#except for John and Mary

[holmesunenthusiast]

You think Watson ever felt guilty when Mary died as he was mourning Holmes, wishing he'd spent more time with her instead of grieving someone already gone? You think he buried her close to the honorary grave he made for Holmes, or separate so he could properly give each of them his attention when he came to visit? You think he buried them with a single plot between them, waiting for his own turn? You think he spent time creating checks and balances of who he was meant to be hurting over more?

You think when it was all over he ever went back to Mary's grave and begged her to come back too?

[geneticdriftwood]

persephone's in hell; a rooftop conversation

for @mysterycitrus

persephone's in hell, @mysterycitrus // white winter hymnal, fleet foxes // assorted dc comics

[torchlitinthedesert]

I fell down a Beatles-Jimi Hendrix rabbit hole (Jimi and his manager living in Ringo’s flat! Linda being Jimi’s favourite photographer!) and I’m charmed by what a cheerleader Paul was for Jimi, right from the beginning.

He first saw him on 25 October 1966, when the Jimi Hendrix Experience played the Scotch of St James club. Chas Chandler, Jimi’s manager, was trying to get him noticed in London. So he set up this private showcase at a very hip club, and invited agent Dick Katz to come along. Chas remembered:

Paul McCartney was also sitting at our table and leant over to say he hoped Dick had Jimi signed up as he would be a giant.”

A month later, Experience played the Bag o’Nails club. Word had got around: as rock musician Terry Reid remembered, “We were all hanging out in Carnaby Street, at the Bag O’Nails - Keith, Mick Jagger, Brian (Jones) comes skipping through, like, all happy about something. Paul McCartney walks in. Jeff Beck walks in. Jimmy Page. I thought, ‘What’s this? A bloody convention or something?’”

The performance was overwhelming - for the band as well as the audience. Noel Redding, the Jimi Hendrix Experience bass player, remembered: “Afterwards, in the dressing room, Lennon walked in, which freaked me out. He was saying, ‘Fuckin’ grand.’ He loved it, but I was like 20 years old, John Lennon had walked into our dressing room and said ‘That’s grand, lads.’ And then McCartney walked in and that freaked me out even more.”

John was a fan, too.Mike Nesmith of The Monkees remembers: “I was having dinner in London with John Lennon, Eric Clapton and a group of people. In the middle of dinner John produced this portable tape player and requested that the restaurant turn down the piped-in music. He then proceeded to play ‘Hey Joe’ on his recorder saying, ‘You guys gotta check this out.’ Everyone was reverential…” (The Monkees became big Hendrix fans, and later booked him as a support act on tour. It didn’t go well.)

On 25 February 1967, Paul reviewed Jimi for the Melody Maker’s “Blind Date” column, where pop stars reviewed singles without being told who the artist was:

The Jimi Hendrix Experience went on to play the Saville Theatre, run by Brian Epstein, who also hosted a first night party for them. (Noel Redding remembers Paul rushing to open the door for them.)

Paul’s own favourite Jimi Hendrix story is at the Saville: Jimi playing the title track of Sgt Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band:

It’s still obviously a shining memory for me, because I admired him so much anyway, he was so accomplished. To think that that album had meant so much to him as to actually do it by the Sunday night, three days after the release. He must have been so into it, because normally it might take a day for rehearsal and then you might wonder whether you’d put it in, but he just opened with it. It’s a pretty major compliment in anyone’s book. I put that down as one of the great honours of my career.

More generally, they were hanging out and having a good time. Roger Mayer, Jimi’s guitar engineer, recalls Paul regularly dropping in to see Jimi at his flat or in the studio. And journalist Sharon Lawrence remembers:

the delight in Jimi’s voice as he recounted how he’d admired a custom-made jacket McCartney was wearing and that the Beatle had insisted Jimi should have it. ‘It even had his initials inside!’

But Jimi and the Experience still had to crack the US. As Jimi put it:

Paul McCartney was the big bad Beatle, the beautiful cat who got us the gig at the Monterey Pop Festival. That was our start in America.

Chas Chandler went into more detail:

You gotta remember how huge the Beatles were in them days. They were just a colossus. And when the Mamas and the Papas and John Phillips and them come up with the Monterey thing, they asked Paul to be part of the board that was set up in front and would guarantee the Monterey festival. Paul just basically said, ‘I’ll join the board at Monterey if the Jimi Hendrix Experience are on the show’. That was his condition on joining it.

Around the same time, Paul invited Jimi to take part in another project. Jimi explained:

We were supposed to be on The Magical Mystery Tour. The Beatles used to come and see us sometimes, like at certain concerts like the Saville Theatre, and Paul McCartney told me about this little scene he had. They were planning to do a film and he wanted us to be in this film. We weren’t known then when McCartney asked us. He was trying to help us, but we got a nice break before they got the movie together.

This means Paul nearly got the dream combo of a band, a bus, and Jimi Hendrix. He would have been so happy.

Paul and Jimi did work together once, on Mike McCartney’s McGough & McGear album (1968). Jimi was also friends with Linda, his favourite photographer (he wanted her pictures on the cover of Electric Ladyland, and was angry when the record company substituted the cover with all the naked ladies.)

Jimi and Paul at the launch party for Mary Hopkin’s album Postcard, 13 February 1969. This seems to be the only photograph of Jimi and Paul together - which is strange, given that they were friends, and that Linda loved both of them. Maybe Paul is sitting on an unreleased archive of pictures?

And there’s one more near miss, this time with Jimi asking Paul. A telegram sent on 21 October 1969 invites Paul to join Jimi and jazz trumpeter Miles Davis on a new recording. Peter Brown, curses be upon him, sent a reply that Paul was on holiday - he and Linda were in Scotland, retreating from Paul Is Dead and the breakup - and Brown seems not to have passed the message on. Maybe it wouldn’t have happened (Miles withdrew from the session with Jimi - allegedly over fees). Still, even if the message didn’t get through, it’s very sweet to think of Hendrix offering Paul a helping hand when he was at his lowest.

[juliiwrites]

just put on the first episode of “Sherlock” to rewatch and the potential for there to be a romantic relationship to be explored is astounding

[harbingerofsoup]

i do consider myself better than many other supernatural fans, because i truly believe bringing mary winchester back was the right decision

[gothicrepetitions]

The Impala as John and Mary’s white dress, but like how they specifically appear in flashbacks (or maybe more accurate to say this is how they appear in Sam and Dean’s minds), are intersecting discussions to me….

