#if it really needs to be about john and mary
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All The Things I Did (10): Together We Can Get Somewhere
a/n: ayyyyeeee we are back on the common era timeline! heavy dose of morning after pillow talk. a really great scene between cass and harding that i love sm. a tiny bit of background on cass/mary. and some of the filthiest john/cass acts we have ever seen. but we are all so feral for possessive john that i am not sure anyone will really mind. we are slowly progressing towards him singing blue skies and i know so many of us (including myself) are waiting to see cass in that moment. it also means north africa and her brother and LONDON are working their way towards us as well...come chat with me! xoxo
warning: smut
The sun filtered in gently through the blinds of her window, Cass’ eyes fluttering open slowly. Most mornings she had gotten in the habit of Mary frantically knocking on her door or the incessant cawing of an alarm clock but today she woke feeling settled. As light as a feather. Warm and sated and full of a new vigor to face down whatever the day may have planned.
Her head was rested against the inside of the bicep of the man behind her, the gentle and rhythmic rise and fall of his chest showing no signs of disturbance.
She closed her eyes briefly with a smile and raised her arm to fill the gaps between his fingers with hers. It felt so right to wake up in his arms and no matter how many times she did, she didn’t think she would ever get used to the exaltations in her chest and the bubbling, unbridled joy that ached to sneak up her throat and out her mouth as a declaration of love and comfort and commitment to always and forever.
“Good morning, baby,” he mumbled into her hair. John curled around her tighter and puckered his lips against the back of her head before settling back into the dreamy place between waking up and falling back asleep.
“Morning, Johnny,” Cass replied as he moved his arm to wrap around her waist and pull her back flush to his chest.
“Go back to sleep. Staying here with you all day.” She giggled and rolled over so the tip of her nose nestled into the notch of his collarbone.
“Say good morning again.” He cocked an eyebrow.
“Good morning, Spook.” The deepness of his voice in the morning reverberated through her with a pleasant hum and desire took over as her tongue flicked against the front of his throat.
“Something about you in the morning is just infinitely more delicious,” she reasoned as she propped herself onto her elbow.
“I appreciate the sentiment, Cass, but I will appreciate it even more if you let me hold you a little while longer.” His chest felt empty without the weight of her head against it. His arms felt barren without her body to wrap around. In a short amount of time, Cass had become an intrinsic part of him. He needed her around to feel whole. Needed her touch to feel alive. Needed to express his love to her in order to feel anything at all.
“I get antsy first thing in the morning,” she rested her head back on the pillow and her hand found his cheek as his smoothed over the contours of her pert butt cheeks, “if I don’t get up right away, I never will.”
“I fail to see the issue with that.” John was known for falling in and out of sleep until he eventually decided he should get out of bed. The warmth of blankets and softness of a pillow were perks but not necessary. He had fallen asleep waiting in line for dinner at the mess hall. At the Thanksgiving dinner table with his family. During his college graduation. It was truly a gift in his mind.
“I’m positive my entire day is going to be filled with retelling the story of Berlin over and over again for hours at a time.” He tightened his arms around her.
“Tell them to fuck off if it becomes too much.”
“Just like that?” she chuckled, kissing his lips and then his nose. “I’m not as prolific with my insolence as you are, Major Egan.”
“Prolific insolence? Spook, I need a few minutes in the morning for my brain to be able to process your brilliance.” The way her nipples were pressing against his chest was doing nothing to help either.
“Well, we are going to have plenty of mornings like this for you to work on it.” Cass pushed his curls back from his forehead as he leaned down to kiss her. “In South Carolina, I could hear the birds chirping every morning and the sounds of the wind rustling the trees and my sister’s dog barking at the squirrels…” Her voice trailed off as she let herself think of the memory. She hadn’t left her home and her family on the best of terms and there were moments that she regretted it more than anything.
“Sounds like a dream, Cass. I can’t wait to wake up with you in my arms just like that.”
“Tell me about waking up in Wisconsin.” John sighed and settled back into the pillows, his hand rubbing up and down her back as she rested her head on his chest.
“My sisters were always up before me so they could use the bathroom mirror to get ready. I could always hear them bickering over their hair and their makeup and accuse each other of stealing the other’s dress. That was my alarm clock. And my ma’s morning cigarette and pot of coffee wafting up the stairs…” She smiled as he drifted into the memory.
“Do you miss home?” she asked as her fingers found the wispy curls on his chest and traced over them gently.
“I miss my family. I miss American food,” they both giggled, “but being with you feels a lot like home, Cass. I’m learning it doesn’t have to be a place. It can be a person.” She kissed his shoulder.
“I like that.” His eyes widened with glee as he sat up and pressed her back into the mattress.
“Cassandra Ann Cooper, you like that? Like? That word means nothing to me.” The cheshire cat smile was wiped from her face as his finger found her sides and tickled her relentlessly. “I cannot believe you would reduce my declaration of you feeling like home to that word.”
“You win! You win!” she wheezed as she coughed around the ferocity of her laughter. “I’m warmed by the sentiment. How’s that?”
“Much better.” He kissed her lips then her cheeks then her nose and everywhere else on her face he could reach.
“Can you promise me something?”
“Anything.”
“Promise me we’ll always be like this. That we’ll always laugh and have fun and wake up kissing and go to sleep kissing and you’ll never shut me out of that beautiful mind the same way I’ll try to never shut you out of mine.” The dichotomy of Sidney Landry and John Egan was not lost on her. The way Landry had made her close herself tighter and feel weaker and sullen. The way he had poked and prodded at her until her fire retreated into a corner and eventually went out. But John stoked the fire inside of her. He breathed oxygen into her soul and nurtured her passion and knew the right time to add fuel versus when to calm her down. He was her twin flame, dancing and flickering in the night and relaxing to a morning filled with warmed embers.
“I promise, my love, I promise.” Her legs settled around his waist as he kissed her like he might lose her, a wet trail making its way down her throat and between her breasts, past her belly button and to the aching apex between her legs. John was nipping at the inside of her thighs when there was a knock on the door.
“Lieutenant Cooper? Colonel Harding is asking for you.”
“I need-” she sucked in a breath as his tongue teased at her entrance, “-five more minutes, Mary.”
“I’ll have her ready in two!”
----
The fabric of her uniform felt itchy against her skin after a morning of John’s skin against her own. True to his word, he had gotten her over the edge in damn near exactly two minutes. Had her thighs shaking and toes curling and eyes rolling to the back of her head. Cass remembers her sister or her friends sitting at afternoon tea together and blushing over their wedding nights and the appetite of men. They always talked about it being painful and never full of pleasure. They had learned how best to take care of themselves and on particularly hot afternoons, would exchange tips on what worked for them and how they hid their own releases from their husband in the middle of the night. If she was a betting woman, she would bet this was not something she would ever have to worry about. John seemed to derive more pleasure with his head between her legs than he did in any other situation. She smirked at how jealous her older sister was going to be when she told her.
“Lieutenant. You’re looking much better this morning,” Colonel Harding remarked as he motioned her into his office.
“Yes, sir. I slept very well.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Not because Berlin meant nothing, sir. Was just at the limits of my exhaustion.”
“Well, I’m certain the OSS equipped you with all necessary skills to complete your missions and still sleep at night. Have a seat.” She smoothed her skirt underneath her and sat in the chair across from him. When she went to cross her legs, she was reminded of the gift John had sent her on her way with. His warm cum was coating the inside of her panties It had been less than an hour since she’d left their love nest and her clit was throbbing with need.
“Sir, I believe my after action report for Berlin was thorough and contained everything that the upper brass might ask-”
“I didn’t ask you here to talk about Berlin, Cassandra. I have a separate issue I require your assistance in remedying.” It wasn’t very often someone was able to surprise her. She was intrigued.
“Of a personal or professional nature, Colonel?”
“It’s a gray area. I need a plus one for a dinner with my British counterpart tonight.” He puffed around the cigar in his mouth as Cass rolled her eyes.
“That is what you have an executive officer for. A plethora of coffee cart girls and typists and-”
“None of those people you’ve listed are as beautiful as you. As smart as you. As talented as you at asking just the right questions to get the information I need to make sure him and I are on the same page.”
“The Brits are our allies, Colonel, they should be telling you exactly what you need to know whenever you ask for it.” He smiled at her wolfishly and she had to admit he was a handsome man.
“Exactly, Lieutenant. You always know what to say.” She really wanted to argue with him and decline the invitation but the professional flattery was working wonders on her. She blamed John for increasing the pliancy of her mind from the moment she woke up that morning.
“Fine. I suppose this dinner could be mutually beneficial. I’ll see what I can scrounge up in terms of proper clothing.”
“No need. I had the tailor in town come up with something I’m sure will be to your liking.” Twice now he had gotten the upper hand on her. Cass was beginning to feel like she had underestimated the Colonel’s commitment to pursuing her.
“If it doesn’t fit right, you’ll be hearing from me.”
“My girl got the measurements from your girl. Shouldn’t be an issue.”
“Miss Richards would never offer up my personal information unless you had hidden your true intentions and I will not have you or anyone else attempting to trick her like that.” Mary had become a sacred corner of solace in Cass’ life and she would protect her as furiously as she would anyone else she loved. They had been working together since the moment Cass had graduated OSS school and been assigned to Thorpe Abbotts. Mary had been responsible for handling all of her paperwork and supplying her with her uniform and everything else that most people took for granted behind the scenes but Cass had known was the difference between success and failure for her tenure across the pond. The secretary had not been used to an officer bestowing such praise and genuine gratitude upon her and the two of them had been inseparable ever since. No matter where she went, Cass planned on taking Mary with her.
