#if you don't read the same things that's fine you do you

[plutoasteroids]

PAC How Will Your Future Spouse's Mother (Your Mother-In-Law) View You

Pile 1 Pile 2 Pile 3

This PAC is how your future spouse's mother will view you and any channelled messages I may get; it could be confirmations or anything their higher self wants to let you know.

AGAIN, TAKE WHAT RESONATES LEAVE WHAT DOESN'T THIS IS A GENERAL READING. If no pile resonates with you, it's fine don't force anything to resonate...again it's just a general reading.

PILE 1

Your future mother-in-law sees you as a breath of fresh air for their child (your future spouse) and their whole family.

Before your future spouse met you, they may have been going through some toxic cycles, bad habits or some kind of betrayal from someone or people close to them. For some of you your future spouse may have fallen into bad habits of some forms of addiction.

But after meeting you, your future spouse is going to want to change bring in positivty and healthy habits into his life because they don't want to lose you and their mother is going to notice the positive change and be so appreciative of you.

Your future mother-in-law sees you as smart, capable and they think you are really good at your job, hobbies or whatever it is you are good at. They admire how hard you work, and they feel like they won the lottery/ won in life by having you as their child in law (I don't know if that's a real thing so bear with me).

They view you as someone who is responsible and is able to keep a promise and hold accountability for their words and actions. You may even trigger some change in your future spouse's family as a whole because maybe it's the way you carry yourself or your work ethic that will make them go 'Dang we really have to do better; we can't be wasting life like this'.

She'll truly love how you have positively impacted her family.

Also, your mother-in-law said she'll baby you when I was channelling her because she recognizes how hard you work, and she wants to show you that you are appreciated and that it's time to take a rest and let someone else be the one to handle things and take care of you.

PILE 2

First thing I channelled from your future mother-in-law is that she will feel 'iffy' about you. Meaning that she's not sure if she likes you or not. Okay it's more like some things about you may rub your mother-in-law the wrong way like maybe she's more of a traditional housewife and you and your future spouse don't go according to traditional roles of spouses.

For example, if it's more of a straight couple maybe the wife works, and husband is a stay-at-home father.

-Maybe it's a same sex couple and the mother-in-law hasn't come to fully accept it.

-Another is the couple is again a straight couple and the wife refuses to have a child this could rub the mother-in-law the wrong way. There may be a lot of conflict between your future spouse and their mother about you because your mother-in-law would want their child to find someone else because obviously, they aren't so sure about you.

For other people your mother-in-law can try to compete with you for example 'The way I cook chicken is so much better' says your mother-in-law.

(You can take these as it being a sign a that the pile is for you)

But once she gets past those reservations the way she will view you is someone not very stable like you and your future spouse may like to travel a lot and are never in one place for too long and your mother-in-law could be like 'Why can't you just stay in one place it's not that hard'. But also, she sees your creative side, she sees you as a kind, gentle person with so much care within them.

She sees you as someone who has achieved so much that they can't help but praise you. They will also see you as someone very popular maybe you have a lot of followers or just a lot of friends in general.

They see you as the voice of reason, if anything goes wrong you are the best person to ask for advice, you are the best person to mediate an argument, you are the best person to a person, situation or an item fairly without an unbiased opinion (She might drag you shopping a lot and even show you off to her friends), more so because you have an obvious kindness and compassion to you that she can't help but love and admire about you despite her reservations. They will see you as strong, nurturing, courageous and passionate in the way you carry yourself and the way you talk.

They see you as someone who wants to protect their own peace, someone who wants to keep things balanced and harmonious.

-By the way Pile 2 she won't be like that with you forever she'll warm up. (Eventually😭)

PILE 3

I channelled 2 things from your future mother-in-law:

'You're a saint' and 'How can you deal with them'

Your future spouse may be a bit of a handful, a bit chaotic but in the 'I can't help but find it cute' kind of way.

Your mother-in-law finds you transformative, you never stay the same way for too long (not in a bad way) as in you will either only get better and better to them as time goes on or you just straight up change your appearance and aesthetic so much that it just throws your mother-in-law off.

Okay so your mother-in-law feels like you take really good care of not only yourself but your future spouse. They think you're physically so attractive (not in a creepy way), that you take extra care of your appearance, you may eat well and work out often.

But they also see you as creative and compassionate and your mother-in-law is just so happy to have you as part of her family and she may tell you this often from the moment your future spouse introduces you to her.

She feels like you're always on the move, you and your future spouse may travel a lot, you guys may go out a lot to dinners and parties, but I think these parties and dinners will be more on the luxurious side.

she said, 'as they should' (honestly your mother-in law is so supportive of you to the point that after you marry your future spouse, if you want to get married that is, that they won't even introduce you as their in law it's just 'this is my child'

Your mother-in-law sees you as successful, financially stable, attractive, nurturing and just overall they just absolutely adore you.

[bluebells-and-dragonflies]

Can I request Reader asking Astarion nervously if you can spank him? Only if he's interested & after discussing about his boundaries & safe words!

Just for you, beloved anon.

NSFW below the cut! Mind the tags, and minors, please don't interact!

"So, I have a proposition for you," you begin, leaning back against the counter. Your heart pounds in your chest, but you try as hard as you can to push your apprehension down. He'd told you to be honest, after all. He'd told you to ask.

Astarion lifts his head from the book he's reading at the table in the middle of your kitchen, attention immediately redirected to you. He closes it without looking away from your face. "Oh? Do tell. You always have the most interesting ideas."

You grin at him at the same time he grins at you, and you both have to stifle a laugh. Your ideas are very interesting, if you do say so yourself. Astarion certainly tends to think so, if the way he'd flushed the time you suggested fucking him instead of the other way round was any indication.

It takes real effort to draw your focus back to the conversation at hand instead of reminiscing on where that particular discussion had led. "I was thinking about things I might like to try, like we talked about."

Astarion straightens in his chair. "Go on."

"And I came up with something else." You take a breath. There's really no good way to say it, so you just brace youself and hope for the best. "I want to try spanking. Spanking you. So do with that what you will."

There's a heavy silence once you've spoken, the two of you staring at each other in a beat of mutual thought. Anxiety surges in your chest as you watch his face, looking for any sign of discomfort or disgust. The last time you talked about sex and limits, you'd promised each other that you'd share any fantasies that came up. Astarion wants to experiment as much as possible, wants to find out what he likes, and he said he would at least consider virtually anything. But this is something you haven't tried yet: you haven't ever taken the more dominant role when those dynamics come into play. It could be a problem, you know that, and of course you're afraid that even asking will remind him of things he'd rather forget. But you want to give him the opportunity to say yes or no instead of making his decisions for him.

A slow smile starts to spread across Astarion's face as he stands up from his chair, crossing the space between you in two strides and pressing so close that you have to crane your neck up to see him properly. His fangs flash over his bottom lip, his eyes darken, and when he croons "Well, darling, I think I could be amenable," you're flooded with the heat of knowing he wants it as bad as you do.

So it is that you find yourself watching Astarion undress himself before you as you sit on the side of your bed, fully clothed. You're long past any need for modesty with each other, and he flashes you a sultry smirk as he pulls his shirt over his head.

"Same safe-words as always?" you ask. Astarion tugs his trousers down, and you get a rather delightful view of the toned muscles in his thighs as he kicks them off (and across the room, but that's something to deal with later).

"Fine with me," he says. "'Dagger' for stop. Snap of the fingers if we can't talk." His underwear goes the same way as his trousers, and before you know it he's straddling your lap, arms thrown around your neck. His lips are on yours almost instantly, and you kiss him back with pure muscle memory, raising your hands to cup his face and run your fingers through his curls. When you tug ever-so-gently, you're rewarded with the smallest moan into your mouth.

It takes the better part of fifteen minutes to get completely situated- you're entirely unable to keep your hands off of each other, and at one point Astarion nearly derails the whole thing by pinching your nipples through the fabric of your shirt- but you get there eventually. Astarion lies over your lap, facedown, his ass exposed to you. He rests his head on his arms and wiggles a little as he settles.

"Are you ready?" you ask, sliding your palm over the smooth skin of his lower back.

"Yes," he says, and no more than that. Before you have time to talk yourself out of it, you cup one of his cheeks, then quickly smack it with the flattest part of your hand.

It's not a particularly hard blow, but Astarion jolts a bit anyway, his cock dragging against the inner part of your thigh. He takes a breath- one, two, three- and you see his fingers flex in the fabric of the bedspread.

"Again," he hisses. "Gods- again," and his voice is low and strained and almost unbelievably fucking hot, and you've never been good at saying no to him. Every time you hit him, he tells you again, more. Every time you hit him, he seems to grow harder against you. You spank him again and again, alternating between cheeks, hitting every part of his ass until his skin glows pink., and you're raising your hand to deliver another blow when he stumbles on his demand.

Your hand stills. "Is this alright?"

Astarion lifts his head to look over his shoulder at you incredulously. "Are you serious?"

"I just want to hear you say it."

You can almost physically see him biting back whatever quip or barb has sprung to the tip of his tongue. "Yes, darling," he says instead, letting his head fall back down to the mattress. "It's alright. It's- it's good."

Reassured, you raise your hand. Astarion tenses when you pull away, already anticipating the next blow. it's obvious that he's expecting it (and that he wants it- he's grinding shallowly against your thigh, little aborted thrusts of his hips that he's clearly struggling to keep control of), but you refuse to give it to him, just for a second. Instead, you trail your fingertips up his side and relish in the reaction you get: a soft sigh and a gorgeous shiver.

He does look good like this, you think to yourself as you squeeze his hip just enough to win a short little gasp. What a privilege to be the one to get to see it. His ass has blushed a very pretty shade of pink where he's taken your blows. Something deep in your belly twists at the knowledge that it's your blood that courses through his veins. Your blood that fills the hard cock digging insistently into your inner thigh.

"How many more do you think, darling?" you murmur, running a soothing hand up his spine and into the downy hair at the nape of his neck. "Tell me what you want. Tell me what will get you there."

He hesitates only a moment. "Twenty." His voice is steadier than you would have thought. "Give me twenty. I..I want to know how it feels."

"Alright, love." Your hand returns to the curve of his ass. You gently press your fingertips into his reddened skin and admire the pale marks left behind.