[screechingsandwichhologram]

my amrev ocs if they had tumblr

🌓 dressedsword

HOLY SHIT PAUL REVERE JUST RODE THROUGH TOWN HOLY FUCK ITS HAPPENING

🪁 kiterrrrr Follow

why r you blogging and not fighting. fake ass

🌓 dressedsword

bitch i'm a fucking woman. can't exactly pull up to fort william and mary in stays now can i

🐴 pennsylvaniarifle Follow

not if ur coward

35 notes

🐏 tumblefarmer

man we kicked their fucking assesss let's goooo !!! first fight of rebellion woooo !!!

👒 spindledpoet

..... i'm glad you made it back home but not sure we should be celebrating the beginning of what certainly will become a war

🌓 dressedsword

john shut the fuck up ur just salty sam trampled ur flowers on his way out of the house

5 notes

🌺 massalilly Follow

FIRST SHOTS FIRED IN LEXINGTON AND CONCORD HOLY SHIT

🐏 tumblefarmer

WHAT THE FUCK MASSHOLES RUIN EVERYTHING

17,756 notes

👒 spindledpoet

hey guys is coughing up blood normal

💦 pantingmanthing Follow

NO???

👒 spindledpoet

damn

12 notes

👣 sandyfootprints Follow

god war fucking sucks. first day on the job and im spitting out some dudes blood. he probably had a wife. cant even drink bc they told us not to

❣ crimsonfingerlicking

yummy

👣 sandyfootprints Follow

why am i on tumblr

67 notes

🐏 tumblefarmer

guys. i really really really wanna join the war. is that a good idea. my cousin is ill and his sister is unmarried but i cant just stand by. i cant leave them but i must fight for my homeland and for the freedom my ancestors were promised

🫡 kissingcontinental Follow

join us we need men so so bad plsss

🪶 writerlover Follow

fight to build a better tomorrow for your family

🐏 tumblefarmer

okay im doing it!!! going down to mass this weekend

23 notes

🌓 dressedsword

hey so like. is. is. do we think that. maybe in the new country we could like. idk . maybe uhhh. give women rights?

1 note

🐏 tumblefarmer

guys war sucks ass its so fucking boring im just sitting in camp. a guy just fucking sneezed in my food. i hate it here

🌹rosedlionheart Follow

thats what you yankees get for picking a fight with the strongest army in the world

🐏 tumblefarmer

doesnt ur king piss blue

784 notes

🫶 letteredolley Follow

damn my fav dress maker is too sick to make me a new dress :// fuck my life

🐓 kickerchicker Follow

girl we are in the middle of a war that is Not the thing to worry about

💋 marieantoinette Follow

god forbid women do anything

🥖 lalanterne Follow

wrong dash. ur time will come

1,789 notes

🕯️carpediemcandled Follow

aw fuck the cute boy that was stationed near me just fucking died from camp fever </3

🕯️ carpediemcandled Follow

he was so cute too :// a french canadian farmer from new hampshire that was like. super into sheep and goats. he was super clumsy too. but like in a cute way

🕯️ carpediemcandled Follow

aughhhh :((( i was going to bring him one of my nice candles :(((

10 notes

🌓 dressedsword

FUCK

0 notes

👒 spindledpoet

yknow that feeling you get when you look at your reflection and you feel like you are going to throw up

🙏 universalfriend Follow

yes

👒 spindledpoet

thanks

7 notes

❣️crimsonfingerlicking

is there.... money? in war

🦁 redbloodedredcoat Follow

dm me

2 notes

🦋 painfulpoet Follow

@ spindledpoet are you , okay??

👒 spindledpoet

i have a horrible thing inside me that i understand now but i can not continue. i am dying.

👒 spindledpoet

please do not let them forget that i was among you

9 notes

👒 spindledpoet

i am making a dress. i must finish it. it will be the best yet. it will be my last one. delphine needs the dress. she needs the dress. i need the dress

1 notes

🦋 painfulpoet Follow

@ dressedsword hey is ur brother okay?

🌓 dressedsword

he is very ill and delirious often. our cousin has died in the war. i have little means of supporting us and he is too sick to leave the bed. when he is aware he cries and writes. his handwriting has spoiled

🌓 dressedsword

he is not for long. he will be gone before any letter or parcel of yours will travel the atlantic. i am sorry

4 notes

👒 spindledpoet

i don't want to hurt my sister but delphine is waiting for me

0 notes

🌓 dressedsword

gonna log off for a bit

1 notes

🌗 designedpamphlet Follow

shit. i'm fucking doing this

0 notes

[sonnendeathiccur]

Malcolm & Corrine Foxworth and John and Sam Winchester are mirror images

[brotherscain]

wincest wednesday question of the week: mary's ring or dad's leather jacket?

h.w.w. <3

hi anon! happy wincest wednesday to you!! thank you for the ask, i luv it!

so, originally seeing this in my inbox i was like: “oh, absolutely john’s jacket.” and i still feel that lol!

the jacket(tm) is a central part of classic spn’s embodiment, and of what makes it so so so fucking good beneath the crystal clear. it is winchester skin passed down to winchester, blood to blood. it is perfect, to me.

dean has always wanted it. always always always. ever since john’s had it, and ever since dean has thought of something as cool enough to want, he has wanted that jacket. whether to be like dad, or be closer to him you can take your gamble! i think it’s a messy witches brew of both plus so much more. john lets him try it on a few times, laughing not unkindly at the fit of it because his boy still has lots of growing to do. dean takes to only wearing it out and about when he’s a little older, little rougher, and only when john leaves for a while without taking it. if john knows about this and begins an unspoken tradition of draping it over dean’s side of the bed before he leaves, dropping a kiss to the high points of dean’s cheekbones, sometimes drifting lower and lower, then dean won’t ever speak about it either.

i think sam mentions it sometimes. but only sometimes because sam knows. he mentions it when he’s missing dad, or maybe when he’s missing dean. he never wears it. and sometimes he hates it. especially after stanford, how much dean is trying to sound like dad. he’ll touch dean through the thick layer, trying to feel meat and bone underneath it all. when he tucks himself into the crook of dean’s neck, he smells and feels and dwells in musky leather and warm skin. dean paws at him, rubs along his spine notches and waist sides like dad once used to. he kisses sam’s pounding temple, the thrumming pulse at his wrist in a fashion that is entirely them, absent of father and mother, of any outside rationale. it’s the closest to home sam ever feels, and no matter how much he hates to chase it sometimes he needs to know the blood that runs through him will always be there.