“Understood, Lieutenant. I will make sure it doesn’t happen again.” Harding’s eyes twinkled at the passion on display in front of him. How he ached to go back in time and take her for himself that night in London. The way she had shined in her satin gown and diamonds draped around her neck and had even laughed with eloquence at everything the Brit said to placate him into trusting her. The way his heart had damn near fluttered when she conversed with the Belgian representative in perfectly accented French. Against any rationality in his brain, he had almost gone to the small jewelers down the street to buy her a ring right then and there. In a different world, Cass would’ve said yes.
“Good. I’ll see you tonight, Colonel. I have a habit of being on time so please be prompt to pick me up.”
“I wouldn't deign to keep you waiting, Cassandra.” Her tongue was physically clamped between her teeth to prevent the biting words from coming out of her mouth. She hated the use of her full name unless John was using it to try and capture the magnitude of his feelings for her. When the letters of Cass were just not enough and he needed more. It was also why Cass had yet to refer to him by his ever present nickname of Bucky. Something about John, the name his mother had given him, she felt showed that she loved exactly who he was at his core. Exactly who he was when he had been born and exactly who he would be if it all ended. She loved the innermost sanctum of him just as much as she did the boisterous, intelligent goof he always presented himself as. Every nook and cranny was hers to explore and love and cherish for all time.
“I’ll see myself out, sir.” Cass was turning on her heels and out the door before he could quip anything back. “Have a nice day, Eloise.”
“You as well, Lieutenant!” Cass didn’t blame her for Harding’s surreptitious behavior towards Mary. She knew the two women were close friends and would always trust Mary’s gut as much as she trusted her own.
Her steps took her out into the fresh air, her hands ripping the tie of her uniform over her head as she checked her watch to try and figure out where John might be. It was in between breakfast and lunch so he wouldn’t be at the mess hall. She knew he wasn’t scheduled to fly any practice missions today and he would have gotten his maintenance report from Lemmons first thing in the morning. Her best guess was mission briefings in headquarters or he was talking Mary’s ear off until Cass returned to her billet. She’d start with the offices.
Everyone who passed her seemed to sense she was not in the mood for conversation. Her hands were clenching in and out of fists at her side, her steps more than purposeful as she moved towards her intended target.
Not only did she need to warn John about the potential circus she had just agreed to participate in but he had also promised her a reward if she found him after and had held onto his cum like a good little Spook would know how to. Cass shuddered with anticipatory pleasure at the thought.
The office spaces were abuzz with navigators and typists and orderlies as she successfully worked her way through the crowd and politely greeted each and every person that she crossed paths with. Standing by the large canvas map and watching the way her OSS colleague was tracing the route of their next mission were a group of men but most importantly there was Major John Egan.
“Lieutenant Cooper! I was hoping you’d be available in time for the next portion of the briefing. You are much more familiar with Regensburg than I am,” Major Bowman announced as she joined the group, flushed and breathless and ready to cash in on whatever John had planned.
“Oh, that is coming up isn’t it?” she mused, not even sparing the Major a glance as her gaze was transfixed on the profile of her lover. “I’m sorry, sir, but might I borrow Major Egan for a moment?” It was going to be longer than a moment. Most certainly. But she didn’t want to give the officers any more of a reason to snicker than they were already getting. And she really wasn’t waiting for an answer, her finger lacing with his and gently tugging him in the direction of her office.
“Sorry, Red,” John shrugged as he followed after her, “we all got our duties!” The door slammed shut behind them and Cass was closing the blinds to offer them as much privacy as they could find in the cramped building.
“There’s something you must know,” she began as his lips were already attached to the side of her neck. Biting and sucking and repeating before soothing over the new marks with his tongue. “Colonel Harding invited me to dinner tonight.” That served to get his attention.
“Did you tell him you had my cum between your legs?” John dropped to his knees and shrugged off his layers so he was left in his button up. Cass lifted her hips off the wall as he shimmied her pencil skirt up her legs.
“I could feel it the whole time. Keeping me warm.” He hummed at the sight of the wet spot through her panty hose.
“Such a good girl,” he whispered in a trance. With one hand on either side of the waistband, he pulled and ripped her tights clean down the middle.
“John! These are good tights!” she gasped.
“Things that get in the way of me and you may get ripped.” He tossed the offensive fabric to the side and his mouth watered at the prize that rested between her thighs. Dainty, pink lace covered her cunt and the remnants of his morning wood was snuggled up against her. “We have to get some of this back in you, baby.” He gently kissed the sensitive skin below her belly button as his fingers curled around the band of her panties and slid them down her legs. Cass stepped out of them, John bringing them to his nose before they were tucked into the inside of his sheepskin. “We smell so good together, Spook. Could die a happy man with that scent wrapped around me.”
“Don’t talk like that,” she pleaded as one of her legs went over his shoulder. “Don’t talk about leaving me.” His fingers traced around her entrance, the tip of his pointer finger broaching her slowly as he pressed his cum back into her.
“Colonel Harding know that you took me with you to your meeting? Do you think he knows you make me come so hard that my cum leaks out of you?” Cass sighed as he began to gently tease her swollen pearl.
“He invited me to dinner with the Brits tonight.” John paused and his touch slipped from her wetness. “Wants me to be fully spooky. Bought me a dress to wear specifically.” His eyes dragged up her body and he rose to his full height, her leg dropping shakily to the ground but Cass made no move to readjust her skirt.
“You’re going to wear a dress he bought you while on his arm at a fancy dinner?” She nodded. His hand wrapped around her throat and she whimpered. “You said I was yours. That also means you’re mine. And I’m going to fuck you so hard, Casssandra Ann Cooper, that you won’t know anything other than that fact tonight. Are we clear?”
“Yes, Major.” He had said the night before that he would have his time to take control and ravish her. She was delighted that the time had come. John kissed her in a way she knew would bruise her lips, spanking the bare skin of her bottom that was peeking out from under her skirt.
“On your desk,” he ordered. Cass practically skipped over to her desk and wasn’t quick enough to carefully put away her belongings before one swipe of John’s wingspan sent it all crashing to the floor.
“John! They’re going to hear-”
“Part of the fucking point,” he muttered as he lifted her by the waist and placed her on top of her desk. He grabbed his sheepskin. “Lift your hips.” She did, the jacket going under them to provide him with better leverage. He gripped around her ankles and pulled her so her cunt was right at the edge of the desk.
“Make it so I only know your name and the way you feel inside of me,” she whispered. Cass’ mouth salivated watching him undo the buckle of his belt, his cock springing proud once he freed it. One hand went to each of her knees and pushed down until she was pliant and ready. He pressed into her slowly as black spots practically danced across his vision at the way being inside of her felt. It completely forced all of his thoughts into one singular thread to please her and provide for her in any and all ways.
She was only able to take half of him before her walls were contracting around his shaft and he moaned her name with no qualms over the notion that someone could hear him. Let them know who he belonged to and who she belonged to. Let them know that no matter Harding’s efforts to woo her away, she would always come back home to John Egan.
“I belong inside of you, Cass. You belong wrapped around me like this.” His hips were snapping as quickly as he could without hurting her, fingers curled around the side of the desk as she tried to anchor herself to reality. “No one else is ever going to have you like this. No one is allowed to ever dream about you like this.”
“Yes, John. I’m fucking yours. Fucking all yours forever.” John swatted at the hand that was reaching for her clit and replaced it with his own. She gasped and bared her throat and he ached to sink his teeth into the supple skin as she began to chant his name like it was holy. To her, it was.
“Come for me. Come all over my cock, baby.” Cass obliged his request with a curse and a cry before focusing on the way her lover’s features were pulling together tightly.
“You’re so beautiful when you fall apart, John, so beautiful and all mine.” She used his tie to pull him down against her lips and she swallowed his moans as he quickly pulled himself from her and shot his cum over her inner thigh. He kissed her like an animal as his high worked its way down to a simmer and the racing of their hearts calmed to a normal pace. “I would’ve had Harding ask me out sooner if I’d known,” she breathed. Feeling like seeing how far she could push him, Cass reached a fingertip to the soft skin of her thigh and dragged it through the creamy substance before bringing it to her lips.
“One day, when all this is over, I’ll give you all the same things he can. Fancy dresses and dinners and whatever else his salary can buy.”
“John? You really think any of that means something to me? Matters in how I feel even a smidge?” Her palm rested along the curve of his jaw so her thumb could land on his lips.
“I know it doesn’t. Doesn’t make my desire to give it to you any less,” he murmured before kissing the pad of her thumb.
“I have plenty of dresses and been to plenty of dinners. But I’ve only got one John Egan and I’m rather fond of him. Would like to keep him around and in one piece for as long as possible.”
“Well, Spook, the world could really only handle one John Egan, don’t you think?” She smiled widely with a giggle and he pulled her closer for a kiss to her lips then nose. “I love you. No one else. Just you.” Cass closed her eyes and nodded in understanding.
“Whenever Red is done pretending he knows what he is doing, you can bother Mary and me while I get ready. Escort me to Harding’s like I’m sure you want to.” What he wanted was to be able to provide for her the way she deserved. Be the type of man worthy of being called her husband one day. Love alone didn’t buy a house or nursery furniture or a fence for the family dog.