Later, you'll remember as clearly as if you're living through it again. On the first hit, Astarion gasps, a sharp inhale of breath that he doesn't need or mean to take. On the fifth hit, he starts making sounds in the back of his throat, punched-out little ah-ah-ahs as your hand connects with his ass again and again. On the eleventh hit, Astarion begins to lose control of the movement of his body, and the restrained grind of his cock against your thighs becomes more and more frantic. On the sixteenth hit, he cries out, genuinely cries out, a wordless shout of pain and pleasure. He doesn't say his safe-word, doesn't signal you, just writhes in your lap alive with arousal and need. And on the nineteenth hit, he comes with a wanton, aching moan, unable to stop himself from leaving your thighs an absolute mess. You stop there, and when you gently brush the sweat-soaked hair from his forehead and whisper "thank you," Astarion smiles at you like you've lit the sun.

Afterward, there are hours (maybe even days) of aftercare, and the two of you discuss every single part of what you've done together: what you liked best, what you want to do again, what felt good. The next time you find yourself in the same position, it's him who asks you, a pink flush at the tips of his ears. For now, though, you're content to take care of him.

[hsllfirescoopsreblogs]

╰┈➤ 18+ none of these stories belong to me! this is a masterlist of all the moon knight boys stories i’ve read and reblogged! just thought it would be nice to have them all in one spot! (if your fic is on here and you wish not to be, please let me know!) some will have summaries if provided <3

a/n: so embarrassing please ignore this. this is the same post. i couldn’t edit it whatsoever. some links weren’t working so i deleted the original. so i apologize for doing this again and retagging writers. (had to split it into two parts)

MASTERLIST • OSCAR ISAAC CHARACTERS • 05/04/24

☾ moon knight one

☾ @laaundromat

☼ building love

⭒ Steven has unconsciously set himself up on a date with his crush.

☾ @storiesforallfandoms

☼ how things are

⭒ now that they’ve learned how to share the body, they must come to terms with the fact that they also have to share their wife

☾ @little-worm-grant

☼ uncomplicated

⭒ Deep down you knew Jake wouldn’t be calling if he didn’t think he needed you. Or maybe that’s what you told yourself to make it more tolerable to be out of your warm bed at this hour.

☾ @mccn-bcys

☼ just a touch of your hand part 2 part 3

⭒ when you turn eighteen, an ink stain appears on your skin wherever your soulmate touches you for the first time. the boys each are dealing with their stain in their own way.

☼ sensual pleasure?

⭒ your friends take you to the museum but you never were interested in the history. Until your friend introduces you to a cute gift-shoppist who gives you little history lessons. Suddenly, a ring sparks becomes a little more than a cool item he showed you.

☾ @missdictatorme

☼ open my eyes

⭒ Jake and Steven were more than happy when you agreed to be in a relationship with them, but Marc barely fronts when you're near. Will he warm up to you over time?

☼ third ones the charm part 2

⭒ Jake Lockley was fine. Really. Marc and Steven are happy with their girlfriend and he's okay staying in the shadows. He's used to staying in the shadows. He managed to stay hidden from the boys for years, but lately something makes him take control more and more. Or rather, someone makes him take control more and more.

☼ the thin line

⭒ Steven and Marc are literally glowing with happiness since they were in a relationship with you. Jake is mostly annoyed and is constantly trying to make you leave. Marc and Steven are having none of it.

☾ @wysteria-clad

☼ our little thing

⭒ you have a specific thing with each of them. It's not like you don't do it with other two, but you do enjoy a little act of intimacy that is special to each of them.

☾ @m00nsbaby

☼ the already over series

☼ weightless

⭒ The feeling of being trapped goes beyond the ankle bracelet that keeps him tied to the bed.

☾ @bruhstories

☼ canonic jar

⭒ marc is exasperated by you, but he needs to behave because you're steven's girlfriend.

☾ @eyelessfaces

☼ formal wear

☾ @bensolosbluesaber

☼ the jake problem part 2

⭒ Jake hates you. Like really hates you, which wouldn’t be a problem if you weren’t dating Steven and Marc. But maybe, just maybe, Jake doesn’t hate you.

☾ @starryeyedstories

☼ talk deity to me

⭒ You’re an Egyptologist invited to the museum to give a talk to a group of school kids, and Steven might have a bit of a crush on you.

☾ @juneknight

☼ dozing

⭒ A man falls asleep on you during your bus ride to work. 

☾ @januaryembrs

☼ i should have been there

⭒ Marc had always carried her with him, since they were small kids playing pirates in the yard, before things got messed up by grown up feelings and burdens. It's not until he sees her twenty years later, he realizes he should have saved her.

☾ @redeyerhaenyra

☼ sleeping beauty

⭒ After having sex with Jake, you both fall asleep in your flat. Only, it's not Jake that wakes up, it's Steven.

☾ @writefightandflightclub

☼ shadow of a doubt

⭒ marc was first. steven was second. khonshu’s never going to love you. …and you’re wondering if jake will ever get there at all.

☼ no fish were harmed in the making of this meet cute

⭒ You have a dilemma. You don’t want to sell the man any more fish. But you do want him to keep coming back to your shop

☾ @bits-and-babs

☼ chocolate

⭒ After weeks of pining for your coworker Steven Grant, sharing chocolate over a late shift causes sparks to fly.

☼ bumpy ride

⭒ The handsome man who you see on your commute to work every day is always on your mind.

☾ @spctrsgf

☼ cake

☾ @thatsthewrongwallcraig

☼ a night at the museum

⭒ After asking you out, Steven invites you to a private tour of the National Art Gallery.

☾ @thatredheadwriter

☼ on the mat

⭒ You’re Marc and Steven’s ‘guy in the chair’ for lack of a better term, helping them with all things techy. When you get injured trying to help on a mission, Marc decides you need to learn how to take care of yourself so it doesn’t happen again. Gym training with Marc turns into something else entirely.

☼ mine

⭒ The suit, the suit is amazing. Honestly it is. But you can’t help but be the slightest bit annoyed when it erases the marks you leave all over him. Lucky for you, Steven’s more than happy to let you have another go.

☼ outnumbered

⭒ You’re Layla’s adoptive sister, and Marc’s former lover. Being reunited with both of them stirs up some old feelings, but that gets pushed to the backburner when you’re severely injured during a fight. But things tend to boil over when they’re left too long, so what happens when you have some time alone with Marc.

☾ @ivystoryweaver

☼ spectre series

⭒ Marc Spector and his alters Steven and Jake have lost the love of their lives. They each try to move on, in their own way, but getting over you is the hardest thing they've ever faced. Marc starts to see you everywhere - he's haunted by your memory. No, literally, why are you sitting on the end of his bed? He believes in ancient deities, seeing how Jake still serves one as Moon Knight. But ghosts?

☾ @asimplearchivist

☼ first kiss

⭒ there was no possible way that you could have romantic feelings for steven. right?

☼ sad ending

⭒ you and jake enjoy having movie nights, but he has the habit of spoiling the endings for you. this time is different, though.

☼ speed dating

⭒ you're down in the dumps about the disheartening lack of prospective romantic partners interested in initiating a long-term relationship with you. your ever-helpful coworker amy decides to give you (and a highly interested would-be suitor) a nudge in the right direction—just not in the way you might expect.

☼ is that my shirt?

⭒ you and the boys have a set of rules. jake doesn’t like it when you break them.

☾ @luc-k-y

☼ stop looking at me like that part 2

☼ anything for you

☾ @campingwiththecharmings

☼ insomnia

⭒ Steven can't sleep and you, uh, help him out.

☾ @peterthepark

☼ each time you fall in love

⭒ you play mercenaries with marc. you play lovers with jake. you play house with steven. you suppose romance comes in all forms of their differing love for you.

☾ @ofstarsandvibranium

☼ to the rescue

⭒ showing up on Stevens date from the first episode

☾ @oddballwriter

☼ unexpected addition

⭒ Steven and Marc know about Jake's existence and they have been trying to get used to him and get to know him, and during a mission where they need help they found out Jake has been having like a long term relationship with the reader (who is Sekhmet's avatar)

☾ @sailorkamino

☼ hospital bed confessions

⭒ As long as Jake can remember he's only had Marc and Steven to protect - then you came into the picture. Jake is scared to admit just how much you mean to him until you're injured, then he can no longer hide his feelings.

☾ @angel-of-the-moons

☼ a rose under the moon

⭒ You've waited your whole life to meet your soulmate. You just didn't know your soulmate was so close by, all this time.

But...How the hell can you handle being thrown into a world full of gods and magic? You're just a shopkeeper! Why is your heart being tugged by three different threads?

☾ @psithurista

☼ stuck

⭒ You stop by Steven’s place one night after work. Somebody else answers his door.

☾ @reallyrallyauthor

☼ the coffee incident part 2 part 3

⭒ No coffee in the morning leads to a mystery for Marc, an apology from Jake, and guilt from Steven.

☼ paying your debt

⭒ Moon Knight saved your life, and now you're Marc Spector's glorified assistant. But when you pick him up one night after a fight, you get to feel the suit first hand, and what he keeps underneath it.

☼ free lunch

⭒ You're teaching Steven how to drive, but he’s so tense that you absolutely have to get him to relax first

☼ cupcake man

⭒ Jake helps his favorite bartender out w/ a problem they can’t solve themselves (which I like to imagine is Jake’s #1 all-time favorite hobby)

☼ bad girl

⭒ Jake has a smoking kink, and a way for you to indulge him without consequences.

☼ a friend

⭒ You and Marc Spector have a purely physical relationship. Both operating in society’s gray area, you try to avoid conflicts of interest. But when you’re hired to steal an artifact from a London museum, you wonder if even Marc himself knows all of his secrets.

☼ museum date

⭒ Marc gets set up on a blind date at an art museum

☼ slow songs

⭒ Your friend, Marc, pretends to be your boyfriend at a wedding, but is it pretend?

☼ here we go series

☾ @bit-dodgy-innit

☼ the shape of youniverse

⭒ A full blown AU of forging a life and family with a post-Khonshu Moon Boys that’s as heartfelt as it is filth.