[graveyardrabbit]

St. John's Catholic Cemetery, Escalon, CA

[mugiwara-lucy]

Cackling Cumula is so smart yet several democrats like John Fetterman have said Barron is leagues smarter than her lmao. President Barron Trump is coming MAGA!

Fuck him 😂

John Fetterman has done and said so much shit, he should just join MAGAs.

And considering how low Shitbreak's approval rating keeps on falling, unless he turns America into a military dictatorship NO ONE will accept his fucked up, dumbass kids.

[dcxdpdabbles]

DCxDP idea: The old switcheroo

Based on this ask that got me thinking.

It's not well-known that Mary and John Grayson had identical twins. The reason is that Haly Circus had a strict rule about babies traveling with them. There could only be one at a time.

Jack Haly tried his best, but it had been a long-standing rule of the circus back when his grandfather first started the business, and since he enforced it onto everyone else, he couldn't make exceptions for the Flying Graysons even if the second boy wasn't planned.

There were a lot of reasons for this rule. The first was traveling, which was dangerous for the little ones: illness and unsafe equipment. The second reason they encountered more delays whenever they crossed borders was because people were suspicious of multiple children being moved about.

The last was that Fedrick Haly thought children were a distraction and would not stand for his performers to not be entirely focused on their acts. So the rule went up, and anyone displeased with it was welcome to leave. He later allowed for more than one child as long as the first born had was at least ten years old before the second born was on its way.

The problem was that while a few people did leave, most had been born and raised in Haly's circus and couldn't imagine a world where they weren't part of it. Mary and John were in the second category, so they made a hard choice.

They gave up one of the twins to a lovely couple, Madeline and Jack Fenton, and tried not to think about him. They went as far as to leave themselves off of the boy's birth certification. This was a viewpoint the son they did keep, Dick, did not share.

The minute the circus Strong Man let it slip that he had a brother, Dick had tried tracking him down. He found an ally in Jack Haly himself, who had always hated his grandfather's rule and took him on an "educational" trip to America.

The Graysons didn't suspect anything, and the Fentons were also left in the dark because Jack H. was worried they would try to cause trouble among his people if they found out about Dick.

Danny Fenton, Dick's twin, swore to never tell anyone a thing. In his eyes, he saw it as tearing Dick's life apart when it was their parents who made the choice to get rid of him. He didn't even tell his sister or his best friends. He liked to think that one day, when they were older, the brothers would be able to be seen in public.

In the meantime, they shared secret letters as pen pals and would call each other once a month with the help of Haly. It wasn't much, but they built an unbreakable bond.

Then, the Graysons were killed when they were nine. Dick vanished from the face of the earth for a few months. They lost communication until Dick appeared in Danny's life again one year later. It couldn't have come at a better time because Danny, who was used to Dick not responding without months-long gaps in between, was getting angsty that he hadn't heard from his brother.

Apparently, he was taken in by a billionaire who felt a kinship with him, as someone who also watched their parents die. Dick begs Danny to keep their connection a secret for a bit longer because if Bruce knew he had family, he would ship him off to the Fentons, and Dick would never bring their parent's killer to justice.

But he kept their connection a secret anyway so his brother would not lose a second family. Despite what Dick believed, Danny knew that Bruce Wayne actually saw him as a son and that Dick slowly, over the years, thought of him as a father. Dick would later tell him that Bruce was Batman and he was Robin.

Danny didn't have the heart to tell him that he couldn't care less about Mary and John Grayson. He didn't even care that they were dead past the pain it caused his brother. After all, to Danny, they chose a career over him.

They were nothing but a tragic tale. Strangers in every sense of the world. He never even met them.

Both knew that Gotham needed the dynamic duo, so they kept their mouths shut. Danny later realized how important that was when he was turned into Phantom. He too had a city that needed protection.

One day Dick came to him with a proposal.

"We look exactly alike. Down to the mole on our left butt cheeks! No one would know if we switch places." Dick told him excitablely.

"I don't know Dick. I'm not exactly the best actor in the world." Danny started a little hesitant, but he eventually agreed because Dick worded it as a favor he needed desperately.

Danny would do anything for his twin. So he jumps on a plane and flies to Gotham, slipping into Dick's life quickly. He was trained to know people's names, faces, and even his school schedule, which were a part of Dick's life. There were only two things he wasn't prepared for.

Robin's training and the fact that the twins had very different personalities.

On Danny's first night out as Robin, he fell back on his powers to fight crime. He was lucky that Bruce had left Dick on his own for a month now, after years of arguing, and wasn't present to see Robin blast criminals with green rays. He was smart enough to stick to the shadows when people clearly out of his league were up to something- plus, fighting the bigger threats would expose his identity.

When they met up on a roof, Bruce turned to him with a commanding aura that had Danny standing up straighter.

"Robin, report," Bruce, in his Batman outfit, bit out.

After years of giving his parents oral lab reports, he quickly rattled off, "There were four mugging by the east docks, two break-ins at Old Gotham, and a suspected sighting of Joker at-"

Batman slaps him across the face, cutting Danny off. He gasps, clutching his face. "Ow! What the hell!?"

"You were being hysterical. Not once did you crack a joke or insult me. I think the Joker slipped you something." Bruce tells him seriously, tapping his communicator to let Agent A know they needed medical aid as soon as they arrived at the cave.

"What?" Danny demands

"Oh no. You didn't throw a flying kick at my crutch for that. It's worse than I thought. I'm going to have to sedate you." Danny doesn't have time to dodge or go intangible before Bruce leaps at him with a needle.

The following day, he was informed he would not be out on the field until whatever was in his system was cleaned out. The tests picked up his ectoplasm- but Bruce wasn't aware of what it was. Danny is ecstatic about it, getting comfortable in the house of old money and enjoying the world's finest had to offer.

