Hotch continuing the tradition after your mother had passed away.

There was no doubt in his mind that there would be a special charm for this surgery, Hotch usually had Penelope and JJ help him pick it out.

Penelope walked in, handing Spencer a cup of coffee. The average heart transplant takes six hours, but you have so much scar tissue that he wouldn’t be surprised if it took longer than that.

You were two years younger than him, and he found himself enamored with you from the moment you met. Your disease had forced you to leave college early, but your dad had set you up with a job in records at Quantico, both to give you something to do and to keep you nearby.

Until you just kept getting sicker, you were the best person they had working in records, but eventually, you had to leave that too.

The rest of the team caught on to Spencer’s crush, but you found yourself avoiding him like the plague. You turned him down eight times before you finally acquiesced, come to find out the only reason you said yes is because Hotch pushed you in that direction. Of all people, your father had just wanted you to continue living your life—he didn’t want you to become a hermit.

You would be one now though, with all of the immunosuppressants you’d be on post-transplant, you’d be spending a lot of time at home.

Rejection became a trend in your relationship when Spencer proposed to you last year. He’d done it properly, asking your father and Jack for permission, but you’d said no, rattling off some excuse about how he shouldn’t shackle himself to someone with one foot in the grave.

That night, after you had all but broken up with him, you’d collapsed and ended up in the hospital. The two of you made a promise to each other. If you ever got a new heart, you’d finally say yes.

The promise had been your idea, claiming that karma had caused you to collapse in your apartment because you turned him down. Spencer didn’t believe in karma and fate the way you did, but he did believe in you. That was enough for him.

Hotch came back up first, setting a comforting hand on Spencer’s shoulder before he walked back to where Jack was sleeping, your Aunt Jessica was back there with the two of them.

They hit the two-hour mark with no update, and Spencer convinced himself that no news had to be good news.

Derek and Rossi had made their way up to the waiting room, pulling out a deck of cards from the hospital gift shop and dealing around the table. Spencer just watched, he’d played more than enough card games in this hospital before, and he’d likely be playing many more in the future.

You’d have to stay in the hospital post-transplant for approximately a month, but it was some comfort to Spencer that instead of your health declining, you would begin feeling better. It hurt to hope, but he found himself excited at the prospect of you regaining your strength.

By the time five hours had passed, JJ and Derek had fallen asleep in their chairs, but everyone had committed themselves to waiting for you.

Spencer wanted to take you home, settle you into your shared apartment together, and let you heal, but you weren’t going to come home with him. When your month in the hospital was up, you’d go home with your dad and Jack. Your apartment didn’t have an elevator, and he worried about you having to use the stairs all the time. Your dad’s apartment had an elevator, so it became the obvious choice.

You told him you didn’t even remember what home looked like anymore. He couldn’t wait to bring you home.

He’d started to worry after six hours had passed, but just before hour seven hit, your cardiothoracic surgeon came out to the waiting room.

Careful not to wake Jack, Hotch stood up from his chair, approaching the surgeon with a wariness that Spencer had never seen from him. He waved Spencer over, silently inviting him to join the conversation.

“Everything went well, she’ll be in the CVICU still for a few days before she’s strong enough to be transferred,” the doctor explained, garnering the attention of some of the other people in the room. “Visiting hours don’t start for a few hours, but if one of you wants to stay with her until she wakes up, then I’d be willing to arrange an exception.”

You’d be waking up in a bright room with a tube in your throat, and having someone that you knew with you when you woke up would hopefully ease some of your fears. As soon as Spencer was about to offer to keep an eye on Jack so Hotch could sit with you, Hotch interrupted his train of thought, “You should go.”

Spencer frowned, glancing over your father, “Are you sure?”

Nodding, Hotch looked back at Jack, still sleeping on the loveseat. “I need to stay with him, and she wouldn’t want him to see her first thing,” he explained.

If Jack’s fear from earlier was any kind of forewarning, Hotch probably had a point when it came to wanting to stay with his youngest. Even still, Spencer protested, “I can stay with Jack.”

There were a number of people in the room who could stay with Jack, but Hotch clearly wanted to stay, “Don’t keep my daughter waiting, Reid.”

He did not have to be told twice, turning around and following the doctor to your room, scrubbing his hands before approaching the door. Faltering slightly at the doorway, Spencer found himself staring at you. There were so many wires and tubes connected to you that he’d have to take his time doing inventory of them all, there was a tube breathing for you, but your heart—your heart was beating steady.

“You can take a seat here,” a nurse said, gesturing to a chair for him to use. He sat down obediently, setting his bag on the ground next to him.

You wouldn’t come out from under the anesthesia for hours yet, but Spencer found comfort in knowing that he’d be here for you when you woke up. He could let you squeeze your hand when you felt pain, and he’d be there to wipe your tears away. At this point, he’d do anything you asked of him.

For now, all he had to do was wait. He clasped your hand in both of his and sat at your bedside, a ring box burning a hole in his messenger bag—waiting for you to be ready for it.

[uluvjay]

Drunken confessions- J. Marino

John Marino x Hughes! Sister

In which you drunkenly admit your feelings for your brother’s teammate

Warnings?; fluff, talks of embarrassment, crying, drunkenness, cursing, throwing up and mentions of it, kissing, slight age gap(5 years), I apologize for any errors.

The sound of the front door bursting open along with stumbling feet and mixed curses caused John to jump up from his spot on the couch.

Making his was to the entryway of the house he found both of your brothers holding you upright as they did their best to get you into the house.

“What the hell happened?” He questioned the younger men as he moved forward to give them a hand.

“Someone was upset about failing her test so let’s just say the vodka shots were never ending tonight.” Luke grumbled as they finally made way into the living room and laid you onto the couch where John had just been sitting.

John laughed lightly at the sight of your snoring form, your hair was messy and makeup smudged, yet to him you still looked just as beautiful as earlier in the evening when you first emerged from your room for a night out with your brothers.

“Um My girls here, I’m gonna head out.” Luke coughed before he quickly rushed out of the house.

“Okay?” John laughed as he looked at Jack who looked just as guilty.

“I-would you be okay watching over her till morning? She usually doesn’t puke or anything and Vodka tends to knock her out so she shouldn’t be an issue.” Jack rushed, rocking back onto his heels while he awaited his teammates answer.

“Where are you going?” John questioned confused.

“There’s a girl in my car….waiting to go back to her place…” Jack breathed.

“Oh, uh yeah I can look over her. Go enjoy yourself man.” John shrugged, you were snoring pretty loud and it looked like you wouldn’t be waking up anytime soon.

“Thank you! I swear the next time we go to dinner I got you covered. You’re the best man!” Jack beamed.

John watched as your brother placed a kiss to the top of your head before rushing out the door and making sure to shut it quietly behind him.

John grabbed the remote off the coffee table before he sat on the opposite side of the gray sectional, he unpaused his show and picked up from where he had left off.

However he had trouble keeping his eyes on the tv for long, they seemed to continuously drift over to your sleeping form. He didn’t understand how someone could be as beautiful as you, he still remembers when Jack introduced you a few months back.

You’d alway been around and he knew he had met you before but there was something different this time. You were in college, had just transferred over from the university of Michigan so you could attend a better program.

He knew he shouldn’t have looked at you the way he did, you had barely just turned twenty-one but there was something in those blue eyes and dark hair that captivated him.

Especially once his apartment building had to be shut down due to an outbreak of termites and your brothers offered their last spare room to him three months ago.

He thought he’d be fine living under the same roof as you, you’d always be at school, him at practice or a game, however he was very wrong. He couldn’t help the way his eyes followed you throughout the house, how his heart warmed at the sound of your laugh, or how he blushed like a teenager anytime you came within a foot of him.

The sound of you coughing pulled him from his thoughts and before he knew it you were jumping up and sprinting down the hallway towards the bathroom.

Hearing your gags echo throughout the hall he quickly followed behind you and grabbed your hair just in time for you to empty the contents of your stomach into the toilet.

You don’t register who it was behind you even as there was a cold rag placed onto the back of your neck;something your brothers never did, however that didn’t stop you from thinking it was one of them.

“Thanks Jacky.” You mumbled as your head rested on the back of your hand.

“Uh, I’m not Jack but you’re welcome.” John spoke softly.

Your body went stiff at the sound of his soft voice, there was no way you just puked in front of him, dread filled your stomach and before you knew it tears of embarrassment were streaming down your cheeks.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?” The older man quickly kneeled beside you on the cold tile of the bathroom floor.

“S’ nothing” you grumbled slightly pushing him away.

John pushed away the flash of hurt in his chest and grabbed your chin to lift your head, his free hand pushing the hair that had fallen in your face back.

“Don’t say it’s nothing, what’s wrong Y/n?” He asked gently.

“That was embarrassing” you mumbled, eyes looking everywhere besides his.

“Throwing up? There’s nothing embarrassing about that sweetheart, trust me I’ve cleaned up Jack’s vomit more times than I can count.” He laughed.

You tried not to swoon at the nickname he let slip, but the alcohol in your system wouldn’t let it go as your cheeks flamed bright red.

“I didn’t just throw up John, I threw up in front of you!, my crush, the hot guy that’s older and can have any girl he wants, the guy that doesn’t want some sloppy college girl.” You cried.

John swore his heart skipped a beat at your admission, but he couldn’t lie that his brain made him think it was just your drunken words.

“See you don’t feel the same and it’s all because I threw up in front of you.” The alcohol spoke for you and John couldn’t help but giggle lightly.