☾ @the-little-ewok

☼ tilt part 2 part 3 part 4

⭒ Steven Grant wants to tell you the truth about why he missed your date, but it isn't Steven you meet... 

hopefully all links work, let me know if not <3

[the-kr8tor]

I love love love your work!!!! This is my first time sending a request so I hope I’m doing it right 😭,, I was wondering if you could do reader x Hobie Brown,,where the reader is a HUGE bookworm and loves talking about current reads/ literature in general. The reader is worried about annoying Hobie while talking because they think he doesn’t care about books or the topic is boring, so she stops yapping about her books and Hobie finds it weird or something 😭😭🤷🏽‍♀️🤷🏽‍♀️

Hihi! Thank you so much!! Hope you like it ❤️❤️❤️

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Tags: No use of Y/N, No specific physical description of the reader, FLUFF.

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

“—and you know what happens next?” You exclaim, tone high and excited. Hobie sits comfortably in between your legs, his hands tinkering with your broken clock whilst you ramble on about a new read. You answer your own question a mere second later. “She fucking fell of the tower, taking down the villain with her!” Fingers kneading softly at his nape, it's more for your pleasure than his (he loves it anyway)

You can't see it but Hobie has a huge grin on his face. He, like usual, would always sport the same smile whenever you talk about your books. He'd always find himself enamored by the plot just from you talking about it. Whether it's romance or horror, he loves it when you share your stories with him. He'd let you ramble on for hours if you want to. The clock in his hand was repaired by him thirty minutes ago, but he'll be damned if he interrupts your pleasant chatter.

His vision is filled with your face a second later, eyebrows knitted together, and a pout on your pretty lips. He resists the urge to kiss it away.

“Are you okay?” You ask, and he quirks a brow at your question.

“Yeah, why wouldn't I be?”

“I've been a chatterbox all day, your ears must be ringing from my voice.” You clear your throat nervously. “Sorry, Hobs, can you tell me about your day?” You rhythmically tap his clavicle, a nervous habit of yours that he finds endearing.

“Love, my ears are perfectly fine at listening to you talk.” Hobie slithers his hand up to the back of your head, not pushing or pulling you away, just comfortably holding onto you. “And you know I love my chatterbox.”

You sigh, arms laying still on his torso, chin tucked atop the crown of his head. “I haven't given you the chance to talk, I've been blabbering the entire time about my book. You must be so bored, do you want to turn the telly on instead?”

“Love?” He calls tenderly as he leans his head down so he could see you in all your glory.

“Yeah?” You answer back with the same softness, and a small smile on your lips when you see through his lopsided smile and hazel eyes that are practically in the shape of hearts.

Hobie chuckles, hands leaving the clock to hold the side of your thighs, squeezing lightly. The pads of his calloused fingers glide down to your knees, laying there comfortably like you're a seatbelt on a rollercoaster.

“You could talk about how paint is made and I'd listen to you for hours on end.” Your cheeks warm up at his comment, it's your turn to resist a much needed smooch on his handsome face. “I'm just lucky that you're into more interesting things.”

“You're okay with me talking about my stories?”

“I'll do you one better.” He twists around on the floor to loop his arms around your waist. Pushing you close to him, chin laying on your thigh, he tilts his head, knowing that the simple act makes you melt. With a proud smirk, he taps the small of your back. “Read the book to me? You're killing me with anticipation here, love, what happens next?”

You hide your quickening heartbeat with a huff. “Okay, but don't hate me if you don't like what happens next.” You practically leap off the couch to fetch the book when he nods at you. His laugh echoes and follows you around as you rummage through your piles of books.

[eisforeidolon]

Hi! Sorry if i'm bothering you but i needed someone to talk. About what happened recently with Destiel and Misha and the fans that believed in the things he said. I am new to Supernatural fandom, but i loved the story in an instant, thanks to Sam and Dean and their unique relationship. Then i became interested in Jared and Jensen too and i think that if Sam and and Dean are the heart of Supernatural then Jared and Jensen are the soul of the show because to me no other actor could have played Sam and Dean like they did. Now, returning to what i wanted to say i am really TIRED about Destiel, some Destiel shippers and especially Misha. I know he said some stupid thing about how CW is homophobic and how Destiel would be canon if they weren't homophobic. I don't ship Destiel because sincerely i don't see romantic love between Dean and Castiel, but this doesn't make me an homophobic person. His words are said with malicious intent. He also said some thing about how Jensen is attracted to him. I find this disgusting because he says this things only for his Destiel fan, knowing that his words are lies. Also Jensen not being there can't reply to his lies. Like i sad i'm new to Supernatural but some Destiel are making the experience in the fandom a constant war. They say that if you don't ship Destiel you are homophobic , that if you don't ship Destiel you are not a true Supernatural fan and the most stupid one... They say that Supernatural is about Dean and Castiel and their love. This make me really angry because Supernatural is about Sam And Dean, how they care for each other,how they save the world again and again and how they hunt monster and ghost and other things. But to me Supernatural is the unique love story of two brother and how they did everything to protect each other. I ship Wincest, but When i say love story i mean that Sam and Dean are Platonic Soulmates in Supernatural and even the show always remind us of that. I don't understant how Misha can say this thing without facing consequences because his words feed some Destiel fan that became hateful like him and whose mission is hating people who don't think think like them. Sorry for the long post and for the horrible english but it's not my first language. Sorry if i bothered you but i needed someone to talk to because sometimes i feel like leaving the fandom because Destiel hate and their war against everyone. I hope you will always have love and kindness in your life.

You really don't need to apologize for anything.❤️ You aren't bothering me and your English is fine - maybe not perfect, but hell, neither is mine some days! Thank you for the lovely sentiment, and I wish you the same - and that you do what is best for you in regards to this sometimes dumpster fire of a fandom.

If it helps, you're absolutely not alone. I've been in this fandom for years now, and some days it's sheer stubbornness against hellers obvious attempts to browbeat and drive everyone else out that keeps me here. They didn't get to take over the show through being loud and obnoxious and they don't get to monopolize the fandom by doing the same - and they can be butthurt forever over it.

I actually didn't mind Dean and Castiel as a ship at first. I'm always interested in what people take from a canon and then create entirely outside of it, and I read quite a lot of fanfic. Even then I was baffled by shippers insisting it was a thing in the canon, though. There was a brief period where I wondered if I'd somehow missed it, because I'm not generally really looking for romance stories and there were so many posts that were so insistent? So I actually did a rewatch focused just on Dean and Castiel's interactions - and came away with the impression they weren't actually even as good of friends as I'd originally thought, let alone anything like interested in each other romantically. The more I thought about it and the more meta I ran across and actually considered the details of? The more obviously baseless it was. I mean, some of it really is just genuinely so stupid it's hilarious. Cake. Bacon. Negative space. Widower arc. Bisexual lighting and/or plaid. But even the theorizing which wasn't absurd on its face? Always looked silly in comparison to how much more obviously and easily it had meaning in relation to the main story that plainly actually existed instead.

Meanwhile, I kept seeing more and more of those posts you mention insisting anyone who didn't ship it was a homophobe and they really pissed me off. Even if Dean and Castiel were a canon couple who spent half of each episode doing couple things and saying I love you back and forth instead of the entire show revolving around Sam and Dean's crazy tangled up lives with Castiel occasionally wandering in and out of the background with some angel nonsense or whatever? Not shipping it would not make someone a homophobe. Shipping is very subjective and any individual pairing can not appeal to any particular fan for a million and one reasons that have sweet fuckall to do with how they generally feel about LGBT+ relationships. Attempting to bully people into supporting a single very specific fictional relationship by trying to make them afraid of being branded a bigot if they don't is ridiculous as hell, regardless of how canon or not it is. How absolutely fucking disrespectful to all the people who have to deal with actual homophobia versus just being butthurt they can't force two particular fictional characters to kiss. It's so goddamn juvenile I can't even.

The longer I was in fandom, the more brain dead and divorced from the show the meta claiming Dean and Castiel were going to hook up any minute got. The more annoyed I became at all the absurd stereotypes about masculinity and sexuality they would parrot as gospel truth if it could "prove" Dean was into dudes and eventually the angel. The more obviously transparent their every cry of ~*homophobia*~ was when they tried to turn every real life LGBT+ issue and every canon LGBT+ character primarily into proof and/or justification regarding D/C. They're a bunch of entitled shitheads who not only feel like they should get to dictate what SPN is despite hating basically everything it actually was, but who are perfectly fine with co-opting serious real world issues to try and do it. I have no beef with normal D/C shippers who aren't assholes to everyone and mad at the show for not bringing their fanfic to life, but I can't stand the pairing at all even in a fandom sense anymore.

The evolution of my feelings on Misha followed a similar path. I liked Castiel well enough as a supporting character and I didn't actively dislike Misha, though after I'd seen a couple of panels where his answers were flippantly irreverent or unnecessarily raunchy, I wasn't really much interested in him. Then, over time, at the same time Castiel's character was more and more blatantly just eating up screen time to give J2 time off, he started getting worse and worse about ship-baiting. He'd act like everyone behind the scenes was talking about D/C - but then they (Jensen and Bob Singer most notably) would say that was untrue. He'd slyly hint about upcoming scenes in a vague way to imply D/C and then it would be something else entirely. He'd tell shippers about things that had been pointedly removed because they could seem leading and that was not the authorial intent, but without pointing out that was exactly why they were excised. His stories would change when he got a bad reaction - he went from saying he shipped wincest to pretending he'd never heard of it, he went from claiming Jimmy was going to appear in the original Roadhouse finale to it being Castiel, etc. Then there was framing horsing around with Jared as if he was a victim and not a participant and the incredibly inappropriate objectifying sexual comments about Jensen and Dean. All of which caused the fans falling for it to loudly and angrily attack everyone but him while they kept buying his ops/books/cameos/whatever. No matter how blatantly he queerbaits them and how upset they get over it and take it out on everyone else, he does not stop. He's an ungrateful creepy narcissist who will throw literally anyone or anything under the bus if he can get a buck out of it. Who also will proclaim he doesn't want to co-opt LGBT+ causes when he's desperately trying to keep his career on life support doing exactly that in the most skeevy, backstabby way possible.

Jared and Jensen put their hearts and years of their lives into this show bringing Sam and Dean to life, episode after episode, week after week, season after season. Telling an important story about platonic and familial love that you really won't find anywhere else.

Misha and the hellers have spent years trying to co-opt that to their own ends out of gross entitlement. They deserve each other, but the show and its actual fans don't deserve to have to put up with either of them. Unfortunately, we have the fandom we have, not the one we deserve.