Bruce was unsure why "Dick" was okay with not going out in the field when his angry determination to fight was the whole reason he became Robin. He also took him to a gala, and when he was telling him that the Robinsons had an enormous chandelier and "Dick" was not allowed to swing on it.

"Why would I want to do that?" Danny scoffs, missing the way Bruce's face paled. He was more worried about how obviously popular Dick was and all the people that were tripping over themselves to speak to him.

It was a nightmare.

In school, Dick was in all the advanced classes. Danny was a little worried until he realized without ghosts to fight and people not bullying him every second of the day (Dick was one of the popular kids!), he actually did really well. He enjoyed learning.

Gotham Academy was challenging and engaging in a way Casper High never was. He would go straight home after class, check in with Alfred or Bruce, and then just relax in one of the Wayne pools or in the video game rooms- they had the latest games and systems!

Bruce looked like he was having an aneurysm whenever Danny politely asked him about his day and thanked him for everything he did.

Thankfully, the two switched back after a week-long stay at Wayne Manor. Danny didn't think he could keep tricking Bruce or Alfred without getting caught.

"Did you enjoy your time with Bruce?" Dick asks him after they switch clothes.

"It was.....something. Your foster dad is weird." He tells him.

"Yeah? Well your dad is way too sentetive. He told me he loves me before bed and every morning at breakfast." Dick scoffs. "I still think he was on drugs."

Danny sighs "Well, at least it's over. I miss Sam and Tucker, though I am not looking forward to seeing Dash again."

"Oh, about that. You're suspended from school." Dick tells him casually. "You hit Dash Baxter with a chair after he and his little group surrounded you to shove you in a locker. Thankfully, the ugly one, Paulina, was recording everything because they liked to laugh at the videos, and you broke her hand when you stole her phone. After getting proof of self-defense, plus several other victims coming forward with the videos, the suspension is all you have. Dash is expelled."

Danny gapes at him as Dick winks. "Thanks for doing me a favor of providing the perfect window to protect my twin. Love you! Bye!"

Dick hops onto the plane before Danny can find any words. When he shows up to school, everyone jumps out of his way, eyeing him like he is one second away from telling Sam and Tucker not to come to school tomorrow.

He forgot that Dick has some.....unresolved anger issues. Every day, he is thankful the Graysons gave him away to a family that may be ghost-obsessed, but at least they knew how to process emotions.

Miles away, Bruce watches Robin launch himself with a scream of rage at a mugger and wonders if his son has developed split-personality disorder.

Years later, he tells everyone that Dick has a second personality called Danny, who occasionally slips in once and while. Everyone treats Danny as his own person, including Justice Leauge and his siblings.

Both twins forgot to come clean about each other even after they turned eighteen. They thought the Waynes figured it out because the Fentons did when Dick switched again a few months after Dash got expelled.

It was the fact Dick laughed when his meal came to life, thinking it hilarious. Jack and Maddie were more than happy to have a second son, incredibly one open to ghost research. He did argue a lot about ghost rights, but it was better than Jazz and Danny, who wanted nothing to do with it.

[allineedisonedream]

Hi!! I want to say that I absolutely adore your tangled au DC and I'm ready to kiss you for what you created - seriously, you literally connected my current favorite hyperfixation with my childhood favorite hyperfixation. I could not imagine that it would bring me such joy :D And oh, I'd like to share my version of Dick's early biography before Slade took him away and locked him in a high tower.

Dick is still Bruce's adopted son, but he was adopted in infancy. It was exactly the same as in "Maquia: When the Promised Flower Blooms" - the young king Bruce, while hunting, separated from his guards and his entourage, he found a circus caravan destroyed by robbers, all were killed except one woman and her infant son. A young woman, Mary Grayson, was dying from the wounds inflicted on her, lying next to her dead husband, but continued to hug and protect Dick, who was crying in her arms.

The young King tried to save her, but Mary could not be saved, instead he gave her a promise that he would take care of her child and the young woman died with a calm soul and a smile on her face. It was only when her hands began to lose warmth that Bruce took baby Dick and hugged him. Thus, a little prince appeared in the kingdom - Richard John Thomas. And when, some time later, he fell seriously ill, King Bruce was in despair and ordered his subjects to find a moon flower that, according to legends, is a real piece of a star that fell from the sky...

And my idea of Dick's early childhood is inspired by this wonderful piece of your art - tiny, sweet, wonderful Dick and affectionate Alfred and Bruce made my heart sing.

Omg, this is Canon! It’s so good it hurts so much ugh! Thank you for taking the time to write this—I love it!

Sorry for answering so late; I kind of wanted to make some art for this:

Chapter : <Previous / extra / Next>

Tangeld Au Chapter list ^^

[ukyokuonji]

[ID: A Tumblr post by user @/triviallytrue reading: every day star wars fans come on this site and say some version of "star wars would be so good if it was good." End ID]

man. the star wars sequel trilogy could have been so good if they hadn't fucked it up

[pinescent-and-gingerbread]

✧ Fantasies in the dark - I

✦ Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Female!Reader ✦ Summary: In which Arthur catches a glimpse of your intimacy, the vision driving him into madness until he finally decides to give in to his urges. ✦ Warnings: SMUT 18+, MDNI! Masturbation, nudity, voyeurism (reader not aware he's staring), self-depreciation, and lots of shame from this poor man. Arthur's pov. ✦ Words: 2,7k Arthur's pic is mine, others are from Pinterest. And as always, as English isn't my first language, prepare for some possible misspellings. Read on AO3

Part I - Part II - Part III

Lately, Arthur had a problem. An incessant, disturbing, haunting problem.

He couldn’t sleep at night.

This could have been related to the gang’s precarious situation, being hunted down by the Pinkertons and surrounded by enemy gangs, O’Driscolls and Lemoyne raiders everywhere. Or even because of some older wounds, the loss of Eliza and Isaac amongst others, reminded almost every day by the complicated family portrait John painted with Abigail and Jack. Or the hurtful thought of the life he never had with Mary that was always following him since he had seen her again near Valentine. Life doomed from the start by his inherent violence and the mountain of corpses he was responsible for.

Arthur had plenty of reasons not to sleep at night. But this wasn’t because of any of that.

He couldn’t sleep because of you. 

