#anyways take care cowpokes

[arbificer]

oc introductioon numero UNO

yoyo it's ya girl . arbi . probably

anyways i said i would explain my anthro rain world oc in the tags of my last post so i sort of have to.

This is Arbi! (she/they/it) Also known as "The Seer," she's a spear-totin cowpoke with a love for bug pupa and pong. yep!

(art by clownvomited on discord)

storywise, it was adopted by an iterator named receding tides (who's design i can't decide on for the life of me) after getting lost as a pup.

tides is pretty lenient/laid back as an iterator but does go about showing her basic survival stuff. the two also watch EXTREMELY old ancient entertainment.. like.. cowboy shows.. ehh? ehh?? you see what i did there? anyways. the two also play pong in tides' chamber. tides is WAY good at it but arbi has probably beat her once or twice. they bond alot is what im trying to say.

The two are very much like parent and child but there's also that weird "hey i need you to go on this really dangerous mission for me" thrown in there occasionally. Usually it's just to check in on members in the outskirts of their local group given tides isn't super well connected as a result of their structure being a little outdated. the missions are never too far but they still cause problems!

quick side tangent about the outfit: the outfit came as a result of her fascination with the really old ancient shows. tides wasn't super sure about it first but thought it was too cute not to humor her past a certain point.

to explain that "the seer" thing: arbi is half blind. one of her missions took her through a scav toll, which resulted in her being attacked. a bomb lobbed at her damaged her hearing, as well as tearing up the left side of her face, rendering that eye permanently damaged. struggling her way back home, tides would obviously be like. Mortified that this happened because of something she did. she'd take care of Arbi as best she could and, in the future, would create an overseer that Arbi could take with them so they'd have a little more assistance. thus they are called the seer.

i'd explain more stuff BUT this post is already very long winded. i hope u enjoyed this in some form or another.

here she is again but litoler :) (by picopubbydawg!)

#arbi (anthro) #receding tides (rw) #slugcat oc #rain world oc #anthro #not my art #yeah so i said i'd explain #and i hope this suffices? #i hope at the very least u like. #like their character. Haha. Yeah.. #one day tides will make an appearance here i prommy #i just have to figure her out. she's a failmom but she cares a lot about her adoptive slug child.

[allzelemonz]

Finding and Feeling (1.2): A Drunk

Pairing Type: M/M Rating: M/language Warnings: Internalized homophobia, unhealthy coping, drinking, mild sexual thoughts, Bill being soft Summary: Bill finds thought of Kieran invading his mind, naturally he drinks them away. Other Chapters

The cold bites at Bill’s face, but that’s not solely why his cheeks have gone red. The rifle slung over his shoulder isn’t going to be used anyway, no one but those dead O’Driscolls are up here in the cold. So, he drinks his whiskey freely. There’s a hope in the back of his mind that he’ll stop thinking of that captured fish of an O’Driscoll in the stable, but he knows it won’t happen. When Bill falls, he doesn’t stop until he hits the ground. And falling for a feller is bad enough, an O’Driscoll is even worse.

But he’s damn adorable.

Bill can still see those murky water colored eyes going wide as they stare. The scared look on his scruffy young face.

“Shit…” Bill mutters, recognizing the feeling in his chest.

He’s been attracted to men before, something he shoves deep down inside. But not like this, no this is different. When Bill has been smitten before he usually finds himself imagining a man's chest or even his dick, not his pretty eyes or the way he might feel cuddled up in the cold. He hasn’t felt this way since he was a boy.

Crunching snow behind him snaps him out of the thought, then the light sound of a door closing. “Mierda…” Javier mutters.

Bill mindlessly hands him the rifle. Javier takes it, his hands shaking from the cold despite the layers he has. For once, Bill is a little thankful for his extra weight. At least it keeps him warmer most of the time. He leaves Javier to his late watch, stepping carefully into the little shack only for Lenny’s sake. Micah sits up in one of the chairs, fiddling with one of his guns like usual. He spares Bill a nod before returning to his task. Bill huffs, still not happy about Micah having punched him earlier. Lenny is sound asleep, curled in on himself with a thin blanket. Bill settles himself down in the corner, happy to drink away the cold and feelings that stick in his head.

Bill is woken by a small kick to his leg. Given that it’s Micah above him, he should probably be grateful it was as gentle as it was. His head pounds, his eyes ache in the light, the hangover hits him all at once and he doesn’t hear much other than Micah sneering.

“Drunk again, cowpoke?”

Bill waves him off, grumbling words he doesn’t even register himself.

“Leave him be, Micah.” Lenny mutters.

Bill closes his eyes, leaning his head back against the wall. His back aches from sleeping sitting up and his body feels cold again. Given the lack of jobs up here there’s a chance he can just sit for a bit. The other men can easily take care of getting wood so Bill just hopes he isn’t bothered for a couple hours. At this point the only thing that could get him up is if Dutch comes and yells at him himself.

After a while of lazing, his headache dissipates and Bill feels the need to check on his poor horse. Brown Jack is probably getting cold too, he could probably do with an oatcake as much as Bill could do with a health cure. So Bill hauls himself up to his feet, letting his body steady against the wall for a moment. The hangover is still felt in his stomach and he’d kill for coffee and some warm food. He knows Pearson didn’t pack much in the way of rations but Bill can’t help but dream of some scramble or something waiting for him. He knows he’ll just get a can of something mostly frozen by now, what real food the camp has goes to the women, Jack, and the older folks.

When he trudges out into the snow, passing Javier and Lenny as they change watch, he tugs at his coat in the hopes he’ll magically get warmer. He doesn’t have a lot of warm clothes, something he regrets now. There’s a hole in his boot in particular that he wishes he’d done something about back in Blackwater. Nothing worse than a wet, cold sock, not even a gunshot in Bill’s opinion.

When the stables doors open, Bill is hit with the reminder of why he had been drinking so much the previous night. Those big eyes, pleading and deer-like, look up at him. The O’Driscoll whimpers, curling back in on himself at the sight of Bill, likely remembering the warning from before. Bill tries to pay him no attention, making his way over to Brown Jack and patting him quietly. His eyes linger on the young man, partially to make sure he isn’t watching but also because Bill finds himself wanting to look. Brown Jack nudges Bill’s shoulder, knowing that he’s getting his morning treat.

“Spoiled bastard.” Bill mutters as if he is not the one spoiling him.

He digs the oatcake from his saddlebags, handing it to the greedy horse. Brown Jack swallows it down, nosing at Bill’s hand to ask for more. Never one to disappoint the poor beast, Bill finds a couple peppermints and pats his Jackie’s head as he eats happily. A glance up makes him meet the O’Driscoll’s eyes. The boy ducks down again, looking like a peeping tom of sorts. Bill turns attention back to his horse, finding his saddle blanket and draping it back over his back just to be safe.

As he starts to leave, Bill notices the O’Driscoll’s slight shiver. Bill eyes him for a moment before finding the buttons on his jacket undone. Without much thought, he steps forward and tugs the jacket closed, fastening the buttons. The O’Driscoll keeps still, letting Bill tighten his scarf without a fuss. When Bill glances at him, the O’Driscoll has wide eyes and a reddened face. Bill ignores the fact that it may be one of the cutest sights he’s ever seen, only rivaled by Brown Jack rolling in a bunch of flowers a few months ago. Instead of following the tugging feeling in his chest, he turns and stumbles out without a word. He makes his way to the main building, hoping there’s coffee or something a little warm to distract the heat in his cheeks.

#burn month #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #slow burn #fanfic #fanfiction #bill williamson #kieran duffy #kieran duffy x bill williamson #bieran

[musicfeedsmysoul12]

Okay now I’m thinking of MY Snipe!Dad AU… of which I now have 2 given the Fathers of Izuku but anyways~

So the ‘Snipe Adopts Izuku’ one has Snipe taking Izuku in when Inko dies. Izuku is very nervous at first but blossoms under Snipe’s care. The first time Snipe takes Izu to a hero gala it’s just pure chaos. More so when like right in the middle people hear a loud: “WAIT! I don’t have to be a boy?!” Coming from Izuku.

This of course starts the journey to self discovery where Snipe in his himbo ways is supportive but keeps texting Mic and Tiger cause he’s the person who legit does not get it but will support it’s just he relies on the experts.

Izuku eventually decides that she/her works best and is an awesome girl who loves skirts and embraces everything.

(She keeps Izuku as a name. It’s a name she remembers being told to her from a mother who’d tried but failed. A name a boy she once knew tried to mock and make an insult. A name that is hers when she’s lost so much.

It’s her name.)

Little Izuku wielding a nerf gun is common for UA and she’s constantly dropping out of vents to shock people. Midnight teaches her how to keep her skirt down and loans her skorts or leggings. Little Izuku’s baby crush is on Mic and then Fatgum and then on Thirteen and it’s so cute even as Snipe despairs at his baby growing up.

Snipe teaches her how to punch, how to shoot and how to spit cause it’s a cowpoke thing to do. He takes her to his cousins in Canada who run a horse farm and who teach her all sorts of slang and curses. He shows her how to duck and how to jump. He teaches her all he can and then some.

Izuku has friends in Iida, in Todoroki and Yaoyorozu. She also has a friend in two kids at her school, a pink girl and a boy with sharp teeth. She’s constantly climbing on things and harassing the new staff member Aizawa into helping with parkour.

When she meets All Might, she doesn’t ask his opinion. She’s known him since before his injury, where he never said anything and after where he watched her work because the heroes all keep an eye on one another and even he’s seen the Quirkless child blossom. He doesn’t think that Izuku can be like him.

He does think that she’s going to be a hero. Just not like him. He won’t say that though.

Izuku doesn’t need his opinion. She has her dad teaching her to shoot. She has Nezu cackling as he teaches her how to analyze and attack. She has Aizawa teaching her and Midnight and all of UA. She has her friends backing her up.

Izuku doesn’t need the words of a hero she respects but knows that his pedestal is weak. She only needs the laugh of her father as he ruffles her hair and tells her “Nice shot.”

#bnha #bnha au #Snipe’s Little Cowgirl #Izuku is a cheerful menace

[splathousefiction]

Hell

I open my eyes to the warmth of the fire.

Twigs and newspaper collected in the dark and tossed within a barrel, with a match struck for rebirth. The glow radiates, and I feel my hands and feet. I cast my eyes down to see clothes I haven’t worn in over a decade. I still had the silver skull ring upon my finger. But the Black Sabbath shirt-ripped and tattered, more rags than dignity-and jeans had long since found a refuse pile to expire quietly in.

“Heya brother! Long time no see!”

I know that voice.

I close my eyes as my breath grows to a boulder in my throat. I’d hyperventilate if I wasn’t careful. I try to breathe through my nose, I try to pace myself.

“Hey, hey fucker! I’m talking to you!”

There comes a punch at my shoulder, but I keep my eyes cinched all the same. The voice gives a snort, and I hear the sound of crunched ice. My eyelids begin to scream in agony, and I open them at last. I look towards where I’d heard the noise, one I’d heard so many times nearly a decade ago.

There he stands. Shirtless, clad in off-off brand denim shorts he’d probably lifted. His flannel boxers peek over the waist, painted on by the sweat that pours over his back. As he stands, the ink on his skin grows in full within the firelight. Our area code. The shape of NC. A key along his hand. A nautical star. Not a single bit of coordination in any of it. As he turns to me, I see his face in full. The blunt in his lips cherries as he gives me a full smile.

“Well there you are. Was wondering when you’d get that stick out yer ass. I got miller?”

He busts the cap on his belt buckle. It pops off flawlessly, and he extends a sweat covered bottle to me. I know better than to take it.

But I do regardless.

I never get to drink with my friend anymore.

He eases himself beside me and winces as his ass meets the log we’re on. He leans back all of a second, and shoves a hand in his pocket. Out comes an amber colored, white topped bottle. He pops it off, then downs a pill with beer. I give it a glance before it disappears back into his jeans. The name on the label, it’s not his. I’d yelled at him countless times about it but can’t find the spark to do it now.

It wouldn’t be of any use anyway.

He takes another sip of his beer, and smacks his lips as he finishes the bottle. He tosses it behind him, and gives a giggle.

“Ya’ know, two fellas like us out here all alone, you know, hah, you know what folks would say?”

I don’t answer.

I just sit and watch the fire.

“They’d say we’re just two cowpoke out looking for a poke, ya’ know? No offense brother,” he says, and lets out a belly laugh as he slaps a hand on my shoulder. The hand rests there a minute, a beat of silence passing before he gives a sigh and hangs his head.

“Damn it man, what’s up? Some girl? Some dude? Is…is it your mom? Is she okay? What about your dad, is he-”

“Jay, dad’s been dead for three years,” I say.

He holds stock still for a second.

I finally decided to drink that beer. It tastes stale and warm, but it’s miller alright. I set my bottle down and snap my fingers. He takes the blunt from his mouth and passes it to me. When it hits, it tastes like his favorite strain. OG Purple Haze wrapped in a swisher.

But I don’t feel anything beyond that. Not the familiar grip of my brain, the shake of my spine that I did on long nights we had just like this.

“Oh, shit. Shit shit shit. I’m sorry man, I forgot. I mean I didn’t mean to, but-”

“Yeah,” I say as smoke curls from my nose. “Yeah I know man. It’s okay,”

The hand at my shoulder squeezes, then drops. I pass the blunt back to him, and he takes another drag.

We sat there for a moment, just the two of us and the flames.

“Hey man, if. If there’s anything you need, you know you can just tell me right? Like I always say man, what’s mine is yours and-”

“Jay,” I say, that wad in my throat tight, “Jay you can’t. You know why too. Don’t you?”

“Man look, I know I ain’t no fine society upstanding jackoff, but I-” he starts, a tinge of that old ire I loved so much pulling up front and center.

I close my eyes again, and say what comes to the forefront of my mind every time I have this dream.

“Jay. You’re dead. You’ve been dead a long time. I’d know. I was the one that made the call that night,”

I open my eyes.

I’m alone again.

Just me and the flames.

@@@

They say you never forget the first one.

I fucking hate that saying because it’s true.

I was twenty, maybe twenty one. I don’t remember a lot about that time. I spent most of that time high and drunk, shuffling from couch to couch. I had met him at a party one night, some big house joint some girl I was trying to impress was throwing. As to how I thought I’d impress a girl as a homeless addict was beyond me, but I pulled up with a few forties and tried regardless.

Jay saw right through that.

He was five foot five and clad in denim shorts, sandals and some boxers. Covered in just the most absolute dog shit tattoos I’d ever seen in my entire life. I’d find out in time that he’d been some kind of guinea pig for a tattoo parlor as an odd job one summer. But that night as I rolled up with forties and what I thought was my finest attire, Jay had already stolen the show. He spotted me mid-story with a few people around and had raised a beer.

“Hey, this dude came prepared! Come over man, lemme crack one!”

I don’t even remember the name of the girl that threw that party, or much about who was there. But Jay. I remember Jay. I remember how we talked until two in the morning about everything and anything. How he was “in transit” as he put it, a “stray” like me. When I was too wobbly to stand, Jay offered to let me crash at his place.

Which turned out to be a tent a block away, stowed behind an old copper mill. I thought what the hell and went for it. It was cold that night, but Jay offered me his only sleeping bag all the same. When I woke bleary eyed and hung over the next morning, I was alone.

Because the son of a bitch had already hustled us into some biscuits from the gas station. Enough for both of us to leave with a full belly. In between bites I watched him crunch a pill down. He swallowed it with a spare forty from the night before. I didn’t say anything then, though in time it’d grow to an instant way to start an argument between us. When I finally glanced at my watch and realized I had work, I thanked him. I asked him how I’d find him again. He threw up his hands, and said “oh man, haven’t you heard the song?”

“Which one?”

“Traiiiilers for salllle or rent!” he said with a flourish, “roooooms to let for fifty, cents!”

I knew the words immediately, and in a line or two was singing right there along with him. Jay busted out laughing and said “hey now, that’s that old shit, but it still rings true. I’m outdoors you know man, and-”

“Yeah, I’m kinda…squeaking by too,” I replied.

I hate telling people I was couch surfing. Folks just…They treated you differently when you told them that. Still fucking do.

“Yeah? Shit brother, you got a roof and food though right?” he replied.