[victoria-grimesss]

Hi ❤️🥰🫶🏻 I really love your writing style and enjoy all your content. Sorry if this is a bothersome question but your name and Norman profile picture made me curious…. Would you be willing to write some headcanons for Daryl? Hope you have a nice week 🙏🏻

Daryl Dixon Headcanons SFW & NSFW

masterlist ->Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader ->Warning: MDNI! fluff and some smut ->A/N: Thanks for the request, TWD was my first fandom so I’m always down to write for it, especially Daryl. :) I just did some general Fem!Reader ones since that's what I mainly write for but DO let me know if there's any other specific ones you'd like to see. I also hope you have a nice week! Sorry this took so long!

SFW:

He would show affection through acts of service, (getting you something you needed during a run, fixing something around the house that you mentioned was broken, or cleaning your gun if you were too busy to do it. He has a lot to think about throughout the day, but he keeps tabs on things you like or need, he’s always thinking about you.

Around Alexandria when you both were there you would both spend a-lot of time in silence together just being in each others presence. He would be working on his bike and you would be reading a book just being together.

In general, there becomes an almost rhythm to your relationship, you walk together, eat together, go on runs together, most of the time you both just enjoy simply being together. Having the privilege to be alive and be next to one other. Eventually people start assuming one doesn't go somewhere without the other, "Y/N and Daryl this, Y/N and Daryl that. It's cute.

Not a fan of PDA, he was never that kind of person but he likes it when you fix a piece of his hair that's out of line, or adjust his vest so it sits better on him. He likes to know you care, he does get butterflies when you call him handsome even though he doesn't show it. Aside from a little smile and a dip of his head, "You don't know what you're talkin' bout girl.

He always admires your strength, you've made it this far and he admires the skills you've picked up along the way. Someone is doing something wrong that you're a pro at? "You're doing that wrong ya know, let me get Y/N, she'll show you how to do it right."

He always had a crush on you, always was looking out for you. You caught his eyes lingering quite some times over the campfire before you were both together, he's look away quick but he knew you saw. What can he say, he loved seeing you blush.

Once you're together he's less reserved about his staring and you'll catch his eyes roaming your body more than a couple times.

Not a master in flirting whatsoever but when he held out his hand, arm all the way outstretched to give you a bundle of wildflowers you were a goner. "Got ya these, said you liked em' found some while I was out."

He's a light sleeper but he loves to lay on your chest and feel you run your fingers through his hair it knocks him out in five minutes minimum.

Will avoid the regular medics in town and just come right to you, you've stitched him up for this long and he likes it when you fix him up and scold him at the same time for not being more careful.

"D, honey this is going to need stiches.."

"I know, you can just do it, you do it the same way as the doctors anyway."

"Fine, just- only if you get some antibiotics. Can't have you dying on me from a fuckin infection."

"Yea whatever you want girl."

Knows you can handle yourself but he always has an eye out for you when you're out on runs or outside the walls.

Boosts his ego when you ask him to flex and you swoon.

You both never got properly married, you haven't gotten around to finding rings but when a new group entered the town you just said you were his wife for simplicities sake and because why not you've been together so long and everyone else thinks of you two married. Loves hearing people call you Y/N Dixon.

NFSW:

He's home late often, it's a normal occurrence but sometimes when he's gone for a good long while and you hear his boots finally trudging up the stairs you get a little giddy, butterflies filling your stomach and you grow warmer just thinking about having him back in bed.

This can go one of two ways; number one is you welcome him into bed slowly, it's raining and he's cold to the bone just wanting to warm up with you. The room is dark and only the moonlight illuminates his broad shoulders as his body leans over yours, hips rolling into you with a smooth and rhythmic motion. His arms caging you in so your whole field of vision and mind is filled with him. His head would dip to your ear, teeth biting at your neck. "Missed ya', thought about you a lot on the way back."

The second way is when he's frustrated, the run didn't go how he wanted, didn't find enough, he's pent up more than usual and you welcome his release of energy with open arms. He's got one hand on your hips and the other gripping the headboard, knuckles turned white from gripping it trying to maintain some kind of composure when he's driving himself deeper inside you, eyes dark as your nails bite at his chest. Damp hair hanging in his face and the room is filled with the noise of your heavy breathing and the wetness between the both of you. "You like that? Fuck, yea ya do."

He prefers being together in the privacy of your own home, where he can put his undivided attention all on you. But that doesn't mean you both don't get creative.. you've fucked in almost every room, you both agreed the attic was just too out there, insulation is the biggest mood killer.

He's always been a man for quick showers, get clean and get out. But one time you were both on a time crunch and you had a great idea to share the shower, save water right? He couldn't keep his eyes off of you, the way the soap and water kept gliding over your body had him hard in like 0.5 seconds so needless to say you were late, something about making out underneath the stream of water added something he couldn't get enough of. Bruises on the back of your thighs from him fucking you against the shower wall lingered for some time.

He loves seeing you get ready in the morning, he's got the perfect view from the bed into the bathroom to watch the whole process, sometimes if he's feeling extra needy he'll come into the bathroom and gently bend you over, bringing himself out of his sweatpants and watching your face through the mirror as he slides himself in.

More than once he's thought about you riding him on his bike, with you just wearing his vest. While it's stationary of course, he's not that reckless.

Definitely does not care if you're on your period, you really think a little blood will stop him if you both want each other? Hell no. He didn't understand why you thought it was an issue the first time it came up.

Not incredibly jealous but it creeps in on him sometimes, when a new guy shows you a little more attention than he liked he gets cold with you later that day. Not because he thinks you'll cheat on him or the guy might make a move but that he thinks he himself isn't good enough for you, which you just won't stand for so on a few separate occasions you'll set him down on the couch and get down on your knees and remind him how much you love him.

He's a man that respects his woman so he's more than happy to return the favor, hands held tight on your thighs that are wrapped around his head, his tongue darting around and his lips wrapping around you and pulling his favorite noises from you. "Look at you, fuck, gonna cum for me? Atta girl."

He's careful about where he finishes, he wants nothing more than to dive completely into you and let you take all of him but if you're both not ready for what may come from that he's fine with painting your stomach or more preferably your chest, he's a tits guys for sure.

Aftercare is quiet and calm with him, both of you cleaned up and your head on his chest, the window is open to cool you both down and so the smoke from his after sex cigarette can sneak out.

[venturelovebot]

A/N: No one requested this, and this is purely self indulgent. 🫠 I hope nobody minds. I still plan on doing requests! I just wanted to help myself feel better.

Premise: Suicidal!gn!reader x Supportive!Venture. I scrapped the fic because I just didn't like it and went with head canons instead. Made it extra fluffy so if you're having a bad day you can safely read it!

Warning: Low key suicide mentions but no actual suicide.

✦ "Sometimes I just think it would be better off for everyone if I didn't exist at all."

✦ "If I could just erase everyone's memory of me and disappear... I would make everyone's life much easier."

✦ Being low key suicidal would be something you would hide for months into your relationship, and if you're lucky, maybe even a year.

✦ You're very good at pretending everything is alright because you don't want to 'bother anyone more than you already do'. At least, that was your explanation of it.

✦ Obviously, Sloan is devastated.

✦ One day you had finally had enough of pretending to be fine. The meltdown was a massive one– screaming, sobbing, throwing (soft) things across the room. You were thankful they only saw the aftermath of the whole ordeal.

✦ They were rightfully concerned after you were talking about some pretty dark things.

✦ "I'm sure I could be replaced. There's always more people out there to meet, eventually someone will fill the hole that I would leave behind– if I even left one."

✦ "Someone better in every way. Better looking, smarter, more lovable. Someone that is the opposite of me."

✦ They weren't sure what to think at first, as they knew you could be extremely hard on yourself. It wasn't your fault and they certainly weren't about to blame you for something out of your control.

✦ However, when you stopped replying it became a different story entirely.

✦ They found you curled up in a blanket on the couch. You had not eaten, you were barely hydrated, and your face was red and wet from being so upset.

✦ "Please don't take me to the hospital. I don't want to go." You plead with them.

✦ "We're not going anywhere, mi vida. Just talk to me."

✦ You told them everything that was on your mind: how worthless you felt you were, how much of a burden you were to them, how much happier they would be without you.

✦ The look on their face didn't change much. You were afraid you finally said too much.

✦ "That's not true."

✦ Not the response you expected.

✦ "I love you with every fiber of my being. I don't know what a life without you would look like, but I certainly don't want to know. Not now. Not ever."

✦ Their reaction sounded completely out of character to you. You were used to them cracking jokes despite the tension, but now it seems that seriousness was all they were composed of.

✦ They lift up your blanketed body so they could hold you for awhile. If you had any tears left in your tired eyes you'd be crying again right now.

✦ For awhile it's quiet, just the two of you snuggled up on the couch as the minutes ticked by.

✦ They were terrified to leave you alone that night, so you spent it together. Not something you're unfamiliar with, but this time they wouldn't let you out of their sight.

✦ In the morning it was pretty much the same way. This time they got you to eat a little bit of food and drink a glass of water to help you nourish yourself after yesterday's excitement.

✦ And yes, they were happy enough to spoon food into your mouth and crack jokes to see you smile. They had to. The seriousness had began to take a toll on them.

✦ That, and seeing your smile meant everything to them.

✦ When you went to bed for an afternoon nap they decided to call Angela for advice in between checking on you every thirty minutes.

✦ "Well, I'm not a therapist. However, I think you would both benefit from having an emergency plan in case something like this happens again." 🪽

✦ "I know it's a lot of work, but you sound like you genuinely care about [Y/N]." 🪽

✦ "I do." 🪨

✦ "Sometimes the best thing for people who are suffering is to just be there for them and listen to them. Believe me, it can do a world of good." 🪽

✦ "Thank you, Angela." 🪨

✦ "You're quite welcome, and please tell [Y/N] I wish them well!" 🪽

✦ "Can do!" 🪨

✦ In the evening when you feel the sadness return they hold you close and make sure you don't feel alone while you ride out your emotions.

✦ Once you're able to properly think again, the two of you brainstorm ideas related to Angela's advice.

✦ You both decide on a system that was easy enough to remember– they would ask you for a number, and depending on how you felt would determine your answer.