Not that it was your fault. In fact, you didn’t even know about any of that and Lord have mercy, he was praying that you’ll never find out; because he would never be able to look at you in the eyes then.

A few weeks ago, the gang had settled at Clemen’s Point. A rather pretty spot just near the lake, and not so far from town. But it wasn’t exactly the place that was causing him trouble. It was the unexpected view he was having from his tent.

For some unknown, mystical reasons, Miss Grimshaw while deciding the camp’s ajancement had decided to place your tent right next to his. Not so big of a problem at first sight, right?

Except that you were a night owl combined with the suffocating warmth of the place. Making you get to bed naked.

Oh, Arthur knew you do, because every night, every single one, you let a candle lit to read, or write, or God knows what before sleeping. The light casts your shadow against the tent’s canvas. The shadow of your very much nude body.

The first night Arthur had noticed, he had come back exhausted from a job in the middle of the night and laid on his cot without even taking the time to remove his boots or hat. A very usual and typical slice of his life, which lately felt more and more like a terribly used one. As if all these slices were repeating again and again. An accumulation of jobs and missions and robberies and fights; deceiving, lying, stealing, killing. Over and over again, going round and round. At night, he was reduced to a slumbered mind in a spent body, that was definitely becoming old and rusty. Already half asleep, mud and twigs surrounding his tired limbs, his thoughts all tangled up like a ball of wool, he had turned his head to his left, reaching from instinct for his pack of cigarettes on the little table next to his bed. Another slice of bad habits from a bad life.

That’s how his eyes had met with this quite erotic shape displayed on your tent.

Said eyes had grown so big that it had fully woken him up all of a sudden, as quickly as if someone had dumped a bucket of iced water on his shocked face. After half of a second of pure stabbing surprise and incomprehension with his hand hanged in the air, his breath stuck in his throat as if really being punched in the gut, he instantly turned his eyes back to the ceiling of his own tent. Cheeks burning red, heart pounding, as if someone had caught him in the act of doing a terribly shameful thing. Exactly as if he had really seen you naked.

He had feverishly grabbed the cigarette pack without looking at it, gaze refusing to turn again, these two blue diamonds locked on the ceiling of his tent, and had messily pulled one out of it, his shaky fingers fumbling, almost spilling everything on the ground.

He must have looked so damn ridiculous.

The smoke helped him to calm down, its soothing and comforting feeling spreading and burning through his lungs. He had fallen asleep, turned to the other side facing the wagon, trying not to think too much about the peek of your intimacy he had witnessed, telling himself it probably was going to be an isolated incident. 

But of course, of course the Lord had to torment him even in the rare moments of peace he could have enjoyed.

Turns out this was apparently a habit of yours. 

To be honest, he probably deserved to be tormented. But this was years from what he had in mind when it came to the Lord's punishment for his life of crimes.

And Arthur, even though a hardened man in many ways, able to lock lips during torture, kill men with bare hands, and stay emotionally strong in any kind of situation, was still only, after all, a man. A man with needs.

Filthy, disgusting needs.

He had tried to resist. Had tried not to let his eyes slip in your direction like that first night. Sometimes he would allow himself a quick glance, just to check if you were wearing any clothes for once, like a normal person. And maybe the night after would be different? Every evening spent at camp, his pupils would end up brushing the sinful silhouette in just a soft, slight sight, as if not to scare you, as if not to feel too bad about it.

But it was getting harder and harder not to stare. The easy lies about just checking on you or looking at anything else in the same area as your tent to have the chance of winning a glimpse of you would soon not be enough.

Just the mere fact that he knew you were completely bare, only a few meters away from him, singly the thin and superficial fabric of the tent between the both of you, was getting him hard and sweaty, and making his blood boil as a virgin teenage boy would. He could almost physically feel it, like a burning presence in his back when he was sleeping head against the wagon's wall.

The Human mind may be well designed for a lot of things; it forgets an event too hard to carry or can trick you into thinking you're not experiencing any physical pain in extreme situations. But Arthur had learned that it was extremely poorly made when it came to ignoring something. The more he was trying to not think about his unholy urges, the more he ended up being plagued with them. As sure as the seasons always turned in circles, you would come back to his effusive psyche.

And Oh, he was ashamed. Ashamed and revolted by himself. This was absolutely not in his habits, all the contrary. Yes, he was an old miserable bastard who had killed and plundered. But for God's sake, he had never acted obscene towards a lady before.

But the shame wasn't enough for him to stop. On the nights when the guilt was at its lowest —when the tediousness of his days was nibbling at his patience, he had let his eyes wander to your sinful figure, telling himself that maybe if he did, he could just go on with his night and finally rest. Just a quick taste, not too long.

But it only made things worse. It made him dream of you. 

Dream of you stripped, his imagination taking the lead of what the tent’s fabric was preventing him from seeing. Dream of you moaning, taking him so tightly, welcoming him in your warm body and into your arms. Dream of the feeling of your skin under his fingertips, of the sight of your naked body squirming with pleasure. He would now often wake up frustrated and angry, if he had succeeded in sleeping at all, his member hard and throbbing on its own, his heart beating powerfully in his chest as if it had been real. His pants and blanket had even been damped one or two times. 

What was he, a fifteen-year-old boy again? He was so angry and mortified by the physical obsession his body was having with you that he was constantly in a foul and fiery mood;  bitter with everyone, his tension leaking into every movement and every word he spoke. He started missing targets when shooting, getting even more reckless and hot-headed during jobs, jobs often ending up missed or taken care of negligently, yelling at people when they weren’t fast enough, or clever enough, or silent enough, breaking things, breaking rules. The lack of sleep was making his deadly efficiency fade away, replaced by sloppy and messy gestures, stopping enemies from falling dead at his feet like his lethal skills always did, castrating the only thing that was left of his masculinity.

And yet, he couldn’t stop watching you from afar during the time he was at camp, telling himself he knew, or at least had an idea, of what you looked like without these clothes on; feeling a twisted sensation of pride imagining he was the only one who did. On top of that, your sweet personality and beautiful face weren’t helping him at all with his addiction. Filthy old bastard, stop it- he had to mentally slap himself to prevent staring at you for too long, especially staring at your chest that this goddamn dress you had chosen to wear wasn’t covering at all; or your ass these goddamn pants were fitting way too well.