“Oh, yeah. I’m staying with a friend, but-”

“Friends turn ill quick when they think you ain’t making it. Yeah, I know. Listen man, I’m here till the end of the season. Maybe not here here, but here all the same. You knock on some doors, say you’re looking for Jay. Folks will tell you where. Okay? You always got a spot with me,”

“I-” I paused. Not because I didn’t really know this guy, but because I wasn’t used to people just, like.

Offering like that.

“-thank you, that means a lot.”

“Always man. Anyways, you got work? Need a ride? I got this old lady, she’s real sweet man. She’d give you a lift,” he said, hands up with a smile.

I turned him down, but it wouldn’t be the last time Jay did that. Offered more than he had. Or had a means to make things happen. It wouldn’t be the last time we got drunk in front of a fire and passed out in his tent. It wasn’t the last song we sang together, the last laugh, the last joint, beer or hug. There was one kiss, but we were both drunk and never talked about it after. We were young and broke but we had each other, we always had that roof and food. It was enough, and there was never ever an end to any of it.

Until the night he overdosed.

I can’t type what happened that night here. I could but if I do, I’m just gonna start crying and won’t stop for an hour or so. It happened over a decade ago and every time I try to remember that night it’s like the stitches burst anew and the pain comes back fresh.

Twenty one.

He was twenty one. At age thirty two, I realize just how young that really is.

It was a lot of pain for a man so young, a lot of tribulation. But Jay left the world with me and the other strays we picked up smiling. He left a massive hole in the world of love, good feeling and endless, endless care for those around him.

We played Spirit In The Sky at his funeral, as per his request on threat he’d “haunt all of our sorry asses”.

I still remember and love him dearly. Even now.

I suppose it’s no surprise that he still visits me. When the nights are long and my mind is dark. My old friend comes knocking, and I sit there on that old log wrestling with telling him the truth or holding on to that moment with him just a bit longer. To hold his shoulders in my arms for a second more before the truth comes bubbling out, and he’s gone again.

Another spirit in the sky, a star twinkling bright with thousands of others.

Jay, on the off chance you’re reading this, I kept my promise. I made it, man. Just like you said I would. On my terms, just like you said. Free and independent as the wind that whipped through that tent of yours. I know you watched me do it. And I know you’re smiling.

They say you never forget your first, but in time more follows. You never forget them either. I could write eulogies for every single one of them, but I’d be here for hundreds of pages. I’m trying to give myself a limit to keep this nice and tidy. So. Here goes. I hope by the end it makes sense. I hope, in the end, maybe you can walk away from this knowing that all those memories-the good, the bad, those in between-it’s okay to hold on to them. It’s okay to remember them.

For death is quick, and grief ever long.

@@@

I want you to think of what your personal definition of Hell is.

Funny thing is, it’s different for everybody. Most folks will describe a lake of fire, old school biblical shit. Some folks will laugh and say “oh, I’m already there” and spin on their ankle, hands splayed at the world around them. Some folks will say that they don’t believe in Hell, and then go on into an hour-long lecture nobody asked for.

Whether they’re right or wrong, it doesn’t really make a damn. Nobody ever tells the truth anyways. Plus, that lake of fire aesthetic? It’s bullshit pulled from Dante.

No, Hell in the bible is described as an incredibly desolate and lonely prison. A place you’re cut off from humanity, from the light of god. You’re in a room with nothing but your own thoughts for all eternity. You’ve already died, so you don’t even get that as a reprieve.

Alone. That’s the abrahamic version of hell. In all the holy books and occult traditions I’ve read that described such a place, that’s the one that sticks with me the most. Because it’s familiar, intimately so.

In three years, I’ve watched as half of my family died. Nearly every six months.

I watched as my mother sat in a chair and cried every time my father’s name or memory was discussed. I watched as my grandfather lost his mind to dementia, thinking he was in Korea again. I watched as my grandmother’s eyes opened for just long enough for me to ask her if she was ready to go. I watched as my aunt was hooked up to machines just to breathe, battling an unseen enemy eating her from within.

Tonight, I got to hear the same tone in my mother’s voice as an ambulance was called for my other grandmother. I sit writing this awaiting news, good or ill.

Alone. Isolation as a form of punishment. The ever tightening noose of time about my neck as my family and friends joined the endless horizon of lights. Death hangs inevitable in the back of my thoughts and despite my inner and outer strength I’m powerless to stop it. Grief brings paranoia, and there comes a point you grow desperate enough to ask what the fuck it is you did that deserves so much weight.

What you did wrong.

The truth is though, nothing. You did absolutely nothing wrong. It just happens. Death comes regardless of if you’re ready, if you’re willing to meet it, if you feel the time is now or later. The only blessing is that it happens quickly. We’re here and gone in the time it takes for you to blink.

But grief and its multi tendriled means of gripping you stays. Like a parasite, it saps everything you have down to the last drop. Respite comes like a drop of water in a desert. Grief is bound to you through memory, sweet and bitter and summoned via a single name. You grow wary of even uttering it less you be onslaught in your own mind with such vivid detail that you might as well be there again.

Before that fire, with your best friend in the entire world.

Sure, you go through the stages. You get angry, you wail, you bargain. During my first grandmother’s funeral, I prostrated before a god I didn’t believe in quietly. As the priest sang Ave Maria, I glanced out a window. I begged and pleaded for an end. I said that I’d had enough within the confines of my skull, that I’d do anything if they took this weight from me.

Then came the next death and the realization that maybe I hadn’t suffered enough. Maybe, just maybe, if I could soldier this one out I’d be okay. That I and my family would be safe for a bit. So I did, and another followed. I stopped asking for a deal. I stopped asking for anything at all actually, and grew numb to feeling period as I accepted how insane that day in the cathedral had been. How nuts I’d been to even think that would work.

If there was a god in heaven at all, I thought, they were indifferent to the suffering of their creation or actively malicious. In either case, they were undeserving of my attention, my ardor or my bended knee. If this was to be my punishment then I would embrace it openly, with a devilish grin. Hurt me, I cried out to a deaf god, I’ll just turn the poison to medicine and welcome it all.

I was a fool.

I was a damned fool and it was a stupid way to combat the complex, ever present and naive longing I felt for those I could no longer speak with.

Especially since they came visiting so often.

@@@

I open my eyes to a Carolina sunset. Blood orange and beautiful as it hangs over the tree line, the sun radiant as it bellows heat onto my body. I look down, and I’m clad in the same boring clothes I wear every single day now. I turn my hands over, and see the calluses upon them from years of weight lifting. The boots on my feet, I’d bought them just this year. I stand there and turn my palms over as a familiar voice calls out to me.

“Hey, there you are. Do I look okay man? I mean, I’m gonna be meeting your family, and I just. I don’t want ‘em to think I’m like a, like a bum you know?”

I cast my eyes up, and there’s Jay. He’s wearing a polo from the eighties and some khakis, both once again probably lifted from the thrift store. I’d wondered if they noticed he did that before, or if they’d just let him do it. I fight back the urge to say anything at all. I fail, and instead smile as I say “Dude, they know you’re a bum,”

“I mean yeah, but there’s a difference between a bum and a stray!” He says as his brows knit together, his arms crossing and he looks at me.

“Oh yeah? What would that be?” I say with a smirk.

Then it’s his turn to laugh as he jabs a finger towards me.

“Upward mobility, brother! Me and you, we’re going places. We got that, whataya call it, like Ross says? Hustler mindset, man! Imagine if you will,” he says as he pulls his cupped hand to his mouth, “Imagine a lavish lifestyle you’re due. You too could be here on-”

“Lifestyles of the rich and famous!” I finish, busting into a laugh.

Fuck.

I shouldn’t be talking to him.

This is grief. Grief manifesting before me, but I don’t care.

Jay laughs, and slaps his knee. “Hell yeah brother! But hey-I look okay?”

“Yeah dude, you look okay,” I say. Jay snorts, and jerks a thumb over his shoulder.

“Smells good over yonder. You coming?” he says with a tilt of his head. Past him, there’s a path through some thick evergreens. It’s one I recognize, one I still take on occasion.

Usually every july. About the middle of the month.

“Yeah, guess I am. Whose all there?” I say. Jay just smiles, and turns on his heel.

“Oh, you’ll know ‘em. No worries. Good folks man. Family and all. I mean, your folks mostly, but technically family to m-” he says, but I stop him with a laugh as I pass by his foot falls.

“They’re your family too Jay. Always were. C’mon. I smell barbeque,” I say.

I don’t have to tell him twice, and in a few yards the smell becomes overwhelming. It’s matched only by the pungent smell of cigarettes and talking, both growing in volume the closer we get to the clearing. The first person I spot is my great grandmother. Tiny elf of a woman that she was, she sits there as my grandmother smokes a cigarette. My great grandmother is the first to see me though. Realization washes over her face as she raises her cane in welcome, and my grandmother-Katarina, a beautiful name for a beautiful lady-turns. She smiles and waves me over. My aunt sits there, waving the smoke from my grandmother away.

I stop and give them all a hug. Great Grandma stuffs a dollar in my pocket and reminds me to go to the cinema with my friend later. Katarina rolls her eyes and stuffs a twenty in alongside it, “so we can actually go”. Jay keeps on walking, and I follow right behind him.

The smell of brown sugar, hot sauce and more grows palpable enough to make my mouth water as I spy my uncle talking to my grandfather. The two are sharing a beer (with glances over their shoulder in case my still living grandmother were to miraculously show up and scold them both). As I grow closer, my bean pole, bookie uncle looks up. His face screws as he stares at me for a long moment.

“Is that-” says my uncle.

“Jackie! You still keeping the trails clear?” says my grandfather.

I assure him that I am. My uncle, still shocked to see me, remarks that I’d grown up. I remind him that he hasn’t seen me since I was eight, and keep following behind Jay. He comes to the edge of a terraced drop off, and jerks a thumb down the hill.

“Uh, hey man. Like, I could lead, but if you’d do the honors I’d-”

“Jay, who’s down there?” I say.

He stops his nervous twitching for a moment, and I watch a warm smile cross his face.

“Oh c’mon man. You know,” he says.

I smirk, and feel my heart sink. I hide it with a joke though, like always.

“You’re so intimidated by him, aren’t you?” I say.

For once, Jay falls silent. His lips turn to a thin line, and he gives a slow shake of his head. “Nah man, I just-I don’t think I can go down there. ‘Sides,” he says, his mouth turning back into a grin, “I’m gonna go see if I can scam your uncle. He says he’s got a line on the Raiders!”

“Heh. Yeah, okay man. See you round the bend okay?” I replied.

Jay gives a nod, and shoves a hand in his pocket. The joint is in his mouth as I turn to face the clearing, trees parted enough for just one person.

I step forward and the smell of cooked pork, with its sweet tones fills my nose immediately. The fire is massive, but dwarfed by the man that sits at the side of it turning the pig. A pack of marlboros sits perched in his front pocket, and he absently thumbs it for a light. He holds the cigarette to the fire for a moment, then places it between his lips in such a fluid, practiced motion. Liked I’d seen countless times before.

He doesn’t stir as I come closer, and say “Smells good pops,”

“Mmmhmm, been cooking for a while. Got a lot of folks to feed,” he says. The bass of his voice washes over my brain. The memories stir, and I feel my jaw clench. I swallow hard, and lift my head towards him.

“Yeah. Seems a lot more has been coming lately,” I say.

Pops nods, and says “Family reunions get like that son. Question is though-why are you here?”

He turns to face me, the firelight bright as the horizon beyond the glen. For a second I stand there, and I just stare at him. Stare at the crags on his face, the ragged beard my own face had begun to imitate these last few years. I give a shrug, and just smile.

“Guess I missed y’all is all. Felt like talking. Needed to I guess,”

My father smiles, and gives a nod. He keeps turning the pig, and eventually it’s time to take it off the spit. We dress the meat together just as we’d done countless times. We start carrying fixed plates away from the pit, and I see my family gathered round a table. We pass out plates, but we’re missing one.

Oh. Oh, okay. Not yet. Right.

Pops wipes his brow, and we both sit down. He’s about to split a roll when my grandmother calls from down the table.

“Son, are we forgetting something?” she says. Pops holds back a curse, and puts his knife down. He holds a frown, until he turns to me.

“Jack, do you wanna ask grace?”

I clasp my hands over the empty space before me. I take a deep breath, and I begin to pray.

I didn’t expect an answer. Not this time.

I’d been given it right here already, at this dinner table.

@@@

I open my eyes again. It’s four Am. My cats are licking my hands. I get up and check their water, their food. They’re fine.

It dawned on me that they were doing that just to make sure I was okay.

I smile, and pet their heads.

When their time comes, I’m gonna be fucking inconsolable. But I push the thought aside, and settle back into bed.

Except I can’t quite rid myself of the taste of barbeque.

@@@

As I sit here writing this, I’m on beer four of six. Chances are likely I’ll kill this six pack before the clock strikes three AM. My phone has been silent the entire night aside from a brief exchange with my mom.

No news is good news I guess.

Death is quick, but grief is long. It brings fear, apprehension and a diseased anxiety that makes every emergency call-despite logic, despite common sense and all the medical advances in the world-taunt you with the worst case scenarios right away. My heart swells with hope and falls ever down into the pit of what if with every keystroke.

But, there’s also the realization that were that to happen.

It wouldn’t be the end.

It wouldn’t be the last time my grandmother told me she loved me. That she commented on how strong I was, how she could always depend on me.

Grief, and the act of grieving, isn’t a single ongoing emotion. It is a lifelong struggle and joy, to embrace the depths of sadness with a loss alongside the claps on the shoulder we recall fondly. Be it that our mind projects these visions to us due to neurons firing or a genuine and real world beyond this, I care not to learn the answer.

For I am grieving. Ever, always grieving.

But as I’ve come to learn, I am never alone. Never truly within that dank prison in the bowels of the earth. Be they here still with me or awaiting me at that verdant glen, the people who have affected my life are never truly gone. Through thought, memory and dreams they remain alive and vibrant. If that is the working of a godhead or simply psychosis, if it helps me heal.

Well.

I’m okay with that.

I’m at peace with that.

It’s not hell, at least.

Death is quick, grief is long. But it’s not forever like hell is. It has its respites, its moments of ecstasy. What’s more though-as we process it, as we work vigilantly through it.

We realize in the end we’re going to be okay.

Here, there.

Wherever our travels take us, regardless of the number of campfires that pass.

#splathousefic #splathousefiction #grief #trauma #death

[johnnycranes]

“I need you to pretend we’re dating”

Micah x F!Reader

But it’s the 1800s so “we’re together” instead of dating i guess lmao. This was supposed to be a short fic, how in the world it reached over 2k words idk. 

Anyway I’ve missed writing for Micah so here’s my attempt at a comeback. Prompt masterlist here.

Rating: T with just a splash of M but nothing too crazy. 

Micah x F!Reader

Karen finally convinced Arthur to let you and her go back to Valentine after what happened the last time the blonde woman visited. 

‘Course, this time Karen decided to bring Sean along. The Irishman just happened to be free when Arthur said he’d be too busy himself, taking care of something for Dutch. 

So here you were, in the Valentine saloon with the two lovebirds. You knew you should’ve stayed at camp and shared stories with Tilly and Mary-Beth but noooo, Miss Jones just had to bribe you with a free drink and a “I heard a real interestin’ lead the last time we was here!” 

Karen and Sean were off by the piano, singin some tune while you were trying to scout any leads from the drunks by the bar.

You were about to ask the bartender for another drink when one of the locals, breath reeking of alcohol, placed an arm around you. 

"Well hellooooo there, beautiful. I ain't seen you 'round here before." he said, his words slurred and voice a little too loud from where he was. 

You smiled politely as you could back at him, tried to put distance between you two, but his arm felt like lead on your shoulders. "Just passin' through, mister. Here with a few friends." you pointed towards Karen and Sean, who, unfortunately, weren't looking at anyone but themselves. 

And apparently the man with you picked up on it as well. 

He chuckled. "Awww, there there, sweetheart. Seems your friends ain't leavin anytime soon. Why don't I keep ya company instead, hmm?" 

As much as you wanted to slap the man or kick him where it hurts the most, Dutch specifically requested that there be no more rowdy bar fights after all the trouble the gang caused in town already. 

Smile unwavering, you tried to look around for anything or anyone to help you get rid of the local. 

So when you heard the saloon doors swing open and saw Mr. Micah Bell III himself enter, you prayed he was sober and in a good enough mood to help you out. You were always one of the friendlier people towards him in camp, so hopefully that little friendship meant something. 