“How about we talk about this tomorrow? When you’re sober.” He asked softly.

“Okay.” You agreed.

John smiled and helped you off the floor, his hands gripped your waist and walked you towards your bedroom a few doors down. He sat you on the bed and turned to your large vanity looking for makeup remover, finding what he needed he made his way back towards you and began to wipe your face.

“Are you taking my makeup off?” You whispered.

“Mhm” he nodded.

You smiled as he ran the wipe along your forehead before coming down and running it over your cheeks and eyes, doing his best to get everything off.

“Do you want some pajamas?” He asked.

“Yes please, they’re in the drawers on the right.” You smiled softly.

He nodded and made his way over to your dresser grabbing you an old T-shirt and a pair of shorts he sat them next to you.

“I’ll be right back.” He spoke as he left you to get dressed and to collect a bottle of water and Tylenol for you.

He came back to find your bedroom door open once again and your body tucked comfortably under your large comforter.

He sat everything on your bedside table and wished you a goodnight but before he could exit your room he heard your voice speak up.

“John?”

“Yeah?” He replied as he turned back to face you despite the now pitch black room.

“You promise we can talk tomorrow?” He heard you ask quietly.

“Promise.”

“Goodnight John.”

“Night Y/n, sleep tight.” He smiled and made his way to his own bedroom for a long sleepless night.

-

The following morning you woke up to the smell of bacon flowing into your room making your severely dry mouth water.

Sitting up you looked down at the shirt you wore and the shorts on your legs, confusion wracked through your body for a moments until the memories of puking in the toilet and John taking care of you came floating back.

Butterflies filled your stomach as you remembered how well he took care of you and made sure you got into bed safely. However your smile quickly faded as you remembered that you drunkenly admitted your feelings to the older man last night.

“Fuck!” You groaned as you slumped back into the comfort of your bed.

It took you a few minutes to get the guts to go out to the kitchen where you knew John was no doubt cooking breakfast.

Shuffling into the large kitchen of the house you found him standing him at the stove, shirtless with sweatpants low on his waist, his rib cage tattoo on full display.

“Morning sleepyhead” he smiled as he heard you take a seat at the island.

“Morning.” You greeted with an awkward smile.

You watched as he turned the the fire off and turned to place the last few pieces of bacon onto a plate, looking around you noticed pancakes and a bowl of fresh fruit.

“Eat up, you definitely need it.” He spoke up nudging a plate in your direction.

You wanted to but you couldn’t take the feeling that weighed down on your chest, the anxiety of what you admitted last night lingering over you.

“John, I’m sorry.” You mumbled quickly.

“For what?”

“For what I said and did last night. I shouldn’t have drank as much as I did and you shouldn’t have had to take care of me while I was a mess, I was probably a handful and I’m real-” You began but the feeling of soft lips touching yours cut you off.

It took you a moment to respond due to shock but once you shook it off you were tangling a hand into his curls and pushing your lips harder against his.

He placed a large hand on your jaw, tipping your head back as his tongue slid into your mouth and ran against yours.

You whined when he pulled his lips away from yours, embarrassingly following his mouth as he pulled back.

“Don’t apologize.” He whispered, hand still holding your jaw.

“Did you really mean what you said last night? About me being the guy you like?”

You nodded softly, “I’m sorry if it’s weird.”

“It’s not weird, especially since I feel the same way.” He smiled.

“You do?”

John laughed lightly, “Thought me kissing you was enough of a give away.”

“Hmm, I’m not sure I’m convinced. Maybe you should give me another one.” You smirked.

“Is that so?” He asked, spreading your thighs a bit more as he slipped between them.

“Mhm” you nodded, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you looked up at him.

He smirked before dipping down and kissing you breathless this time, it was different from the first kiss. This one was full of passion, his hands tangled into your hair as kissed you deeply.

Once he pulled away he rested his forehead against yours.

“Are you sure you’re okay with me only being twenty-one?” You questioned softly.

“As long as you’re okay with dating an old man.” He laughed.

“You are not old!” You giggled.

He gave you one more kiss before backing up and beginning to make himself a plate and you followed behind him to make one of your own. And after a delicious breakfast you two cleaned up and made your way to the living room to relax on the couch, this time cuddled up next to each other instead of on opposite ends.

“How should we tell my brothers?” You questioned.

“Tell us what?” You heard from the entryway.

-

[springsylph]

Touch and Agree | Charles x Reader

charles smith x f! reader | no warnings | 2.1k | ao3 |

was trying to get back into writing but i was struck with an indescribable sadness once i thought about how useless charles must’ve felt after burning his hand in blackwater. so. i raise you unknowingly touchstarved reader versus Charles™

The horses have slowed to a trot by the time you press your cheek to the frosted window.

You hear Arthur shout some muffled declaration of success as he and Charles’ shadows curl around the front of the stable. The gang is likely aware of their return, senses now heightened by hunger and the frigid winds of Colter. But you feel the need to relay the message to the few still silently huddled in the corners:

“If you’ve been praying, today’s your lucky day.”

Tilly, arms crossed tight over her torso, is the first to pipe up from her spot near the fireplace. “Micah finally saw his sorry behind off the nearest cliffside?”

“Miss Tilly!” Grimshaw hisses, scandalized. The only thing stronger than Grimshaw's personal gripes are the exigencies of the gang. “No more of that. You know we need all the hands we can get.”

Karen, squished next to Mary-beth and a now slumbering Sadie on a wooden bench, scoffs. “Didn’t think we counted meat hooks as hands.”

That gets a snort out of John, who realizes too late that his body isn’t quite healed enough to handle said snort. A flick to the forehead from Abigail quiets him down in his cot before she turns to find you still gazing out the window.

“I’m assimin’ Arthur and Charles are back?”

You nod. “With one…two deer, by the looks of it.”

Your inhale is sharp when Charles pulls his catch over his shoulder with a jerk, beckoning Arthur to follow after him to mask his discomfort. The tension leaves your spine only after the last dregs of his shadow disappear into the stable.

Half-turned to Abigail, you mumble, “Does Charles look a little...off to you, these days?"

"Off," she repeats. The darkness under her eyes colors her words. "Off how?"

"You know," and you make as though to say something of substance before your eyebrows pinch together, "off.”

Abigail looks at you like you’ve grown a second head. “If you’re waitin’ on Charles to scream bloody murder, it’s gonna take a hell of a lot more than a burn to do him in.”

Another brick is slotted into a broken wall. 

“I’m just worried.”

“About?”

“Charles. I think his hand is botherin’ him again.”

Abigail’s sigh dusts the cold air with its warmth. “I…suspect most things might look a little off since we've been cooped up like this. But we’ve got O’Driscolls and Pinkertons on the prod." She looks at Jack, now sitting cross legged at her feet and fiddling with the corner of John's blanket. Abigail had given up on herding him toward the fireplace some time ago. She strokes a featherlight hand over his head. "No sense in stressing yourself out over somethin’ Charles would’ve told us ages ago. It's good that he’s up and movin' though, ain't it?"

Your momentum stalls.

It should be. It should be.

Blackwater has left none unchanged. If you weren’t dead, you were shot, and if you weren’t shot, you were waiting for it. Hands bound. Body trammeled by fear and constant surveillance. From anyone else, this haste would be a blessing. A miracle, even, in light of all that'd been lost.

From Charles, it reads more like a warning.

But you don't think your feet have been planted here long enough to question their habits.

You say nothing and return your still numb cheek to the window. Will it always be like this, you wonder? The second guessing. The wary eyes. There’s a certain degree of trust that you aren’t privy to yet. Somehow, it feels worse knowing that everyone is making an effort to be so kind to you despite it. You know plenty who wouldn’t do the same.

Better dead than dead weight. 

The creed still lingers. Subsisting on what little you've gleaned in the short time you've been running with Dutch's group. Perhaps that's the root of this peculiar sense of worry. Of pity. You and Charles don’t speak often—there's a general lack of overlap in duties, for one, and he mostly keeps to himself. But you've always been one for actions over words. Charles was frighteningly capable, and more than willing to prove it time and time again.

To him, the burn he’d suffered may as well have been a bullet to the leg.

Your only issue is that no one else seems to see it.

You’re tracing shapes into the windowpane when movement just outside startles you. Charles, bow in hand, stalks toward one of the smaller cabins before veering off toward the small stream that lies just behind the stables.

You're springing up and stumbling out the front door before your brain has time to temper your heart. Someone shouts after you—likely Grimshaw, from the way it rakes over your ears. But you ignore it in favor of grabbing handfuls of your skirts and pushing through the powdery snow.

When you round the corner of the stables, breath short and chest tight, you find that Charles hasn’t gone very far at all. He's leaning against a crooked tree, face all taut lines as his fingers fumble with the grip on his bow. A frown plays at your lips when you notice the path of his footprints, stretching a few paces farther before it loops back to where he stands.

“Charles?”

You think you hear him exhale through his nose before he meets your gaze with the same smile he usually does. Bright. Unwavering. A little squinty, since the sun is in his eyes. “You good?”

Right. The usual pleasantries. You've conversed with him in your head for much longer than you have in person.

“I’m uh, fine." You blink stupidly. "Are you?"

“Mhm. Right as rain.”

Your eyes can't help but slide to the bow he clutches just out of sight. He doesn’t look ashamed in the slightest.

“…I’m just holding it, for now. Till my hand heals up, at the very least.” Charles holds up the offending appendage. “Not like I have anything better to do."