✦ The numbers went one through five: one meaning you felt safe and five meaning you needed support with varying levels of severity in between.

✦ While the goal was to always be a one, they knew that wasn't possible. So instead, they would do the best they could to remain available at all hours of the day so you could call them if needed.

✦ They also visit you a lot more often now. Even though you feel bad for interfering with their work, they just genuinely wanted to spend time with you and make sure you were going to be okay.

✦ Besides, work could wait until tomorrow. They weren't concerned about that at all.

✦ They promised you that no matter what the two of you were going through that you would both be okay in the end.

✦ No matter the amount of tears, no matter the amount of turmoil, no matter the amount of self loathing and insecurity– you were going to be okay, and in turn, so were they.

✦ "How are we feeling, mi corazón?"

✦ No matter what number you chose they were always prepared.

✦ "I think I feel like a one today."

✦ But hearing that you were feeling well for the first time in a long time was enough to bring them to actual tears of joy.

✦ Having to be the one to comfort them and calm them down was certainly a change of pace.

✦ "I'm just happy that you're feeling better." Then they held you as tightly as they could without hurting you.

✦ "I want to be here for all of your ones, too. I love to see you happy, because nothing makes me happier than you. You are my only one."

[schizosamwincester]

It's aplatonic visibility day, so here's a rant I've had in me for a while. If you're not aware, aplatonic means I do not feel platonic attraction/platonic feelings/platonic connection.

Platonic is not a synonym for non-romantic. I understand why you all like to emphasize how Supernatural lifts a non-romantic relationship to the same level, if not higher, than romantic ones. That is indeed a unique and special thing. We should point that out for both ship and non-ship reasons. However. Platonic is not the word to use. Platonic specifically relationship between friends. Generally, platonic means the people involved aren't family. Platonic bonds are a very specific thing, not just the absence of romance.

I understand that this doesn't matter to a lot of you, but to me? I do not feel romantic feelings. I do not feel platonic feelings. I do feel familial feelings. There is a reason I have fallen so deeply into this show, and that reason is that early seasons Sam and Dean do not have friends. The relationship is exclusively familial (and sexual if you read it that way) and those are the two types of attraction I do have.

To be clear this is also not to throw any shade on the idea that Sam and Dean are in a QPR because that's just true. I just think we in the aspec community could stand to come up with a broader term for non-normative relationships that does not include the word platonic. As we currently stand, that does not exist, so yeah, QPR is a totally valid and correct and fine term to use and I don't have any problem with it.

But yeah. Platonic ≠ non-romantic, and I think just about any reading of Sam and Dean makes it obvious that they are not friends. They are brothers. They are potentially more. But they are not platonic.

Thank you from your local aplatonic wincestie, and I encourage you to read more about aplatonicism!

[miller-n-morgan]

Take Me Home

PART ONE: TEXAS RED

Arthur Morgan x Gunslinger!Reader

18+, mdni

Summary: From the town of Agua Fria rode a stranger one fine day. Never spoke to folks around him, didn’t have too much to say. No one dared to ask his business, no one dared to make a slip, for the stranger there among them had a big iron on his hip. (Reader is based on Texas Red, from the song Big Iron)

Warnings: reader is female but is disguised as a young male (use of masc pronouns towards reader for this chapter), guns, violence, duelist behavior. Reader is described to have a masculine outer appearance (for show) and is mentioned to have reddish hair (for the sake of the storyline). A fake name is used but otherwise can be read completely as a reader insert.

Word Count: 6.5k

Howdy y’all ! I’m really excited about this story (arthur is my main comfort man) and this is just a story that I’ve been cooking up since I finished the game. This part (and a lot of the story’s future plot) is HEAVILY influenced by the song Big Iron by Marty Robbins and reader even goes by ‘Texas Red.’

“Men learn fast not to poke fun at me,” you told him, partially as a threat, but followed it up quickly. “I s’pose I’d better compose myself around here.” Arthur laughed, genuinely. He seemed to find you amusing, or maybe he found you to be annoying. Either way, you earned these hearty chuckles to enjoy for yourself.  “You may be quick with a gun, kid… but just know, that pistol on your hip couldn’t save you from me,” his voice was in a lower register when he said it, and you didn’t know whether you should be intimidated or completely and totally enamored. He wasn’t completely serious, unwilling to scare you away for Dutch’s sake. But he did want you to understand where you stood with him, and you did

The light from the outside window is what wakes you first, the brightness pooling over your closed eyelids before they even open. You’re still in Agua Fria, the place you've made a name for yourself. Charlie Brooks, but that's not the one that comes to mind. 

Texas Red. The unkillable. Nothing more than a duelist to many, and even less so to those who don't care for that sort of thing. But to those who dare challenge the big iron on your hip, you are not anything short of a quick handed master. Only eighteen years old, or so they say - it’s what you’ve told them, but like your name, it isn’t true. Whichever way you spell it out, your reputation is the reason people know you; You have the fastest draw on this side of anywhere. 

For someone who's known near and far as the kid who never lost a match, the nickname is a little less than favorable. Texas Red isn't for the blood on your hands, it's for the ginger of your hair. It's factual, not demeaning… but still unfavorable. You do not care much what they call you anymore, just as long as they know what comes with it. Too many men have underestimated your ability, one and nineteen more. 

Here in Agua Fria there's folks that will come from far and wide, just to test your trigger finger. Today is no different. You've spent the night in a hotel above the saloon, so by the time you reach the bottom of the stairs, you know there ought to be a man there, ready and willing to die. 

“That's him.” 

You hear from under the breath of the bartender. He served you only last night, one drink of silky whiskey before bed, nothing more. You told him your name, but not the one people know. Word gets around, you suppose. Your pistol has twenty notches on the handle, folks can tell enough from that alone. One of the outlaws that hangs around here does the same thing… except he takes pride in those marks, as opposed to you. You make those marks to remember the weight of your pistol, heavier every time a notch is made.

The man before you is tall and strong, likely a farmer that does heavy work. He has a sly look about him, but you don't feel bothered too much. You think his hands, worn by the sun and weathered by his work - whatever it may be - will not draw fast enough to even graze you. They are too stiff where they hang by his side, probably from pushing a plow, or milling a field. 

He hasn't spoken a word to you yet, but that's what you assume. He's here to challenge me, they always are. No one asks after you otherwise… except for maybe some working women, but that never ends well.

“You're the kid?” He looks you over, a furrowed brow and a smirk brush his features, but it doesn't last. Yes, you think. I'm the kid, and this is my gun.

“Yes sir,” your voice is a little lower, the early morning is stuck in the pitch of it. 

His question was so vague, but having been asked about eight times out of twenty ‘are you the kid?’ makes you a pretty damn good guesser of what your answer ought to be.

He takes another once over after a step forward, and now you can see that he stands about a head taller than you. He's not quite intimidating, but you can admit, the anxiousness of a man initiating a duel is always a thing that prickles your skin, warms your very fingertips. Maybe that's why you shoot so fast. 

“You don't look like a killer,” he looks down, but his nose is somehow still in the air. He wants to prove something, to someone or to himself you can't be sure, but only the most foolish of men dare your gun this way. 

“I'm not one.” 

And he laughs. You don't even think to look up at him, you keep my face forward. I don't have anything to prove, but of course you know you’ll have to.

“You shoot folks, got a name for it,” he settled his hands on his belt. It's a gun belt, sure, but the rounds don't even match the gun at his hip. They look bigger, as for a rifle. This farmer likely shoots ducks. Sitting or flying, that’s not the relevant point. 

He has experience, and that's what clouds his mind. He thinks you’re a sitting duck. 

“I do, but I ain't no killer,” you paused, rounding the man, stepping up to the bar and pointing for a glass of water. This early in the morning, any form of alcohol shouldn't be legal. You reckon it's the very thing that made this gentleman bold and eager enough to try what he's about to. At least you’re pretty darn sure that he's about to, otherwise he’s just an adoring spectator. “I shoot folks as need shootin’, but they always ask for it. I ain't malicious or nothin’.” 

“Maybe you's the one that needs shootin’.”

Atta boy, getting to the point. You have to smile. He looks confused by it and he very well should be… people don’t normally crack a grin when being threatened.

“S’pose you wanna be the one that does it,” You take a drink of the water you’re handed, but it does little to wash away the tickle in your throat, trying to climb its way up in the form of the chuckle. 

“If I gotta be.” 

You’ve never seen this man around town. Being here in this area almost two months, you’ve seen more of the traveling recluses than any of the farmers. Seen more of the local outlaws, too. They never stay long, they cause a little trouble here and there… but never the farmers. They come into town maybe once, twice a month. They harbor most of their own supplies on their land. No need for the town. 

“And you think you'll hit me?” 

“I've never missed.” 

And then that chuckle finally does escape you. 

“I knew twenty men who hadn't, either,” but the other's words were a bit more out of ignorance. They wanted to show off, thought they had nothing to lose. You were just a skinny kid with red hair and a heavy gun that you could barely stand to carry. 

“I like my odds.” 

So you turn to the bartender. He watched this same charade last month. A different man, not quite as tall, but just as confident. He stops wiping down an empty glass, and looks to you with a look of annoyance. What did you do to deserve it? You haven't the slightest clue. When he looks at the challenger with sincerity and condolences, you know what he thinks behind those eyes.

This is a fine young man, he may have a wife and some children. He doesn't know what he's doing, he had a strong drink. He only heard one story, it isn't fair. 

But of course, you can't back out. You’ve never backed out. Never having anything to lose, and like today, no one has ever tried to convince you otherwise. If you die now, you can go out a hero of sorts, the gunslinger of Agua Fria. If you live, then you'll someday die a legend. Texas Red, the unkillable.

You will have to step outside, and you will have to shoot this man, but for the first time, you feel you oughta know his name. You stepped to meet him and offered your hand. It's smaller compared to his. 

“What’s your name?” 

“Robert Sims.” 

He shakes your hand tightly, he wants to show how strong he is… as if that somehow makes him shoot faster.

“Glad to meet ya. I'm-” 

“The infamous Texas Red,” he finished for me, but every time you hear that nickname it somehow gets worse. Why on earth did the good Lord above curse you with something so nasty as ginger hair?

“Infamous? Don't know about that,” you lean back against the bar for another drink of water when your hands drop to your sides. “I'm just a kid. Name's Charlie Brooks.” 