"Oh, there he is!" You yelled, looking at Micah. This distracted the local enough so he could loosen his hold on you and you slipped out, making your way to the blonde cowboy. 

He looked surprised to see you, even more so when you put your arms around him, leaning your head near his.

You felt him tense up and had a feeling he was going to push you away so you knew you had to say something quickly. "I'll wash your clothes and sew 'em for a week if you please just pretend we're together. Feller by the bar's tryna do more than just buy me a drink." you said by his ear. 

You could sense he was processing what you just told him. But suddenly his arms were around you and he pushed you away just enough to place a kiss on your cheek. 

You look up at him, even more shocked when you see the unmistakable smug grin on his face. 

"I was only gone a few minutes, darlin'. Didn't think you'd miss me that much." he said in a surprisingly sweet voice that didn't sound at all like the tough gunslinger you knew him to be. He placed his arm around you and started walking up to the bar. 

Not missing a beat and thankful that he seemed to be ok with playing along, you wrapped one arm around his waist and placed a hand on his chest. "You know me, just can't get enough of ya."

You both stopped by bar, Micah tipping his hat to the bartender and signalling for two more bottles. 

Unfortunately, the man who was harassing you hadn't left. "She with you, mister?" he asked rather blatantly, turning towards Micah. 

The blonde tightened his grip on you. "That is correct. Ain't I just the luckiest feller?" he actually tapped your nose with a finger. Seems Hosea has some competition in acting.

And you couldn't help but blush when his voice became just a bit huskier at the end there. The poor local didn’t seem to be giving up though. 

“Really now? ‘Cuz the little lady told me she came with just those two.” he said, pointing to Sean and Karen who were giggling about something or other.

Man, they really did have eyes for only each other, especially when they were both drunk.

Micah let go of you and you were quick to shove down the disappointment you felt, no longer in his arms. He was surprisingly warm.

Micah stood in front of you, blocking you from the drunk local. 

“Not that it ain’t any of your business, feller, but I passed by the gun store, left my woman with our two friends over there.” He glanced back at you. “Startin’ to think that was a bad idea.” 

You smiled sheepishly, knowing Micah meant to tell you that it was your fault for not thinking about how drinking with Karen and Sean was going to be anything but good. 

“I’m sorry, love.” You said, and you swore you saw Micah’s cheeks turn red from calling him love. “I leave ‘em for 5 seconds and suddenly they think they’re the only people in the world or somethin’.”

Micah laughed and you felt heat pool in your stomach from the sound. “Quite all right. I know you can handle yourself.” 

The local scoffed. “Actually mister, who knows what woulda happened to the girl if I hadn’t shown up.” the man said rather smugly.

“She woulda finished her damn drink in peace, that’s what.” Micah growled.

And it really did seem like the feller had a death wish because the next thing she knew, he was leaning towards Micah, glaring at him. “We was just about to have a lovely evening if you hadn’t shown up.” 

Micah barked out a laugh, obviously not intimidated by the other guy’s rather poor show of masculinity. “That’s real funny, friend. Cuz I reckon that’s my line, not yours.”

“Listen yo-” 

Before the man could finish talking, you heard Karen Jones squeal, saw Sean Macguire break a bottle on top of some poor feller’s head, and then the whole saloon was in an uproar.

Micah took the opportunity to punch the drunk man square in the jaw. It was no secret he wasn’t the toughest fighter among Dutch’s boys, but his ‘opponent’ was drunk enough that he went down without much of a fight, knocked out from all the alcohol. 

Micah took a swig of his whiskey, placed a few coins on the bar, then grabbed your hand, guiding you around the chaos until you finally got out of the saloon. 

“Well, that ain’t what I had in mind when I got to town, but that was fun.” he laughed, adjusting his hat. 

You couldn’t help but laugh with him. “Trust me, weren’t what I expected either.”

You looked down and saw you were still holding hands. You hesitantly let go, remembering how all this craziness started. 

“Thanks, Mr. Bell. I was tryna avoid another bar fight but it seemed Sean had other plans.” 

He smirked. “Well I can’t blame the boy. He only wanted to help his woman. ‘Case ya forgot, I did the exact same thing.”

You grinned, not sure if your cheeks were warm from the alcohol or from his charming words.

Probably both.

“Yes, and as promised, you’ll get clean and sewn clothes for a week, no more waiting for Ms. Grimshaw gives it to one of us girls.” 

Micah chuckled lowly, moving closer to you and you forgot how intimidating he could be. “As lovely as that sounds, miss, I actually had another... reward in mind.”

He leaned towards you and you could feel his breath touch your skin. You unconsciously licked your lips. “And what is it?” you asked, surprised at how small your voice sounded.

He grinned. “Oh, somethin’ we’ll both enjoy, I assure you.” 

You felt his fingers gently tilt your chin up and you didn’t stop him. You closed your eyes and thought you felt the prickle of his moustache on your face-

Before two familiar laughs and the saloon doors swinging open hit your ears. You jumped back and saw Micah do just about the same, only much more subtle, slowly backing away from you and adjusting his hat. 

Sean and Karen all but stumbled out of the bar, the Irishman still holding a bottle in his hand as he kept an arm around his woman.

“Micah you bastard, what the hell you doin’ here then?” Sean said, his accent thicker now that he was drunk.

Micah scoffed. “Savin’ Miss (Y/N) here, I reckon.” he said, tilting his head towards you. “Now I ain’t no stranger to a bit of fun at the saloon either but what do you suppose Dutch’ll think if anythin’ happened to these fine ladies?”

Sean laughed, almost falling over if Karen hadn’t steadied him. “Since when did you care about anyone other than yourself?”

Micah stomped towards the younger man. “Easy there, cowpoke. Don’t think I wo-”

You stepped in front of Micah, placing your hands on his chest. He looked down at you. “It’s fine, Micah. The idiot’s drunk.”

“Hey!” Karen yelled. “He ain’t an idiot.”

Sean leaned his head on her. “Aww Miss Jones you do-”

“He’s my idiot.” She finished. “Now, I don’t fancy headin’ back to camp just yet. Stole enough money from one of the fellers in the saloon to afford a bath and a decent room at the hotel.” Karen faced you. “You gonna be okay gettin’ back yourself? Or I do have some leftover for another room if ya want.”

Sean took one last swig before dropping the bottle on the ground. “Hey, I ain’t drunk enough that I can’t bring Miss (Y/N) back to camp meself.”

“You Irish fool, the room’s fer us!” she yelled.

Sean blinked before going “Oooohhh” and you laughed when you heard Micah mutter  “They’re both morons.”

You smiled at the other woman. “I’ll be fine. Mr. Bell can bring me back.” you looked at the blonde man and saw him shrug. Karen however wasn’t convinced, as she glared at Micah.

“Don’t you try anythin’ now or I’m tellin’ Arthur and kickin' your ass myself.” she said.

Micah waved his hands mockingly. “Oh I’m shakin, Miss Jones.” he brought them back down. “We’ll be fine. Now you two get the hell outta here before Mr. Macguire pukes all over the damn ground.”

Karen told you to take care before guiding a giggling Sean towards the hotel. 

Once they were inside the building, Micah faced you. “The hell were ya thinkin? Hanging around those two drunk idiots?” 

You shrugged. “Hey I was bored, ok? And Karen offered free drinks.” 

Micah huffed.  

Part of you was buzzing to continue what Sean and Karen interrupted between you and Micah. You rarely interacted with the blonde cowboy whenever he was in camp, but you knew you were friendlier towards him than most of the others.

He’s flirted, or tried to flirt with every girl in camp already so you weren't surprised at him trying to kiss you.

But dammit you really wanted him to.

He coughed, more to get your attention than anything else. “So… if you’re done here darlin’, we better get back to camp.” 

You felt yourself blush hearing him call you darlin’ again. You also almost laughed at his complete personality change. First he was a charming and dashing cowboy, next he was growling at Sean and now he looked a little nervous and unsure. It was kind of endearing. 

Feeling like a little girl too afraid to talk to the boy she was sweet on, you actually tucked your hair behind your ear, trying to avoid his gaze. “Actually I… I ain’t exactly lookin’ forward to headin’ back just yet.”

Micah’s expression looked guarded and you weren’t sure what he was thinking. “What did you have in mind?”

You blamed the alcohol for wanting to grab his head and kiss him senseless then and there. 

So you did.

Your lips were on his and you felt him go stiff before relaxing and kissing you back with just as much force, his hands going to either side of your face. You felt the rough texture of his beard and moustache on your skin, tickling you yet he couldn’t get enough of him.

It didn’t take long for Micah to take charge as he bit your lower lip gently, you opened your mouth just a bit but it was enough to allow Micah's tongue entry. You moaned against him and Micah was the first to break the kiss, letting you breathe while he placed some more open mouthed-kisses on your jaw and neck.

“Been wantin’ to do that for a while now.” he whispered against you.

You laughed breathlessly. “Reckon Sean and Karen killed the mood earlier. Glad I went for it, anyway.”

“Oh so am I sweetheart, so am I. Weren’t sure when the next opportunity was gonna present itself.”

You smirked as Micah finally stopped kissing you, and looked at you with those beautiful blue eyes of his. “Who knew all it took was a drunk cowboy to get us together, hmm?”

Micah brushed your hair out of your face and, in the most un-Micah way you’ve seen him be, placed a soft kiss on your forehead. “The man was a pathetic loser but I made sure to give him somethin’ as thanks.”

You looked up at him, brows furrowed. “You did?”

He grinned before he placed his arms around you and guided you towards Baylock. “Yep! Was about to break a bottle on his head, good thing I didn't, he can have the free whiskey as thanks.”

You couldn’t help but laugh.

The next morning at camp, John yelled at Sean for the… mess that was left in his tent. Sean tried to defend himself saying “Excuse me sir but Miss Jones and I had a lovely evenin’ at the Saints Hotel back in town.” John wasn’t having it though, unconvinced and already asked Ms. Grimshaw to just burn the sheets while he goes and gets some new ones. 

As Sean grumbled on about how he didn’t do anything for once, Micah approached him, with a shit-eating grin on his face. You were close enough that you could hear what he said. “Awww, don’t be so sour, cowpoke. I reckon you should be more careful, like (Y/N) and I were last night. No one knows a thing.”

Micah walked away, hands on his gun belt and a swagger in his step. You waited about five seconds before-

“MICAH BELL YOU OILY TURD!”

You made a note to yourself that next time maybe make sure John’s tent is immaculately clean afterwards.

Or get a room in town.

#micah bell #micah bell x f reader #micah bell x reader #red dead redemption 2 #my writing #my fic

[thesardonicwriter]

The Way It Is, Arthur Morgan x Reader

Crossposting on AO3 and here! Except on AO3 it’s an OC and here it’s you! So forgive any mistakes, I kinda just eyeballed the you’s from the she’s.

Anyway, here you go, friends!

You sat quietly in Beaver’s Hollow, cleaning your trusty pistol and pretending to ignore Micah and his loud mouth. The train job had gone better than they’d hoped but John… John was dead. Arthur and Sadie had ridden off to get Abigail back from the Pinkertons because Dutch had refused to. Dutch would rather have let his friend’s son be orphaned than go to get Abigail back. Things had been changing in the gang for a long time. You had seen it coming for a long time. You had never thought you’d see the day that Dutch would just abandon his own people. And at the word of Micah Bell, of all people! It hurt. It was time to move on from the Van der Linde gang, you could see that now. It was only a matter of when and how. Her heart stung as you thought of leaving Javier and Bill, as brutish as the latter was. You had been with them for 12 years. 12 years that you would never see again. There weren’t any other options now.

“Get them bags packed up quick, Miss Grimshaw,” Micah ordered. “And you, (Y/L/N), get off your ass and help out.”

You ignored Micah, refocusing on your gun. In the chaos of everyone fleeing here, that was when you would peel off from the group. Maybe you’d be able to convince Susan to leave with you, too. God, you wanted to slap some sense into Dutch. It was too late for that. You knew that, somewhere, but it was still your first instinct.

“Hurry up! We don’t got much time,” Micah barked.

As you felt yourself falling deeper into your own thoughts, you heard Arthur’s voice echo through the camp. You holstered your gun quickly and looked up, expecting to see Abigail and Sadie with him. But he was alone. He was alone and he was angry. His hat hung low over his eyes. Worry built in your chest. Arthur jumped off of his horse. He was walking with a dedicated purpose.

“We just got plenty of time, Micah,” Arthur said. “We all need to have a little chat.”

“Morgan. You’re back. Hooray.”

Dutch slowly emerged from his tent. The canvas flap moved shut behind him. The sight of their once great leader no longer filled you with a sense of pride. A sense of duty, like you were doing the right thing in your life. Arthur and Dutch slowly walked towards each other. If a stranger had come into the camp right then, they wouldn’t have seen two old friends welcoming each other. They would have seen two men, two enemies, having their final confrontation. It wasn’t so hard for you to believe that Dutch and Colm O’Driscoll had been friendly once now as you watched those two regard each other.

“I just had a little chat with Agent Milton, Dutch. Abigail shot him. She’s okay… not that you care too much about that.”

Micah, Cleet, and Joe started to stalk towards Arthur. It was like watching a cougar eyeing her meal. You pushed yourself to your feet and moved behind your friend. Her hand was hovering over your guns, willing Micah to give your a reason to fire. Dutch stopped walking. His eyes never left Arthur. Susan stopped packing and looked from both sides of the camp. Arthur turned to Micah and his men, effectively stopping them in their tracks.

“You rats,” he scoffed. “All of ya. Seems old Micah was pretty good friends with Milton.”

“What the hell are you talking about, cowpoke?”

“You talked.”

Those words. Those two simple words made so much click together. Micah talked. Hell, there had been problems before Guarma, but after then, even when the rest of the gang was being careful, things still seemed to go wrong. Micah was even closer in Dutch’s ear. It seemed like that was the only person their leader would listen to for anything. Micah talked. Dutch’s actions hadn’t been entirely his own as things progressed. Because Micah talked.

“That’s a goddamn lie.” Micah hissed.

“Dutch…” Arthur’s voice was wavering. He, too, still hoped that his friend, his mentor, was still there.

“Dutch, think of the future.”

Dutch stood by his tent, looking at both men in confusion. Even from where you were, you could see the conflict in his eyes. The fight between who he was becoming and who he used to be. His mouth was slightly agape, as if in disbelief as Arthur continued speaking.

“Milton told me.”

“And you believed him, Morgan? You believe him?”

“It all makes sense now.” 

“No, it damn well doesn’t.”

Arthur drew his pistol, aiming for Micah’s headYou was quick behind him, aiming at Joe while Cleet struggled with his gun. Bill stood from the table, gun in hand but unsure of what to do. Slowly, he raised his repeater towards ArthurYour hand was steady. You pulled your second gun, aiming for Bill. Oh, Bill. They had spent some good years together. You refused to hesitate.

“Dutch, think!”

“Dutch, be practical now.”

“Dutch!”

Your heart sang as a painfully familiar voice came through the fog and tension. You turned to see John walking towards camp, holding his arm and limping towards them all. You held back a happy sob as you saw him. He was alive. He survived. And Dutch lied about it. Had he even gone back to check on him? Once, anyone would have insisted that John was the golden boy. John was the favourite. John was the one that Dutch would have done anything for. Just another example of just how far he had really fallen from grace. Oh, to go back to those days when things seemed so much simpler. So much better.

“You left me! You left me to die!” John’s voice was dripping with venom and his eyes were filled with rage as he looked to Dutch van der Linde.

Dutch’s eyes were wide in shock. He started walking towards John slowly. “My boy, I didn’t have a choice. John, I didn’t…”

“You-”

“I didn’t have a choice.”

“-left me!”

“All of you, you pick your side now, because this is over. All them years, Dutch,” Arthur shook his head, “for this snake?!”

Micah chuckled. “Be quiet, cowpoke, be quiet. You live in the clouds.”

“No, you be quiet, Mr. Bell,” Grimshaw spoke. She walked into the fray with her trusty shotgun. “And put your gun down,” she sneered.

“There’s Pinkertons coming!” Javier ran from down the hill.

Jesus, how many more people were going to burst into their camp today?

Micah took Javier’s distraction in stride. He fired one shot into Miss Grimshaw’s stomachYou moved both guns to train on Micah. Her eyes were stinging with tears. You may have fought with Susan over things, but you had always loved the woman. She was one of the people who made you feel like you belonged in the gang when you first got there. Your finger was close to pulling back on the trigger. Dutch pulled his guns, pointing them at Micah and Arthur. 