It's hard to tell if he's intentionally skirting around the point, or if he really does think there aren't any better uses for his time. The frown you'd been fighting off finally gets the better of you once Charles returns to adjusting his injured hand on the bow's grip.

"I don't think you should be doing that," you insist. Because he really shouldn't be. At all.

"Afraid I can't do that," he replies. "I'm one of the few here who can hunt worth a damn in this weather. I get sloppy, we starve.”

“Is that what you think?”

“No.”

“Then—”

“It’s what I know.” He says it with enough certainty to make you almost believe him. “Go back inside and warm yourself up. 'Preciate you checking on me, but if you freeze to death, they’re gonna laugh knowing you came out here without any gloves on.”

You clench your fists. Feel the ice that's settled there begin to splinter under the pressure and breach the thick skin of your palms. Fine, then. You’ll speak to him in a language he can understand.

Though your march over is less than graceful, he parts with the bow with surprising ease. Charles’ warmth, much like the rest of him, is tailored to perfection. Your fingertips graze remnants of the finery on the parts of the parts of the bow that his hands have warmed.

His eyes flick over you. Placid. Confused, too, on account of the ever-tightening grip you have on what you hope isn't a prized possession. His vexation becomes clearer once you step away, full hands now hidden behind your back. You have to take an extra step back for your own peace of mind.

“Charles Smith,” you begin, “I’d like to strike up a deal.”

“A deal.”

“I won’t repeat myself. We’re losin' daylight here.”

Chin tipped upward, you don your favorite facade.

Confidence.

"You focus on takin’ care of that hand, and I won't tell Arthur and Hosea you've been messin' with your bow."

His face belies a slew of unvoiced expletives. But you know Charles to be the—somewhat—gentle sort, so there’s no need to brace yourself. Even if he isn’t entirely convinced, you can at least hope that he’s found a little amusement in all this.

“You said ‘strike a deal,’” he says slowly. “This smells like a threat.”

“Deal, threat, whatever strikes your fancy.” It didn’t matter so long as he stopped stretching himself so thin.

He seems to mull over your words for a bit, no longer leaning up against the tree. There is, however, a small chance that he’s trying to find the right assortment of words to get you off of his back.

“We’ve got two deer.” You continue. “If Pearson is as frugal as I remember, that’ll keep us all for about a week. Should be more than enough time to get your hand back in order, right?”

“Hm.”

There’s a moment where Charles’ uninjured hand begins to stretch towards you. You just barely remember to lean out of the way before he drops his arm with a defeated sigh.

“So no bows—”

“No knives or guns, either. Unless absolutely necessary.”

“—Then how’m I supposed to keep up my strength? Can’t just sit idle, you know. We’ve got people here who need taking care of.” He takes three steps forward, and you take three steps back. “We’ve all got weight to pull out here. I’m of no use to anybody if I’m sitting out over a little burn like this.”

There goes that nasty word again.

Use.

You can joke all you want, but that’s what this boils down to.

“Well, you…just need something to pull on, right? Keep your hands busy?”

You hold out your hand.

The corner of Charles’ lips twitch downward. "I’m keeping my knives on me—"

"Take it."

"…What?"

You laugh. Loud and exaggerated enough to shake the snow off the trees. "Some gentleman you are, lettin’ a lady’s hands grow cold.” You flex your fingers. “My hand. Take it."

You use the awkward silence that follows to explain yourself.

"I figure it's got a little more give than a bow. And it’s got enough resistance to scratch that itch. You ever feel like shooting, ask for me. Hopefully it’ll have you feeling stupid long enough for your hand to heal up."

He brings a hand up to block the sun from his eyes, and you find yourself strangely missing the gold it cast on him. "That's not something I should be asking of you."

"Works out great, don't it? You're not asking, I'm offering, so there's no problem." Or, at least there wouldn't be if things go the way you know they will. It's no well-kept secret that Charles isn't too keen on extra company during his downtime. No one faults him for it, either.

Any chance of him taking you up on your suggestion is slim.

The wind is thunderous where Charles is quiet, snaking through the empty trees.

"Whether you take it or not, I'm walking off with this bow. But I'm not about to let you run yourself into the ground."

You flex your fingers again, and they tremble.

Charles shakes his head, and you're sure you've won—

"Alright. I'll do it."

Well, that's not good.

Violently off track and suddenly very unsure of how to proceed, you drop your hand. Charles, evidently resolute in his decision, says nothing more as he approaches.

You stumble back a bit as his body nears, wishing that the head you house on your shoulders was screwed on a little tighter. You think it's begun to spin when he takes your hand into his own; gently, as if scooping up a wounded bird from the forest floor.

He opens his mouth, then promptly closes it, brows furrowing as he inspects your palm.

Something is loud.

It's your heart, you realize. Stuttering with each squeeze of his bandaged fingers. Consequences are not beneath you, it seems.

You allow him a few more experimental squeezes than you would've liked, but you can't quite shake the strange tremor that races up your throat the longer he holds you.

Nothing is said until he pulls his hand away.

“And I can do this, whenever?”

Your tongue is miles away. “I, uh. No.” Wait. Voice crack. “I mean—yeah. Yes. Whenever.”

Charles makes no note of your vocal blunder, instead taking one last look at the bow you hold before beginning to make his way back to camp.

He taps the hand at your side as he passes. Leans to talk right into your ear. “Keep these wrapped up for me, will you?”

He’s gone before you have a chance to tell him that you would’ve done it without his say-so.

(Damn it, you think. Palm tingling. I’m in some deep shit.)

[mortionsickness]

morston, a post (and a hidden narrative)

im not here to start any fights or provoke or be inflammatory, so please, if you’re here to beef with me, just move on. if you’re willing to hear me out for one humble post, though, I love you <3 let’s start;

ok, so first of all can we all be real for a second?

facts: arthur morgan and john marston are not blood related.

arthur and john met at 22 and 12 years old respectively.

arthur and john as of the end of rdr2 are 26 and 36 years old.

ok? ok! let’s continue, please;

in fanon, arthur and john are always depicted as being raised as close brothers, annoyed by eachother but overall best buds. this is cute! but not necessarily canon.

what we can learn from arthur and john’s interactions, is that they had some real animosity— mainly arthur towards john. as said in arthur’s own journal he only started to like john by close to the end of the game. I could dismiss this as friendly ribbing, if it were not actually written in arthur’s Journal, where his most personal thoughts are stored. this being said, i could still dismiss it, but humor me for my humble post (I’ll elaborate more on this later).

by the start of the game, arthur resents john, for three main reasons;

number one, john left the gang for a year, disregarding the loyalty to dutch that arthur treasured so deeply

number two, john abandoned his family, the family that arthur never got to have in eliza and issac

number three, and the most important reason to this post, arthur was jealous of john. feeding into the last point, jealous of the family that john has, and jealous of dutch’s favoritism towards john.

from what we know, there is no evidence that the two were close growing up at all. in fact, i’d even say there’s evidence to the contrary;

“I did it for Abigail, of course, in her own way, the finest woman I know, but also for Jack and I guess Marston himself. I kind of like him.

We’ve argued over the years, but I’ve grown to care a little for him. He’s less of a fool than he was,”

what we can learn from this passage is that arthur didn’t think much of john over the years, and that he’s grown to care “a little” for him. key word is grown. if the two were close growing up, like brothers, he would probably have more to say about him than that he’s grown to kind of like him a little bit.

once again, I could dismiss this as ribbing, but what reason does he have to do so in his own personal journal besides some kind of bizarre denial? he says he loves other characters straight up.

now that we’ve established that the brotherly childhood bond is, for the most part, cute fanon, I’d like to talk about the hidden narrative between these two characters, particularly through their relation to dutch.

what we learn over the course of the game, and through john and arthur’s conversations is that the two have, to some degree, competed for dutch’s attention.

john says this during chapter 6, for example.

from my perspective, it looks like dutch, their abuser (because yes, he is their abuser and not their father, i could make a whole other post about this), has pitted arthur and john against each other, or at least perpetuated the rivalry between the two of them.

by the end of the game, john and arthur have broken out of this rivalry, and learned to care for one another. this is the narrative that I enjoy morston by.

not of two close brothers who were in love at age 12 and 22.

I view it as a story of two victims of the same abuser who happened to grow up alongside eachother, resenting eachother all the while. of the two of them learning what was done to them was wrong, and breaking the cycle together, trying to move forward together, and finally growing to care for eachother through the process. this is why morston is not “problematic” or “taboo” to me.

as for the two of them meeting at the ages they did, what I have to say is this; let’s examine why we fear these situations so much.

in real life, we are uncomfortable (rightly so!) with situations like these due to the extreme power imbalance at said ages, and maturity differences. we’re scared because the adult may take advantage of these said things, in order to groom them into being a romantic partner later in life, even if they don’t outright date them as a kid.

as someone who has been groomed, let me explain; the reason why we are dubious of these situations is because we don’t know the older party’s intentions, and we assume they will take advantage of the power dynamic. in fiction, however, I believe this is different.

arthur morgan would never groom a child. we know this to be true. we know his intentions, his motivations, his soul. why do we assume in the case of morston that he had to have groomed him?

textually, john and arthur are 26 and 36 by the time they even begin to get along, with 0 evidence that they were remotely close at a young age. the two could’ve barely talked. were scared of something in this scenario that we’re rightly scared of irl, but we know the situation, we know the stakes, and we know that this is not a situation where john would be taken advantage of, because he is a grown 26 year old man with a wife and child by the time him and arthur even interact kindly with eachother. he had been an adult for 8 entire years.

fiction can effect reality, yes, but if people just widely understood that this is not a situation where the two of them would have any chance of getting together before they’re both well into adulthood, then it wouldn’t be a problem. because this is not a dangerous situation, for john or for anyone.

john was not groomed by anyone other than dutch van der linde, and that’s a fact. both arthur and john were groomed and this is a story about getting out, together. moving on, together. loving each other in the face of opposing forces, and purposeful wedges between them. and I think that’s a story that is a net good.