Tonight, Arthur is avoiding going to bed too early. He knows he would just lay in it waiting for you anyway. Instead, he goes for a walk along Flat Iron Lake’s shores, bringing his journal with him. Two entire pages are already dedicated to your shadow. He had no idea a picture exclusively made of black and white flats on a sheet could have such a powerful erotic effect. Or maybe he is a complete degenerate —which, he is sure, is more and more true.

He has to be honest with himself, he could just go to a hotel, or out of camp for a few days to sleep under the stars, and the matter would be settled.

But he doesn’t want to. Because deep down inside, his urges are winning, making him feel like the most foolish and weakest man alive. He enjoys watching you. He enjoys seeing those forbidden plumped curves cast on this canvas. He feels like you're not leaving him any mercy, pitiless, his days dictated by the wait for his taboo rendez-vous, his nights by your sensual apparitions in his dreams.

He is trapped, you have completely tamed him, and irony of it all, have absolutely no idea you are making him feel like this.

This woman is drivin' me insane.

After a few hours on the cold shore's sand, his fingers only capable of creating quick little sketches and scribbles, his feet lead him back to camp. What a surprise. He finds most of the gang's members already asleep, apart from the ones on guard duty and some late campfire enjoyers talking about life, about love, grief, the future, the past. He briefly nods at them without a word and walks to his private space. He already knows what’s waiting for him there, your tent looking like it’s still illuminated, his thoughts and body avid for it.

No, don’t be a fool, Morgan.

He sits down on his cot. Mumbles to himself orders and curses to try and stay reasonable. Takes off his hat, runs a hand through his hair, sticky with sweat and dirt from his busy day, as all the other ones, as always. Scratches his beard and his ears with a sniff, tells himself he needs to take a swim into that lake. That he’s as dirty on the inside as he’s on the outside. Pulls down his suspenders before stretching his shoulders, a pained groan escaping him. A cigarette joins his lips, a match lights it, and he breathes in slowly. He tries to calm down, focusing once again on this homey feeling it brings him. 

But his brows furrows. His lips tighten. He knows he won’t be able to hold on much longer. He needs to sleep properly. Even being the all-mighty Titan he is, he still needs a good night of sleep from time to time to keep the engine of his body turning, and you have kept it from him for days.

He lies to himself promising this is only for his health.

That this is the only way for him to stay focused during the day; the only way to rest properly and be at his best again tomorrow.

That this will be the only time he’ll do that.

His only moment of weakness. 

The still-lit cigarette and his good conscience fall to the ground as he lies on his cot, settled on his left side, his right hand already roaming on his lower belly. 

His eyes drop on the scene he had fantasized about for what seems like years to him at this point.

Lord have mercy…

Your shadow looks so perfect. He takes his sweet time to notice every detail of it, enjoying to the maximum his sinful behavior, now that he had succumbed to it. How you’re laying on your back, reading your book with your legs crossed. The curvaceous shape of your body looks divine to his insatiable gaze. Your hair messily tangled around your head. The silhouette of your chin and throat making him hungrier than any feast he could have attended. Your belly, rising and falling with your chest and breasts, gives the shadow an organic appearance. Your delicate legs, from the base of your thighs to your calves, to your feet, your toes mindlessly curling as you get lost in your story. And of course, the blurry outline of what was between them…

Damn it.

His hand quickly reaches his belt, unbuckles it,  fiddles with his pants, opens them carelessly in an urgent grip. He spits in his palm, lashes out at himself when the desire of it being your wetness instead crosses his mind, and slips it between the buttons of his union suit. It finally wraps around his desperate shaft, gorged with blood, and he wonders if he already had been this hard before.

The moment he feels the pressure of his own fingers around it, he can’t help but sigh deeply through his nose, and has to physically block the groan he was about to let out.

Make no noise, moron.

He bites his lips to stop any other immoral sound from crossing through his mouth. Last thing he needs right now is to get caught. He slowly rubs one languorous time from up to down, then up again, his fingers brushing his swollen head right where he needs to. He instantly knows he won’t last. He had dreamed about this, about you, both during days and nights. His eyes are locked on your tantalizing silhouette, this deiform delicious flesh. Goddess of the night, Queen of his desires.

His hand rubs once again and his muscles tighten. He starts to stroke in a rhythmic pace, his moves are efficient, messy, careless. He masturbates the same way he takes care of himself —quickly, roughly, as if matching his disgust towards his own self. The exact opposite of what he would do to you if he could. This is pure physical relief.

Yes, God, yes…

Your name turns in his mind between blasphemous curses as he pleasures himself, stroking faster and faster, delightful warm sensations spreading through him. Finally. The burning is no longer in his back or mind; it's right there around his erection, flames licking all around it.

He wants to be able to join you there, so badly. He wants to discover the tone of your bare skin in those places you never show to anyone. He wants to whisper sweet things in your ear and you to sigh back, your voice high and softly shaking from pleasure. He wants the lewd intimacy, the shared tension and the electric, exciting touch of two foreign skins discovering each other for the first time. He wants to see your hardening nipples he can only have a glimpse of through the fabric. 

He wants to have you, to take you, consume you, all to himself. He wants you to think about him the same way he is now, wants you to come while thinking of him, only him, your mouth to moan, whimper, scream even, all thanks to him. 

He wants your hand instead of his, around his cock right now, pressing harder, moving faster.

Yes, yes, jus’ a bit more darlin’… -

A movement from you, a real one, makes his pace slow down and his heart stops, afraid you might have by some sort of divine knowledge understood what was happening. But you’re just shifting in your bed, positioning yourself on your belly with your book open against your pillow, and Arthur’s balls spasm; he now has the most perfect view of your ass, its gorgeous, decadent round and plumped contour making his member twitch in his fist.

Ahh, shit… So god damn perfect… 

Pearls of sweat leak from his forehead to his neck. His ears shut close to the outside world, his surroundings completely disappearing. Now, there’s only you and your perfect back beautifully arched ending with your perfect bottom and him, and no one else’s on Earth. His breath is jerky, his entire face completely crimson, his fingers pumping so hard and fast he’s basically fucking his hand —your hand, with those wet and unmistakable noises filling the air.