He had no way of knowing the family wealth she came from. That his worry about providing for her seemed beyond frivolity. That anything she could ever dream of wanting could be hers tomorrow with the Cooper family name behind her. She had meant exactly what she had said. The only thing money could not buy her was love and the only person she wanted it from was John Egan. Cass knew he had it in spades.
“Once I see you in that dress, I might not let you leave.” His nose nuzzled against hers.
“You will when I tell you that if you let me leave, you’ll get to take it off as quickly as you wish after.” He could rip it to shreds if he wanted to. John knew he wanted to.
“I want to dance with you in it after. Get another taste of the life we are going to have once we go home together.”
“Home together. Makes my heart warm.”
“Don’t tell Buck. I’ll never hear the end of it.” Cass mimed locking her lips and throwing away the key. “My Spooky Spook. So good at keeping secrets.” He kissed her to lock it in for good measure. Cass looked down at the cum drying on her legs and the mess of papers and paper clips and other office supplies on the floor.
“We have quite the mess to clean up.” John hummed.
“Good thing no one came knocking.”
#john egan#john egan fanfiction#masters of the air#masters of the air fanfiction#mota#john egan x oc#callum turner#cass and bucky#john egan fanfic#john egan fic#masters of the air fanfic#masters of the air fic#mota fanfiction#mota fanfic#mota fic
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Reverse robins brainrot but not to the side even I expected
So Tim aged eighteen goes to circus with his father, because that was one of the last happy memories they had with Janet. Bruce also comes with sixteen years old Jason, who weren't in the field, just adopted by Bruce, because he uncovered student of his orphanage to criminal pipeline and was mostly training under Bruce and Damian to follow them, Damian is a part of covert operations team under the Justice League, he couldn't come because Arkham had an escape this day and he needed to come here to deal with it.
Apparently Mary Grayson remembered Drakes and specifically Janet, and seemed really sad that she died. Drakes and Graysons made a photo about ten years ago, and well, somehow they decided to make another photo together. Back than it was Mary, her brother Rick, his wife Karla and their son John, who at that time was six and didn't act on trapeze. Now they expanded with Mary's husband John and their child Dick. The kid was very enthusiastic, telling Tim he was allowed to family's routine for the first time (which was a lie, he just tells it to everyone who aren't really deep into the following circus circles on media or whatever, because people get worried if they hear he's been doing it for a couple of years already). But this time he was mostly to do some tricks in the begining with cousin John and at the end with his parents, because he was still getting better from a bad cold he had, and he was only allowed to act out the less risky parts of their show. Tim told him he would watch for his performance, even though this whole thing still left a bittersweet taste in his mouth, but the kid didn't need to know that. Dick was a very tactile kid and hugged Tim closely. What neither Drakes noted was how Dick stole Tim's wallet, and how cousin John got it back to exactly the same pocket. He promised not to tell parents, but for that Dick would have to bring him an ice cream after the show.
Tim and Jason were sort of friendly in a way that our father's get all over each other but not in the romantic sense and we have to awkwardly stand next to them while they talk to each other and catch up for literal hours. Jason also shared that Damian couldn't come, but was somewhat indifferent to that, because Damian had always called Jason a charity case, so their relationship were strained, he didn't know about the current Arkham escape, while Bruce did. They politely talked about school, circus and some tv show that was big lately.
From time to time they made jokes or comment about the act on stage, sometimes framing everything as a reference to some meme or show just because they could.
And then the Flying Graysons came, a closing act, and Tim told Jason about what he knew about the family and their youngest member, Jason sort of frowned about the kid this young being allowed to risk so much, but both just decided that circus people were crazy just like that.
And then they saw the family fall during the difficult trick Dick didn't participate in.
His only alive Grayson relative from the group was Rick, all the news were about it, and well, Mr Wayne was somewhat invested, and well, Tim followed news, all movements and threads, he almost ready to reason with his father to adopt Dick, because... there was some other player that didn't let the kid stay in circus' care, and it surely wasn't out of his best interests, because he ended up in juvenile.
And then somehow an alive relative resurfaces, a sister of Karla living in the Gotham, Harleen Quinzel. Mind you that she isn't Harley Quinn yet, even though she already works with Joker and other mentally unstable villains as an Arkham therapist, and while she's single, she can afford take a good care of a child. She didn't have a chance to meet him in person yet before all of that happened, but they were both aware of each other, and even talked like once over video call, mostly because Harleen's nephew John was showing her some moves and Dick also wanted to show off with his cousin who he loved dearly, so yes, they were practically strangers. She was to come to their performance, but got caught up in an Arkham escape attempt.
And yet she was his relative, even though they didn't share any blood, so she took him in. Aunt-in-law and all that.
And then the Joker and Harley era came, and while Harleen really tried to make sure Dick stays out of it, he was searching for ways to avenge his parents. So it all turned into a big mess. Tim followed what was going on, he learned that the kid everyone called Pierrot, after he got caught on camera doing a trick no even much of adult athletes could do, was Dick Grayson, and well, he didn't kill, but he acted as a decoy more than once, he taunted police, other goons, Batman and Wraith, while at the same time leading children away from the craziness and harm's way. Also he was as likely to help bad guys as he (though everybody thought Pierrot was a girl, and more than that, Harley and Joker's daughter) was likely to help good guys.
Was as likely to take victims to safety as to danger. Show vigilante and police a way to ruin Joker's plans as to lead them into traps. Do what he was told to do by Harley and Joker as to do exactly opposite.
He covered his face with two-sided black and white mask, one part was smiling. Some said that it could be understood what he was going to do by the way he tilted his head, but so far it wasn't ever accurate.
And then Harley and Joker got caught and put to Arkham. At that point Tim tipped Batman on who the kid possibly was, and he told that to Jim, because having a tiny child running errands for super-vilains wasn't really sitting with any of them well.
So Batman was let to talk to Harley.
"Where is your nephew-in-law, Richard Grayson?" Batman said. Harley looked a bit out of it, but then smiled.
"He's in the walls." But then Harley surprised everyone when she grabbed Batman, he was expecting her to steal something from him, but he still let her do so. "There is a Talon after him, Bats, don't let him take little guy away."
First thought they got was that they killed a child and put him literally inside some wall, but then some records showed Pierrot from time to time coming to Harley, and that was how they caught him. And the phrase about Talon sort of made sense, as there was a figure in black following the kid.
Tim was the one to actually follow and find Dick. Mostly because Dick remembered him from circus and became curious why Tim was jumping on roofs without funny costume.
So ye, here we have this brainrot
#dick grayson#tim drake#bruce wayne#harley quinn#dc#hisa being dumb#reverse robins#damian wayne#jason todd
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i could KILL him for this. motherfucker's every interaction with children has him being, if not nice, then at minimum kind and forgiving and genuinely invested in their wellbeing.
he asks crying kids what's the matter, he's afraid to hold a baby because he's worried he'll drop it, he goes after people who are mean to kids without a second thought. his whole mentorship with timothy hunter is him trying to do right by that kid no matter how he feels about it at the time. man would be the most loving dad in the world but because of his own awful goddamn father and the ways he thinks he takes after thomas, he doesn't think that's true. i hate.
#this panel made me SPITTING mad for real he breaks my heart#the way his father fucked up his whole mindset and self-image is something that makes me so violent#me rattling the bars of my cage yelling about how the family man arc was a vessel for conveying constantine's fears about his father#how it made him feel responsible for his father's murder after his dad had called him the killer of his mother his whole life#then made him a literal killer which turned that childhood nickname into a self-fulfilling prophecy & his dad into an unintended oracle#how constantine has always been afraid of becoming his father and yet that's exactly who he had to emulate to survive the world of magic#and then vertigo gave him the fucking rosacarnis arc which made him unwillingly a dad and his kids killers. i'm unwell#i NEED john constantine to know how good a person he really is and how loved any kid of his would be#the one thing new 52 did right for him was making him genuinely loving and caring towards rose#instead of making him pawn her off on everyone around him. which i fear a lot of writers would make him do these days#i NEED him to know he's better than who raised him#they say mary anne constantine would have been a good mother if she'd lived and i think there's a lot of her left in her son#not that he'd ever believe it#hellblazer#john constantine#i'm very emotional about him right now#oxly hollers
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The need to write infatuated Sherliam being all up in everyone’s business about it; unable to curb their enthusiasm for one another, absolutely dramatically obsessed with one another
Vs.
Infatuated LouJohn who are too polite and proper and busy putting out Sherliam’s fires to give anyone the slightest inkling that they’ve just been making out across M’s desk.
#I need it#I need both#listen I know Mary but shush I have headcanons for this which allows for this situation#I just think Sherliam and their handlers all being in love is neat#and Louis needs a good man to take care of him#and John needs a little danger in his life or he’ll get bored#Sherliam#LouJohn#I promise I’m still working on EO I really am I just also can’t stop thinking about this recently#yuumori#yuukoku no moriarty#moriarty the patriot#ynm
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trans headcanons of the winchesters are always extremely fun to play around with and i can see most of them. but one that always rings slightly false to me, despite a love for it due to self-identification and the fact it’s definitely interesting, is transmasculine dean. simply because if you’re going according to canon this would require him to have transitioned at some point prior to johns death, probably much prior, probably as a youngish kid. and i genuinely do not think that ever could’ve happened. he values johns approval too much and is too scared of demanding too much of him.
like even aside from whether john is Actually transphobic (i doubt he’s like Cartoonishly transphobic he probably would be annoyed by it slash not care much, interpret ‘not caring’ however you want) just the whole Thing of coming out where you’re like. “Hey dad im actually a human person who has an internal sense of self and such that doesn’t happen to be You 2.0 and am not the gender you thought i was and i feel emotions to such an extent that i actually like need to transition”…….
no fucking way dean would ever be able to do that to john while he’s still alive. please. teenage transmasculine dean would be like Well yeah sure i want to be a guy but that’s not an option for me whatsofuckingever. and crucially he’d be like that even if he knew entirely about trans people. now this is why transfemme dean works so well. because you just know it would take her at least thirty years to even consider it for a singular second.
on the other hand transmasc sam works so well because you can picture teenage transmasculine sam realising he’s a boy and promptly making it part of the whole entirely justified and very cool and fun teen angst rebellion FUCK YOU DAD thing. he could let spite carry him to the point of coming out. dean? he is burying that shit deep.