[flo-zoinks]

how do you think all the male gang members would react to getting kicked in the balls? 😭 (rdr2 can see linde gang, to be specific :)

My followers are ALLERGIC to normal asks but I like it so okay my love ❤🤗

WHAT WOULD HAPPEN IF YOU KICKED EVERY RDR2 GANG MEMBER IN THE BALLS (MY OPINION)

Again here we are going to assume you're someone like John in terms of gender, age and general reputation in camp as the reactions will differ greatly by those factors

These might be a little unrealistic as I do not own a penis!

Arthur - goes like ARGH SHIT then tries to look intimidating like he's gonna hurt you back but won't actually - more of a warning

Dutch - immediately curses for a good 10 seconds, then when ok enough to move goes to punch you out of camp, then demands to be cared for like he got shot by Molly

Pearson - fights back tears, (wins), then slams his kitchen knife into his counter and throws a spoon at you shouting like "GO AWAY". Says later in the fireplace he was just giving you time to run away

Javier - "CHINGUE SU MADRE" winces a little, then tries to play off nonchalantly. Probably straight up punches you and if you fall he spits on your head

John - "ShhiiIIT" literally nearly falls over, then shoves you onto the floor when he can with an insult after. Leaves camp for a day after out of anger for your actions then Abigail is telling you off for maybe causing V2 of when he left for a year

Jack (1914) - same as John at the start, but probably more inclined to aim a gun at you instead.

Hosea - DOES fall over, then when he gets up grabs your ear to the outskirt of camp similar to Miss Grimshaw where he throws you out with a kick too

Charles - grunts really loudly and is close to swearing, but doesn't and instead tells you off whilst in a lot of pain. Calls you insufferable too

Sean - KICKS YOU BACK. REAL HARD. "FUCK YOU TOO". But in the exact moment just asks what he did wrong to you cuz what the devil

Lenny - is about to punch you back, but instead just shoves you to the side as he walks on (after shouting what the hell is your problem). Tries to be the bigger man

Uncle - falls down the the ground, but doesn't get up and instead choosing to stay there cursing you out. He's quite sassy with it despite all

Kieran - Assumes again it's because hes an O'Driscoll and tells you/all of the camp to plss stop 😭. Goes back to the outskirts of camp to tend to the horses and if you two are ok months later brings it up saying atleast it was better then the gelding tongs courtesy of Bill. However like before all the other men and Sadie/Karen applaude your actions to Kieran

Trelawny - buckles over, then tries to regain his composure to remain gentlemanly. But then says "my goodness, what is that behind you?" And whilst you expect it to be a magic trick he just kicks you back in the balls

Micah - "fuuuuuuuuuuuuck.." "I been trying so hard to along with you what is this for" "I'm not one of those gays my balls were none of your buisness" OR "YOU DAMN (slur) AGH" if there is a slur 'applicable' to you

Reverend (chap 1-4) - immediately folds to the floor in baby position about to swoon to sooth himself. Then forgives you quickly realising it's a good excuse to pump himself full of substances to "help" the pain subside.

Bill - "AGH SHIT YOU LITTLE...SHIT" Tries to spit on your face and then wobbles back to camp. Later pretends like it was just a little itch he wasn't really affected by it, yet still tries to threaten you at the table to "feel more masculine and powerful"

Thanks for asking me !!! ❤❤

[theyanderespecialist]

Base Yandere John Marston Headcanons: Loyal and Paranoid (Red Dead Redemption)

[Hello, My Sexy Muffins! I am back with a new chapter! This chapter has a request from YouTube for John Marston! These are his base yandere headcanons! Please enjoy this chapter here!] 

(Disclaimer: John Marston is not yandere in canon! This is just for fun and not to be taken seriously at all! Simping for fictional characters and yanderes is fine! Just do not be illegal or gross about it! You know who you are! You Dirty, Flaky, Biscuits! Yanderes are not ideal partners to have in real life! Also, remember to separate fiction from reality and headcanon from canon! Thank you!) 

-Base Yandere Headcanons with Yandere John Marston X Gender Neutral Reader From The Red Dead Redemption Game Series- 

.John Marston started out not really being a family man in Red Dead 2 (Which takes place before Red Dead) 

.He even thought at a time that his son (Jack) might not even be biologically his. 

.He is a man who is very loyal to the people he loves, but this was not always the case as he left his wife and son because he was not ready to be a father. 

.So he came back to the gang and started to see Abigail again, and this is when he met you. 

.He sees you as the stunning person that you are and falls head over heels in love with you. 

.He said he would never cheat on Abigail, but you were the exception, because you are the true love of his life. 

.It did not matter your skin tone because John did not care what color you were because in this day and age, even though most people were racist in the old west, John was not and he openly mocked people who WERE Racist. 

.So he could care less about your race and or gender, all he knew was that you were his and that you did belong to him. 

.He is a very loyal yandere, the only person I could even imagine he would be with other than you is Abigail, and if he is lucky and Abigail felt the same way about that he did, he would share you with her and have the perfect three-way relationship. A Thrupple if you will.  .Side note, if you were female presenting or female identifying, then he would respect you even more, but if you were a trans man back in this day, he would still respect you, but he still had some gender norms for you.  .Because it is the past and he is the type of man that respects women, even if you are a man but were born with female parts, he still is the type that will respect you. 

.Now, if you are a man, he is more willing to put his hands on you and man handle you to behave. 

.He calls it rough housing because he has to keep you in line, he also likes having his body pressed against yours. 

.Even if you were a man, he still does not cross a certain line because he loves you and wants to show you that respect. 

(Side note, I pointed the specific ones out because this is in the past, before transgender and nonbinary were words, so this is how John would most likely reach, thank you) 

.So other than being a loyal yandere, he is fiercely protective of you and would put his life on the line to save you from danger. 

.He wants to make a life for you and he will know when the day of the outlaw is up and he would decide to give that life up so he can settle down and be with you and maybe Abigail, he does seem like the guy that would share you with her.  .On the other hand, he is a possessive AND a Jealous type of yandere. 

.As we've seen with how he thinks Abigail cheated on him, he would be paranoid that you have or WILL cheat on him. 

.So he keeps a close eye on you because that yandere side of him tells him that you have been or will be unfaithful and he cannot and will not have that. 

.You belong to him and he was not going to let any man or woman come in and steal you away from him. 

.So the only woman he would let around you is Abigail, and men?

.Good God, does he try and keep all men away from you, you are his and so you do not need to be around other men. 

.That is a firm belief of his and he is going to make sure that you stay away from ALL Men. 

.He can be the type to grab you away and tell you that you need to stay in his line of sight, and that you do not go and flirt so shamelessly with the men and women. 

.He would be the type of yandere that once again is paranoid you will cheat on him and she he does his best to keep an eye on you so you do not leave him. 

.But good fucking lord help any man that you end up sleeping with that is not him, because he is certain to but a bullet in their eye.  .Speaking of rivals, which he does not like at all. He also does not like birds and actually has a strong dislike for them, almost as much as he has a dislike for rivals. Well, it is more of a hatred for the rivals. 

.He cannot and will not stand rivals, he has killed many men for trying to be with you. 

.You are his and no man is ever allowed to be with you. 

.Female rivals are treated differently though. They do not get killed or hurt, but he makes sure they now damn well to stay away from you, or he will make their lives hell. Or get them arrested and he will make sure that they are left to hang or rot. 

.He confesses his love to you and offers a place for you in his family, as his second spouse, he is wearing his heart on his sleeve for you and is ready to have you as a second spouse. 

.If you accept his love, he will have a wedding as soon as possible, no matter how legal it was, he was going to marry you and you would most likely also marry Abigail. 

.So you get two spouses for the price of one and you also get a bonus step son. 

.If you turn his love down, he is not going to give you up at all.  .He will marry you, it will just be at gunpoint, with him being firm that you are to say yes, you will take him as your husband. 

.In the end, you are his spouse and he will be there for you no matter what. 

[YASSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS another chapter is done! I hope that you all enjoyed this, and stay sexy, all of my sexy muffins!] 

[howlett-n-morgan]

I bring to you a snippet of the next chapter, rightfully labled John Fucking Marston:

-

“Arthur?” 

“Yeah?” He turned his head again.

“The day he was born… that argument between you and John,” you wanted to make sure you phrased this correctly, unsure if it was a sensitive topic. “He’d apologized for sayin’ something… Sayin’ that you didn’t do any better? What was he talkin’ about?” 

Arthur took a deep inhale and shifted around in his seat, the ground beneath him feeling like it could cave in just at your words. John had struck deep with what he’d said, but having to rehash it, and with you… it wasn’t a thing he’d ever do for fun, to put it nicely. 

“I mean, him talkin’ about leaving Abigail, and you givin’ her your offer… You’re already better than he is.”

“I wasn’t always,” he shook his head. “Holdin’ him like this, it makes me remember just how terrible I am.”