His breath speeds up as Arthur feels his deliverance coming, blood rushing in his veins. He sees himself behind you grabbing fistfuls of your cheeks, he sees his erection diving deep between them. And it's the last straw. His brows are crunched in an exquisite expression of pure sexual delight, jaws so tensed he’s about to break his teeth, your pleasure-filled voice screaming his name in his head, dragging every sensation out of him. His orgasm hit him with the strength and speed of a thunderstorm, lightning bolts of satisfaction striking every fiber of his body.

 Yes! Yesss  —Damnit! 

He comes hard with a low and throaty growl he forgot to —or couldn't repress, silently repeating your name again and again, his lower lip almost cut open from how hard he had bit himself, an enormous vein on his forehead where sweat covers his skin. His thick, hot cum spills messily in an indecently large amount, the aftermath of having held himself back for so long, leaking on his pants and fingers and staining his cot; a dash of white contrasting with the darkness of what he just did.

He’s praying to the Lord and the Devil, any mystical forces known to man, that nobody had heard his final relief sound, especially not you. It was louder than what he would like to admit.

Shit, so damn good…

Using his black bandana, he roughly cleans himself then tosses it somewhere on the floor, his cock finally softening as he shoves it back under his clothes, balls empty. And it feels good. So good a wave of shame and guilt crashes onto him once more. What a pig he was for jerking off while ogling you. What an old bastard he was to mingle you and his filth. But at the same time, he feels like his muscles are thanking him, his restless flesh satisfied, even though he almost hurt himself with how fast he had stroked, lost in his haze.

His bittersweet and contradictory feelings accompanied him as he took a last glance at your tent before drifting off to sleep, his breathing still a bit raspy as if he had run for hours. You had closed your book and taken the candle between your hands to blow on it, the little flame flickering before fading. And then, darkness.

The curtains falling on the stage at the end of this private decadent act.

Eyelids heavy, Arthur knows he will finally sleep tonight.

But he also knows this isn’t the end of his torments at all; the conflicting thoughts paint his mind just as the sun pierces through the dark ebony clouds of a thunderstorm, creating those abruptly dazing shapes and color, pitch black laced with blinding light.

Never in this life or the Other he will forget the form of your naked body, no matter how wicked he feels. Because when it comes to you and only you, Arthur Morgan is, indeed, a very weak man.

↣ Part II

tagging : @a-court-of-valkyries and @zae-heeyyy

[copinghex]

Family bonds | T.S

Summary: After a hurtful comment at a fundraising event, you wonder what really bonds Tommy to your child. 

A/N: Ok, so as I previously mentioned, I edited some of my old stories and will be reposting one per week. This is the first selected!

"Do you want to sit?" Tommy whispered in your ear, your hand went straight to your belly, moving up and down, where you baby rests and patiently waits to be born.

"No, I'm fine, just take this gin away from me, otherwise I'll be tempted," you pushed his glass away, "are the cute kids working?" 

"The wives look more excited than the men, but yeah, four huge donations until now," 

"In less than two hours? That's a new record!" 

This was probably the best business idea you ever had. The inauguration ceremony of the Shelby Institute for orphaned children took place in a cozy room, with closed windows and lighted up fireplaces, the cold breeze freezing the bones of anyone who dared to attend without a coat.

Months later, spring came to warm your bones and put a self-giving feeling into Thomas Shelby's heart. In the middle of a boring, typical week, he arrived home planning to uplift the structure of the institute's building. 

He told you the idea during the night, with his hand resting on your pregnant belly and although he didn't tell you what made him come up with it, you could clearly see his line of thought.

Tommy could rarely afford nice things, there was no gentleness in survival and for most of his life, that was all he did. Finally, with his rise to new money, he could provide something he never had to children who look too much like him - comfort. Also, being seen as a charitable person would do no harm to the business.

The small change of plans you suggested put a smile on his face, instead of making a typical fundraising dinner, why not make an afternoon tea? The invitations encourage couples to bring their children, seeing those innocent little humans running around shall make them remember why to donate.

A mansion with a huge garden was rented for the event, maids were hired to look after the children and butlers served biscuits and hot cups of tea. For your surprise, the event had more children than adults, most couples - including you and Tommy - were outnumbered by their children. 

Your eyes ran through the garden trying to find your little ones, the younger one was the easiest, no place was safest than inside your own mama, but it was better to keep an eye on the other three. Marie Louise Adler, whose hair looked exactly like yours. The twins, Henry and William Shelby, except for the eyes, are small versions of Tommy, from the physical appearance to the mannerism.

Quickly, you found William trying to teach one of John's girls how to use a slingshot. A few steps away, Henry had a handful of biscuits and carried a toy car made of wood.

"Where is Loui-'' before you could ask, a collective ugh followed by a child's cry got your attention.

Louise was under a tree with her knees on the grass, the hem of her yellow dress covered in dirt and the left leg of her white stockings ruined, exposing her bruised knee. Tommy reacted faster than you, his hand slid through your waist as he ran in her direction. You quickly followed after, rolling up the sleeves of your dress.

He picked Louise up, she put her arms around his neck and seemed to calm down a bit. A maid tried to apologize for neglecting your little girl, but you were too focused on following Tommy inside to answer.

Curious eyes followed your trio while you crossed the hallway and once you were in a private room, Tommy tried to put Louise on a sofa, but she didn't want to let go.

"C'mon, love," he encouraged, making her lift her crying face from his neck and allow him to sit her down.

"What happened, Lou?" you took her hair off her face and her stockings off, watching out to not brush her bruised knee.

"I was trying to climb on the tree, but I got scared and slipped up," she brushed off tears with her tiny hands.

Tommy took a napkin and wetted it with gin, after kneeling in front of the girl, he asked, "And what did me and mama say, eh?" 

She looked down, ashamed of disobeying.

"You can only climb trees when me or daddy are around to help," you rubbed her back, trying to comfort her.

"I'm sorry," she pouted.

"Now I have to clean your knee, it's full of dirt," Tommy held her leg.

"No! It 's gonna hurt!" she pulled her leg back.

"Just a little, but don't think about it," you sat at her side, holding her head to your chest, "think about the delicious cake I'll get you when we get home!" 

"Can we get some too?!" William, who'd been peeking the whole scene from the door, suddenly yelled, Henry tried to shush him and ended up being dragged by the hand into the room.