#Idk there’s still stuff to play with i find really interesting#at the end of the day it’s like. canonly dean buries everything about himself and just takes on the shape of his dad dads music dads car#dads jacket dads anger etc-#dean is expected to be a certain way. and he becomes very good at that certain way#he’s playing the role his father decided for him long after his fathers dead#i think a theoretically transmasc dean while still just as determined to prove himself and like. into hunting and probably vaguely the#machismo of it all too like canon dean. i think he would still very much as a teenager play into the whole eldest daughter mary 2.0 (more#than in canon he’s already mary 2.0 but he’s also meant to be john 2.0)#like transmasc dean would bury it and keep performing badass Tough Chick femininity#obviously after transitioning he’d be just like canon dean but he’d have to get to the point of transitioning first Which would take foreve#dean conforms to the role john expects he does what he thinks is needed of him#hence why it’s so hard to imagine a younger him transitioning. transition is a deviation from that tightly plotted role#Hence why in canon maybe transitioning would save her because it would inherently mean she’s gotten over some shit!#ANYWAY. gender in spn is so interesting#dean winchester#trans dean winchester#I still love transmasc headcanons though ofc#spn#oliver talks
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Taken from an interview with In Defence of Fandom podcast, the Winchesters writers discuss Castiel's return and outright deny the parallels between John and Mary and Dean and Cas (when it's all there). They all say it's up to interpretation as damn usual.
The writers are being really cowardly and should explore Destiel with the care and respect it deserves.
#supernatural#dean winchester#castiel#destiel#the winchesters#john x mary#spn#i really wish they explored this more#the writers were too scared to do anything#really insane we didn't get cas in the winchesters or barely even a mention#i need dean and cas to talk it out about the confession so badly
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Here’s two doodles (late night edition)
#Malevolent#Malevolent Podcast#6#WOW LIKE WHERE DO I EVEN START#First like them talking and stuff#John sorry bby you felt isolated but I mean come on friends never hurt anyone#And NOEL!!! Frickin’ love this guy#SO MUCH USEFUL INTEL WHAAAAT. CHARON TREASURER ORDER SIGIL LIKE SO CRAZYYYYY#AND JOHN WAS PART OF THE CONVERSATION!!! I have no idea why the second Arthur started talking I just burst out laughing for like.#So many minutes#But it was so wholesome and gratifying! Like we only get this type of freedom with Kayne bc he can hear John so having a trustworthy friend#Hearing us is nice#Unrelated but soundscapes were really good this ep like dang surely one of my fave eps of the season#And then um. Whatever Aldrich and Percival scenes were#That story was kinda cute I forgot about it way to tie it back to the beginning during the penultimate#JOHN STOP FORGETTING THINGS WE NEED TO BE PAST THIS#MARIE GIRL I’LL MISS YOU YOU WERE VERY FUN AND EPIC AND OUR FIRST WOMAN CHARACTER SO UHH YEAH#ALSO YOU TALKING ABOUT UR SON MADE ME WANT TO CRY OKAY HAHAHA#Noel!!! He’s just the best I tell ya#WHEN HE WAS LIKE UR OFFICE CUMMINGS DREAMLANDS KING IN YELLOW PRISON PITS THE CANA ADAM FRY LIKE OH MY GOOOOOOODDDDDDDD#I DIED IT WAS LIKE SO CRAZY HE LIKE KNOWS SO MUCH IS SO SIMILAR TO US IT’S CRAAAAAAZY#AND DUDE IT’S REALLY HARD TO NOT CALL YOU NOEL STILL#WE GONNA BREAK! IN! AND IT’S GONNA BE EPIC!#ANS THEN WE’RE OFF TO ENGLAND!!! WHAT I’M SO EXCITED#FIRST MIZU FROM BLUE EYE SAMURAI GOES TO ENGLAND AND NOW ARTHUR WHAT A TREAT#MALEVOLENT’S SO COOOOOOOOOOLLLLLLLLLLLL
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i think it goes without saying but dutch and his band, greatly ruined any prior idea of a gunslinger for abigail. and hearing any romanticization of it, makes her eyes almost roll out of her head.
it's hard to be impressed by their lack of fear and lack of remorse. after a month of initial introduction the fascination definitely wore off. of course, she can understand better than most the why ( why it needs to be done ) but knows she can't defend it when it's needless ( she herself often objects ).
throughout her days, especially as a young runaway, abigail witnessed and experienced much violence. being done to others and herself. but she isn't an open book.
#( headcanon ) *#( study ) *#i got asked how she could reject arthur#and i rambled but the main idea was his manners didnt always recommend him. who he could often be.#she's rational enough to know she doesn't want to enter a life where she has to be alright with it#it wasnt that he would hurt her or jack#it was part her not wanting to get accustomed to the violence he brings (senseless at times)#john is a separate can of worms i also explained it was similar reasons. people hear her say she dislikes the violence but dont fully#comprehend the depth?#love all those outlaws to death and so does she but yeah#she really doesnt like gunslingers#i may have to alter my rules about shipping but im actually not here#working on commission work so i wont be here for a while#but felt this was important and ive been sitting on it for some time#also need a mary because i can see them having a conversation and UNDERSTANDING each other so well#love my girls so much#edit: it's deeply sad how arthur sees it as him not being worth loving#but in actuality it's because she can't FULLY accept him. and cares enough to not lie about it
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oh so 1x22 really is exactly calculated to make me specifically go fucking feral huh
#im sorry i. jxkdkahyeiwiwkskshdhdjsj#i keep phrasing the start of a coherent post in my head and then getting sidetracked by absolutely fjcking losinf it over something else#jesus. jesus h christ on a motorized bicycle on main street. i was SPOILED for this i KNEW what had to happen and im still gojng BONKERS#what the FUCK#i need to watch like the last 20 minutes of this again right now what the fuuuucl#no actually what i need to do is go outsidr and run some fuckin laps or something but it is the middle of the night. woooargh#ugh. dean. crying wailing#the fact that. sam doesnt notice. he doesnt see anything wrong with john reassuring dean and telling him hes important. because he believes#what demon-john is saying is true.#but DEAN. knows damn well what his father thinks of him.#and then the demon confirms it. they don't need you like you need them. (dean in the motel breathes through sam shoving him up against the#wall says some days i feel like i can barely keep it together - you me dad it's all i've got - )#DEAN ONCE AGAIN THROWING HIMSELF BETWEEN JOHN AND SAM. POSSESSED JOHN OR NORMAL JOHN DEAN KNOWS HOW THIS GOES .#okay if i were to change one (1) thing about this episode i would have the demon pin dean to the ceiling when he nearly kills him. REALLY#lean into the dean mary parallels of it all#GOD. so we agree that sam held off from shooting the second time not because dean going sam no appealed to sam's conscience or anything like#that#sam knew damn well he and john agreed on one thing and that's they'd both die to kill this thing#but sam couldn't do that to dean. because dean's only got the two of them and losing either of them would destroy him#(no. says sam. glances into the rearview mirror at dean blood on his mouth gaze unfocused. not everything.)#natural soup
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Me, a polyamorous person who quietly appreciates 99% of the ships, often conflicting and/or polycule:
"yeah, I don't like how they wrote this character/ship"
Any living soul:
"OMG ThEsE FUckInG SHiPpErs haVE To sHiT oN EvrYThInG THaT inTErFeRes wHIt TheIR PaIrINg!!!😡🤡!!!🤢!🤡!!🤡🤢!😡!!!!"
#like i agree in the past a portion of the fandoms community were a bit out of control#but chill out dude#we're in 2022#let me not like a character that is objectively poorly written#or a canon pairing#dear god basically all canon pairings are poorly written#am i talking about yennifer and geralt? who knows#it happens every single time with that pairing i don't think i've ever been able to express even a neutral thought about them#i only accept yennifer and geralt together if there's also jaskier because somebody who stops the abuse is dearly needed#the witcher#the witcher netflix#no I'm not gonna tag the canon pairing i have learned my lesson#fuck you btw#bbc merlin#merlin#because I'm really sorry but gwen is my least favourite#she's cute when she's with lancelot because them at least you see falling in love and be cute#with arthur she wakes up one season and she's suddenly in love with Arthur#I'm not tagging sherlock because mary is an amazing character and i actually love how john and Mary's relationship is written#is it an unhealthy relationship? absolutely. but it makes so much sense. and it's written soo good#next tags aren't the ones i disagree but for the people who relate to the post#geraskier#merthur#hannigram#johnlock#nandermo#idk tag your ship#inthepipes
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then emerge again able to believe in everything, faithful and unafraid to ask even the simplest of questions, happy to have them simply answered.