You sank down from the log and scooted closer to him. No one in camp was around to see, so you didn’t bother looking. His eyes got foggy without even going into detail, so you didn’t push… but he seemed to open up on his own. 

“I had a boy when I was John’s age. Same situation n’ all,” he shook his head, trying to keep his sights on the ground in front of him. The longer he held Jack, the worse this feeling got, but he knew it wouldn’t ever go away, not really. Not with a new and constant reminder of his past. “His momma and I, we didn’t get on too well, so I kept with the gang. Didn’t ever come around except when we passed through that town. Could count on two hands the times I saw my own son…”

You didn’t know what to make of this. He has a son? Does he keep contact with him? You’re unsure if you want to know all the details, because hearing it as is, sounds messy. 

“Where does he live?” 

You had no idea that you’d just asked the worst question in response… but how else were you supposed to know? This was the first you’d heard of Arthur’s son. 

“He uh… he died, about three years ago,” Arthur shook his head, swallowing back the lump in his throat, though his teary eyes persisted. “They both did... I came back one day, and found two crosses in the yard. I asked around, townsfolk said a group of robbers came through and raided several homes.”

“Arthur…” you grabbed his arm gently, trying to convey your sympathy, and your sadness. 

“I knew it had been my fault. If I had been there, my son would be alive, his mother, too.” 

A cloud had rolled over the sun, and shrouded in a temporary shade of darkened light, the mood felt heavier than even his words could convey. This man and his layers, being peeled away before you… it was both touching, and terrible. You had no idea a man was capable of feeling so deeply, of being so open about his past and regrets. You’d never seen a man cry before. 

“Issac and Eliza were their names,” he finally looked at you, tears escaping his eyes at a rapid pace. He let them fall, somehow knowing you wouldn’t judge him for it. “And they aren’t here because of me.” 

You gently raised a hand and wiped his cheeks with your thumb, leaving your hand there for as long as he would let you. 

“I’m so sorry, Arthur…” 

Nothing you could say or do would help to heal his wounds, but you wanted to try. Wanted to be there for him, whatever that meant. You and him got on well. You were friends, but there was competition between you, all a part of your banter. You supposed you’d feel inclined to let him win in any circumstance from now on, just because you couldn’t bear to make him upset. Seeing him this way broke your heart, but it also empowered you in some way. To be more empathetic, and kind, and to not let your anger get the better of you. You’ve proven to him in the past that you were a hot head, no pun intended. You would have to be mindful of letting yourself fly off the hinge to him in the future.

-

Let me know if you wanna be added to the taglist 😊

[ghostgorlsworld]

Johnny Boy Part 3 (werewolf!Soap x reader)

Johnny meets his daughter, part one is here

Once upon a time, you would've done anything for John Mctavish. He had been your older brother's cool best friend, and you were always desperate for him to see you as more--until one fateful night that ends up with you pregnant and him...gone. Fast forward six years and you've made a good life for yourself with your daughter Emma, with Johnny none the wiser. Until he decides to knock on your door.

Part 3

Johnny knocked on the door at 8:15, carrying two pounds of bacon and a book about whales.

The bastard. Tom must have told him that whales were Emma’s weakness.

“Hi, Kitty,” Johnny said, smiling. He twitched like he wanted to lean in and kiss your cheek, but managed to restrain himself.

“John,” you said. You were dressed more appropriately this time, a Black Sabbath tee and sweats, your work clothes of pencil skirts, trousers, and wool sweaters currently drying on the laundry lines in the backyard. 

Emma touched the back of your leg, peering out at Johnny with a kind of fascinated dislike. “You’re taller than I thought you were,” she said, her tone disapproving.

You smiled then, suddenly full of warm affection for your daughter. “Let the man come inside, bear, it’s freezing out there.”

Johnny stepped inside your house and something inside of you clenched, forcing yourself to step back and allow Johnny his moment with your daughter.

They looked at each other. Father to daughter, their eyes so alike, their hair the same color, all the missing pieces falling into place.

Johnny crouched, going eye-level with her. “Hi, Emma,” he said, his voice hoarse as he attempted to smile. “My name’s Johnny.” Emma smiled, her first missing tooth winking at him.

You looked away. And so it began.

Within an hour she was perched up in his lap, prattling about whales and her friends from school. “Ms. Thornton said we had to make it out of paper maché and the best whale would win a prize. So Mum stayed up with me all night making the biggest blue whale, with a spout’n tail’n everything.” Johnny was captivated, his eyes brighter than you had ever seen them, his accent tangling his words even thicker than usual. “Aye? Did you win then?”

“Of course, we have ‘im hung up in the living room with little strings, right next to Grandpa Jack’s chair.” It was true. A paper mache blue whale hung from your ceiling in the place of honor, a tiny Christmas hat perched on his head for the upcoming holidays. 

You had to look away from them, focusing on pouring Emma her usual glass of milk and Johnny a coffee. He despised tea.

“Drink,” you said, pushing the glass towards her. “It’s good for your brain.” Emma two-handed it, just like you tell her to. It seemed she was trying to be on her best behavior, the little traitor. “How’d you know it’s good for my brain?” She asked, sniffing Johnny’s coffee as you placed it before him.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, trying to meet your eyes but failing when you turned back to their breakfast, a mess of eggs and bacon and raw deer. “I looked it up on the internet, bear. Good fats are good for your brain.” “That’s what she says when she wants me to eat something, Johnny,” Emma said. “That it’s good for my brain. She’s always reading books on what to feed me so I can get taller.”

“I was an itty-bitty sprite when I was your age, lass, I’m sure it’ll kick in with a few more years,” Johnny said, his hand stroking her soft hair as if he couldn’t believe she was real. 

It went on like this until you put food in front of them, taking a seat across from Emma with your coffee and toast. You were never hungry this early, mostly because you were usually handling raw liver or beef tongue at eight in the morning and that sent your appetite right down the drain.

Johnny noticed. “Not even gonna have bacon, kitty?” “She never eats breakfast,” Emma the tattletale said, spooning up a bit of deer. “She doesn’t like anything raw.” Johnny smiled, as if remembering some fond memory. “She was always a wee bit squeamish, your ma.”

You didn’t dignify that with a response, scraping a pat of butter over your toast.

It dragged on longer than you had planned, Johnny standing to help you clear away the plates while Emma yawned, blinking sleepily at the couch in the living room. She was past the age of scheduled naps but on the weekends you were lax with her, letting her pass out on the sofa while you caught up on work or reading. 

Johnny seemed to understand that he was overstaying his welcome, though his eyes followed your daughter in that wide-eyed yearning look that got him anything he wanted when you were children. “Right then, Emma,” he said, ruffling her hair. “I’ll leave you to a nap, yeah?” “What are you gonna do all day, Johnny?” Emma asked, already curling up in her favorite woolen blanket. 

Johnny shrugged, brushing her cheek with his thumb. “I dunno, lass. I’m off work for the month.” “You should go to the park,” Emma said sleepily. “The park’s nice. Mum likes to read there.” “That’s a grand idea, lass,” he said gently. “It was lovely t’meet you, Emma.” She mumbled something else, tucking her nose deeper into the blankets as she began to snore. Something in your chest squeezed when Johnny tucked the blanket around Emma’s skinny arms, more gentle than you had ever seen him.

He looked at you then, his eyes all blue and warm. “Thank ye, kitty.”

You nodded. “You’re welcome. But you should go now.” You didn’t want him to linger, didn’t want him in your house while Emma was asleep, because that meant his attention was on you. 

Johnny stood, towering over you. “Of course, kitty.”

You walked him to the door, your arms crossed protectively over your chest. 

He paused on the doorstep. “Can I…Can I come again?” You had to bite your tongue to stop yourself from saying no, to stop this cycle before it began. You didn’t want Emma getting used to a father that was gone eighty percent of the year. 

Johnny gripped the porch, as if preparing himself for your refusal. It was that gesture that made you sigh, looking out at the empty, icy street. 

“Tomorrow. I walk her home from school on my lunch break from work to Juliene’s house,” you pointed out a red brick cottage with sweet-faced woman gardening in the front. “She’s a godsend, she watches her until five now that Jack…Jack’s gone. Then I get home from work and make supper. Come then.” Meals would be easier, there was something for you to do while Johnny spent time with Emma, so you wouldn’t have to look at him constantly proving your teenage dreams right of him being a good father.

Johnny smiled, just like he used to, all teeth and excitement. “I don’t know how to tell ye how much this means t’me,” he said, stepping into your space again. You wondered how long he had been without human interactions for him to ignore societal rules like personal space. 

“I don’t deserve the chance you’ve given me, kitty,” Johnny said, the warmth of his body so close to yours oppressive. “God knows we have some unresolved words between us, but you’re the best mother I could’ve hoped for, considering that she’s…well, she’s like me.”

Johnny was raised by a human mother that treated him vaguely like a lapdog. Susan didn’t know what to do with a little boy that chewed on the furniture and got sick when she didn’t let him eat raw meat. 

It took Susan a long time to see the error in her ways, but still. You don’t let her watch Emma.

“I would be a monster to keep her from you,” you said dully, stepping back to regain your space. “She was already waiting for you.” Something shifted in his eyes. You didn’t like that look, it was the dark, possessive look he would give other kids whenever they tried to tease Tommy and you out of playing with him. 

Call it paranoia, but it seemed like he was already thinking of your little family as his. 

***

Emma waited for you next to the school doors, wearing a Winnie-the-Pooh sweater and her favorite dark blue jeans. Her friend Sasha was beside her, playing dolls with the little yarn princesses you had gotten them both last Christmas.