"Boys! How long have you been there?" 

"It was William! He had the idea of following you!" Henry quickly accused.

"That 's not true! You were curiou-" 

"Alright, boys, it doesn't matter," Tommy silenced the argument before it started, playfully hitting the twins foreheads with the napkin.

While you were distracted by the kids, Tommy had taken care of Louise's knee and the five of you were finally allowed to go back to the event.

Louise insisted Tommy should carry her, Henry and William took your hands and the eyes of many guests softened to the vision of you walking together. 

Soon, the kids dispersed in the garden, Tommy got the attention of charitable housewives, interested in donating to the institute, you leaned on an empty table, sipping your favorite juice and smiling at anyone who crossed your way.

"Mrs. Shelby!" an old woman walked to you with a huge smile, "I must say, this is the most diverse charity event I attended in years!" 

 "Oh, thank you so much, misses…"

"Thompson, Aline Thompson, nice to meet you," she shook your hand. "you don't drink?" 

"Usually I do, but I'm pregnant," 

"Darling! That's lovely! Your husband is already so lucky to have two kids, now one more!" 

"Three," you corrected her.

"Pardon?" 

"Thomas and I have three children, Henry, William and Louise," 

"Well, if that's the case, I guess you're the lucky one, Mr. Shelby indeed treats the girl as if she's his," 

"Hm," you pressed your lips together. "may I ask who told you Louise isn't Tommy's?" 

"It's written in the guest list, Y/N Adler Shelby and Louise Adler, I'm sorry for Mr. Adler, I'm sure he was a good man," she smiled, "now, if you excuse me," 

Aline left you with teary eyes, how dared she speak about your family like this? But what if…? What if she was right? Did Tommy really love Louise? Did he see her as his daughter or an extension of you?

"Seven, Louise falling over had a good effect on them," Tommy held your arm, telling you about the new huge donations.

"Really? That's great, love," 

"Are you alright?" 

"Yeah, just a bit tired," 

"I'll tell the driver to take you home," 

"No! There’s still a few hours to go,"

"Ada will take your place, most of the guests are leaving already anyway,"

"Oh, alright then," you drawled.

"Will you take the kids?"

"Yeah, I think," you looked around, searching for them, "just Louise, the boys look like they're having fun, can you look after them?"

"Sure." 

-

The way home was quiet, Louise had asked to rest on your leg and fell into deep sleep, Frances helped you to carry her to bed. After a well-deserved bath, you had put some foundation's papers in order so Tommy could add today's profit without any problem. Night was falling and all you could do was wait for the rest of your family to arrive.

Heading upstairs, your eyes fixed in a spot they usually didn't, the family painting. It took months of persuasion for Tommy to agree to pose and even longer for it to be done, since he only agreed to give away two hours of his agenda. 

Your heads leaned together in a sign of unquestionable affection, Louise sat in the middle, where your right and Tommy's left leg stuck together. William was on your left leg and Henry on Tommy's right, they were less than two years old and didn't get a characteristic Shelby haircut yet. All in all, you looked like a family, no one would dare to say otherwise, unless Aline Thompson.

The sound of the front door opening followed by the maid's heels told you Tommy arrived, you decided to wait in the stairs and he showed up alone.

"Where's Henry and William?" you asked with furrowed brows. 

"At Ada's, they wanted a sleepover with Karl," 

While you both walked upstairs, he had a hand on your lower back and you realized he didn't ask about Louise, the very first thing you did when Tommy arrived was to ask about your kids, Tommy didn't even bother, probably because Louise wasn't his.

Time passed quietly, Tommy took a bath and asked a few questions about the paperwork, you told him to add today's profit and nodded to whatever else he said. Night could have been good, or at least, peaceful.

He sat on the bed looking through his paperwork and his sudden warning made your jaw clench, "You have a doctor's appointment scheduled for tomorrow, so be home when he arrives," 

"What for?" 

"To check on our girl," he answered without paying attention.

"How do you know it's a girl?" 

"This pregnancy it's different from the boy's," 

"Oh," you lay down, turning your back on him, "I'm glad you at least care about this girl," 

He sighed and you heard him writing something, a few seconds passed until he asked, "What did you say?" 

You didn't answer.

"Y/n, what do you mean?" he touched your shoulder, trying to make you look at him.

"Nothing, Tommy, nothing," 

"No, what the fuck you mean with this girl?" 

You sat up, taking a good look at his face before questioning, "How many children do we have, Tommy?" 

"Three and another one on the way," he harshly answered and you sighed in relief.

"This is what you say to everyone else, right? Not just to me," 

"Yeah, y/n, of course, why would you fucking ask that?" 

You teared up and Tommy's face softened, he cupped your face, catching some tears and patiently waiting for you to speak.

"You only have three, Tommy, the twins and this one," you rubbed your belly.

"Who said that?" he looked at you with disbelief.

"It's the truth," 

"Louise is my child,"

"You know she's not, I know it, you know it, and-"

"Y/n-" 

"Aline Thompson fucking knows it," 

"Who 's Aline Thompson?" 

"It doesn't matter, Tommy," 

"It fucking does, if there's someone around saying Louise isn't my child, then I have to know," 

"It won't change the facts." 

"Listen," he moved closer to you and cupped your face again, "Louise is my child, I'm raising her, she's a Shelby." 

"Then why didn't you ask about her when you arrived?" 

"I asked Frances, she told me she's sleeping since evening," 

"Oh," your cheeks heated up, ashamed of this huge misunderstanding. 

"Who's Aline Thompson?" 

"A stupid woman at the charity tea, she said I was lucky for you treating Louise as your own," 

"Lucky, eh?" he nodded, "I bet her husband has a deal with the Shelby Company," 

"No, Tommy!" you giggle.

"Oh, just a few pounds to lose,"

"Tommy! You're mean! Not that she doesn't deserve it," 

Hesitant knocks on the door made you stop laughing, you and Tommy switched a look before he got up and opened the door.

"I'm sorry to bother, Mr. Shelby," a young maid holding Louise's hands apologized, "but Louise wants to sleep with you," 

Too sleepy to speak, your daughter rubbed her eyes and walked past Tommy, climbing on the bed and laying near you. 

"Right, thank you-" 

"Oh, also, Mrs. Thorne called, the twins want to come home."