Sea of Faith, John Brehm
#sea of faith#john brehm#poem#poetry#Poems#poet#poetry quotes#poets on tumblr#words#quotes#quote#quotations#quotation#Daily Quotes#quotes about faith#mary oliver#bc lets be real no man could write this line without#reading mary oliver often#anyway hello im back folks!#i cant believe how long its been i really need to read more#i miss sharing these words with you!#my ask is always open for recs tooQ
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DPxDC Warlock Batfamily
They're not warlocks in the traditional sense, no fancy spell work or obvious theming. In fact, most anyone less magically attune than John would just assume they were metas like anyone else on the team, but they weren't.
It took a while to notice, just passing off the magical fluctuations around them as the ebb and flow of the natural world, or maybe some residual curse vibes from Gotham (ew). But it was too consistent. When Batman slipped into the shadows it pulsed, and when Oracle seized control of nearby computers it surged. When Nightwing took his inhuman leaps into the air simply trusting that he would reach his lading point it soared and when that nightmare of a Robin brought a room to darkness it rested like a heavy weight on his shoulders.
They weren't individual users, their eclectically cohesive group structure was too uniform for that; but they weren't some family of sorcerers either, being quite obviously unrelated by blood save for a few. The most likely answer was that they were all warlocks in service to some common diety, taking on aspects of its power to enforce it's will upon the mortal world- and John really hoped it was a helpful entity, because they were in deep shit.
Peeling the partially liquefied tentacle off from across his chest, Constantine sat up and brought his hand up to cup his bruised face. He prayed to whatever was least likely to hold a grudge that their little hail Mary there had bought them enough time to perform a summoning.
"Hey Bat, get your patron on the phone, this is getting fucking Eldritch."
"What the hell are you talking about," Hal Jordan pushed himself out of the rubble with a massive green fist construct. "Bats isn't a magic user."
"Hm." Batman grunted as he picked bone shards out of his gauntlets. "I'll need to get something for the ritual."
Everyone present sat up to look at him like he'd grown another head, except Superman and Wonder Woman who seemed a little excited.
"I'm sorry, you're a magician?" The Flash pipes up from behind the ruins of an old altar, only to receive a level glare from his black clad coworker.
"Warlock."
"Oh."
Constantine grabbed onto some chains hanging from the precariously damaged ceiling, rising to his feet. "We don't have much time; that thing's off licking its wounds in space or something, but it'll be back. You go off and collect whatever artefact you have from wherever you hid it and I'll start drawing the circle, where are we pulling your Patron from?"
Batman nodded in agreement. "The Infinite Realms."
"Fucking Hell."
-
The Watch Tower was crowded when Batman returned flanked by two other members for his little hero coven, carrying a small case decorated with constellations and nebulae.
Wonder Woman stepped up to look at the container, obviously curious, but not touching it.
"It will be wonderful to see him again, Batman. After this is dealt with I hope to hear the tales of my sisters from beyond."
"He'll definitely be happy to chat after we're done," Nightwing commented. "I hear he's been training with Pandora."
Red Robin nodded to that, an exasperated look on his face as he likely anticipated a long and drawn out conversation about different kinds of swords. Amazons liked their blades.
John gave that idea some concideration, Amazonian ghosts probably get up to some killer fights without having to worry about, ya know, death. He called out to the Dark Knight, "I've got the circle done, now we just need your call."
The three of them walk over to the summoning circle unceremoniously carved into the watch tower floor, Batman narrowing his eyes at the damaged paneling but saying nothing otherwise. The Dark Knight opens the case in his hands and pulls out what appears to be a small model space station.
The Coven spread themselves evenly around the circumference of the circle and Batman begins the ritual. "Salve patrōnem, egō stellam vocō." He throws the model space station into the circle where it appeared to float as the symbols in the ground lit up.
Slowly, a figure formed in the center, first as hands holding the model and spreading out over its arms and to its body in the shape of a young boy. He seemed to be wearing a black rubber hazmat suit with white accents and green lichtenberg figures crawling up his left arm. White hair appeared and with it piercing green eyes that seemed to be fixed on the toy in his hands. A cape flowed out behind him less like fabric and more like the endless void of space littered with stars and a cold weight settled on the room.
"Damn B, y'all really fucked up the floor this time."
Red Robin snorted, "Nice to see you too, Danny."
#danny phantom#dp x dc#dc x dp#dpxdc#danny fenton#dcxdp#red robin#nightwing#batman#justice league#john constantine#watch tower#summoning#patron god au#writing prompt#dpxdc writing prompt#dcxdp writing prompt
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Holmes and Watson are unwell about each other (10/10, no notes), but they are also the epitome of “right person, wrong time” which is not a trope i thought i liked but here we are.
I hold with canon all the way until Holmes’ retirement (or somewhere around the mid 90s) (because there’s no way in hell that Holmes wouldn’t have invited Watson to Sussex, or that Watson would have said no, but i better stop before i get off track), so i do in fact subscribe to the “Watson married Mary Morstan” detail that a lot of people find clever workarounds for, and I actually like that more than the alternative. I love that John Watson had an entire separate life, that he tried the married man thing, that even then he couldn’t pull away from Holmes, and that ultimately, when he lost them both and then got Holmes back, he devoted the rest of his life to him. I love that Watson saw and lived the alternative to eternal “bachelorhood” with Holmes, because it makes his choice to go back to him after his return from the dead more significant. Holmes never had a choice imo; he was already firmly against traditional life, and he loved Watson and needed him. Watson didn’t have such qualms about the right way to act in society, so it took trying it out – and death itself – to show him what he really wanted. He got Holmes back, said “oh thank god, i get to try again and THIS time i’ll do it right,” and never left him again (i am side-eying late canon SO hard rn. We are not friends). And that fully-informed commitment is so soulmate-coded i need to go feral but also lie down
#acd holmes#it’s about the decades of yearning#the decades of everything being not /quite/ right#and then it finally is#sherlock holmes#john watson#wso
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one warm day is all i really need | arthur morgan x reader
Arthur doesn't think you're interested in him any more than you're interested in fishing, which ain't much. You hope he shares even an inkling of the feelings you have for him. It's no surprise to anyone else in camp that there's something between the two of you, and they make sure you get a chance to show each other how you really feel.
The details: 3.9k words. Female reader with a backstory that isn't really elaborated upon in this fic but might be at a later date if I have the spoons; several gang members act as side-characters/wingmen (and women); alcohol and cigarette use; sex (pretty vanilla, but a little rough and intense). NSFW. This is also my first fic for a new fandom, so please be gentle with me. It's been a while.
Arthur first notices your eyes on him one evening around the campfire at Shady Belle. He won’t accuse you of staring– Lord knows he’s been known to look at you with the same foolish grin you’re wearing now– but he tips his hat to acknowledge you. The heat in your cheeks is suddenly warmer than what the fire has already provided; your grin only grows until your teeth are showing, and you duck your head into your shoulder to hide. Arthur takes a long swig from his whiskey bottle and grimaces as it goes down. He hasn't had a drop of anything in days, and the burn takes a little while to grow numb to now.
“Think she's sweet on you, Morgan,” Sean says in his Irish lilt, giving Arthur an elbow in the ribs.
“Naw, she's lookin’ at you,” Arthur deflects, though he hopes he's wrong. He thinks he knows.
“She told me last week to keep my eyes on my own work,” Sean continues. “I really don't think it's me she wants, Arthur.”
You turn to whisper something to Sadie, who laughs out loud with her face tilted toward the stars. You dare a glance back at Arthur, who is, in fact, looking at you.
Maybe there's some truth to what Mary Beth told you yesterday.
“Arthur's been awful quiet lately.”
The sun shines through the trees and dapples the table where you're seated with bright spots of pale yellow. It's your third round of dominoes with Mary-Beth, and she's whooping your ass, as usual. You don't know how she does it, but each game you play, you're a little more privy to her prowess.
“You think so? I don't know him as well as you.” You hope it isn't obvious that your heart started beating a little faster at the mention of his name. It leaves you breathless.
“Oh yeah,” Mary-Beth continues. “He's been scratchin’ away in that journal of his a lot more, too.” She leans closer, conspiratorial, her eyes twinkling with the gossip she's about to share. “Karen said he went to town twice last week to have a hot bath. If you knew Arthur like I know Arthur, why…you'd know that's highly out of character for him.”
“But you said he'd been quiet. Is that unusual for him, too?”
She hums and purses her lips. “Well you see, Arthur isn't usually a man of many words on a good day. But it's been real bad lately. He don't even give John a hard time like usual.”
You ponder the dominoes for a moment and then make your move. It doesn't earn you any points, but at least you didn't have to draw. “What do you think the problem is?” you ask, nonchalant as possible.
Mary-Beth smiles. Big and bright and sparkling. “Oh, it's not a problem at all.” She lowers her voice and cups her hand to her mouth. “Arthur's in love.”
You gasp, then giggle behind your hand, and Mary-Beth follows suit. Hosea looks on and shakes his head, so you quiet down, reaching across to grab Mary-Beth's hands. “Who do you think it is?”
Her cheeks are tinted pink, and she looks around to make sure there aren't any ears to hear. Word travels fast around camp if one isn't prudent. “I think it's you.”
A thunderstorm rips through Shady Belle a little over a week later. Your little tent that you share with Sadie is ripped straight off its supports in a terrible gust of wind, and you and the others hightail it inside the house to take cover just as it begins to hail. There's quite a ruckus as everyone huddles inside, windblown and rain-soaked. A few of the men hold up lanterns to illuminate the darkness while you watch the lightning and feel the thunder shake the old bones of the house.