“Girls,” you greeted, smiling. “Sasha, are you walking home with us today?” Emma flew into your arms with a yip, barely restraining herself from licking your face.

It had taken a few years but she eventually learned that licking people’s faces, even her mother’s, was bad manners and generally unpleasant for the person involved. 

Sasha nodded, “Mum asked me to ask if you would. Daddy wouldn’t leave work.” Sasha was another case of a single mother and deadbeat father, and you had told her mother that you were willing to help with her any way you could. After all, it took a village for you to get stable with Emma, it’s worse when you don’t have anyone at all.

“C’mon, then,” you said, digging into your purse. “I brought snacks.”

Sasha and Emma brightened at the sight of two paper-wrapped biscuits, guilt-gifts from Tommy. 

The library was only a short walk to her school, and your home was only a short walk to the library, so you had just given up on the expense of having a car, borrowing Tom’s whenever you needed to drive to the city. You ushered the girls onto the sidewalk, making each of them hold your hand. 

“Tell me about your day, girls,” you said. “What did you learn?”

That began a river of chatter that you could get comfortably lost in, tales of poem books and origami and cheese sandwiches for lunch.

You liked Sasha, she was a sweet girl that didn’t mind your daughter’s wolfish tendencies, and they had been friends for practically half their lives. Sasha made you think about one day having another kid, maybe with a husband and a bigger house. 

The thought was easier when Johnny wasn’t around. He wouldn’t like any other man acting like a father to Emma, though you doubted it would bother him if you found a man to marry. He probably spent the majority of his leave at bars with pretty, childless women, while you were just a slightly sour memory of the girl he knew growing up. 

And Johnny would be gone soon. A month, he had said? You doubted it, they always called him back earlier.

“Is Johnny coming back?” Emma asked, breaking you out of your thoughts. Sasha smiled at her–they had obviously discussed the mysterious appearance of Emma’s father.

“Yes,” you said. “He’s going to have dinner with us tonight.” “Is he your boyfriend?” Sasha asked curiously. “My mum has a new boyfriend.” The thought of dating Johnny made you want to vomit. “No, of course not,” you said quickly, before the idea could take root in Emma. “He’s Emma’s father, and honestly, we don’t know each other very well anymore. He’s just here to spend time with you, bear.” Sasha clearly didn’t believe you, while Emma just nodded distantly, the cogs in her little brain churning.

You dropped Sasha off at her mother Lisa’s bakery. Lisa waved, mouthing thank you. 

“Did you like Johnny once?” Emma asked. “Like how Judy likes Tobin in school?” And there it was. Emma was not going to let this go. 

“Once,” you said. “But then he left for a long time. We don’t like each other like that anymore, bear, he’s just here for you.” That disappointed her, and you hated disappointing her. She had probably built up an image of having a mother and a father, happy and in love just like the movies.

“Oh, come on, bear,” you said, squeezing your shoulder. “You get to see him tonight, and maybe if you ask nicely I’ll stop at the store on my way home for ice cream.” That cheered her up a bit. Just like Johnny, she had a raging sweet tooth.

[historical-ham-sandwich]

Were John Laurens and Alexander Hamilton lovers?

I think I need to state the obvious here; no one knows 100% if they were lovers or just friends. We have reasonable evidence to believe that they were lovers, or at least had something romantic between them... However, we can also see that they refer to each other as "friends".

I posted a video about this on my tiktok, but I'll post this here as well; in text format instead of a slideshow.

Here is basically what I'll talk about:

History of male friendships

In ancient times, men were extremely close. They valued male friendships a lot, even more than their relationship between their wife. This was because men believed women to be inferior to men. This belief is still present today in many parts of the world, and it was, of course, a common thing to believe in the 18th century – the timeline in which Laurens and Hamilton were alive.

Men would embrace each other, hold hands, sleep in the same bed if necessary, and even go as far as kiss. Kissing your male friend, as a male, on the cheek was nothing unusual. It is not only a greeting in some cultures, it is also a sign of affection and to indicate friendship, family relationship, or to confer congratulations, to comfort someone, or to show respect... It was not generally seen as anything romantic.

Although homosexuality was highly looked down upon, people were not really as scared to be labeled as "gay" as people are today. And feelings of love were not as strictly labeled as either "platonic" or "romantic" as they are today either.

In many instances, male friendships, in the 1700s-1800s, had a similar intensity as a romantic relationship between a female and a male. Many do not know this, and therefore assume close male friends were lovers... Which is probably the case for Hamilton and Laurens.

Men would use very affectionate and endearing words to each other, which is seen in the Hamilton-Laurens letters. However, there is always a line to cross. And many think that Hamilton and Laurens definitely crossed that line.

Hamilton & Laurens

Before we dig deeper into Laurens' relationship with Hamilton, we need to discuss his supposed homosexuality.

John Laurens didn't seem to necessarily express any attraction towards women. We know this, not only because of his sexist behaviors and his lack of effort to humble his wife, but we can also read about this in his father's letters.

"Master Jack is too closely wedded to his studies to think about any of the Miss Nanny's"

Henry Laurens writes.

This basically says that John was too focused on his studies to show any interest in women.

However, he was a teenager at that time, and not every teenager starts developing feelings for people at the same age.

Henry did not seem so happy with John's lack of interest in women, but we also do know that Henry was most certainly emotionally manipulative towards John, which we also can read in letters. But I will not discuss that now, that is for another post.

Anyways, John expressed a fair lot of sexist behaviors and opinions, even towards his own sisters. Most men had some sort of sexist belief, because as said before, men believed women to be inferior. But it's almost as if Laurens showed more toxic masculinity and seemed to be quite strict on the subject. This, most likely, plays a part in Laurens' supposed homosexuality.

Laurens hid the fact that he had a wife (and a child) from Hamilton for nearly two years. This awakes questions. Why did he do that? To get a better chance with Hamilton, or to try and forget his family? Or was it simply because he didn't want to share such a fact about himself to someone new, and never found the opportunity to tell him?

Nevertheless, we know for a fact that Laurens only married his wife, Martha Manning, after she got pregnant. He married her to keep legitimacy of their child, but also out of pity.

John writes to his uncle;

"...Pity has obliged me to marry.."

When Laurens left for war, he left his pregnant wife in a whole other country... In December 1780, when congress chose John to be a special minister to France and had him travel there, Martha decided to travel with her daughter to reconnect with him upon hearing his arrival in France.

But apparently, John completed his mission and returned to the United States before Martha was able to see him.

Martha Manning died in France, 1781, during this trip. Only a year before John himself died. Their child, Frances, was sent to live with her aunt.

I don't know if he had the opportunity to bring his wife with him when he went home to America to fight, but he certainly did not make any (known) effort to visit his wife or daughter while in France.

However, a thing worth to know, is that Laurens only ever called his wife "Dear Girl", and Hamilton "Dear Boy"... As far as we know. We know that Hamilton was special to Laurens, but was his wife really special? Or was it just an affectionate name out of pity, because he felt bad? Did he grant her that name to make her feel loved? Whatever the reason is, this supports Laurens and Hamilton being lovers, or at least having some kind of chemistry, seeing as Laurens didn't call his other close friends such names.

Many believe that Laurens was gay, mostly because of his extreme lack of affection towards women, which his sexist beliefs could've played a major role in, but also because of his letter correspondence between Alexander Hamilton, and a guy named Francis Kinloch. We will never know his true sexuality though.

Time to talk about Hamilton, his wife, and his supposed bisexuality.

Alexander Hamilton was born out of wedlock in Charlestown, in the Colony of Nevis, in the British West Indies in 1755 or 1757. His father left when he was about 10 (depends on what birth year you go off), and his mother died when he was around 12-13, leaving both him and his brother orphaned.

Contrary to popular belief, Alexander did have a number of parental figures growing up. But unlike Laurens, who was born and raised to be that typical man of their time, and whose father chose his career path, Alexander was more "free".

This is a possible factor to Alexander's openness, the way he started his first (survived) letter to Laurens with the famous;

"Cold in my professions, warm in my friendships..."

Laurens was pretty disciplined, and was probably taught a number of different things on how to be the ideal man.

Hamilton, however, didn't have the same opportunity, and his environment growing up was very different from Laurens'.

We can see in letters when comparing them that Hamilton seems much more affectionate. Although Laurens uses affectionate language as well, he seems more "professional" and "careful" than Hamilton.

Another thing to note is that Hamilton was often described as feminine.

"...something almost feminine about his gentleness and concern for the comfort and happiness of other people..."

These are reasons as to why people believe Hamilton was bisexual, especially because he expressed love (true love, mind you) towards Eliza as well! Reading the letters between him and Eliza, it is evident that he really did love her.

Note that Hamilton was a flirtatious man, and that his letters to Laurens seem almost as flirtatous as his letters to Eliza. Even if his flirtatious language calmed when he met Eliza, the years before that he definitely expressed something more "romantic" and flirtatious in his letters to Laurens.

And supposedly, someone(?) had asked Hamilton if he was bisexual (in other terms, of course). I don't know whether or not this is true, but it is certainly another reason as to why people think he was bisexual.

Did Alexander really invite Laurens to have a threesome with him and Eliza on their wedding night?

The simple answer for this is "probably not."

But this obviously needs more digging.

Hamilton writes to Laurens;

"I would invite you after the fall to Albany to be witness of the final consummation"

The word "consummation" is most commonly used to refer to two people having sexual intercourse to seal their relationship/marriage. It was quite common, especially around Christians, to do this.