“Now! Who amongst you is with me and who is betrayin’ me?!” Dutch demanded.

Dutch moved towards the treeline. Arthur and you backed closer to the cave, John as close as he could get. They were the only three people leaving Dutch’s side. You tightened your jaw. If that was how it had to be, then that was what you were going to do. Bill and Javier stood behind Dutch. Bill, a man you had called your brother, was aiming his gun at your, no remorse or regret in his eyes. Javier still seemed unsure of what to do, but he knew he had to stay with Dutch. The man you once would have said was like a father was aiming his guns at you. All because of a traitor he still trusted. How had they let things get this bad? Micah continued to insist that Arthur was lying. Before the firefight could begin, the Pinkertons started yelling. You pulled John and Arthur’s shoulders back towards the caves, pushing them down as you sent a few shots back towards the people that you used to call your friends.

More gunshots rang out from everywhere. You kept urging the boys forward. You lit a lamp as they ran deeper and deeper into the cave. You had been through here once and found the secret exit. Even if they had been in the dark, you could have found it but you weren't taking any risks. Pinkertons shouted behind them. Agent Ross or whatever his name was told them to freeze, stop running, and he ordered his men to find them. You wasn’t going to let that happen. You led them to the ladder.

“Go, go!” You said, pushing John towards it. “Fuckin’ climb!”

You waited until they were both up before climbing yourself. You hit the lamp against the stone walls of the cave. Kerosene splashed your leg but you didn’t care as you poured it onto the ladder. This was the only way you could think of to make sure the Pinkertons couldn’t follow them out here. You were pulled up the rest of the way by Arthur. You reached into his satchel and found his matchbook. 

“This is gonna have to do.” You struck a match on your boot and let it fall onto the ladder. 

The three of them ran from the exit. The trio kept moving, kept running, until they were far from the cave. Arthur and John whistled for their horses. You had one of your pistols out. You were waiting for someone to show up. They had two groups after them now. They had to get off of this damn mountain before they got caught by Micah or the Pinkertons.

“Thank you,” he said, “for believin’ me,”

“‘Course, Arthur,” you said.

“Can we talk about this later?” John snapped as the horses came into view.

Arthur lifted you into the saddle behind him. You had one arm wrapped around his waist as they started riding through the forest. You hadn’t even had time to properly process that John was still alive, what with all the chaos going on. It didn’t seem like there were Pinkertons following them, but you knew that could change at any moment. You kept your eyes peeled. You studied every movement in the trees.

“Those bastards left me for dead!” John yelled.

“Seems that’s what they do now,” Arthur responded.

“And here I was wastin’ my time savin’ your sorry asses all these years. If I’da known I coulda left you I would’ve!” you shook your head.

“Is now the time to be sarcastic, (Y/L/N)?!”

“It’s now or never, Marston!”

“Micah was the rat, John. Milton told me,” Arthur said.

“Figures. We shoulda killed him months ago!”

you was inclined to agree. You went over all of the times you could have left the bastard for dead or shot him in the back. There was no use in focusing on things that couldn’t be changed now. They had to get John to his family, at least. He was the only one of the three had actually  had people waiting for him now. Arthur glanced back at you and you knew that he agreed. It didn’t matter if the two of them died here as long as John was safe.

“Abigail’s at Copperhead Landing with Jack. Tilly and Sadie, too. We’re gonna get you there, John. Once we get these damned Pinkertons off our backs!” Arthur’s voice rose above the wind.

“Thank you. Thank you, brother,” John said.

“Don’t look back, John. When you find them, don’t you dare look back. Like I said.”

you could see John nodding his head in understanding. They must have been talking about getting John and his family out for a long time before this. That was good. That meant that they were ready for this. They were ready to run as far and as fast as they could. You just had to make sure that they actually got that chance. You lightly squeezed Arthur’s waist as your way of silently showing him you would help. You would do whatever it took to get John to them, even if it meant dying yourself. The gang was dead. Her family was dead. There was nothing out there waiting for you. If you did die on that mountain, there wasn’t anyone waiting to mourn for you. And you were okay with that. 

It wasn’t long into the ride before they almost ran headfirst into Dutch’s group. They started shooting at the trio without mercy. Arthur expertly maneuvered his horse out of the line of fire. John was close behind him. You aimed backwards haphazardly, not really caring if you hit anything this time. It just needed to be enough noise to maybe spook one or two of their horses. Micah yelled at them from behind, promising that they’d all be dead soon enough. You takes one look back. You can’t even see the white coat of the Count anymore. 

“Pinkertons ahead!” John announced,

You cursed under your breath as you fired a few more bullets. You heard the click of an empty chamber and started reloading while the boys cut through the river. John started to lead them further and further up the mountain and further and further away from Copperhead Landing. They had to lose their “friends” before they could get there. You knew that. It seemed like the further along they went, the more guns they were met with. John did his best to lead them through the trees. After what seemed like an eternity, the treeline broke. You looked back into the forest. This wasn’t a good development. They were just more in the open now. You aimed your pistol again.

Before you could pull the trigger, you felt yourself getting thrown into the air. You hit the ground. Hard. Her body started rolling down. You felt John’s hand on your arm, stopping your from going any further back into danger. Arthur was kneeling next to his horse, gently patting her head and whispering to her while she passed. You looked around wildly. You found your pistol in the grass and picked it up. You walked to Arthur. Softly, you placed a hand on his shoulder.

“We’ve gotta go, Arthur. We gotta move, now,” you said.

He nodded. “I know. I know! Just… gimme a minute.”

“We ain’t got a minute, hun, we gotta go. Now.”

He looked at the ground. With a grunt, he pushed himself to his feet. He leaned down to pick up his hat. Arthur looked back down the mountain. Back towards Beaver’s Hollow. He shook his head. You watched him curiously.

“All right, let’s go. I’m gonna get you out of this bullshit if it’s the last goddamn thing I do.”

John took Arthur’s hand for a moment. All the years of them fighting seemed to fade away in that moment. They were finally able to forgive each other for everything that had happened. You wished silently that it could have come about in a different way. A better way. 

“All right, that’s enough of the man love for now,” you said with a slight smirk, “we gotta go before they come back. C’mon, this way!”

You started running up. Arthur and John followed closely behind. You forced yourself to forget all of the times you had had in the Van der Linde gang as you shot indiscriminately at those you saw on the mountain. You forced yourself to forget that Dutch had saved your life more than once. . You remembered how Hosea was killed. The memory of his body there in the street was more than enough to fuel the fire within you. You were going to get out of this and you were going to put a bullet into Micah yourself. That was your last goal before you died.

you pushed against a rock as you turned a corner to get to higher ground. The boys were still a little ways behind you. You spun around. It was higher ground, all right, but there wasn’t anywhere to take cover. They would get killed if they stayed there. It wasn’t any better further down. Truly a damned if they did, damned if they didn’t type of situation. You cursed loudly, kicking a stone over the edge. Arthur looked around. He nodded.

“All right then, here’s the plan. You two are gonna get the hell outta here. Don’t you argue with me, you. This is the only way. I’ll stay here and keep as many of the bastards back as I can. But you gotta get John to his family,” Arthur said with a nod.

“No. No! I ain’t leavin’ you here, Arthur!” you protested.

“Darlin’, you ain’t got no choice. Get him outta here. Get him to his woman and child safely.” Arthur put his satchel around your shoulders. 

“Don’t call me darlin’,” you said weakly.

Arthur chuckled. “I know. Just go. I’ll meet you there if I can. Now go. Go!”

He pushed you towards John. John looked up at Arthur. Arthur nodded. This was what he wanted. They weren’t going to talk him out of this. Even if they could, they certainly didn’t have the time for it. You and John started running. Arthur was shouting, telling, no, daring the Pinkertons to come for him. You refused to look back to him as the gunshots started. You couldn’t. You knew that as soon as you did, you’d be right back up there with him, firing and fighting. You reached for John’s hand. You were going to keep him as close as you could as they ran. 

Her feet slid to a stop on the rough stone. You looked around. There had to be a way out of this. A better way out of this. John was catching his breath. Just as you were about to start pulling him a different way, you saw a flash of a leather coat. Micah’s coat. The rage you had been holding in was just about ready to burst.

“That’s it. I’m endin’ this, once and for fuckin’ all,” you sneered. “John, I’ve gotta kill that bastard.”

He looked up at you. “Make sure you don’t miss,”

you smiled. You were a better shot than that. You hugged John. You kept one hand on the back of his head. You wanted to remember this moment. You wanted to commit John to memory forever. You stepped away. John held your hand for a moment. 

“Thank you, sister, for everything.”

“Don’t mention it. Just get to your family. Get them safe.”

“Thank you.”

He turned and started running. You watched him for a moment. He was going to be okay, you knew it. That kid always seemed to have things work out for him. This wouldn’t be any different. You turned on your heel and ran back the way you came. You kept your gun in your hand. You had pictured this day so many times back in camp. You could hardly wait to see what it actually looked like when Micah was begging for mercy under your boot. There were no Pinkertons around you now. It seemed like Arthur had succeeded in leading them off. Wherever he was, you hoped that he had at least managed to get somewhere safe. You’d hate for him to see just how blatantly you’d ignored his last order.

you rounded a corner. Her heart dropped to your feet as you looked on. You were rendered speechless for what felt like the first time in your life.

Micah was standing on Arthur’s neck, laughing maniacally about this situation. Arthur barely looked like himself. There was no way that Arthur had lost this fight unless he had thrown it to protect you and John as they ran. You saw Micah aiming one of his precious guns at Arthur. You didn’t hesitate to pull the trigger on your own pistol.Two gunshots sounded. Blood spurted out from the wound, hitting the dirt as Micah fell over the ridge. You ran towards Arthur, begging him not to be dead.

“Don’t you dare die on me now, Morgan, not after all of this shit. You don’t get to take the easy way out you bastard,” you said.

“Not… ow… not dead yet.” Arthur coughed.

“Good. Not dead is good. C’mon, cowboy, let’s get you outta here.”

You put one of Arthur’s arms around your shoulders and struggled to get him to his feet. He helped as best as he could, but he was pretty much useless.

“Bastard shot my leg,” he said, “hurts like a bitch,”

“Shut up for a minute, Arthur, I’m tryin’ to come up with a plan,”

Ultimately, you decided down the mountain was probably the best bet. Slowly, as slowly as you could while still running and supporting Arthur, you started to move down, watching your steps as you went. Arthur was a lot heavier than you thought he’d be. You supposed it made sense, considering. You turned a corner and almost ran directly into the fine silk vest of Dutch himself. You looked up. Instantly, your pistol was aimed at his head. He held up his hands and looked from your to Arthur.

“Your pet rat’s dead, Dutch. I shot him myself. Fell over the ridge down there,”

Dutch opened his mouth to speak. Your eyes flicked up. More Pinkertons. You kept your gun trained on Dutch as he ran away. You kept pushing Arthur further. You held on as best you could. Your foot slipped as you moved further down. Arthur was sent tumbling from your arms and further down. You cussed and made your way back to him, apologising. He was next to a curtain of lichen. His arm was passing through it. Curious, you stuck your head through. It was a cave. A well hidden cave. With the last of your strength, you pulled Arthur inside and hoped that would be enough to keep them safe.

So there you go. Chapter 1 of like 20 something. :D

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur x reader #arthur morgan/reader #arthur/reader #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #x reader #micah bell #reader #reader insert #arthur morgan reader insert #fanfiction #read dead redemption fanfic

[the-awkward-outlaw]

A New Adventure - Pt. 15

Merry Christmas cowpokes! (for those of you who celebrate it.) For the first time, someone sent in a request for a scenario in this piece. I’m happy to say it fit in perfectly for this. Their request was: some cookie making with playful fighting that ends with both covered in sugar, dough, and of course frosting! With a sweet kiss ;) 

Anyways, hope y’all enjoy it. And yes, if you’re wondering, I am open to ideas for future scenarios. 

Masterlist 

Read on AO3

An Eve to Remember 

Christmas is rapidly approaching 

You’re getting nervous about it, even though you’re prepared for the most part

You’ve bought a couple of gifts for Arthur, nothing too big or expensive. Not because you don’t have the money, but you have a feeling he wouldn’t really appreciate it. Arthur is not a material man

You’re pretty sure Arthur has gotten a couple of things for you as well. Mostly because you taught him how to do some online shopping some time ago and you’ve seen the empty shipping boxes in your recycling bin

Once in a store, Arthur saw stockings. You didn’t have any of course, having not celebrated Christmas in a long time. He insisted that you should both get some as he wanted to celebrate it properly. 

You’ve both got stockings as well as things to fill them with. 

For Arthur, you’ve gotten him some of his favorite candies that he’s explored so far (he really likes chocolate covered almonds). 

But he’s also a pretty big fan of jerky. 

All your presents for him are wrapped and under the tree. There’s a few under there for you. 

For the first time since your father died, you’re feeling excited for the day. Not as much as when you were a kid of course, but there’s still some anticipation there. 

You can tell Arthur is excited too. He tries to hide it, but it’s obvious. 

The two of you are still having lots of sex. 

He’s the best partner you’ve ever had in the bedroom. Sure, he doesn’t know a lot of the modern day tricks or toys, but he’s a fast learner. 

The best part about him is he never leaves you half baked during a session. He always makes sure you get your satisfaction.

Your relationship with him has grown stronger the more you’ve made love. Arthur seems to be more crazy about you as well. 

It’s a few days before Christmas and you’ve just come home from work. Arthur greets you with a kiss as he’s more prone to doing. 

As you take off your shoes, Arthur asks if you know how to make cookies. 

“Depends. What kind?” you ask. 

Arthur is a bit surprised to find out there’s multiple kinds of cookies. He shrugs his shoulders. “Just the ones with that frosting.”

He admits he saw a photo on your computer of some sugar cookies and he wanted to try them. 

Of course, you can’t resist his eagerness. So after dinner, you pull up a fairly simple recipe. Luckily you have all the ingredients at hand. 

Arthur does his best to help you, but he’s still pretty new to baking. Sometimes he can be a bit more of a nuisance than a help, but you don’t mind. You know he doesn’t do it on purpose. 

When the first batch of cookies go in the oven and you begin preparing the frosting, Arthur dips his finger in it to taste it. 

“Hey! No tasting before it’s done!” you playfully scold. 

Arthur winks at you and moves to dip his finger back in. You slap his hand. 

Things quickly escalate and you’re both flicking flour and sugar at one another. Normally you’d never let your kitchen get this dirty, but you’re having too much fun to really care. 

Arthur’s much better at smacking you with the powders than you are. Probably thanks to his good aim. 

The oven timer dings, signalling that the first batch of cookies are done. Shit, you never got around to cutting out your second batch because you were fighting with Arthur. 

He pulls them out, appreciatively sniffing as the smell hits him in the face. 

“Mm, shame we gotta wait.” 

“Come on, big guy. Let’s finish this frosting so we can eat them sooner.” 

When he puts the cookies down, he comes over to you. 

“You got some sugar on your cheek,” he says. Instead of brushing it away with his hand, he bends down and kisses your cheek. 

He’s got you trapped between him and the counter, which you don’t mind. 

His lips move from your cheek to your lips. With his hands on your hips, you drape your arms across his firm shoulders. You rub the scruff of his chin and he sighs. 

Already it’s easy to see where things will lead. You almost want to grab the frosting and use it on your bodies, but you end up not. 

When you’re both done in the bedroom, Arthur comes out with you to help clean up the kitchen. 

The cookies turn out pretty good. 

Christmas Eve comes. You have to work, but you’ll be done by mid afternoon. Luckily you’re also working from home, so it’ll make your evening a little easier. 

Despite how boring it will be for him, Arthur insists on staying with you while you work. He just wants to keep you company. 

Over the last couple of weeks, you’ve been introducing Arthur to some simpler video games you’ve been able to get for free on your console (you have not introduced him to Red Dead yet and you probably won’t for a long time). 

He’s pretty shabby at them, mostly because he still hasn’t quite figured out how to use the controller without looking at it. 

He never plays without you being home, but seeing as you’re working, you encourage him to play in order to keep him busy. 

He tries not to ask a lot of questions as to not interrupt your work, but he ends up asking frequently, which you don’t mind. 

Finally your shift ends and you can quit for the rest of the holiday. Arthur’s ecstatic about it. 