“Everyone just calm down,” Dutch calls, descending the stairs, wearing some ridiculous robe with his arms spread wide. “Are we really gonna let a little old thunderstorm keep us from getting a good night's sleep?”
“Says the man with a bed inside the house,” Arthur bites, rounding the corner from what used to be the kitchen, holding a lantern up high in front of him. “Dutch, you better allow these ladies to take cover in here for tonight, or I'll–”
“Or you'll what, Mister Morgan? Pray tell, what kind of man do you take me for?” Dutch's eyes are fiery as he stares Arthur down; a display of dominance. A veritable cockfight.
Arthur's jaw twitches, but he doesn't back down. “The kind of man I should hope would have some goddamn respect for his family.”
There's a tense moment or two where everyone is quiet, then Dutch relents. “Fine, fine! But I expect everyone out there pitching in to clean up in the morning.” He points at Arthur and raises his voice again. “That includes the other man with a bed inside the house,” he sneers.
Arthur shakes his head, then looks away only to catch sight of you, shivering in your wet undergarments, huddled close to Mary-Beth for what little warmth the two of you can share. For a minute, he forgets to breathe, then composes himself enough to cross the room.
“Come on in here. Get yourself warm and dry by the fire.” His hand on your elbow is rough but warm as he leads you toward the fireplace. You nod and look back at Mary-Beth, who shoos you away with a flick of her wrist and a wink; you notice that her teeth are chattering. Despite the humidity that hangs heavy in the air, the temperature has turned chilly with the storm.
Arms crossed over your bosom to preserve any shred of modesty you might have left, you allow yourself to be led away by Arthur. Dutch and some of the others head upstairs while Charles and Javier keep watch from the front porch.
“You alright?” Arthur asks. He covers your shoulders with one of his heavy winter coats, and you pull it around you, grateful for the weight and warmth of it. Another clap of thunder shakes the house and you jump. Arthur chuckles.
“You laughin’ at me?” you quip, placing your palms flat in the direction of the fireplace. You don't even bother to hide the grin you feel curling on your lips.
“No madam, I am not,” Arthur says earnestly, taking a seat beside you on the old wooden crate he's set up as a makeshift bench.
“Then just what do you find so funny, Mister Morgan?”
He scratches the back of his neck, looking into the flames. “Aw, I dunno. I'm sorry. It's just that you're…”
You bump him with your hip, unable to stop the giggles that bubble up from your chest. “I'm what?” you pry.
There's a clatter of something falling on the front porch, and Arthur uses it as a good excuse to get out of this hole he's dug for himself. “I better go see what's going on out there. Charles might need my help.”
“I'm what, Arthur?!” you call, to no avail. He's gone before he can see the proverbial hearts in your eyes.
The saloon in Rhodes is a little nicer than the ones you visited in Valentine, though it's a far cry from the ones you used to frequent in Saint Denis. Still, when Sadie and the other girls decide that it's high time you have a little fun in town, you throw on your best dress and let Karen curl your hair and even apply a little of the makeup you snagged from a homestead up north. For the first time in months, you feel like a proper woman. There isn't time to be melancholy about the past, though, when the boys start whistling and cat-calling upon the sight of you and the other girls.
“Aw, knock it off!” Sadie hollers. She's decided to dress up a little tonight, too, much to everyone's surprise. But she hikes up her skirts to hop into the wagon, calling for the rest of you all to hurry it up. “I've got a bottle of rum with my name on it that's waiting for me to come drink her all down!”
You catch the sunset on the way to town. It's dazzling over the meadows, all golden light and warm, blazing oranges and reds that settle into a brilliant pink by the time your reach the main road into Rhodes. You wish you could see Arthur's eyes, but he's got a handle on the reins next to Charles in the front of the wagon. You've seen him watching the sunset before; he always looks so peaceful those evenings at camp, and you often wonder what he thinks about in those few minutes before the horizon is painted in pastel hues.
Karen starts singing a song that everyone eventually joins, and before you know it, you're pulling up in front of the Rhodes Parlour House. You can already hear the piano and a few voices from outside; the sound of it stirs something in your soul that makes you long for the familiarity of home, but you quickly shove it aside in favor of the company of your new family.
“Madam.” Arthur's voice brings you out of your thoughts and back into the present, where he waits at the back of the wagon with his hand extended to you. You beam at him, and he feels dizzy. And when your soft hand fits into his, he straightens his knees so they don't buckle and betray him.
“Why, thank you, kind sir,” you say, lifting the hem of your skirts to step out onto the dirt road.
Arthur leans in, dangerously close to your ear. You can smell the whisky and cigarettes on his breath, along with the faint tang of gunpowder and hair pomade. “You sure do look nice in that dress.”
You demure and fan yourself with your hand. “Just how much have you had to drink already tonight?” you giggle.
“Ahh, just a little nip to take the edge off.”
“Mm-hm. Sure, Arthur. Whatever you say.”
The night starts off relatively calm, as most nights do. You and the other girls find an empty table to sit and pick up on the town gossip, and the men start a hand of poker. It grows loud and crowded sometime around midnight, and it's hard to have a conversation without shouting over the din of voices, the clink of glass bottles, and the slow drag ragtime music from the piano. The ambiance is charming and lighthearted, and there are even a few couples drunkenly dancing on the porch.
You push back in your chair and find that when you stand, you're a little more wobbly than you thought you would be. The alcohol has loosened you more than you realize, and you grip the table for support until you feel a firm arm around your waist. “Whoa there.”
It's Arthur, who has won the last round of poker and has come to check in on you and the other ladies. You're pulled tight against his chest for one fleeting moment, and you look up into his eyes. He, too, seems drunk, with his eyes gleaming and drooping at the corners, his smile easy and his cheeks flushed.
“My knight in shining armor,” you slur, pretending to faint in his embrace. He only pulls you tighter against him, both of his broad hands splayed across your back. You laugh, and he smiles.
“You weren't getting another drink, were ya?” he questions with a raise of his brow.
“‘m thirsty,” you whine, lifting your empty glass entirely too close to his face. It knocks against his nose, which sends you into another fit of laughter.
Arthur takes your wrist– gentle but firm– and lowers the glass away. “Think you need to drink something that's not whiskey,” he drawls. You can't help but watch the way his lips form around the words; the slip of his tongue between his teeth, the way his mouth turns up into the hint of a smile when you pout. Before you can think too long and hard about it, you lunge forward and kiss him. Hard and clumsy and impulsive. You don't give him time to react. You're far too involved in the kiss to notice, but the girls at the table behind you have all gone silent. Arthur slides his hand along the side of your face and presses his fingers upon the nape of your neck, kissing you back like he really means it. (He really does.)
You pull back suddenly, breathless and reeling, swiping the back of your hand over your mouth. You're still held firm in his embrace, but the playfulness in his gaze has been replaced with an intensity that makes your knees weak all over again.
“What'd ya do that for?” he asks.
“Could ask you the same thing.”
“Well, you started it.”
“And you finished it.”
“Oh, I ain't finished with you, yet.”
“That a promise or a threat?” Your pulse is thumping wildly in your ears.
“Ya know, they got rooms upstairs for that!” Sadie shouts. There's a ripple of laughter across the table. Arthur's hand on your cheek feels like a brand, his arm about your waist an anchor. The rest of the room comes back to you in a woozy blur, and you look around, a little lovestruck and a whole lot drunk. Arthur's lips at your temple make your eyes flutter shut, and the room fades to black as tIt'weight of you slumps against him. He staggers only slightly, but holds you firm, chuckling softly.
“It's a promise,” he whispers.
You come to some hours later. Your mouth is dry as the desert, your head feels like lead, your skin broken out in a cold, uncomfortable sweat. At some point, it seems you were covered with a downy soft blanket, and the pillow at your head is much more fluffy than the makeshift one you made out of a bedroll at camp. At first, you think you're dreaming. Then, you wonder very briefly if you're back at your childhood home in Saint Denis. You almost call out to your mother when you hear a soft snore from the other side of your bed.
The room spins when you turn your head, and you rub your eyes until Arthur comes into focus. He's sprawled in an armchair a few feet away. His arms are crossed over his chest while his chin is tucked into his chest. Off to the side, you spy his boots; his big toe pokes through a hole in his sock and you smile at how vulnerable he looks.
“Arthur,” you whisper, shifting slightly as you pull the blanket up around your chin.
He grunts and lifts his head slowly. He frowns a little at first, but when he focuses on you lying there, so close he could reach out and kiss you again like he did last night, there's a slow, easy smile that spreads across his face.
“Hey there, party girl. You feeling alright?”
You could kick yourself for all the giggling you've done around him lately, but you can't help it. He brings out something giddy and downright foolish inside you, so you toss a pillow at him and bury your face in the sheets.
“Aw, come on now. I'm just messin’ with ya.” He leans forward and rubs your head affectionately. “I'd say you were feeling pretty good last night.”
It's in that moment a white-hot jolt of sheer panic shoots down your spine. Quickly, you check to make sure you're still wearing clothes. Aside from your breasts being a little lopsided in the confines of your bodice, you're relieved to find that your dress is still intact and– more importantly– on your body. You dare another peek at Arthur and notice that his shirt is unbuttoned down to the middle of his chest and he's discarded his vest somewhere, but he, too, is fully clothed. Thank the good Lord above.