Hamilton is most certainly referring to this, and he is inviting Laurens to "witness" it. A.k.a., to watch. (which wasn't too unusual!)

Hamilton, in the same letter, mentions that Eliza loves Laurens in the American manner and not the French manner, meaning that she loves him as a friend and nothing more. So the possibility of Hamilton inviting Laurens to have a threesome with them is pretty low... Especially because Hamilton explicitly wrote "witness", and not "join". So, he most likely did NOT invite Laurens to have a threesome with him and his wife.

So, were Hamilton and Laurens lovers? (Conclusion)

Considering the little knowledge we have, we cannot say for sure.

Historians say that the possibility of them being lovers, at least before Hamilton met Eliza, is big!

Personally, I think it is very possible that they were lovers, or at the very least had some sort of romantic relationship. A lot of things point to a romantic bond, however a lot of things also point to them being only close friends.

But from my perspective, the romantic signs outnumber the platonic ones in their first years of friendship. It is clear, however, that Alexander did really love Eliza, and you can see an obvious change in Alexander's language towards John after Eliza came into his life.

To summarize their relationship with a bit of comedy, I'd say it's more like a high school crush type of situation; Alexander and John had a crush on one another, which possibly turned into something more serious, before Alexander fell in love with the new girl at school, and they ended up together, later marrying. High school sweethearts.

But in all seriousness, my friend actually worded it amazingly good;

"they were just real close friends trying to serve one anothers ‘needs’ till they found the one"

Which is a very good and possible theory!

But, is it okay to ship Lams?

I'd say so, yes.

Shipping historical figures is weird asf if the people didn't have any romantic chemistry and so... Which Laurens and Hamilton seemed to have.

Therefore, I think it is okay to ship Lams. But of course is it also okay to not ship Lams, and to dislike it! We will never know for sure if they were lovers or not, and we cannot say that they 100% weren't lovers or 100% were. Sadly, a lot of letters have been destroyed/not found, and we can only know so much.

Feel free to ask questions or add anything, whether it's supporting them being just friends or the possibility of them being lovers.

I know I haven't covered everything in this post, like Hamilton joking about his own pp in the first (survived) letter to Laurens, so if you're interested in reading that; go on my tiktok (@historicalhamsandwich) and check out my slideshow about this there. (I also cover more letters)

With that said, have a good day/night!! :)

[sepublic]

So in Castlevania game lore, the novel Dracula canonically exists, and is apparently just fanfiction or whatever about the ACTUAL Dracula AKA Matthias Cronqvist. But at the same time, Quincey Morris (spelled without an E) did exist and did slay Dracula, and die doing so.

Which begs the question, how inaccurate was Bram Stoker's account of events? Or was it inaccurate at all? Maybe Dracula DID resurrect and do all that to the Harkers and Lucy and whatnot. And Quincey eventually managed to kill him, though not before siring an actual son named John.

I kinda want to see a Castlevania version of the Dracula novel; One compliant to the lore. So obviously the rules for Dracula and vampires is changed a little, and maybe he's not so utterly alone this time, given he's usually attended to by an entire army of monsters. Or maybe this resurrection, Dracula came back weaker than usual and couldn't summon any of the typical lackeys like Medusa or Death. Maybe he DOES have some minions and they just take a backseat in the roles of the peasants Dracula hired.

The fact that Quincey has John means that he must've fallen in love with someone other than Lucy; So maybe he never proposed to her, or he had a one-night stand sometime between the rejection, and his blood donation. We also know there was a Lucy Seward in Castlevania canon, who was Eric Lecarde's fiancee until Elizabeth Bartley (Erzsebet Bathory) turned her into a vampire and Eric had to mercy-kill her.

This is obviously conflicting with Lucy Westenra and how her story went... And given Eric's own age in the timeline, I wonder if this could be reconciled with the revelation that after Quincey's death, Jack Seward had a daughter he named Lucy in honor of his lost loved one, only for her to tragically suffer the exact same fate, whoops I think I tempted fate right there.

There's also Castlevania Netflix's continuity, which definitely can't use Dracula as the villain because he took a major chill pill at the end of the first series. Now I'm kinda curious to see Castlevania Netflix actually adapt Quincey Morris' story, and it's blatantly the novel Dracula but with a few changes here or there to be canon-compliant; In particular, Dracula is replaced with another vampire who is identical in all but name and maybe appearance.

Because wouldn't it be funny if we got Quincey's story for either the game or show continuities of Castlevania, and despite the lore changes, it unironically ended up being a more accurate Dracula adaptation than all of the other actual Dracula adaptations??? I say this because the Castlevania games kinda get the meaning and sentiments of the novel better than the proper adaptations, somehow.

[shanmthebrave]

It’s about time I make an intro for this blog so…here we go I guess!

“Hi there! I’m ShanMTheBrave. You can just call me Shan or ShanM!”

Small bio:

- I’m from 🇵🇭

- she/her/hers (female)

- ✝️

- a huge yapper

- I like art, baking, coffee, writing fanfiction, and video games!

- I’m the AzuLeo (Azucena x Leo) CEO, so I oversee the Community as its admin and review posts :) do join our community if you like this ship! :D we’re super chill and would love to have you.

join here: https://www.tumblr.com/shanmthebrave/761152670132224000/join-the-azu-leo-community-community-on

Some fandoms I’m in/like!

- Tekken

- Street Fighter (I’m gonna play sf6 soon hopefully 🥹)

- Guilty Gear

- Persona Series (3 and 5 Royal + Strikers specifically)

- Fire Emblem

- Super Smash Bros Ultimate

- Honkai Star Rail

- Dragon Quest XI S

- Hi-Fi Rush (like it but I watched gameplay of the whole came cuz I am super broke hehe)

- Metaphor ReFantazio (started playing pls don’t spoil!)

- Final Fantasy 16 (credit to my brother lol)

If you like any of these, hit me up, I’m looking so forward to yapping about these with you!!!

Some ships I like (normal, odd ones, rarepairs, oc x canon) DM ME IF YOU LIKE THEM TOOOO!!!

- Azucena x Leo (Tekken)

- Claudio x Zafina (Tekken)

- Asuka x Hwoarang (Tekken)

- Jin x Xiaoyu (Tekken)

- Anji x Baiken (Guilty Gear)

- Chipp x May (Guilty Gear)

- Sol x Jack-O (Guiltu Gear)

- Axl x I-No (Guilty Gear)

- Clive x Jill (FF16)

- Answer x myself (HAHAHAHA LOL JK)

- Rashid x myself :3 (joke again hahaha, and occasionally I ship him with my oc)

A few things you need to know before we can be friends…:

🔅 - Just kidding!!! You don’t need to be a certain way to have a chat with me/become friends. Come as you are, male, female, whatever country, lgbt or not, whatever religion, it doesn’t matter. It’s because Christ loves others, regardless of who they are, and I wish to set an example and do the same.

❤️ - I have beliefs and opinions that may differ from yours, and that’s okay. I respect whatever you all believe in or see as right, even though I may not like/agree with them. All people are equal and deserve to have rights/their opinions and beliefs accepted.

⚠️ - However I need to say this for my own safety: I am on the younger side of the users here on tumblr (I won’t say my age). So please do not send me any content that is NSFW or anything inappropriate please! A warning would be super appreciated if you decide to ignore this.

💔 - I should also note that I’m not perfect, and I do have preferences. I won’t be willing to chat with you if you’re into things like hate or violence, or talking disrespectfully about people’s beliefs, religions, or opinions.

The most important takeaway I want you all to have from this post is that: God loves you, no matter who you are and what you believe in.

He loves you so much, He sent His Own Son, a perfect man, Jesus Christ, to die on a cross for our sins and wrongdoings.

John 3:16 says that if we believe in His sacrifice, that He died and rose again, defeating death, then we will enjoy everlasting life.

I pray that when you read this post, if you haven’t received Christ in your heart and accept Him as your Lord and Savior today, that you will learn of His love, and consider researching the Scriptures / ask others to learn about Him, and one day, repent of your sin and accept Him into your heart.

You don’t have to believe everything I’ve said. I’ve given you the key to Christ’s love. I’m happy to have shared this with you. All I pray is that one day, you’ll see the key, use it, and share it with others so that they know Of Christ’s love, and that we call all enjoy Paradise with him when our short lives come to an end.

Thanks for reading my lengthy intro if you made it this far. I love you guys, and God bless you!

[verdemoun]

so since Jack is in the timewarp AU is he fully grown-up?

does that mean timewarped gang get to see their boy all grown up?

also did any of them choose to start studying? never too late to start!

not just any fully grown-up jack but a fully grown rdr1 epilogue jack who became a gunslinger and murdered edgar ross in the tragic cycle of revenge and redemption, which lead to him being arrested and executed in 1914 at aged 19

jack is just so depressed and defeated by life, it really destroys the gang how just little of their jack there is left despite how young he still is. jack didn't have a gang, any gang, the gang, there for him -when he was so young and trapped in the same situation a lot of them found themselves in before the VDLs picked them up

also john and jack's relationship fucking sucks. like any progress they made between 1907-19011 was lost in the fact john just can't hide the fact he is angry that jack made the same stupid decisions he did.

isaac morgan and jack marston are co-dependent best friends and completely inseparable. isaac begs for jack to come on his fathers/son activities and arthur allows because he wants to see jack happy and settle into modern era. this has caused the classic arguments between arthur and john 'so you took my son camping?' 'didn't see you doing anything'.

jack is smart but he is still a moody depressed teenager with a boatload of trauma and not above screaming he wished arthur was his dad because at least arthur makes an effort

jack becomes really attached to the gang. admittedly he didn't remember a lot of them because he was so young when they split. but the 1899 gang in particular, having had an extra 15 years of maturity, experience in modern era and processing their own damage, they're actually positive role models(-ish). they're all happy to sit down and talk very openly to him about their lives and the fact you can move on and feel things get better with time

have answered about studying in the past see here! but will add jack is yet to do anything with his GED but he regularly sneaks onto the college campus where isaac is studying and reads whatever the hell he wants. isaac is also guilty of pulling 'please jack i am a humble dumb morgan and you are a genius prodigy pleeeease write my essay for me?'