For dinner, you do what your family used to do, in that you make a cheese fondue, some marinated steak, french bread and some vegetables. 

Arthur’s never had a cheese dip before, but he ends up rather liking it. 

After dinner, the two of you end up opening your stocking gifts. 

You gave Arthur a new swiss knife which he ends up finding quite impressive. 

He managed to get you a few small gifts that you never would have thought of. None of them are the typical necklaces or jewelry most guys get. 

One of them is a rather unique tree decoration of your favorite animal. It’s your favorite gift by far. 

After stockings, you decide to introduce Arthur to Mr. Bean. You only watch the Christmas episode for now, but you’ll introduce the other ones to him later. 

At first, Arthur thinks it’s overly silly, but once you get to the scene with the nativity, he’s roaring with laughter (although he doesn’t fully understand some of the props like the dalek). 

After that, Arthur’s sold on Mr. Bean, especially after you explain that he’s supposed to be stupid and odd. 

His favorite scene ends up being the one where Bean gets his head stuck in the turkey, mostly because it reminds him of the year Pearson was stuffing a huge turkey Arthur had brought into camp and managed to somehow get it stuck around his arm. 

When Mr. Bean is done, you don’t have any other Christmas movies to watch (except for the best one which you’ll watch tomorrow). 

Instead you and Arthur decide to trade stories of some of your best Christmas memories. 

You don’t have a whole lot as they make you sad, seeing as most of them revolve around your father. 

Arthur has some good ones though. Especially involving Sean and Lenny. 

He does tell one about John when he was a teenager that has you in stitches. 

John had been trying to level up to Arthur’s hunting skill and so he’d tried to go and hunt an elk on his own. Of course, things had not gone well for him as the elk, being unafraid and just coming out of the rut season, had chased John. 

He’d gotten stuck in a tree and been trapped there by the elk for hours until Arthur, sent out by Dutch, found him. 

John had lied about getting trapped and said he was coming up with a strategy to jump onto the elk’s back and ride it like a bronco. 

“Well then, show me your plan,” Arthur had said, leaning on the horn of his saddle. 

John tried jumping off the tree and onto the still furious elk’s back, but fell out of the tree. 

Arthur ended up having to shoot the elk so it didn’t gore John. He was unhurt, aside from a couple of scrapes and a bruised pride. 

“John still insists to this day that he could have ridden that elk,” Arthur finishes with a chuckle. “He’s tried telling it from his perspective every year.” 

He grows somber after this, clearly still stung by losing so much of his family. You can’t blame him. After all, he could go back, but it would mean his death. Plus the gang’s being torn apart by Dutch and Micah. 

Of course, Arthur doesn’t know about Micah, seeing as the last time he was there he was only in the beginning of chapter 6 and just been diagnosed with TB. You don’t have the heart yet to tell him the end results of Dutch’s actions, driven by Micah. 

When the two of you decide to turn in for the night, Arthur surprises you by telling you he doesn’t want to have sex. Instead he just wants to cuddle with you. 

He turns out to be just as good at cuddling as he is at sex. He just holds your head to his chest, his thumb tracing along your shoulder and back. 

You’re just starting to drift off when he kisses your head. “I love you, sweetheart,” he says quietly. 

You smile into his chest, but you fall asleep before you manage to say anything to him. 

In the morning, you wake up to Arthur spooning you. 

Unlike last night, he pulls some moves that lets you know he wants to make love. 

Seeing as it’s Christmas morning, you give in. Arthur really pulls out some of his best moves, making it the best session you’ve had so far. It’s so good you almost don’t want to get out of bed. 

Too soon though, it’s Arthur who insists on getting out in order to unwrap presents. 

Before unwrapping presents though, you decide to cook a big breakfast first. 

When your father was still alive, he’d always cook a big breakfast, with all your favorite foods. 

Arthur is ecstatic to do the same, saying he’d love nothing more than to give you something to add to those memories. 

After stuffing yourself, you and Arthur head into the living room and open presents. 

You got him a beautiful pair of white deer antlers you found in a funny little store a few weeks ago. You like this gift because the antlers were dropped and the animal is likely still alive. 

Arthur hands you a rather heavy gift and when you open it, you gasp. It’s a block of wood that’s carved into a beautiful eagle. Then Arthur says something that brings tears to your eyes. 

“You said your pa loved eagles. So I bought a wood carvin’ set on that Amazon sight and watched some of them Youtube videos.” 

“You… you made this, Arthur?” 

He blushes and looks down, but his smile says it all. 

You wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him. “Arthur, I couldn’t ask for anything so incredible. Thank you.” 

Arthur hugs you right back, but he squeezes so tight it’s almost like he doesn’t want to let you go.

After gifts, you tell Arthur to sit down and you turn on the best Christmas movie (in your opinion): Christmas Vacation. 

Arthur’s laughing by just the cartoon in the beginning. 

He absolutely loves Eddie, even though he’s a complete dumbass. He has to admire him for his drive to try and give his kids a good Christmas (even if he isn’t very good at it). 

When the movie ends, Arthur says he really likes it and he can see why you save it for last. 

As you smile at him, you suddenly recall what he’d said last night in bed. 

“By the way, I love you too,” you say. 

“Huh?” he says, but he’s blushing. 

“You said you loved me last night. I just… wanted to tell you I feel the same.” 

Arthur smiles. The kiss he gives you in return is one you will never forget.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x female reader #a new adventure #red dead fanfic #i'm awkward

[spooky-luvur]

Fuckin Hell

(I have no excuse)

(I’m sorry I kept from doing this for so long, buddy that messaged me)

(I’m sorry this is so short and shitty)

(I’m sorry I suck but hey)

(Micah)

-

“Arthur, you go look in that barn over there. Micah, see if anything’s left in the house.”

The men do as they’re told.

A few minutes later, there’s a dead guy in the barn, Arthur has a new horse, and Dutch’s coat is still looking as fabulous as ever.

There’s a sudden yelling coming from the house that makes both men rush inside.

There’s a wild-looking woman yelling at Micah from the other side of the table, a knife in her hand.

“Micah- what is going on?!”

“She’s one of them!”

“No she’s not Micah- look at her! Miss, please, we aren’t here to hurt you.”

“My brother,” Sadie Adler suddenly says as she’s helped onto the back of The Count. Dutch looks up, confused.

“He...they knocked him out, when they got here. My brother. He’s still in the house.”

Dutch nods. “Micah, go find this brother. We’ll get Mrs. Adler back to camp.”

“Sure thing.”

Micah enters the house, but there isn’t anyone he can clearly see. He hums, looking up at the rafters.

“Where is she?!”

There are hand around his throat as soon as he climbs up to the hidden loft, a body pinning his harshly against the wall.

“The girl?” Micah struggles to say. “She’s fine!”

The hands loosen only a little. “You one of them?”

“No!”

The man lets go, letting Micah bend over coughing.

“Who are you? Why are you here? Where’s Sadie?”

Micah straightens up, finally getting a good look at the man. Tall, thin. A big bruise on the side of his face, dried blood on his temple. He looks just about as dirty as Mrs. Adler, too.

“Came here looking for shelter. Found O’Driscolls- and your sister. She’s safe, don’t worry. Now, you gonna tell me your name?”

The man gives Micah a long, cautious look. Eventually, he relaxes, choosing to trust him.

“Adler. (M/n) Adler.”

———

A few weeks had passed, and things were getting better. Sadie still struggles with the loss of Jake, but with the help of Abigail, and her brother, she knew she was gonna be okay.

(M/n) had made friends with a few of the men in camp, such as Bill and Javier. He also spoke with Micah often. Sometimes they would stand at the edge of camp, discussing things that no one else could hear. Arthur warned (M/n) that Micah wasn’t usually the most trustworthy man, nor the nicest. But didn’t believe him. To the entire gangs astonishment, Micah treated (M/n) like an old friend.

Well, as much as Micah Bell could, anyway.

One foggy morning at Horseshoe Overlook, a few of the men were getting saddled up to rob the Valentine Bank. The ladies had scoped it out a few days before. Valentine was a tiny town, so there was only of or two men inside with guns they had to worry about.

Micah pulls (M/n) away from his horse, Big Star, and glances around before leaning in close. “You don’t die, you hear? Messed up that I can’t go,” he huffs. “Probably a bust anyway.”

(M/n) shakes his head. “Have I died yet, Micah? Don’t be a fool. We’ll get the money then come back. Like we do every time.”

“I know! I know, (M/n).”

“Alright then. Now get outta here, we gotta leave.”

They say their goodbyes like they have before, and (M/n), Javier, Sean, and Bill take off, big money on their minds.

————————

“Dutch! He’s shot!”

Were the first words the camp heard only a few hours later. All heads turn to the harsh sound of the horses hooves against the tightly packed dirt.

“It’s Alder! He’s shot!”

“Oh heavens!”

Javier helps a bloodied Mr. Adler off the back of Boaz, guiding him to his tent while Miss Grimshaw scolds them.

“It was a simple job and now one of you boys is bloody!”

“It’s only a scratch, Miss Grimshaw,” (M/n) attempts to push Javier off but immediately stumbles to his knees.

“You, shut your mouth.”

“Good heavens, boys, what happened?”

Dutch plops (M/n) onto his cot, stepping back to let Grimshaw and Swanson work.

“There were more than a few guards, Dutch.” Is all that’s said.

—————

Later, the camp, aside from a drunken Uncle of course, is fast asleep, tired after the events of today.

(M/n) lies in his tent, a fever keeping him from sleeping. He sighs raggedly, placing a hand on the bandage.

“How could you screw that up?”

(M/n) groans out a laugh. “Piss of Bell. I got enough scolding from Grimshaw.”

The blonde sits in the chair next to the cot.

“Moron. You could’ve died, and would you care? Not at all.”

“I ain’t afraid of dyin’ Micah-“

“Well maybe some of us are!” He suddenly interrupts, angry blue eyes meeting (M/n)’s.

“Maybe some of us are afraid of you dying, cowpoke.”

“Bell- shit!”

(M/n) jolts, clenching his teeth to muffle his cry of pain. He curls up tighter, pressing his hands to the wounded spot Micah had kicked.

“What the piss, Micah?!”

“Well that’s how I felt when I saw you nearly dyin’ like that!”

(M/n) takes deep breaths. “What’re you saying, Micah...shit, that hurt.”

The other man scoffs, leaning back and crossing his arms. “You know what I’m saying, (M/n).”

“Yeah,” he painfully laughs. “I do, but goddamn, you couldn’t have kissed me or nothin??”

————

(posted on idk what day it is)

#rdr2 #micah bell x reader #micah bell x male reader #rdr2 x male reader #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption 2 x male reader #micah bell #anon request

[ohlookitsthearkhamknight]

I guess the saddest thing about completeing chapter 6 is that arthur will never get to see what the future holds. Dutch wont get any better he'll stay insane untill he dies. Jusr as i was starting to kinda like grimshaw she died. I mean ive found uncle and im glad hes ok. I use to rly dislike him but now he growing on me.

Also side note- i dont blame abigail for leaving john. If i was in the same situation i would have left too. I mean you could tell jack was going down the deep end especially when he saw john take care of those fools. It shook him up real bad. I wish jack would grow up and write books but well we know what he grows up to do........

Ive played a lot of games but by far this game had won my heart. Cant wait for the future of the red dead franchise.

Anyways this maybe be the 2nd or 3rd to last post on the game as in recaps of what i just played. I kinda wanted to document everything and run a lil blogging and i liked it. I'll still post rdr2 content ESPECIALLY when i play online but first i want to complete story mode alll the way.

So untill then cowpokes 🤠- Arkham

Also one last thing

FUCK YOU MICAH BELL

#rdr2 #arthur morgan #micah bell

[whski]

&& Ruh-Roh. Hey guys! I thought it’s probably about time for me to make a bit more official greeting. Thanks for following, that’s a good start. I really look forward to getting to write with you all and interact! ♡ As I started in a less formal post, Ashe can be a tricky muse to work with. She doesn’t have a lot of ties to things, and thus some interactions with her will most likely involve plotting. 

I do have an OVW verse that could be very useful, especially for people looking to rp more in the past. I have a verse where Ashe joins OVW at the same time as Jesse. Instead of ONE wayward troubled cowpoke, you can have TWO for the price of one. Incredible. I have some stuff about that up on my verses, but I plan on making a more in depth version as I see that verse getting used a fair amount. -- I also have Junkenstein (tis not the season but I really don’t care when it comes to monsters.) -- and OFC you can just fuckin join Deadlock, because honestly. Honestly. 

As for canon, I do have it where Ashe DOES travel. She runs a criminal empire, and her parents had more connections than eggs in a hen house. You think she didn’t steal that information and control connections? Please, honey. Anyway, point is she can be almost anywhere for various reasons although yes 85% of the time she’s probably in her territory. I’ll eventually write more on how I think all of that goes down and what not, but later.

Just a few reminders since I’m here:

I am single-ship but again one sided relations, one night stands, friends with benefits, all that jazz is still allowed. Ofc my bread and butter has and always will be platonic/family bonds, it’s what I got known for writing and I stick by it. Enemies are also welcome, hell anything is just about welcome. So don’t be shy about inquiring. 

 I’m still kinda new to OVW my GF introduced me like maybe 2 months ago, so I may get a few things wrong timeline wise, it’s -- well to be frank it’s a bit of a mess and puzzle to put together now ain’t it. Always feel free to correct me, I won’t take it personal. 

I love plotting but I do reply SLOW, I’ve normally got a fair bit going on. Patience is always very much appreciated. I also don’t give out my Discord anymore due to very personal reasons unless we become close so I really will only DM you on Tumblr IMs. I’m sorry for the inconvenience in advance. ♡ 

#&& Ruh-Roh // OOC #;;Kind of my official hello I suppose #;; oh yeah also feel free to hit up my inbox any time with asks that's always allowed yeah

[galoots]

🥺 Baby Donald playing adventure with his unca 🥺

The Good, the Bad, and the Unca 

(Why yes I do feel awfully proud of the punny title this time around!)

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            The fearless, sand-worn cowboy rode his old nag into the lonely outpost. The sound of hoof-beats echoed across the vast, deserted landscape. A hostile silence choked the hot air. His weathered face betrayed no emotion, but his small, bright eyes revealed a mind sharper than any Shoshoni's arrowhead. A rough, calloused hand hovered near the revolver on his hip.

            The outpost was deserted. Its inhabitants had retreated inside their ramshackle homes, seeking shelter from the consternation that was to come. They peeked from shuttered windows at the stranger riding into town. A tumbleweed blew across the empty road that stretched ahead of them. The silence of the outpost echoed in the cowboy’s ears.

            Peering under the brim of his hat, the cowboy scanned his surrounding for his lay. Jesse the Jackal. Dreaded outlaw, train-robber and bandit for whom a thousand-dollar stake was offered for his successful capture. Dead or alive.

            The cowboy knew there was no chance his lay would come willingly. He thumbed the cool steel of his revolver in anticipation of the shootout soon to come.

            A loud bang sounded from the cowboy’s left. Whipping his head towards the sound, the cowboy saw the bandit saunter out of the saloon’s doors. The bandit leaned against the post of the saloon he’d quitted. It was nigh sunset and the painterly pinks and oranges of the setting sun proved a dramatic background for their altercation.

            The surly-faced man eyed the cowboy as he spat clod of brown spit into a nearby spittoon. They both knew why he was here. No exchange of words was needed.

            Reigning his horse sharply, the cowboy wheeled his horse in a threatening display.

            “Oh, my aching back.” The horse complained.

            The bandit’s eyes bulged in disbelief as the horse spoke clearly in man’s tongue.

            The cowboy shook his head solemnly. “Horsies don’t talk, Unca.”

             Scrooge shifted uncomfortably under the weight of his nephew upon his back. When he’d agreed to play cowboy adventure, he didn’t foresee having to play the role of the cowboy’s trusty steed. “Honeybunch, I know you want to play cowboys, but just because unca is playing a horse doesn’t mean he’s actually as sturdy as a horse.”

            Donald ignored him. He held onto his uncle’s whiskers like they were the reins of a horse and gave them a sharp tug to spur him forward. “Giddy-up! We got a bandit to kill!”

            “Ow.” Scrooge whispered.

            Donald kicked Scrooge in the side. “Yippee ki yay!”

            Scrooge trotted along the best he could with his sore back. He took a few steps before a twinge in his lower back made him stand up. Donald slid off his steed and onto the floor.

            “Hey!”