You must've said that last part aloud, because Arthur laughs. “Don't worry, nothing happened. Though it weren't for lack of tryin’ on your part,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. “Thought I was gonna have to lock you in here like some feral cat till you settled down.”
Oh. Oh Lord. You try to recall what happened that led you to this room, but all that comes to mind is a lot of loud conversation, some dancing, a spilled drink across Sadie's lap, and Arthur's hand on the side of your cheek. “Oh…”
Now you remember it in vivid detail.
“Didn't know you cared for me like that,” he says. It's earnest and tender, a few shades less intense than the kiss you now recall, the one where it felt like he wanted to eat you alive right there in the middle of the saloon. Now, he thumbs your cheek and looks at you so fondly you swear your heart jumps right up in your throat. “I mean, I'd been hoping. Wasn't sure you was looking for a romance.” He huffs a short sigh, frustrated with himself. “Aw, hell, what am I saying? ‘Course you weren't. You're just looking to survive, just like the rest of us, and here I–”
“Shut up,” you say, taking hold of his hand and tugging him closer. He resists until you pull even harder, watching the fire in your eyes blaze to life. “You talk too much, Yankee.”
“I ain't no damn–”
“Kiss me.”
He's over you in an instant; you're pressed flat against the bed, completely and totally at his mercy. This kiss feels different than the drunken one last night. It's sober and honest, if not a little hesitant, as if he's holding himself back from devouring you wholly. The warmth of his body against yours takes your breath away. Or maybe it's the way his tongue laves heavy into your mouth, unashamed of how badly he craves the taste of you. You grip his hair at the roots and tug him down to kiss him harder, lifting your upper body to meet him until he presses down, his chest flush with yours.
Things get heated quickly.
His mouth moves across your cheek, down your neck, and he groans against your skin, rutting his cock against your thigh. You fleetingly wish that he had managed to get you out of that dress before he presumably tucked you into bed and passed out in that chair, because there’s a whole lot of fabric between you and him that really pisses you off right now. Arthur must feel much the same, because he’s bunching your skirts up past your knees while you’re fumbling with his belt buckle, desperate to feel him against you, inside you. It’s clumsy and crazed, rushed and rough, but you manage somehow to shuck off every last bit of your clothes and his until you’re breathless and so, so eager beneath him.
“Need you now,” you whine. You feel insane. Dizzy and dehydrated, impossibly turned on, every nerve ending on fire when his callused hands grip the fat of your thighs and open you to him.
“Greedy little thing, ain’t ya?” One of his hands slips between your legs to find you wet and swollen. He presses the pad of his thumb against your clit and pushes a finger inside you; the sound you make nearly has him finishing there on the sheets, so he wastes no time in getting himself as close to you as humanly possible.
“Never wanted something so bad,” he murmurs into the dip of your shoulder. He wants all of you– all at once– wants to fuse his hands against your skin and sink himself into you so deep that it would be impossible to tell where he ends and you begin. The heat from his body takes away what little breath you have left, his mouth on each part of your body building the buzz in your chest until you feel like you might just burst open. You grab at each other like it's the first and last time you might have this opportunity, as if you want more than what the other of you is able to give.
Considering the kind of life you’ve both led so far, it’s a good possibility that you might never get to do this again.
“Give it to me,” you plead, opening yourself further to him, fingers wrapped firm around the base of his cock. “Please.”
Arthur Morgan is a man of incredible strength and self restraint, except when it comes to a woman like you.
There’s nothing gentle about the way he takes you. It’s primal, sweaty, filthy, rough. Arthur pushes as far inside you as he can go, then pushes further when you beg for more. He cups your knees with slick palms and presses you open as far as you can bend; you tug roughly at his hair and bite down on his shoulder when the pleasure builds to a blinding ferocity. The wooden bedframe knocks angrily against the wall with each thrust, but you can’t bring yourself to care if anyone hears. You can’t focus on anything beyond the feeling of him filling you with every stroke of his cock, of the taut, corded muscle in his back and shoulders as you grapple to hang on as tight as you can. Your orgasm hits your hard and fast, and he encourages you through it, taking his time to give you long, controlled strokes. It’s as pleasurable for him as it is for you. “‘Atta girl,” he rasps, lips moving against your ear. Your hand flies to your mouth to muffle your cries, but he pulls it away and threads his fingers with yours, pressing it onto the pillow. “I wanna hear it.”
Your moans are what drive him over the edge.
He buries his face against the side of your neck, panting heavily as he comes, driving into you so hard that you can almost feel the mattress beneath you begin to sag under the weight. You cradle his head in your hands and link your legs around his waist, boneless and languid in the aftermath of your own pleasure. When he moves, you move with him, riding out the waves together until you’re both too tired to move another muscle.
Neither of you speak for a while. He lies on his back with an arm around your shoulders while you curl against him, tuned into his heartbeat and swirling little patterns into the hair on his chest. It’s comforting to feel him next to you, to watch his chest rise and fall as he steadies his breathing, to soak up the warmth of his skin against yours.
You’re the first to break the silence. “Did everyone else go back to camp last night?”
Arthur nods slowly. “Something tells me they planned all this.”
“Planned it? You mean…” You lift your arm slowly and flick your wrist to acknowledge the room you’re laying in. “This?” You lift your chin and grin at him. “Or getting us together?”
“Room was paid for before I even had a chance to ask if they had one,” he explains. “Think it was Mrs. Adler.”
You vaguely recall her shouting something about a room after you kissed Arthur last night, and you shake your head. “You complaining?”
He turns to his side, draping an arm across your hip. “Me? Never.” You’re suddenly pressed beneath him once again; from the looks of it, you won’t be getting out of this bed anytime soon. “Specially when I’ve got you here to help me keep warm.”
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Writing Foundations: Creating Paragraphs
You can have the best story in the world, but if it’s all in one chunk on the page, you may struggle to find people willing to read it. To break it up, you need to know where and when to create new paragraphs.
Every new paragraph starts with an indent. So, to create a new paragraph, hit the enter key, and then the tab key, which is typically on the left side of the Q and either says TAB or looks like two stacked arrows pointing in separate directions.
So when do you start a new paragraph?
1. Anytime a new character speaks
The most obvious place to break up your paragraph is when a new character is speaking. Take this example.
“Hi John,” said Mary as she walked into the room. John was reading a book, and tucked a bookmark between the pages as she sat next to him. “how was work?” “It was good,” she replied, “but my boss really didn’t like the draft I sent her.” “That’s too bad, I thought it was some of your better work.”
Vs.
“Hi John,” said Mary as she walked into the room. John was reading a book, and tucked a bookmark between the pages as she sat next to him.
“How was work?” He asked.
“It was good,” she replied, “but my boss really didn’t like the draft I sent her.”
“That’s too bad, I thought it was some of your better work.”
See the difference? So you make a new line whenever a new character is speaking. In the case of Mary speaking twice, “It was good…” “but my boss…” we keep that in the same paragraph. Whereas when John speaks after Mary, it becomes its own paragraph.
The only time you may split the same character speaking is if they have a large chunk of dialogue. In that case, you can split their dialogue according to the next rule.
2. Any new idea
This isn’t necessarily a hard rule like the last one is. We have a lot of room to make interesting creative decisions when breaking up description or action. For the most part, though, you’ll want to break up your paragraph whenever there’s a new thought or idea. So:
A thin plastic film coated the room, making the furniture gleam in the sunlight streaming through the windows. On her right sat a couch upholstered in ivy coloured fabric, untouched by time.
Anna swept her fingers through her hair, chewing on her lip. She watched Rick out of the corner of her eye, “What are you thinking?”
The detective’s expression was completely neutral, though he clutched his pen tightly in one fist. In his other hand was a notebook, three questions written across it in blocky text,
1. Why are all the clocks stopped at 5:32?
2. Where’s the murder weapon?
3. Why did my wife leave me?
“Same as the others,” he said, tapping his pen against the last question, “the plastic wrap killer.”
So in this example we go from describing the room, to describing an action Anna is doing, to describing the detective, and then his notes. These are all separate ideas, so we can split them into their own paragraphs.
As well, as long as it’s about the same character or within the same ‘idea’, description can be paired with dialogue. You can see Anna’s dialogue comes after the description of her. You can totally do this, or you can split it into its own paragraph if you’d like. It looks natural where it is because Anna is the subject of the paragraph, and she’s also the one speaking.
In the case of the detective speaking, his action comes between dialogue. Also allowed, since the detective is the subject of that paragraph.
3. Any new location or skip in time
Similar to the last, if the scene starts outside, when they move inside it’s a new paragraph. If they go into a new room, get into a car, etc. Any time they change location, it starts a new paragraph. Same for a skip in time. If you need to go from day to night, new paragraph.
Kayde looked anxiously up at the looming oak doors. The windows were dark, layered in years of dust and grime. It’s now or never, they thought.
They pushed through the doors and into the foyer.
Kayde seemed to wait there for hours, and by the time someone came to greet them, it was already dark outside.
4. For style/effect
This is one of my favourite parts of writing. Once you nail when you should be splitting your paragraphs, you can start to play with splitting them for effect. I do this quite a lot. Take this example:
She fixed an ugly stare at herself in the mirror, long locks of brown hair hanging in front of her eyes. A pair of sharp scissors gleamed at the edge of the glass, pinched between her fingers. Dania raised the scissors to her hair.
Snip.
A lock fell towards the sink, the edges rough and imperfect.
Snip.
Another.