He scoffs, his eyes falling to the floor. Maybe he doesn't wanna do this. He seems to be rolling it over in his head. If he wins he kills you, a scrawny kid with an ugly hat, and not a friend in the world. If he loses, well… he dies. 

But as if foolishness ruled his mind, he settles on his thoughts, and you can see it clear as day when he decides. 

“Are you ready to step outside?” 

And you smile again. He could've been your friend. He seems like a kind enough man, a little arrogant, but a man of honor in himself. He even struck you with a slanted smile of his own, but for no reason other than your reputation alone, he wants to kill you. Always a shame. 

“S'pose so.”

And he doesn't say another word… Ever. 

Thirty paces apart on the dirt road outside, the poor man never even cleared leather, but a bullet rests between his collarbones, and he himself rests on the ground. He’s got a pouch on his hip you noticed earlier, so while everyone around is frozen in place, you carefully go up to his body, stripping the valuables from him before moving on your way. To the winner go the spoils.

You holster your weapon, turn around and face the folks that stopped their journeys to watch. Some had seen the last one, they expected the outcome. Others were a bit surprised. David beat Goliath. The bigger opponent fell. 

You took a walk around the block to settle down, find a nail to notch your pistol yet again. You’ve never forgotten your earlier opponents, but something about this one makes you sadder than the rest. One and Twenty more, and whoever else is stupid enough to have the same idea.

Once you feel at rest you land back in the saloon, but it's not as empty as before, your single friend Robert Sims being the occupant. Now there are three men. There is a tall dark haired man with a mustache and a bowler hat, a darker skinned man beside him against the bar, and a young man that looked all too similar to yourself in complexion and hair color. It was nice to know that you weren’t the only one God would curse that way. 

You don't plan on letting yourself be bothered, so you sit down one stool over, beckoning a whiskey you can shoot to chase the adrenaline. You thought you had calmed down, but sitting here it feels as though you’re in the middle of a footrace, with the speed accelerating instead of decreasing. 

“Charlie Brooks?” The tall man with the mustache was the first to speak, and directly to you. 

These men have guns on their hips, and you hope they are not thinking what the last man thought. You’ve barely calmed down enough from Robert Sims, and your head would hurt having to shoot twice in one day. 

“Yes,” your confusion forced through. 

“I'd like to talk with you. This man here tells me you're quite the gunslinger,” he gestures to the bartender and you give him a glance, seemingly just doing his job minding his business when he's not running his mouth about you. 

“He told ya? Or were you outside?” 

The man had a laugh that seemed comforting almost. It was hearty and full of actual joy. He pat you on the back and you had half a mind to turn away from it for a moment, unsure of why he was so friendly or if you appreciated it yet. It’s been a while since you felt the comforting or friendly touch of someone who didn’t later try and shoot you.

“I did in fact see your show of skill, but I wasn't sure if approaching you after a fiasco like that would end up poorly for me.” 

And so you smile, because his sense of humor is alike yours, and he looks to be unphased by your violent acts of earlier. You technically didn’t break any laws. Didn’t do anything wrong, even by killing a man. He had threatened to shoot your first, if no one claims they saw the duel, you can write it off as self defense… but this man doesn’t seem too deterred. In fact, he looks all too happy having witnessed your properly provoked quick draw.

“I ain't jumpy, if that's what you're worried about.” 

But he had a different point on his mind, so the subject was changed in an instant. 

“Look, son. I'm gonna cut to the chase,” he pointed at your pistol, the newest twenty-one mark shining where it peaked out of your holster. “You have a gift for using that. I could use some talent like yours.” 

And suddenly you’re confused again. Who is this guy? What does he want? 

“I ain't a bounty hunter, sir.” 

“I can very well see that. I'm not looking for a temporary gun, kid. I need someone long term.” 

And suddenly your interest is piqued. The other men haven't said a word, and yet they seem to be a part of this offer, whatever it is. They are fully invested in your answer, on the edge of their seat - metaphorically, since they’ve been standing - while waiting. It’s strange, as if it’s all been plotted.

“Not sure I quite understand,” You slide the empty glass back after taking the second shot of whiskey, but hold your hand over the top, keeping the bartender from refilling a third. 

“If you'd be so kind as to follow me and my friends, I would be happy to explain in further detail,” he steps away from the bar, his hand outstretched to the door. This situation reads danger in every which way, but you don't stray from it. You can’t believe you’re doing it, but you follow along, an open mind. 

Nothing to lose.

-

Your horse was in the stables, an older stallion that was probably bred from war. His coat was full and black, like a starless night sky. Fury, you called him. These other men had put their horses up in the stables as well, but they were quite a bit stranger when it came to interacting with the horse hand. They paid him off so he’d forget any of you had been here. 

These men must be outlaws. Dutch, Charles, and Sean… From the time of their introductions, you were watching them with vigilance. You had started to gather that much from the way people ran inside when they passed, but the other behaviors lead you to believe that they weren’t the typical type. They weren’t just bad men looking for trouble and fun. They had reasoning, and they had qualms about who they spoke to about what. They were careful, if that word can even describe an outlaw. 

You followed them out of town, and down a road a bit. Agua Fria was a bit drier than other parts of Texas, but it had some nice trees here and there, with ponds and hills to break up the dusty roads. When you came to a clearing, a full on campsite set up, you immediately looked around, taking in who you thought would be the most imminent threats. 

“Right over here,” Dutch said, dismounting his horse and leading it to a hitching post. You followed him and the others, and the redhead, Sean, took your horse off your hands. 

“Thanks,” you mumbled. 

“This is the camp, ain’t much to look at but we’re all very tight knit, here.” 

You followed behind Dutch, he was the ringleader of all of this, as far as you could tell. He gave the orders, and the others followed. You couldn’t say you didn’t see why. He had all the capabilities of a natural born leader. His presence, his personable way with words, and even his ability to convince a random stranger to follow him. 

“S’cozy,” you said, nodding to each person you passed. He didn’t bother introducing you to them yet, and you figure it’s because he wants to see how well you fit first. No point in getting anyone attached. 

“It is indeed. I’ll have you wait here for just a moment, you can mingle, if you’d like. I’m gonna talk to a few friends of mine,” he told you before ducking into a tent, the flaps falling behind him. 

You huffed a breath, turning to the first face you saw and tipping your hat. 

“Howdy, Ma’am.”

The young woman looked up to you, a sweet smile on her face. She had lovely dark hair and beautiful blue eyes that reflected a clear sky. 

From within the tent, tensions were a bit higher. 

“First Mack and Davey, now this… kid? You can’t keep picking up people like they’re stray dogs, Dutch…” Hosea Matthews, Dutch’s right hand man was the one to speak first. He’d just heard quite a story - which to be fair, Dutch liked telling grand stories - that seemed to be impossible. 

“I know, I know… but you wouldn’t believe it even if you saw it. Hell, even I don’t.” 

“Let me get this straight,” another voice piped up from the corner, standing to make his presence more known. “This eighteen year old kid, who can barely hold up a gun… is the fastest draw you’ve ever seen?” 

“I blinked and the man was dead,” Dutch furthered his point, hearing a low whistle from the youngest man in the tent. They began to peak through the open tent flaps, not letting anyone else see them. 

“Abigail seems to like him.”

“Abigail likes everyone except John these days,” Hosea joked around, sitting himself back down when he’d taken his look at the kid. He was a spry little thing, but looked like a boy still in adolescence.

“Listen,” Dutch began, his hands raised to calm the air. “This kid could mean the difference between life or death in some of our upcoming jobs.”

The younger man looked to Dutch, then to Hosea, and then to the ground, shaking his head. Dutch was like his father, but these fantasies he conjured up sometimes to justify his antics could be wild. 

“He can shoot faster than me?” 

“My boy, I’d let you challenge him yourself if I wasn’t sure he’d drop you where you stand.” Dutch clapped a hand on his shoulder before turning to Hosea. 

“If he’s really as fast as you say, we should keep him. He can’t be of any harm otherwise.”

-

A moment lasted longer than you thought it would, but you’d garnered the attention of not one but two ladies whilst sitting in the shade of the trees. 

Abigail, the heavily pregnant young woman you’d started conversation with, and Tilly, a young lady who seemed to be swooning with every word you said. You didn’t have the heart to say nothing to her, you weren’t even sure you’d be sticking around. 

“And then what happened?” Tilly asked, scooting closer. 

“Well, I guess I shot him. S’how most these stories end, sadly.”

You suddenly felt a bit sorrowful. You’d shot a man down only today and here you’d moved on so quickly. The time of self recovery was getting shorter and shorter. Maybe you ought to stop shooting folks, then you could make some ground on a normal life… but that’s never really been your way, not since you left home. If you stay with this gang, though… the shooting gets worse, and you know that for a fact. 

“But you’re a good shot, probably why Dutch wants ya,” Abigail lifted a brow, nodding towards the tent. You were sure he’d liked you well enough, and you liked this whole tight knit unit well enough. If you shoot enough folk, you reckon you get to stay. 

“Speak of the Devil,” Tilly smiled behind where you were standing, and you took it as a queue to turn around yourself. 

“We sure as hell want him,” Dutch said, clapping a hand on your shoulder. “I have some people I want you to meet. This is my partner, Hosea Matthews.”

And the man - Hosea - smiled and waved. He seemed nice, and gentlemanly. He had a kind face, like that of a dedicated father. 

“And this,” Dutch stood aside, revealing another man stood behind him… “Is Arthur Morgan. My enforcer, and right hand man.”

You froze when he lifted his head, hat tipping upward enough to see his face. Your breath hitched in your throat as you scanned his features, falling to the stretch of his body and then roaming back up to the brim of his hat. You weren’t sure if it was from fear or from awe, but the tenseness in your body was thick and unwavering. He had all the toughness of a rugged outlaw, but his eyes were calm, serene. Like pools of oasis water against a dry and scorching desert. A beautiful man by anyone’s standard, but completely unaware of himself. 

Standing before you now, he nodded in greeting, and you had to snap out of the haze that even now surrounded you, clouding your mind and blocking out anything that wasn’t him. 

Sweet Lord above, help me look away… and finally you did, begrudgingly. 

“He’s gonna show you around, give you the rundown of how things are around here,”

“Sounds-” you coughed once, trying to play off your strange behavior as you cleared your throat. “Sounds just fine.”