            Scrooge rubbed his back. “Hay is for horses.” His back ached as he stretched out. “Which I am not.”

            Donald pouted glaring sullenly at his uncle from underneath the brim of his cowboy hat.

            Scrooge took a few measured steps towards the teddy bear Donald had set up opposite them. He bent down to fetch the cowboy hat perched on top of the “bandit’s” head. The child’s costume piece was too small for his head, but Scrooge put it on anyway. He kicked the teddy bear to the side. “Its time for a role change. I’ll be the bandit now.”

            Donald stood up from where he sat on the floor. Still frowning, he wasn’t pleased with his uncle’s sudden breaking of the fourth wall, but his desire to continue the scenario outweighed his displeasure.

            “Fine.” Donald huffed. “Its time for the shootout anyway.”

            Scrooge readied a pretend side arm on his hip. “Alright cowpoke. How we doing this?”

            “Standard rules! We turn around, take ten paces, then on the count of three draw our weapons! First to shoot wins!”

            “Alright.” Scrooge turned around and took a few steps in the direction indicated.

            “No wait!” Donald demanded. “The cowboy and the bandit hafta say some cool lines before the shootout!”

            Scrooge spun around to face his demanding duckling again. He gestured towards Donald to start the exchange.

             The cowboy’s eyes glinted like the sparks of flint against steel. He eyed his lay with a careful, but calm demeanor. His unruly horse had took off in a gallop when the bandit took his place twenty paces across from him. There’d be time later to fetch his steed. Now was the time for action.

            “This town’s too big for the two of us.” The cowboy drawled.

            “Reckon that’s not the line, pardner.” The bandit laughed.

             Donald stomped his feet against the living room floor. “Yer not s’pos’d to say that!” He puffed his cheeks up with air in a haughty display.

            The action wasn’t even the half-bit as threatening as Donald thought it was. Instead, Scrooge thought his little duckling looked even cuter than before. “Sorry, sorry. You were saying, cowboy?”

             “Nevermind!” The cowboy spat. “The time for talk is over!” His hand hovered above the butt of his revolver. His fingers twitched with impatience. The two of them turned away and took their ten paces apart. On the count of three, they whirled around drawing their guns with lightning quick speed.

            As the bandit pulled his gun from his holster, he heard his back make a sickening pop. He froze with his gun pointed at the cowboy. The shock of stabbing pain in his back made it impossible to pull his trigger. And the cowboy hadn’t even fired his gun.

             “Bang! Bang! Bang!” Donald shouted. “I win!” He tossed his hat up into the air with a celebratory whoop. His uncle tilted back like a mighty redwood about to drop. He teetered on his heels for a moment before crashing to the ground with a thud.

            Donald carried on his giddy jig for a moment, unawares of his uncle’s condition. His lively dance slowed to a halt as Scrooge continued to lie on the ground. Donald decided to check on him. He sat squarely on his uncle’s chest and poked Scrooge’s slack face. “Unca?”

            No response.

            Unca Scrooge wasn’t really dead, right? He was playing pretend, right? Donald felt the creep of uncertainty. He lowered his head to his uncle’s chest. He had to check for a heartbeat. He struggled to recall what side of the chest the heart was on. The right? The right was probably right. Closing his eyes, Donald listened for the steady thump of Scrooge’s heart.

            He heard nothing.

            I killed Unca Scrooge. The insidious thought danced evilly inside his mind. He had to do something quick.

            In the movies, when someone was unresponsive, they performed something called “Sea-Pee-Arr.” Donald balled his hands into tight little fists and started to punch his uncle’s chest with wild abandon. “Don’t die, Unca! I’m sorry I made you be the horsie!”

            A groan slipped out of Scrooge’s beak. It sounded like a death knell to Donald’s childish ears. He beat harder. “Wake up, Unca!”

            Scrooge opened his beak to tell Donald to stop beating him up, but a little beak covered his own before he could croak out the words. Donald blew air hard into his Uncle’s beak, blowing a large raspberry on his face.

            “Live!” Donald yelled.

            In a hoarse voice, Scrooge croaked out an answer. “I’m alive, laddie. Please stop doing whatever it is that you’re doing!”

            Little hands were placed upon his face. “Unca!” Tears were streaming down his face, leaving streaks on his feathery cheeks. “I thought I killed you dead!”

            “I’m not dead, munchkin. I threw out my back.”

            Overwhelmed with relief, Donald showered his uncle with sloppy kisses. “You don’t have to be the horsie anymore!”

            Scrooge patted his duckling’s back. Looking him firmly in the eyes, he instructed him in a dire voice. “Go get Duckworth.”

            Donald wiped away his tears and nodded. Scrooge stared up at the ceiling as he heard Donald’s footsteps into the distance. His back pulsed with immobilizing pain. Moving would be a mistake. A painful mistake. So, he stared up at the ceiling instead, trying to chase away the pain with his mind. Eventually he saw Duckworth’s impeccably shined loafers encroach into his line of sight.

            “Heard you threw out your back again, eh?” Duckworth asked.

            “You heard wrong. Just laying down here to enjoy the view, that’s all.”

            Duckworth chuckled a little. His arms wrapped around Scrooge and he hoisted him up into his arms.

            Scrooge bit back a groan. He clutched at Duckworth’s neck as they began the arduous journey upstairs. Duckworth walked slowly, trying to minimize the pain of moving his friend. Donald trudged after them without a word, holding on tight to Duckworth’s tailcoat.

            In the master bedroom, Duckworth had propped Scrooge up a mountain of pillows. Donald tried to scale up the side of the bed, but he kept sliding down as it was  much taller than him. With a helpful boost, Duckworth lifted Donald onto the bed to join his uncle.

            “I’m sorry you got a boo-boo because of me, Unca.”

            Scrooge grunted as he wrapped his arms around his duckling. It hurt, but it was worth the effort. “Its not your fault, lad.” He kissed Donald’s forehead lovingly. “Let’s lay off the horsie rides for the time being, eh?”

            Donald snuggled into his uncle’s hug. Leaning his head against his chest, he heard the thump of Scrooge’s heartbeat.

            So it’s not on the right side after all.

            Duckworth walked into the room with an orange medicine bottle in his hand. Donald watched with wonder as he twisted the cap off with ease and carefully tapped out a white, oblong pill.

            “Gimme.” Donald stuck his hand out with an open palm.

            “What?” Duckworth screwed the cap back onto the bottle.

            “Gimme the candy.”

            Duckworth deliberately reached past the demanding out-stretched hand to pass the pill to Scrooge.

            “Absolutely not.” Duckworth tucked the pill bottle back into the chest pocket of his suit jacket. He gave Donald a ‘knock it off’ look as he addressed Scrooge. “I’m going to lock this back up with the other medications. Out of reach of naughty little boys with too much curiosity for their own good.”

            “No!”

            Scrooge grabbed Donald’s tail to keep him from teetering over the edge of the bed in pursuit. “I want candy too!”

            With his free hand, Scrooge tossed back the pill before Donald harangued him to ‘share’ it.

            “No fair!” Donald squirmed out of Scrooge’s grasp and stomped on the bedspread. “That’s not nice! You’re supposed to share!”

            Scrooge swallowed the pill with a swig of water.

            Donald levied a finger in his uncle’s face. “Meanie!” He retreated to the foot of the bed to stew in a huff. He sat with his back turned to his uncle, occasionally stealing angry little glances over his shoulder at the candy bandit.

            Scrooge reached into his pocket and pulled out a strawberry bon-bon. Crinkling the foil lined cellophane with his fingers, Scrooge waved the bon-bon about to catch Donald’s attention.

            All of a sudden, his bad mood was abandoned as Donald crawled eagerly over to snatch the candy from his uncle’s hand.

            Scrooge chuckled as Donald hastily unwrapped the candy and popped it into his mouth.

            “Mmm,” Donald closed his eyes in sugared ecstasy and collapsed back onto his uncle’s back.

            “Hey!” Scrooge grabbed his head and wrenched him into sitting up. “Do not eat candy lying down. You’ll choke.”

            Donald scooted away from Scrooge’s hand to lie his head against his uncle’s chest again. On the left side, where his heart was.

            “Good boy.”

            “Unca?” Donald craned his head to look up at his uncle. “Can we get back to playin’ cowboys?”

            With a shake of his head, Scrooge sighed. “I told you Donald, Unca can’t be your horsie anymore. Its too hard on my back.”

            Donald pulled a loose thread from Scrooge’s coat and wrapped it tightly around his pointer finger. “I know. But I wanna keep playing cowboys with you.”

            “We can’t right now, darling. Unca Scrooge needs to rest.” Scrooge could feel the sedative pull of the pain pill tugging at his eyelids.

            “We can play cuddlin’ cowboys,” Donald pleaded.

            Scrooge let his eyes shutter close. “Last I checked, cowboys don’t cuddle.” The pain in his back abated slightly as he stifled a yawn.

            “This cowboy does.” Donald closed his eyes too, letting his uncle’s rhythmic heartbeat lull him into the same meditative state his uncle was succumbing to.

#LDU #loots duck universe #fanfiction #duckverse #team uncle

[mysterylover123]

BNHA Rewatch: Two Heroes

mysterylover123

And before we start Season 3, one more road stop: The Big Freaking Movie, Two Heroes, last year’s surprise anime blockbuster and HeroAca’s first excursion onto the big screen. Time to share my thoughts and rewatch this very entertaining film!

We open with bald eagles, deserts, and cowpoke themes, to make sure we know we’re in America. We fly into “California” which looks more like Las Vegas (not really complaining, I loooove that they picked my hometown state for this) to find young, white schlera eye-having All Might and his hunky bro David Shield kicking ass and taking names. My state’s name, to be precise. 

Some exposition follows, basically recapping the premise of HeroAca, as I’m reminded of what a stroke of genius Hori had when he decided to make the MC an easy expositor thanks to his geeky knowledge of all things Hero. Deku will always be Captain Exposition.

Melissa! She’s fun and adorable and amazing, and I just love that the first HeroAca movie chooses to focus on a geeky, kind and energetic lady. 

Deku looking back and forth between Melissa’s breasts and All Might’s crotch belt is peak Bi energy.

I’m so jealous that Melissa gets to touch Deku’s hand.

Melissa describing All Might as someone David ‘loves’ is just throwing away all pretence of his heterosexuality, if it ever existed. How the hell did this guy end up with a kid?

Deku blushing around and enthusing over both Melissa and David is max bi energy.

Uraraka’s Annoying Crush Counter: 5

But I’m glad the girls are here! The Bones animators clearly know well what the fanbase wants to see, choosing to give all 6 class 1-A girls at least a cameo in the film, and three of them involved in the main plot. I especially love that, despite being initially pitted against each other, Uraraka and Melissa develop a bit of a womance in the film. OchaLissa ship!

My one major regret about this film is that Mineta is included in the Main Cast. I wish either Mina or Tsuyu had come along for the ride instead - one, they’re better, more lovable characters who could do the same job he does, and two, then we’d have a nearly gender-even cast! (6 Boys: Deku, Katsuki, Tenya, Shoto, Kiri, Kaminari; 5 Girls: Ochaco, Momo, Jiro, Melissa, Mina or Tsu). 

Kacchan makes his appearance! This bit was leaked online before the film’s release and drew quite a lot of ire from BKDK shippers and Bakugo fans. I’m mostly annoyed that Deku is acting OOC here; this is Post-Final Exam Deku, post Hero Killer Deku. Would the guy who punched All Might in the face and Bakugo in the face and the Hero Killer in the face be cowering in fear behind Iida, the guy whose life he saved, from the guy he, only a few weeks ago, punched in the face?! Badass Deku Rights!

Ooh a wild Todobaku moment! I always love when they bicker. Or rather, Katsuki bickers and Shoto ignores him.

OH NO you cannot slap me with the Ingenium OST theme and hardcore feels out of nowhere! God this scene is heartbreaking. I love, however, the cut to the whole of Class 1-A and Melissa when they talk about the future.

AH Bakugo’s feet! Why are we staring up his crotch? So this movie has a lot of KiriBaku scenes, and I should probably talk about them a little, since their friendship is a big deal in S3. They’re the only major HeroAca ship I’ve never shipped as a romantic pairing, per se. Like, in this scene, I see Kiri as Katsuki’s wingman, his bro, the guy who teases him about his obvious feelings from someone, not as the guy he has feelings for.

And for Kiri’s sake, I kinda dislike making him basically Bakugo’s sidekick. He willingly hangs out with the guy, when he wants to, in canon, he doesn’t follow him around and become the butt of the joke, and he has lots of other relationships in canon to draw from, so this dynamic between them doesn’t appeal to me.

Melissa being a quirkless kid like Deku is a great idea for the film, especially since she and David still find a way to help others. They’re a brighter image of the person Izuku could have been. 

Full Gauntlet is pretty cool

Everyone dresses up pretty! The movie suits/dresses are awesome and (almost) everyone looks great. Why Deku is wearing a baggy zoot-suity mess is beyond me, but hey, he sheds it pretty quickly so I’m not complaining. 

If by ‘female assassin’ you mean Beauty Queen. Jiro is gorgeous.

OK the plot ensues! Darn, I could’ve easily enjoyed a movie that was just everyone hanging out and goofing off...ah well, I still love what we got.

This villain does what neither Tomura nor All for One could ever do! Subdue All Might! My god he’s a criminal mastermind!

Deku wants to help, and everyone but Shoto basically piles on the bandwagon afterwards. “And me!” “And me!” “Me too!” “And Me” “Nobody cares Mineta.” I like how they bring up the Powers dilemma, since that’s a big deal in Season 3.

I was pretty impressed by the amount of level grinding our heroes had to do to make it to the top floor. 200 freaking floors, that’s impressive.

Todoroki saved Bakugo! Yay! BTW I love all the tactical planning stuff in this portion, and how lots of characters get to contribute.

10 little superheroes, trying to save the day. Two got lost and then there were eight.

8 little superheroes, escaping from the garden. One saved the others and then there were seven.

7 little superheroes running against the sea, four were trapped by robots and then there were three. (i don’t count mineta). 

Three little superheroes, reached the top and flew; one had to float them so then there were two. (she’s fine, Bakugo saved her. Save to win!)

Two little superheroes, faced with a gun. One fell out the window and then there was - never mind, she saved him, he’s fine.

That was fun. Anyway, to sum, the group gets split up as they work to get to the top, leaving only Deku and Melissa to reach the final boss dungeon. Highlights include the usual Kamijiro bantering, Todobaku making an awesome combat move, Uraraka standing against the coming onslaught of robots in a weirdly dramatic scene, and Reciproburst.

Dislikes include Kirishima being portrayed as not much use and kind of stupid (c’mon, he can do better than that!) and Uraraka not getting to kick any real ass other than floating Melissa and Deku. 

So we make it to Dramatic Plot Twist Tower and find out that David set up the whole thing. I joke, but I actually didn’t see this coming the first time around and was genuinely surprised. I also think it fits really well with the story they’re telling here: about trying to hold onto the past and forgetting to look to the future. I usually measure good plot twists in terms of how they change the story, characters and themes, and this one does.

On the other hand, Sam betraying him is just kind of silly. “Oh no, not...that guy!”

The villain being named Wolfram makes me wonder if there are any secret Buffyverse fans on Bones’ writing staff. With the next movie’s villain be named Hart?

I love how Melissa is a quirkless character who gets to save the day every bit as much as the powered ones. Also, Deku is freaking awesome in this scene, ngl. It has vibes of his fight with Muscular, that “pinned by an unstoppable wall” thing.

And this has vibes of Deku vs Overhaul trying to save Eri. OMG S4 IS GONNA KILL ME. Anyway Deku tries really really hard to save David Shield and does lots of cool leaps and gets beaten up while doing it, enough to earn some of Wolfram’s respect, but is unable to. Fortunately...

Watashi Ga Kita!

But then...duh duh duh! Wolfram has that power-enhancer-plot MacGuffin! Actually, it’s not a MacGuffin now, because now we the audience kind of care about it. It has weight, it’s significant. The characters care about it, but there’s more to it than just being an interchangeable object.

I LOVE how they animated the metal on this guy. That’s Metalbending. OMG. 

Class 1-A showing up and kicking ass as always. I just wanna quibble for a second with how this movie uses Howitzer Impact: a giant mind-blowing explosion in manga canon, a small underwhelming fizzle here.