She chopped and hacked away at her hair until it was clumped in an unsightly pile over the drain of the sink, her head round and covered in patches where she didn’t quite get close enough to her skin.
She was finally free.
While the cutting of her hair could be in the same paragraph, it gives it more drama and effect when it’s split. Any time a character is going through something shocking or emotional, maybe try playing around with the paragraph to see if you can add some additional drama to it.
Paragraphs can be as long or short as you’d like them to be, as long as you have intention behind it!
#writing#creative writing#writers#screenwriting#writing community#writing inspiration#filmmaking#books#film#writing advice#writing foundations#writing foundations: creating paragraphs#formatting paragraphs#paragraphs
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-What they’re like as your bf/gf (Hcs) 18+
Arthur Morgan, John Marston, Dutch Van Der Linde, Sadie Adler, Molly O’Shea
Request- Hi if it’s okay could I ask for some hcs of some of the gang and what they’re like dating with you? NSFW ones toooo🙈🙊 could you include Arthur, John, Dutch, Sadie, Javier and maybe any of the other girls Mary-Beth or Molly or Karen? Thank you 🙏🏻
A/N- I didn’t include Javier cause I like barely speak with him in camp or anything idk I don’t vibe with Javier tbh. And I saw my chance to word vomit my Molly brain rot and ran with it so she’s the girl I picked. Hope this is okay! Enjoy :)
Masterlist - requests are open :)
Arthur Morgan
- We’ve all seen how he was with Mary. He’d be besotted with you
- His journal would be filled with sketches of you, entries talking about how much he adores you, little notes about how you looked that day or musings about his plans for your future together.
- Definitely doodles a little heart with your initials too <3
- He’s touch starved. So he loves physical contact. A hand to your knee, your back, arm around your shoulders or your waist. He likes keeping you close.
- Brings you stuff from his little travels. Picks flowers for you, finds little trinkets for you.
- Keeps a picture of you by his bed.
- Forehead kisses!!!!!
- Kisses your hand. And kisses to your wrist. He loves when you reach up to cup his face and he can turn to press his lips against your wrist.
- He’s so much more than a tough, burly cowboy. He’s quiet, caring, considerate. And he adores you
NSFW
- takes his time. Likes to work at you until not a single tense muscle is left in your body. Worships you.
- Loves any positions where he can see your face, needs to be close enough to constantly kiss you and tell you how good you are for him
- “ there’s my girl, doin so good for me darlin “ “ jus’ like that darlin, let me take good care of ya “
- Not incredibly vocal, but the noises he does make he ensures are right by your ear.
- Refuses to finish before you ever.
- Loves to finish inside tho. He knows it’s risky, but he loves the closeness. And if he’s feeling particularly risky he’ll definitely push his come back into you with his fingers “ don’t waste it now “
- Grips The headboard.
John Marston
- he’s stupid. He really is. He’ll be head over heels for you, with you clearly reciprocating those feelings and he’d still think you didn’t like him like that.
- Like. You could kiss him and he’d still be like ‘ what are we? ‘
- When he does finally put two and two together he’ll have no shame or cautions in showing you off.
- He’s handsy. Likes coming up behind you when you’re washing dishes for Pearson to rub at your shoulders.
- Or pull you down to sit on his lap before you can even think about taking the empty spot on the log next to him by the fire.
- Overprotective. One tiny snide comment from anyone and he’s ready to start swinging.
- Definitely knows how to push your buttons and wind you up, and will do it just for fun and to get a rise outta you.
- And then spend the rest of day grovelling and apologising.
NSFW
- Loves going down on you. Like. Loves it. The man could spend hours there if you’d let him and Lord has he tried.
- Not very serious most of the time.
- Pretty vocal. And doesn’t really care if anyone’s listening either.
- Like i said, he’s handsy. His hands are restless and will grab at whatever part of you they can.
- Loves when you ride him and has absolutely made a cowgirl joke more than once.
- Will grab at your hips and guide your movements as you do. Told you he’s handsy.
- But also isn’t opposed to you on your back, legs over his shoulders. Presses kisses to your ankles and makes jokes about how good the view is.
Dutch Van Der Linde
- he’s not the most attentive of people at times. He’s constantly in his head and constantly thinking about things that aren’t you.
- But when he does allow himself time alone with you he is disgustingly charming.
- He always knows what to say, always knows the right words to have you melting into a puddle at his feet. You could be in the worst mood with him but a few whispers in your ear and it’s all forgotten.
- Has a million terms of endearment for you. My angel, my dear , my darling. He rarely ever uses your actual name, only when he’s mad.
- Loves to give you gifts, the more expensive the better. And he likes you to show them off too. He likes to show you off.
- Reads to you a lot.
- PDA is afraid of him. He doesn’t care where he is or who’s watching him, he’ll loop an arm around your waist to kiss your neck, pull you onto his lap when he’s reading beside his tent and kiss you. No shame.
NSFW
- will take his time with you but in a far different way to, say, Arthur
- He’ll edge you and overstimulate you for hours, because be gets off on the fact that you simply let him. That you obey his every command.
- Degrading and humiliating 🤝🏻 Dutch Van Der Linde
- He’s never too mean. And his degrading comments are more often than not laced with something sweet.
- Dacryphilic. 100000%. He loves watching you cry because he’s worked you into such an overstimulated mess.
- He’ll swipe your tears away or kiss them from your cheeks “ well isn’t that just a pretty sight? “ “ those tears for me, my angel? “
- Definitely has some kind of authority kink. Likes you calling him sir for sure.
- Loves you giving him head. Just loves you on your knees. It’s a power thing. And he’s a cocky son of a bitch.
- Sat back in his chair and won’t lift a damn finger to help you out, won’t even unbuckle his belt. And don’t tell me he doesn’t smoke whilst he watches you.
Sadie Adler
- She is absolutely not shy about her feelings when she finally accepts she has them.
- Shes just so sweet to you.
- Around camp she’s stuck to you like glue. Her arm is permanently around your waist or your shoulders, or her hand laced with yours and is ready to snap at any intrusive questions from anyone else about it at the drop of a hat
- Love language is gift giving. Just taken in a bounty but found a shiny lil necklace in his pocket? Well. It’s hers now. Or should I say, yours.
- If your hairs long enough she’ll braid it like hers, any excuse to be able to sit close to you and whisper sweet things in your ear.
- Would teach you how to shoot better, she wants to make sure you know how to defend yourself. but also wants the excuse to stand behind you and show you how to hold her rifle properly.
- Big spoon.
NSFW
- Sadie’s gained control over literally everything else in life, and it doesn’t change in the bedroom
- She trusts you whole heartedly but she’s not about to give up any sort of control to you for a While
- Makes sure she can see your face at all times, loves watching your face contort and relax in pleasure that she’s giving you
- Full of praise “ ain’t you just the prettiest thing? “ “ oh look at you! D’ya know how pretty you look from here? “ “ always such a good girl for me “
- Has a thing for putting her fingers in your mouth. Especially after she’s just fucked you with them.
- Having you on your knees eating her out drives her crazy. Will pull at your hair a little too hard but will soothe the sting with a thousand words of praise about how good you make her feel.
- And now hear me out. Loves to watch you. Will book you a hotel room together just so she can sit across the room and watch you touch yourself for her, encouraging you the entire time
- It’s never long before she absolutely has to have her hands on you though in the end.
Molly O’Shea
- sheeeee has some trust issues. And abandonment issues. She’s just… she’s a lot at times.
- But she is fiercely loyal and will love you with every fibre of her being
- And she wants to be loved as fiercely in return. She’ll spiral without constant reassurance “ d’you even love me anymore? “ “did I do somethin wrong? Haven’t told me you love me today “
- She knows deep down you do love her. She’s just afraid.
- She is such a romantic. She loves holding your hand, sitting close to you, doing your makeup like hers and stealing kisses in between painting your lips red
- She’ll write you sappy romantic poetry and leave you lil notes
- You’ll often overhear her gushing to other people about how in love she is too. She just loves to talk about you and how deeply she adores you.
- Likes when you give her forehead kisses.
NSFW
- Pillow princess. End of story.
- She’s not completely submissive though. She’ll tell you what she wants and what she likes
- She just wants to be taken care of okay. She needs to be taken care of.
- Makes the softest, sweetest sounds and will tell you she loves you a million times over.
- Enjoys when things just… naturally happen. Cuddling with you at night, but pushing her hips lightly back against you. Which usually ends with your hand slipping past her waistband and making her come on your fingers.
- Likes to be on top of you sometimes, simply so she can show off whilst she strips. Not to really do anything. Shes really not that much of a giver. She likes being watched. She likes to know she’s desired. And usually it ends up with you dragging her to sit on your face.
- You have to shower her with praise. She wants to know she looks beautiful, that she’s doing well, worship her. Which is incredibly easy for you cause like fucking look at her she’s gorgeous.
- Wraps herself around you when you cuddle after, legs intertwined and arms around you, head buried in your chest or neck. Pls my sweet baby needs to be held.
#disclaimer as always with hcs#these are my thoughts and not to be taken too seriously#don’t get salty if you don’t agree.#my hcs for any character seem to draw at least one salty person out#it’s fic! enjoy it!#arthur morgan x reader#Dutch van der Linde x reader#molly O’Shea x reader#John Marston x reader#Arthur Morgan#molly o'shea#sadie adler#john marston#dutch van der linde#red dead redemption 2#rdr2#rdr2 fanfic#x you#fluff#smut#sadie adler x reader
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