“Alright then,” Dutch leaned in towards Arthur at the last second, nudging his arm as he did. “Don’t test ‘im before he’s had a chance to settle. I don’t feel like losing two fast guns on the same day.”

You heard the tail end of the conversation, but pretended it passed over your head. You were standing quietly, still halfway in awe of the man. Sandy strands of hair that fell over the corners of his eyes, his strong jawline stubbled in the same lovely color. He let his hat fall over his eyes again, but you were certain if you’d been able to see them again, you’d not be able to look away.

He fell into a slow walk beside you, beginning to lead through the campsite.

“What’s your name, kid?” 

Kid, as if you were actually one… 

“Charlie Brooks, sir,” You replied, holding a firm hand out. This was reflectant of a similar introduction you’d made earlier this morning. Didn’t matter what happened though, you wouldn’t be shooting the man before you. Not even if he begged. 

“Dutch says they call you Red.”

You dropped your pleasant expression, huffing a fast breath to match the new look on your face.

“Texas Red… But I ain’t even from Texas, so,” and it was true. You’d only earned that nickname here. 

“The red part still fits,” Arthur was teasing you. Perhaps this is what Dutch meant by ‘don’t test him.’

You sighed, realizing that you’d found the downside to this ruggedly handsome stranger… “My name is Charlie Brooks.”

Arthur laughs, shaking his head. “Don’t get upset, boy… I’m only poking fun.”

You drop the tension in your shoulders… you didn’t like being teased, but perhaps it wasn’t as bad coming from this Arthur character. 

“Men learn fast not to poke fun at me,” you told him, partially as a threat, but followed it up quickly. “I s’pose I’d better compose myself around here.”

Arthur laughed, genuinely. He seemed to find you amusing, or maybe he found you to be annoying. Either way, you earned these hearty chuckles to enjoy for yourself. 

“You may be quick with a gun, kid… but just know, that pistol on your hip couldn’t save you from me,” his voice was in a lower register when he said it, and you didn’t know whether you should be intimidated or completely and totally enamored. He wasn’t completely serious, unwilling to scare you away for Dutch’s sake. But he did want you to understand where you stood with him, and you did. 

You only nodded, and kept walking. 

He had shown you the laundry areas, where the girls nearly strip the boys down just so they have something to do in the daytime. He showed you to Mr. Pearson’s ‘kitchen,’ if you could even call it that. He showed you where the weapons are kept, but not where to refill them. He isn’t sure if he’s supposed to yet. You take in every word he says, committing it to memory, not only so you can fit in around here, but also so you can recall the sound of his voice on a whim. 

He shows you down to the sloped rim of the pond, where usually one at the time, members of the camp come to bathe in their spare hours. You wondered how far down the way you would have to bathe, just on the off chance someone might come and see. 

“Bill takes care of the horses, mostly. I’m sure he’ll add yours to his rounds if you ask ‘im,” he mentioned, walking back past the horse rails and troughs. Your horse was standing happily in the sunshine, enjoying the blue skies and grass compared to the dusty and dark stables you always put him up in.

“I’ll remember that,” you say, as if you’ll forget anything else. So far you remember everyone’s name - everyone you passed by, at least - and every individual location of the camp. 

“Miss Grimshaw and the others should have a tent for ya by sundown… if not, just bunk with me until tomorrow,” he offered, hands sat steadily on his gun belt. Your face flushed, but lucky for you, he was much taller and couldn’t see under the brim of your hat when you tilted your head. 

“That’s kind of you,” you nodded in reply, saying nothing more. 

He began to back away, needing to attend to something else, but he stopped short. 

“You’re alright, kid,” he complimented, as best as he could give one, anyway. “See you ‘round.”

And you stood still, watching him walk away with your hands at your sides. 

“I’m in deep shit…”

-

Early to bed, early to rise, yatta yatta yatta. You still hate mornings. The camp wakes at the crack of dawn, and you stir just as some folks are leaving, mounting their horses and setting off for the adventures ahead. You’re fairly certain it’s Dutch, Bill, and that other man Hosea, the one with the kind face.

You did end up taking Arthur up on his offer to bunk for the night. He was kind enough to set up one of the spare cots for you, unwilling to argue about sleeping on the ground and all that. He pegged you for the arguing type and wanted to leave well enough alone. 

He was gone from the tent-like structure by the wagon, away somewhere probably having a cup of that coffee you smelled. They must have had a pot brewing somewhere, because it was the only thing willing you to leave the shaded area you were resting. The sun wasn’t high in the sky, but you could already feel the effects of the heat swirling in around the camp. 

It was strange, going about your morning routine with others present. Washing up your face in one of the water barrels, raking your hair back over your head with your wet fingers to let the hair sit flat before you crushed it down with your hat. You’d been nearly presentable, good enough for the morning, anyway. 

It wasn’t long before you were sitting close to the congregated group, a cup of coffee in your own hands. It wasn’t the best you’ve had, but hey, it helped you keep your eyes open. You didn’t dare interject into the conversation, unknowing of it they would accept it. Not that it mattered, because you liked hearing them interact as is. They were a rowdy bunch, but they had some wit here and there.

After a while, you zoned out during talks of events you hadn’t been to, people you hadn’t met, things you didn’t get to see before coming here. You watched a bunny that leapt across the camp, running into the wilderness ahead only to disappear behind some rocks. You realized by then you were at the end of your coffee cup. You stood up to take it back to Mr. Pearson, but were interrupted by one of the others in the circle. You remember his name is John. 

“How about you, Brooks?” He asked, catching you off guard, for you had absolutely no clue what the conversation was. 

“How about me?” you replied, a furrowed brow as you stopped in your tracks and waited. 

“Are you really as fast as people say?”

You scoffed, a slanted eyebrow to the man when he seemed in disbelief. You don’t blame him, he’s never seen you shoot. 

“Faster.”

“Boy’s got some pride on ‘im. Shouldn’t be too hard to break it down,” the only other redhead in the gang reared his accented voice. “Ay, Arthur?” 

You turned to the man, stoic and quiet, his hat covering most of his face so you couldn’t see what his features were saying. 

“If Dutch says he’s faster than me, I won’t push my luck.”

Except for he wanted to. He really wanted to, and you were curious to see his skill as well. Maybe not against you, because hell… you ain’t never lost before but there’s a first time for everything, and you like it here too much to throw it away. 

“I don’t buy it. That’s just Dutch telling tales like he does,” John stood up and clapped his hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “Never in my life have I seen someone with Arthur’s shootin’ speed.”

“Never?” 

You knew it was probably not in your best interest to boast your ability on the first day, but shit, it was the only thing you had going for you. You had to make way in this group somehow. 

“Never.” 

“Alright,” you nodded. “I propose a game. Two bullets, our names carved in. We set up a can to shoot and whoever’s bullet gets trapped inside s’the one that got there first.”

Arthur lifted his head, and for the first time this morning, you saw his eyes. Your face instantly got red, but no one seemed to notice, too caught up in the heat of the exchange. 

He nodded once, a slow and decisive nod. He was thinking it over. 

“Sure,” he said, his thick accent coating the word. “Guess I’ll play along.”

And the group dispersed, grabbing everything needed. Arthur took it upon himself to carve the bullets, and strangely, you trusted him not to tamper with yours. He didn’t seem like the type to play dirty. He didn’t look like he needed to be. 

Sean set up the can on a log, a crudely drawn X out of charcoal on the rusty front of it. There were words being exchanged as you both stepped up, opening your guns to drop out all the bullets before Arthur handed yours over. His etching wasn’t too bad, but you dropped the smug look on your face when you saw what he actually put on it. 

“I told you my name’s not Red,” you huffed, taking it anyway and dropping it into the cylinder, giving it a quick spin to line it up. 

“Doesn’t matter, no one’s gonna see it but you,” he teased, loading his own gun and standing beside you, about five yards away from the can. 

“Need me to count?” you joked back, hopefully not in vain. You wouldn’t be pridefully wounded if you lost in all honesty. You’d been waiting for your talent to fail you for a long time now, and without any stakes on the table, you suppose today could be the day. 

Both guns now strapped to your hips, you waited in silence, and so did everyone else. It wasn’t something that needed cheering on, but it was definitely something to be on the edge of your seat for. 

You saw Arthur drop his hand out of the corner of your eye, so you cleared leather as fast as you could in hopes that your shot would land, and it did… or at least, you thought it did. The can went flying and both guns had been fired. 

“Who won?” John yelled over in question to Sean, who went to kneel down by the log, picking up the can. 

“Uh…” He held up the can, showing two bullet holes, before dumping out both bullets from the inside. “Both of em’.” 

And for the first time in any shoot out you’d ever participated in, you were too stunned to speak. You never doubted this man’s abilities as a talented gunslinger, but given you’d never seen him shoot, and knowing your own track record… it was surprising to see. 

“Well,” Arthur turned to you, as the others continued to chat amongst themselves, not sure how to split the bets they had made beforehand. “You beat me.” 

He offered his hand to you to shake, but you shook you head, you didn’t understand. 

“It’s a draw, both bullets hit,” you tried to reason, but he was set on his own explanation. 

“You hit first. Mine went through the top as it was fallin’.”

You shook his hand anyway, but froze in place when he spoke. Could he really tell? Was he that detail oriented when shooting? You’d never known much of your craft, just that you could do it, just that you’d practiced a bunch and got pretty damn good… but you didn’t even think to make that observation. 

“That don’t count,” you tried to absolve him, still feeling as though from what he said alone, he was the better gunslinger. “I’ve never said this before… but I would not duel you, Arthur Morgan. You’ve scared me somethin’ awful with that gun.”

He had a chuckle in his exhale as he let it fall from his lips, a nod and the drop of your handshake. “Guess we both met our match today.”

“I’d say so.”

-

The day was slow. When Dutch and Hosea and Bill returned in the evening, there was some wind of a job coming up, the first one you’d inevitably be invited to. It was discussed quickly and not in great detail, and the heads of the camp still had some ideas churning about it. Hopefully you’d be able to keep up in the heat of the moment, as you’d never done anything like this before. Never robbed folk - alive folk, at least - or taken something as a means to survive. You’ve lived off of bets and fools you shot dead. It was a lousy way to live but it had never gotten as low as stealing or cold blooded murder. 