DUH DUH DUH DRAMATIC PLOT TWIST. Again this one floored me the first time around. My jaw actually dropped when AFO’s theme started playing. Holy crap WHAH How what how. I’m not as excited about this plot twist, as it basically just happens for the sake of being shocking, but hey, that is clearly something AFO would do, and I like seeing him and hearing his theme here anyway, so who cares. Just roll with it!

And now, the reason this movie was made and the premise behind it. We never, in the canon of the manga, actually get to see All Might and Deku fight the same villain at the same time, so the movie I think was made for that purpose: DOUBLE DELAWARE DETROIT SMASH + YSR

OH YOU SAY RUN. You could soundtrack a scene of people sitting around staring at the wall and turn it into the most epic thing ever. I will never get tired of this beautiful, peerless, impossibly good composition. And this is honestly one of my favorite YSR scenes, because dayum, you can’t get much cooler than the Double DD smash. 

Visual storytelling here is on point. David Shield’s image of All Might turning into Deku is perfect.

We end on a sunrise, fittingly, and Long Hope Philia sountracked credits - with a small bit of depressing to end on, as we see David is probably gonna get arrested and All Might can’t do nothing about it.

Two Heroes is great. My quibbles with it are all minor. It’s the perfect first movie for BNHA; it is big and bombastic and action-packed, but more important, it gets what MHA is about at it’s core. BNHA is a story about the prior generation of heroes (and villains) passing the torch down to the next one. You know, like how teachers pass info onto their students in Academia. The movie gets that, and it delivers it with aplomb. It’s a great script, every scene and moment is necessary and everything happens in the right place and right order. It’s a thrill to watch, and I can’t even begin to imagine what insane stuff they’re gonna put in Movie #2 BKDK Boogaloo. Starting S3 tomorrow!

BKDK CORNER:

On a rewatch, I’m a little more OK with this scene, because Deku pretty quickly bucks up and takes the challenge - and he doesn’t exactly cower from Kacchan, Iida just gets in the way. I also love that gay sounding “Kacchan, people are watching!” line in the sub. 

All of Deku’s Love interests where white flowers on their fancy wear.

NGL this is my favorite part of the movie. That is the sweetest, softest, most endearing smile Bakugo has ever had, and Todoroki seeing it and smirking is just perfect. Baku is peak Tsundere in this scene.

RANKER: The Formal Wear

Girls:

4. Momo - I like the tiara, and the dress is kind of a nice color.

3. Melissa - pretty but a little birthday cake-y.

2. Ochaco - Very cute and well-tailored. The tights really sell it.

1. Jiro - unconventional is the winner of the day here.

Boys:

6. Izuku - Deku where the f did you get that suit? Take it off, please. Why is your taste in clothing so bad.

5. Kirishima - it’s ok, but a little generic.

4. Kaminari - the waiter look isn’t half bad on him

3. Iida - sharp dressed, of course. It looks nice!

2. Todoroki - perfectly handsome, and of course his suit is white.

1. Bakugo - that vest tho. damn. 

#my hero academia #my hero academia two heroes #bnha movie #midoriya izuku #All Might #melissa shield #katsuki bakugou #katsudeku #bnha two heroes

[assless-chapstick]

I need your help because your writing is the dirtiest best fucking thing I’ve ever read Eagle Flies is slept on goddamit Is it possible Eagle Flies is poly or in one of your au’s? I haven’t seen ships for him so I’m open to your interpretation of where he might fall, either in the couch au or somewhere else Pls I beg of you, give me some nsfw eagle flies Either him getting rammed or doing the ramming, I can’t quite pin down if he’s a top a bottom or a switch- I’ll give you my soul for this

Aw feller, you know I’m a good cowpoke at heart…. I can’t deny aid to a feller in need….

I wracked my brain for hot minute on this one…. The thing with Eagle Flies is that he doesn’t have a lot of characterization on the game, does he? And in canon he’s a fair bit younger than the main crew, I’d say… but I think I got something good for you…

So, the couch AU; back when John was a kid, he went to some sort of youth group designed for outreach to at-risk youth, probably some sort of sports program or something. That’s where Dutch worked, that’s how Dutch and John met, after John went into foster care and Arthur started living with Dutch n Hosea ….

Anyway I think John and Eagle Flies are around the same age and they both were part of that youth group… I feel like they didn’t get on super well, both with kind of rowdy personalities, eager to prove themselves and prone to fighting to solve problems.

Oh yeah and then… and then….

They both get into track, into running, sprinting…. Both good at it, and Dutch laughs about “healthy competition” when he watches them run and it’s infuriating but they do do better when they’re competing against one another….

They end up going to the same highschool, running on the same track team, and both get recruited by colleges once they graduate – crazy coincidence, right? Except John gets recruited to go to state and Eagle Flies gets recruited by like, a Good College Out of State (his grades are better than John’s anyway) and John’s like pfft good riddance.

Couple years later and of course, of course, who should John see at the big track meet in sophomore year? Eagle fucking Flies. And it’s only been a couple years but Christ did he have a glowup, as much as John hates to admit it – while John stayed lanky and skinny and kinda scrawny (no matter how much of Arthur’s expensive whey protein powder he steals), Eagle kinda filled out, got a little broader in the shoulders, slimmer in the face so his chin and cheekbones are sharp enough to cut a bitch….

And he’s just so fucking hot and how did John never notice and now he really has to beat Eagle Flies, wipe that smug look off his face and show him that John had a glow up of his own!!

But John doesn’t win. Doesn’t even place and he’s pissed, even though his coach is saying his time was great, walks right by her to the locker room in a big fuckin huff… he needs to smoke a joint and calm down asap, feels so angry he might crawl out of his skin if he don’t relax soon… he doesn’t even notice Eagle trailing after him.

So he’s in the locker room, shirtless, still hot and sticky with sweat and wearing those absurdly tiny runner’s shorts, the ones that make his junk look huge, and he’s smoking his joint and just starting to feel better when Eagle Flies comes in…. His hair is down and he’s sweaty and he looks so good…

And Eagle is all “you ran a good race” and John goes like “yeah, fuck you,” cuz he’s not in the mood for teasing and gloating… so Eagle is like “fine, you’re gonna be like that, let me just tell the coach how much it smells like weed in here” and he turns to go and John stands up, reaches out and grabs Eagle’s wrist…

And it’s like Eagle was expecting it, the way he whirls around and grabs John’s arm and pins him up against the lockers and John is bracing himself to get hit but Eagle just looks at him real thoughtful and then John is sure they’re gonna kiss…

But Eagle just lets him go, looks at him kinda sad and is like “what’d I ever do to you, John? We were just kids. Whatever I did, just let it go, ok?” and John kinda realizes like…. He’s been holding this judge against Eagle Flies for years even though all the competitiveness and inferiority and frustration John had felt as a kid towards Eagle had really been like, him projecting his insecurities outwards. Eagle never did nothin, he was just there and good at the same thing John was good at and taking away the only positive adult attention John’d ever known and he hated Eagle for that, but it weren’t his fault either… Eagle’d just been a kid back then, too…

And so John apologizes, they don’t talk about it much but he apologizes and it’s heartfelt and true and then it’s a little awkward cuz they’re standing there, a little too close together to be normal… and Eagle says, real low, so quiet, like confessional, “Man, I had such a crush on you in high school…” and he’s got his thumb pressed against John’s lips, peels the bottom one down to push into his mouth, run his thumb over John’s stupid tongue piercing and John is so weak for confidence and has an oral fixation a mile wide…. So of course he doesn’t hesitate, immediately goes into Feral Horny more and starts sucking, makes some real wet, desperate moaning noises….

And most people what know John, Arthur and Charles and everyone, they’re used to it, but Eagle Flies has never seen him like this, falls hard for it, all “yah, you like that?” and John just nods and moans….

But things never change, really, so it gets competitive between them like all things do… Eagle shoves down John’s shorts to stroke his dick and John can’t be the one to just let things happen so he grabs Eagle’s ass and pulls them close together so they can grind up against one another… and I think they don’t kiss, just pant desperately into one another’s mouths, eyes locked, watching one another like they’re waiting for the other to break… trying to make the other one cum without cumming himself, each one wanting to outdo the other…

And then Eagle starts to stroke them together, and John looks down and sees how good their cocks look together, how Eagle Flies's is dark n leaking and just a little bigger than his own and then he’s watching himself cum all over Eagle Flies’s long, thin fingers and the head of his cock and it feels so fucking good… and Eagle keeps stroking and the stimulation is starting to hurt and John’s whimpering and squirming where he’s still pinned to the locker, and he hates the smug sounding grunt Eagle makes when he cums so hard it spatters on John’s stomach and his pale thighs…..

Cuz John…. Lost….. again….

And afterwards, after Eagle has wiped his hand off on John’s sweaty chest and made him lick his fingers clean, John sits on the bench and lights up a smoke, feeling satisfied but kinda smad about cumming first, and Eagle Flies is just like “maybe you could beat me if you didn’t smoke so much…” and leaves and John nearly screams cuz fUCK THAT GUY

After that, they hang out whenever Eagle is in town or they’re at the same meet, sometimes getting each other off, sometimes not… When Eagle and Paytah get married a couple years later, John is invited to the wedding… Paytah wears traditional regalia (and identifies as two-spirit) and it’s beautiful……

Thanks for the great and challenging prompt, mister!! I hope it satisfies!!!

#this took me forever because my week was awful and i did nothing but go to school and cry #but hopefully things are better now #this eas so challenging!!! #but i love EF... #and the competitiveness john would have felt for dutchs attention as a kid.... #the couch au

[astronautasinorbita]

Top 11 American Food Dishes That People Love

Fast, garbage, handled - with regards to American nourishment, the nation is most popular for the stuff that is portrayed by words more qualified to oily, granulating mechanical yield. In any case, residents of the USA have a great craving for good stuff, as well.

To commend its interminable culinary innovativeness, we're tossing our rundown of 50 most delightful American nourishment things at you. We realize you're going to need to toss back.

Standard procedures: recognize that in any event, attempting to characterize American nourishment is extreme; further recognize that picking most loved American things unavoidably implies forgetting about or unintentionally ignoring some much-cherished territorial claims to fame.

Presently get the elastic cover on in light of the fact that we're going first. Let the nourishment battle start:

1. Key lime pie

Key lime pie is a staple on south Florida menus.

Politeness Joe's Stone Crab Restaurant

In the event that life gives you limes, don't make limeade, make a Key lime pie. The official state pie of Florida, this cheeky tart has made herself an overall notoriety, which begun in - what other place? - the Florida Keys, from whence come the minor limes that gave the pie its name.

Auntie Sally, a cook for Florida's first independent mogul, transport salvager William Curry, gets the kudos for making the primary Key lime pie in the late 1800s. In any case, you may likewise say thanks to Florida wipe angler for likely beginning the mixture of key lime juice, improved consolidated milk, and egg yolks, which could be "cooked" (by a thickening concoction response of the fixings) adrift.

2. Potato tots

Potato tots are crunchy singed potatoes.

Potato tots are crunchy singed potatoes.

We love French fries, however for an American nourishment minor departure from the potato subject, one dearest at Sonic drive-ins and school cafeterias all over, consider the Tater Tot.

Notice it frequently has the enrolled trademark - these business hash dark colored chambers are for sure restrictive to the Ore-Ida organization. On the off chance that you'd been one of the Grigg siblings who established Ore-Ida, you'd have needed to think of something to do with extra bits of cut-up potatoes, as well. They included some flour and flavoring and formed the squash into modest tots and put them available in 1956. Somewhat more than 50 years after the fact, America is eating around 32 million kilos of these potatoes every year.

3. San Francisco sourdough bread

Sourdough bread is San Francisco's most adored prepared treat.

Sourdough bread is San Francisco's most adored prepared treat.

Justin Sullivan/Getty Images North America/Getty Images

Sourdough is as old as the pyramids and not circumstantially was eaten in antiquated Egypt. However, the hands-down American top pick, and the sourest assortment, originates from San Francisco.

As much a piece of NoCal culinary culture as Napa Valley wine, sourdough bread has been a staple since Gold Rush days. Once upon a wilderness time, excavators (called "sourdoughs" for making due on the stuff) and pilgrims conveyed sourdough starter (more dependable than other raising) in pockets around their necks or on their belts.

Thank heavens that is not the manner in which they do it at Boudin Bakery, which has been turning out the bread that nibbles back in the City by the Bay since 1849.

4. Cobb serving of mixed greens

Initially made with extras, Cobb serving of mixed greens now one of America's preferred tidbits.

Initially made with extras, Cobb serving of mixed greens now one of America's preferred tidbits.

The gourmet specialist's plate of mixed greens began back East, yet American nourishment trailblazers working with lettuce out West wouldn't have been beaten.

In 1937, Bob Cobb, the proprietor of The Brown Derby, was searching at the eatery's North Vine area for a feast for Sid Grauman of Grauman's Theater when he set up a plate of mixed greens with what he found in the ice chest: a head of lettuce, an avocado, some romaine, watercress, tomatoes, some chilly chicken bosom, a hard-bubbled egg, chives, cheddar, and some good old French dressing.

Dark colored Derby legend says, "He began cleaving. Included some fresh bacon, swiped from a bustling gourmet specialist." The serving of mixed greens went onto the menu and straight into the core of Hollywood.

5.Pot broil

Braised meat and vegetables - the ideal warming hot pot.

The youth Sunday family supper of gen X-ers all over the place, pot cook asserts a wistful most loved spot in the best 10 of American solace nourishments. There's an entire age that would be lost without it.

Hamburger brisket, base or top round, or hurl set in a profound broiling skillet with potatoes, carrots, onions, and whatever else your mother tossed in to be imbued with the meat's stewing juices, the pot meal could be blessed with red wine or even lager, at that point secured and cooked on the stovetop or in the broiler.

6. Twinkies

Twinkies are known for their toughness and timeframe of realistic usability - gossip says they could endure an atomic assault.

Twinkies are known for their sturdiness and timeframe of realistic usability - talk says they could endure an atomic assault.

Entertainer's notable "Brilliant Sponge Cake with Creamy Filling" has been sugaring us up since James Dewar developed it at the Continental Baking Company in Schiller Park, Illinois, in 1930.

The Twinkie spurned its unique banana cream filling for vanilla when bananas were rare during World War II. As though they weren't incredibly adequate as of now, the Texas State Fair began the trend of profound singing them.

Dumped in hot oil or essentially torn from their bundling, Twinkies charm with their name (propelled by a board promoting Twinkle Toe Shoes), their ladyfinger shape (punctured multiple times to infuse the filling), and their summonings of noon break. They were incidentally removed the racks between November 2012 to July 2013 - when Hostess declared financial insolvency. Presently they are back and going solid.

Related substance

Behind the intrigue of America's craziest reasonable nourishments

7. Jerky

It probably won't look mouth-watering, however the taste represents itself with no issue.

It probably won't look mouth-watering, however the taste represents itself with no issue.

Dried out meat withered nearly to the point of being unrecognizable - an improbable wellspring of so much gustatory delight, yet jerky is a high-protein most loved of explorers, street trippers, and snackers all over the place.

It's American nourishment the manner in which we like our wild grub - extreme and fiery.

We like the creation legend that says it's the immediate relative of American Indian pemmican, which blended fire-relieved meat with creature fat. Hamburger, turkey, chicken, venison, bison, even ostrich, gator, yak, and emu. Peppered, grilled, hickory-smoked, nectar coated. Seasoned with teriyaki, jalapeno, lemon pepper, bean stew.

Jerky is so flexible and compact and packs such nourishing force that the Army is trying different things with jerky sticks that have what could be compared to some espresso.

Anyway you take your jerky - caf or decaf; in strips, chips, or shreds - get ready to bite long and hard. You've despite everything got your own teeth, isn't that so?

8. Fajitas

Fajitas: the embodiment of Tex-Mex food.

Take a few vaqueros chipping away at the range and the dairy cattle butchered to take care of them. Toss in the disposable cuts of meat as a feature of the hands' salary, and let cowpoke resourcefulness go to work.

Flame broil skirt steak (faja in Spanish) over the open air fire, enclose by a tortilla, and you have the start of a Rio Grande area custom. The fajita is thought to have fallen off the range and into mainstream society when a specific Sonny Falcon started working fajita taco remains at open air occasions and rodeos in Texas starting in 1969.

It wasn't some time before the dish was advancing onto menus in the Lone Star State and spreading with its dearest exhibit of toppings - flame broiled onions and green pepper, pico de gallo, destroyed cheddar, and harsh cream - the nation over. Remember the Altoids.