[lavenderdreams205]

spn thoughts as requested

tw & spoiler warning

they should have kept the grungy filter and aesthetics from the early seasons

bring back the southern / midwest gothic vibes

dean would've listened to and loved 90's & 2000s grunge - I know that the whole "there's no good music past '79" is a key part of his personality but pre series/early seasons dean is soo nirvana / Weezer / smashing pumpkins coded

there is too much flannel in the later seasons - I miss the carhartt and leather jackets so bad

BRING BACK DEANS JEWELRY

there's so much about cas that we don't know. there's all the episodes where he just isn't there and they never tell the viewers what he's doing or where he went

on the same note, cas's personality isn't nearly as flushed out as sam's or dean's are. who is his favorite musician? what's his favorite place to travel to? why does he like the pimpmobile so much? does he actually like the trench coat or does he wear it just because it's there?

so many people characterize cas as a little guy, and while he is cute, it's important to remember that he's also an incredibly powerful eldritch horror who leads angelic armies and brands Michaels vessel just because

dean is bisexual and in love with cas - I won't take the time to list all of the reasons here, but you can definitely find those reasons somewhere

i would've loved for them to use the handprint as a physical manifestation of their bond instead of having it be just a scar that fades with time

i'm actually really ok with the way cas dies, I think it makes sense for his character and provides closure (for him, at least, not for dean)

the parallels of cas and dean meeting in a barn and then dean dying in a barn

cassie is deans first love, cas is his last

the imagery of the empty as cas's wings in 15x18

why do the subtitles spell cas as cass, its awful

there's a few lines in the early seasons that seemingly reference dean getting roofied / sa'd and are subsequently played for laughs, Jensen Ackles confirmed that dean would've done underage sw when John didn't leave them with enough money. I believe that this trauma is a major reason that dean never accepted his sexuality

the way deans alcoholism is overlooked and joked about is actually insane

having dean be completely ok after 15x18 is also insane, especially after the widower arc where the show specifically shows it's viewers how deeply dean grieves cas when he dies

deans death is literally so stupid. I get that the show is trying to make a really meta point about the characters not having plot armor anymore because chuck is gone, but dean deserved to find peace. if the events of the show had never happened and pre series dean had never gotten pre series Sam back into hunting it would've ended the exact same way - dean dead on a hunt and Sam dying from old age

dean spends as much time on earth as he did in hell, and while he would never be the same, I like to believe that if he had been allowed by the narrative to live longer he would've gotten back a little of the twinkle in his eyes that he had before hell

in 15x20 Bobby says that cas helped rebuild heaven but if he was there he would've gone to see dean. additionally, there's no way cas should have been able to escape the empty. this is such a glaringly obvious plot hole and it drives me nuts

I would've liked to see cas's wings in the show - not just the shadow of them

the only time I tolerate serious discussion of wincest is in the context of ethel cain

i am a Sam disliker - while he does have many positive qualities, I have a really hard time getting past him not looking for dean when he was in purgatory and him joking about deans alcoholism and other traumas

i like Sam the best when he's with Eileen, I think they're adorable together and I'm mad they killed her off

I am a chronic jack defender, that boy has done nothing wrong

it would be interesting to explore cas and jacks relationships with their respective genders

there's no way being forced to murder the dean clones didn't affect cas, we only saw him kill the last one but the first few he had to kill had to have been devastating

i'm really disappointed by 14x13 Lebanon, we get the scene with John and Sam but I would argue that dean has significantly more reasons to be upset with John and it's unfortunate that the episode just glossed over this - I believe a screaming match between the two would have cleared the air a bit and been at the very least cathartic for dean

i'm fairly sure that it's canonical that John sent dean away on his 17th birthday to kill lesbian ghosts. my personal hc is that John suspected that dean was bi and sent him to teach him a lesson

i saw a post on here comparing hunting culture to biker and cowboy culture and viewing those things through a queer lens and I thought it was fascinating - there's so much spn could've done if it cared about the show more than money and losing viewers

every time cas and dean beat the shit out of each other, it serves as further proof of their relationship rather than discrediting their relationship - ie demon dean and cas fighting in the library is used to parallel Cain and Collette. it could even be assumed that their love is stronger because Cain killed Collette but dean left cas alive

The purgatory love triangle was so silly

once dean worked through all of his trauma and toxic masculinity he would've been a swiftie

all of the main characters have old / vintage cars but in like season 13/14 dean sam and cas just collectively own and use this really ugly silver truck from the 2010s. its such a small detail but it absolutely ruins my viewing experience every time I see it

dean is actually really smart but most of the fandom overlooks it because Sam is characterized as the smart one. if you know anything about cars you know it takes an insane amount of brains to build a car from scratch (he did this with baby multiple times throughout the show) also he just makes an emf meter using basically nothing. if dean had been given the same opportunities he gave Sam, he would've been an engineer or something

i will always be a John hater, if this man has 0 haters, I am dead

[softrozene]

Arthur, Dutch, and Hosea React to Shy Adopted Girl

anon asked: How would Arthur, Hosea and Dutch reach if they adopted a little girl to the gang, who was shy and didn’t talk to much, would get super shy and hid behind them if they met a stranger??? Something cute and wholesome. 

rdr2 masterlist

Something cute and wholesome is here! Activate protective dad mode for all three of these men because they will straight up turn into a mama bear for said child. Enjoy Love! 

Originally published on October 27, 2020

Warnings: Just pure wholesome fluff and hidden threats of violence and death from the overprotective men.

Words: ~800

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 Arthur Morgan-

Arthur is not a fan at first, like at all

He thinks it is simply wrong to have a child join the gang, especially one that is Jack’s age but that is why Hosea and Dutch push for it too. Because she seems to be an orphan

Eventually, it is Dutch’s call, so he listens but keeps his distance from the girl

However, once he realizes that she is pretty much the opposite of Jack, a complete shy and non-talkative child, he opens up since he does not want his ear talked off (He overall acts mean at first but he loves both kids and would die for them)

He tries not to get too close to her since he does not want more baggage of being relied on but that…. Fails of course.

She follows him everywhere and picks flowers for him constantly

He realizes that she is just the cutest thing and it doubles with Jack since the kids get along perfectly, something Abigail and John would be grateful for

Again, he still tries to keep his distance or pretends that there is one but if she asks for something like candy or a toy, he will go get it within the next few hours if he could

He really ends up spoiling her and pretends he does not

The second the little girl hides behind him- Arthur’s whole world changes

He picks her up so she can hide her face in his shoulder and glare at anyone who might be looking a the shy girl

 Dutch Van Der Linde-

He is the one that suggests it

He saw she has no parents so he will bring it up, get Hosea to agree, then adopt the little girl into the gang and raise her as his own- That is the plan until he finds out how absolutely shy and adorable she is

Nothing like the other few he raised who turned into rather loud mouth idiots sometimes (that he loves of course)

He would love to go get her some of the best outfits many can buy (in this case stolen goods but same thing) and Molly is over the moon to help choose for her

Molly is one hundred percent accepting of this and loves how cute the girl is (May see her as the perfect dressing up buddy so they can match)

So out in public, Dutch holds her hand but the second a stranger comes in view, he notices the girl likes to hide herself from view by hugging his legs

His heart melts and he vows then and there to protect her at all costs

Because of the type of personality, the girl is clingy which makes it much harder for Dutch to get things done but he does get to read his philosophy books to her and answer her questions seriously, no matter how silly they do tend to be

 Hosea Matthews-

Hosea is the one that is conflicted about the situation at first because he knows that a little girl deserves so much more than to end up being an outlaw but at the same time since she is an orphan deserves all the love the gang can offer her

He of course ends up agreeing with Dutch and it is Hosea that keeps an eye on her to make sure her transition is going smoothly

He does not care who it is- A stranger, Micah, Sean, or someone else who starts to make her cry from either light teasing or a stare- Hosea will do a warning shot before threatening to not miss between their eyes

Then he will do a complete flip when talking to her- Offering to read to her or show her how to make flower crowns and necklaces with Jack

Hosea is the grandpa of those two kids so he will not hesitate to put anyone else in their place as he spoils them rotten

And he encourages to spoil them rotten

He also teaches her (and Jack with the consent of John) how to pickpocket, steal anything, speak with confidence towards anything, and all the likes so they can at least have the options when dealing with the outside world

He does oversee Arthur, John, or Charles teach the kids self-defense

In his opinion it does not matter how young they are- The more they know the better equipped they will be and the more his heart can be at ease

If she hides behind him- Hosea will just chuckle and pat her head

If she gets sleepy but tries to hide it so she can stay near him he will simply pick her up so she can doze off

100/10 best grandpappy