The thoughts turned over in your head and for some reason you couldn’t seem to lose them, but at the end of the night they were momentarily stalled when Arthur helped you carry the already assembled cot into your new tent. It was simple, just a double sided narrow-pitched tent, no room inside for anything but a cot and a single human. You could just kick your boots under the cot when you slept, that would be the extent of your storage space. At least it had the privacy of the two flaps at the front, current parted like curtains to allow entrance. 

Once everything was set up, Arthur took a step back, but didn’t leave yet. 

“Thank you, Arthur. I’ll owe you one,” you promised, trying to be as casual about his genuine help and concern over you the past day. No one had ever shown this much attentiveness to you, and though you know he’s only acting on orders from Dutch, it feels like he really cares. He’s kind and he’s gentle, despite his rugged appearance and reputation. 

“S’no problem,” he scratched the back of his neck, looking from side to side to make sure everyone had either retired for the night or was too occupied to listen in. “I wanted to tell you something.”

You furrowed your brow, crossing your arms. 

He sighed and met your eyes again, debating his words in his head. Out with it already…

“I know you’re a lady,” he tried to speak evenly, but the tail end of his sentence got caught. 

Your eyes widened before he even finished his sentence. You looked around as well before shoving him inside your tent, too small for one person let alone two. 

“You don’t know anything,” you assured him, suddenly self conscious of how he perceived you. What was it? Your voice? The way you walked? Your body? Was anybody else going to notice? 

“I wasn’t pryin’, I swear,” he said, reaching into his satchel, still on his hip after a long day. “Bill left early this morning, I took care of your horse. These fell out of your saddlebag…”

He held out to you the most damning piece of evidence there could possibly be. Long cotton wraps and a sanitary apron, the brand new woolen padding you’d gotten was pressed inside and ready. 

Shit. You didn’t even think twice about hiding the contents of your saddle bag when arriving here. No one had ever been kind enough to care for your horse, so you didn’t worry. 

You looked into his eyes, firm but not judgemental. When you looked at him just a second too long they turned to a silent fear. Like he was a child getting caught stealing sweets. 

“Don’t tell Dutch,” you begged, and he huffed a sigh, unsure of what to do. 

“I can’t lie to im’,” he shook his head, shrugging his shoulders. You were new, this wasn’t just about loyalty, it was about hierarchy. You, the new soldier, could not dare ask the second in command to deprive his leader of the truth. 

“I’m not asking you to. Just don’t tell him, yet. I’ll think of a way to let him know…”

You knew it was a stretch, but he was wonderful with the women of the camp, a man of high honor among the ladies. Surely he would help you, just until you were ready to share your secret. 

“We’re different, y’know? If you’ve been hidin’ all this time out there, that’s one thing… but you ain’t gotta do that here.”

“I don’t want them to look at me differently…” you trailed, silently pleading with him. 

He nodded, the look in your eyes nearly breaking his heart. There’s a story within you, but he’ll wait to hear it. For now, he just complies, hearing your voice at it’s softest point, the feminine silkiness flowing through. You only ever spoke to yourself like that anymore.

“Okay,” he placed a warm hand on your shoulder, giving a gentle squeeze, before maneuvering out of your small tent. “Just until you tell ‘im yourself, ya hear?” 

You nodded in understanding, a thankful and sweet smile dining your features. “Goodnight, Arthur.”

“G’night, Red…”

-

tags are open

[liesmyth]

Your jock posting is always super helpful, but I’ve got a question! I’ve been doing couch to 5k for awhile, probably the third time over the course of my life, because I need more cardio and running is the easiest to fit into my schedule because I can just put on shoes and go out the door, you know? I can do 20 minutes of sustained jogging, I just hate every minute. I’ve read about how your pace is supposed to be something that you can sustain a conversation during, but I don’t think there’s a pace slow enough that isn’t a walk where I could do that. Do you have any suggestions? Thanks for your time!

hi hi hi I'm glad I could help! The short answer is that you're fine to keep doing what you're doing, actually! the much longer answer is below

So, you're correct that "conversational pace" is ideally supposed to be your ideal easy run / jog pace, but it's really not uncommon for beginners to not really have an "easy" pace because you feel extremely out of breath even if you're going as slow as you think you possibly can.

Short digression. "Conversational pace" doesn't mean that you should be able to recite poetry fluently — if you can burst out a short sentence or do a decent sing-along to your playlist, that's okay. If all you can do is grunt and say "yes" or "no", even when jogging very slowly, then yeah, you want to be able to eventually build an aerobic base where you can jog and have enough breath left to communicate. It just means that you have a goal to work towards.

Anyway. One thing to keep in mind is that "you shouldn't run any harder than X" is a rule of thumb that's geared towards runners who want to optimise their efforts, whether that's a hobby runner who wants to get faster or an athlete who's stacking up easy miles to rest for the quality workouts. But it's not, like, a hard limit. For most people, there aren't negative consequences to doing high-intensity cardio for 20 minutes a few times a week. If you were training for a 10k and needed to hit a certain (higher) mileage, then the fact that you finish all your runs feeling very out of breath might have been more of a concern, because it would be less sustainable. But if you want to keep training at your current volume, you don't HAVE to change it up if you don't want to. Genuinely, the best exercise is the kind of exercise that's convenient to you, so you can keep doing it consistently. If you keep running those 20 mins every few times a week at the same speed, it will eventually gets easier in terms of effort. Once it starts to feel easier, congrats, you're done! Keep on doing those 20 minutes but enjoy being able to breathe better. Maybe you'll hate it a little less, but even if you don't it'll still be short and convenient, which is what most people want in a workout 💪

IF you want to change it up a bit, you could try doing some intervals. Jog then walk until you catch your breath then start again. Jog then walk briskly. Jog faster then slower. Whichever feels more fun or rewarding to you. You can lengthen the C25k schedule for your purposes if you want to fit in longer walking breaks.

(Another common recommendation you might see online is to go slower. yes. even slower. I KNOW; you're probably thinking "I might as well just walk. I'm going slower than if I was walking." But, actually, the mechanics of running and walking are different enough that it could be worthwhile to condition your body for running if you jog at a glacial pace vs. if you were walking briskly going faster. HOWEVER. In your case. I think it's not really worth it, especially because jogging slow as hell can be quite frustrating and your objective is to make it as painless as possible. So I'm bringing this up for completion's sake in case you want to give it a go but I wouldn't recommend it.)

I hope this helps!

[taintedsorrow]

@neonsnailcity I'm not as good at putting my thoughts together in a concise way nor do I have the time to really sort through to fish out examples to back up my reading, but this is probably a whole ass write up @vitasexualiiis would want to do, since we talk about it together quite a bit?

Some basic bullet points would be:

He has pretty extreme control issues, and I don't say that dismissively or to be insulting toward his character. He feels like the obligation falls to him (and often him alone) to make sure large scale chaotic and dangerous situations don't get more out of hand than they already are. This obligation extends to ignoring his own feelings and desires in favor of acting the logical and strategic leader. He puts the organization's self-preservation (and in extension, Yokohama's) in front of his own in a way that, while he views this as necessary, and maybe it is, is definitely at the expense of himself in many cases.

The whole Elise situation. Which is a lot to unpack, and relies heavily on some difficult to fully "prove" interpretations. But personally, I view Elise as most likely a manifestation of parts of his psyche he may not be fully in control of, while simultaneously being an outlet for some of his compulsions/avoidances. She gets to be a little kid. She gets to be a spoiled brat. She gets to eat as much cake as she wants, etc. etc. I could spend a lot of time going into this and maybe I will at a later point? The (very) short of it includes: he spoils her as an outlet for not being able to directly spoil himself, and she fights it, because there's the "rational" part of himself that is always in conflict with that desire. (I think a lot of fans like to forget that Elise is his ability, it is not a person, it is simply a magical manifestation. I'd like to point out that Fukuzawa calls it a "thing" and a "fiend" and extends no shred of empathy toward it as a "person", and this is Fukuzawa.)

What I also see as Compulsive Shopping ("Retail Therapy") behavior, which is an extension of the Elise situation. He obviously takes Elise on shopping sprees as a reaction to stressful situations. I don't know if this needs more elaboration tbh.

There's a part in the Guild Arc where he revisits the blood stain he left on the well after he killed the old Boss at a point of uncertainty... there's a whole lot to say about it, but the act feels like it speaks for itself in context of what's going on (@vitasexualiiis may have talked about this scene before, but I can't find a post to link to so I might revisit this).

Violent urges/impulses. He has moments where he clearly has some violent thoughts and impulses that he obviously has no actual desire to act on, but that you can see very clearly flash through his mind, and he does seem to need to vocalize these. A clear example that sticks out in my mind is when he has his reaction to want to "kill Fukuzawa", which he expresses and concerns Chuuya, but obviously that was never his intent and never has been.

Probably will read as a throw away to most people, but his character info sheet has his dislikes listed as Dirty Things and Raw Food, which are two of my biggest triggers, so it's hard not to read into it as one more glaring example.

... there really is a lot more I could elaborate on and fish out specific examples for, but it's a start. It's really hard for me to look at him and not see his character defined by it. Obviously, he's more than that as a person, and I find him to be a very compelling character who I genuinely adore. I also think there are alternative ways of interpreting his character, but this is what rings true for me.

[corfisers]

two weird things that happen to me more often than i'd like and feel like they are on the opposite ends of the same spectrum: forgetting that i do actually speak two languages and forgetting that some people who post here in english speak only english

[khaotunq]

"i don't know this fandom but i read this because i like your writing"

i am ON tHE FloOR.

[vse-kar-vem]

how to write vent post title that does not come off as self-pitying and or accusatory (because it's NOT !)

[babygirlbdubs]

i hate!!! labels!!!!! i hate society's need to put every bit of the human experience into arbitrary, meaningless little boxes!!! i hate taking beautifully unique experiences and shoving them into categories that will never truly fit them!!! i hate taking people's identities and comforts and using them to invalidate their personhood and experiences!!! every single human being is impossibly unique and there will never be a single other person exactly like them and that's beautiful!!! why!!! do we have to break everything down and put it into boxes that are never perfectly the right shape!!!! we are all unique and that makes us all the same!!! let people express their personhood and define their experiences in ways that are unique to them!!!

[anirudhpisharody]

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