9. Banana split

The banana makes it bravo, correct?

The banana makes it bravo, isn't that so?

Like the banana makes it bravo. In any case, praise to whoever concocted the variety of the sundae known as the banana split. There's the 1904 Latrobe, Pennsylvania, story, in which future optometrist David Strickler was trying different things with sundaes at a drug store soft drink wellspring, split a banana the long way, and put it in a long pontoon dish.

What's more, the 1907 Wilmington, Ohio, story, wherein café proprietor Ernest Hazard thought of it to draw understudies from a close by school. Distinction spread after a Walgreens in Chicago made the split its mark dessert during the 1920s. Whatever the history, you'll discover bounty something worth mulling over at the yearly Banana Split Festival, which happens on the second end of the week in June in Wilmington.

10. Cornbread

Cornbread is well known the nation over, yet it's a Southern great.

It's one of the mainstays of Southern cooking, yet cornbread is the spirit nourishment of numerous a culture - dark, white, and Native American - and not only south of the Mason-Dixon. Granulate corn coarsely and you have corn meal; absorb bits soluble base, and you have hominy (which we urge you to concoct into posole). Raise finely ground cornmeal with preparing powder, and you have cornbread.

Southern hushpuppies and corn pone, New England johnnycakes; cooked in a skillet or in biscuit tins; enhanced with cheddar, herbs, or jalapenos - cornbread in any manifestation remains the speedy and simple go-to bread that generally made it a most loved of Native American and pioneer moms and keeps it on tables the nation over today.

11. Popcorn

.Popcorn can either be fortunate or unfortunate for an individual's wellbeing, contingent upon what goes into making it. All alone, with no additional sugar or salt, popcorn makes a nutritious, empowering nibble.

Popcorn is a kind of corn part that, when individuals heat it, it flies to turn out to be light and cushy. Popcorn contains a lot of supplements and nutrients when individuals make it in the correct manner.

Be that as it may, numerous popcorn marks in general stores and cinemas contain heaps of included spread, sugar, and salt. These increments can be awful for an individual's wellbeing.

Right now, take a gander at how popcorn can be a restorative bite, its dietary benefits and advantages, which types are empowering, and which types are most certainly not.

We likewise see how individuals can make their own invigorating, air-popped popcorn at home.

#food

[porkchop-ao3]

A Thrill I’ve Never Known (Chapter 13)

Belonging 

A little chat with Abigail and some realisations.

(All chapters tagged with #ATINK and also posted on Ao3, username PorkChop)

-

Micah and I were sat going through his saddle bags at the table, well, he was watching me go through them while he idly cut chunks out of the table with the tip of his knife. He'd picked up any valuables he found, as well as anything that might come in useful like food or tools, he'd done a very good job of it too. 

"This is all great, Micah," I said, sorting things into piles so we could more easily work out how much we'd taken. We had piles for cash, jewellery, trinkets and collectables (he'd stolen a lot of pocket watches, some he said were worth a lot) and for things that we'd be keeping rather than selling. Each pile was pretty generous. 

"Why d’you sound so surprised? It's not like I haven't done this before," he said drily, looking at me from under his hat. 

"I'm not surprised you managed to find it all, I'm surprised at how much those people had. We uh, we really cleaned them out," I gave an unsteady laugh as I pulled the final money clip out of the bag and tossed it on the pile. 

"We sure did," he smirked at me, then noticed the look on my face. "That's a face that don't belong here, if ever I've seen one."

"What's that mean?" 

"Guilt. You're feeling guilty, ain't you? Well you better suck it up, darling, we ain't got time for those kinds of feelings," he warned, jabbing his knife into the table, hard. 

"I know. I'm fine, I'll get used to it," I shrugged and he let out a low laugh. 

"You stick with me and you will," he said. I looked up at him, caught off guard by the genuine look of encouragement on his face. "Anyway, you wanted guns, didn't you?" 

Micah rose to his feet and put his knife away, strolling over to his horse and waving me over. I sped-walked to keep up with him and when we reached his horse, he retrieved the Springfield Rifle that I'd spotted on the mantelpiece. 

"Happy birthday, darling," he crooned, handing it over to me. 

"Oh, yes! Thank you, Micah!" I grinned at him, then looked down at the weapon, turning it over in my hands and inspecting it. It was engraved G. M. S, I assumed Geoffrey's initials, in swirling script. 

"It'll need a clean, but it looks magnificent on you, brings out your eyes," he said, oozing sarcasm with every word. He stepped towards me and tipped my chin up with his finger. "Do I get a kiss?" 

"You're gonna have to do better than that," I snorted, removing myself from his grip and turning to store the gun on Rayna's saddle, who was hitched up next to Micah's horse.

"Was worth a try," he said, gesturing widely with his arms as he strolled backwards away from me. Over his shoulder I spotted Arthur, watching us as he changed his clothes. He was just buttoning up his shirt, and despite him being fully dressed, I averted my eyes anyway. 

Micah was with Dutch, no doubt explaining how the robbery had gone. I figured we'd made at least a few hundred dollars from our haul. I was heading over there to join him, but Arthur met with me half way and nodded at me in greeting. 

"You and Micah did that house together, then?" He questioned.

"Yeah, Dutch paired us up as soon as he got here. I'm not entirely sure who the man is, but he did a good job picking the house clean," I gestured towards the table and Arthur nodded. 

"The man is someone I reckon we ought to be careful around, but that's just my thinking," Arthur said, lowering his voice. I stared at him for a moment, not really sure what I was supposed to say. "Anyway, I thought I should tell you, I think if you're wanting to head off on your own, soon would be a good time."

"Why? Because of Micah?" I raised my brows.

"He's as good an incentive as any, but no, not exactly. The Pinkerton detective agency, they're after us and they know we're over here. I bumped into a couple of them when I was out fishing with Jack this morning, and it weren't exactly a warm welcome," he explained, tone hushed yet urgent.

"So, what, are you moving on?" I asked, eyes widening at the news.

"I don't know. Probably," he shrugged his shoulders. "I've got this train robbery on with John later, I guess we'll see how that goes."

"Is that a good idea?"

"Between you and me, I don't think we've had one of those in a long time. But we do what we can," he sighed. 

"Hey, cowpoke, she giving you the lowdown on our little job today? Am I in your good books yet?" Micah came over to us thumbs hooked on the waist of his pants.

"Micah," Arthur nodded tersely.

"She tell you about the part where I came in like her knight in shining armour when Mr. What's-his-face got a little too friendly?" He smirked between the two of us, practically puffing up like a peacock. Arthur frowned and looked at me. 

"No. What happened?" 

"It wasn't a big deal, Mr. Schwartz seemed to think he was getting something out of the deal that he wasn't. I was about to handle it, but Micah stepped in," I explained dismissively, shaking my head. I did not want a big deal made out of the fact that a man had stepped in to save me. Again.

"I told him, no one takes a crack at my wife 'cept me." Micah wrapped his arm around my shoulders with a dirty laugh. "Ain't that right, sugarplum?"

"Something like that," I narrowed my eyes at him and plucked his arm from around me, stepping away. 

Arthur looked between the two of us, analysing the situation before chuckling to himself. Micah shot him a questioning look. 

"Oh, now that's risky," Arthur said.

Micah seemed puzzled. "What is?" 

"Spinning far fetched stories, like you having a wife,"

"Ohh, come on now Morgan, you tryin'a hurt my feelings?" Micah laughed, taking a few steps closer to Arthur. "Mr. Schwartz, he believed it just fine, didn't he my sweet?"

Micah turned to me and snaked a hand around my waist, tugging me flush to him.

"Would you stop touching me?" I snapped, shoving him away from me. He held his hands up to me, giving me a look that was both indifferent and wounded, I couldn't tell which part was genuine. Arthur seemed thoroughly amused by the display. 

"I'd listen to her if I were you," he chuckled. He shook his head as he walked away, patting my shoulder twice as he did. "I've gotta get going. Micah, leave the poor lady alone." 

"Wait, Arthur," I spun around and caught his arm before he left. He turned back to me, eyes a little wide and confused. I was frozen for a second, what I was going to say completely evaporating from my mind. "Uhh, you'll be careful, won't you?"

"As careful as I can be, in this line of work. Don't you worry," he smiled, prying my hand from where it was still attached to his arm and giving it a gentle squeeze before carrying on towards his horse. 

"Good luck!" I called to him as he mounted up. I watched him as he gave me a quick wave and started riding, disappearing between the trees. 

"Now it all make sense," Micah said behind me. I didn't bother turning around. "You're all soft for Morgan, ain't you?" He scoffed. 

I was so damn obvious, wasn't I?

With a sigh, I walked away, ignoring Micah's words.

-

Sitting around the fire with a bowl of Pearson's stew, I had time to think about what Arthur had said. He'd encouraged me to leave soon, if that's what I wanted. I supposed the timing was right; I had Rayna back, I had a gun, I had a little money after our robbery. I could ride out already, go and buy myself a tent and be back where I started, I could get on with my life. It was what I wanted, after all.

But something in me felt incomplete. Leaving felt strange, wrong. Even more wrong than it ever felt being here with all these people. 

"Hey there," someone said. I looked up to see Abigail standing over me. "You look… brooding."

My mouth went a little dry, considering it was the first time she'd ever really spoken to me, and I was convinced she thought I was after John. 

"Yeah, I guess I am a little," I admitted. She sat down next to me, never looking away. 

"You worried about the fellers?" She guessed. I met her eyes and searched them for any sign of an ulterior motive, I wondered if she was trying to pry something out of me. However, I could only find sincerity.

"The train robbery? A little bit, I suppose. But I don't doubt they know what they're doing."

"That they do," she nodded. "I sometimes worry, of course. It's hard not to think that one day he might not come back from one of his jobs. By he I mean–"

"John," I nodded, taking a breath. 

"Yes," she smiled a little. "I uh, I overheard Karen… what she said to you. I was behind the wagon having a cigarette, I weren't listening on purpose." 

My heart was pounding and I could do nothing but stare at her. I wanted so badly to get up and walk away from the situation so I wouldn't have to face her, but I knew that'd only look bad. 

"Don't look so worried," she laughed a little. "At first I thought maybe there was something to it. But the longer you've been here, and I've seen the way you are with him, I can see that you're just…" 

I waited for her, she pressed her lips together and seemed to struggle with finding the words. 

"You're just a girl who's never been around men all that much. You're like me when I was younger, all nervous and awkward," she said, then caught something in my expression that made her back track. "I don't mean that to be mean!"

"I didn't think you did," I shook my head but looked down, avoiding meeting her eyes. "But I suppose the fact that you noticed embarrasses me a little. If you notice, they notice."

"I don't think so. Men don't notice things like that," she laughed, patting my arm.

"Arthur did," I said, thinking back to the other day, before we looked for Rayna. He'd noticed my nervousness around people; whether he knew it was worse around him, I wasn't sure.

"You like him, don't you?" She questioned. I didn't say anything, but Abigail decided to explain her reasoning anyway. "When Mary-Beth teased you about it, you didn't exactly deny it. Plus, I've seen you with him and you act different. You look different."

"Do I? I've only known him a little while," I laughed, shaking my head like I found the whole thing amusing.

"That's all it takes," she was smiling at me now, a playful smile. At least I was wrong in thinking she hated me; relief just barely overshadowed the nerves I felt at being called out like this.

"He's a lovely man," I said quietly, and shook my head again. "But he's… he's so much more than me."

"I'm sorry?" She cocked a brow, thoroughly confused by my words. I wasn't even sure I knew how to explain them. 

"I went with him to see Mary. I saw him with the woman he loved and she's nothing like me. She's older, prettier, she's experienced. Arthur is like… he's a real man, ain't he? I feel like a little girl in comparison. I don't think he's looking for anything right now, let alone with a woman like me who's barely even spoken to a man let alone kissed one." 

"That's sweet," Abigail laughed. 

"Sweet?" I cocked a brow.

"You think he ain't gonna look twice at you just 'cause you ain't done none of that before?"

"He ain't gonna wanna waste his time on someone who don't know the first thing about anything, a fine man like him I bet he could and does have whoever he wants. He's out of my reach," I admitted.

"You know, the fellers in this camp ain't shy about bringing women back here from time to time. Arthur, though, he's never… aside from Mary, once, but she weren't exactly here for a quickie," she said and I shook my head, feeling nosey despite not asking. 

"That's none of my business," I said quietly. 

"He ain't all that much of a ladies man, from what I've seen. Truth be told, he never really seems all that interested in anyone," she shrugged.

"Why're you telling me this?" I asked.

"Because I bet you're thinking he's this Casanova type, different woman in every town?" She guessed, the corner of her mouth lifting. I had to admit, she was kind of right. "I can't say I don't see why, he certainly could be like that if he wanted. But he ain't, I'd go as far as saying he's a little shy when it comes to these things. So, my thinking is, if you want him… you've gotta make the move."

I laughed, loudly. Abigail continued to give me this little smile. 

"Yeah, alright. I'll do that when pigs fly."

"Hear me out. You ain't gotta do anything grand, you just gotta find little ways of letting him know you're interested. Subtle, but not too subtle," she explained making dainty little gestures with her hands, sitting up straight. 

"Like what?" I still hadn't recovered from my amusement, this woman clearly didn't know me. Thinking I'd have the stones to even think of such a thing. 

"Well it's up to you. But one thing I would do, stop dodging eye contact. I can see you doing that even with me, but you've got pretty eyes. Let him see them," she said, tilting my head up to face her with a hand on my chin. 

"Eye contact for me is hard," I said, trying my best to keep my eyes on hers and feeling extremely uncomfortable in the process.

"It's a skill," she said, letting go of my chin. "It'd benefit you to learn it."

"Why're you giving me all this advice; you ain't doing this just 'cause you think I'm sweet on John and you're leading me off the trail, are you?" I snorted. Abigail chuckled, patting my arm. 

"No, I ain't worried about that. Especially not now. I'm doing this because I think it might be nice for Arthur to have someone, he's a good man and that Mary girl never did treat him right," she sighed. "Truly, I think he holds this gang together at times, he's always this rock, this solid presence. Always got his head screwed on. I think that puts a lot of pressure on him, whether he knows it or not." 

"He's incredibly loyal to you all," I nodded, admiring him for that. 

"He is. I just think, if he had someone like I have John – and I know he and I aren't exactly a model couple right now but you get my point – it could be nice for him," she explained. I felt a weight on my shoulders at that, feeling like she was giving me some sort of duty that I wasn't equipped to carry out. I sighed and deflected the conversation.

"You and John, I don't know what's happened with you two but I hear you arguing. I just wanna say, I hope you two work things out. You have a beautiful family, Jack is such a sweet boy," I told her and she seemed touched by my words. 

"Thank you," she said softly. "I hope so too. Just– John can be such a damn idiot, he makes me so mad."

"But you love him, right? That's what matters," I said, and Abigail nodded slowly, considering my words. 

"Yeah. You're right about that."

-

It was late by the time any of the men returned from their train robbery. I honestly felt sick when I saw Sean and Charles turning up without Arthur or John, but I overheard them telling Dutch that everyone was fine, and the others should be back later. Apparently the robbery had gone well in terms of take, but badly in terms of fall out. A lot of lawmen had turned up, far more than expected. They'd taken care of them though, and lost them long before heading back. 

I thought about what that meant; it was something I already knew but somehow I was a part of it now. These men had just got back from killing a bunch of people, taking men away from their families. This was such a different world to the one I'd lived in up until then. But what surprised me the most was that in my head, I easily brushed it off. The gang needed money, they went out to get it the only way they know how, how can they help it if the law turns up and they have to defend themselves? Either they shoot their way out of there or they get locked up, or worse; killed. They're doing what they need to do to survive, and they're doing it for this family that they'd built up. When I thought of it like that – and I so naturally did – I could understand in a way I never thought I would.

In fact, I found myself admiring their bravery. 

I could feel that I was getting sucked in. I knew that this would be a smart time to leave, just like I'd planned all along. But here's the thing; I no longer had that burning feeling in my gut, the push to get away, the odd sense of homesickness that wasn't for bricks and mortar, but for solitude. It had all dissipated and in its place I was left with a sense of security and belonging, here of all places, with a bunch of criminals and killers. I was beginning to feel frighteningly at home, and it felt good. 

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #fanfiction #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan x female reader #atink #micah bell #abigail roberts #abigail marston #reader insert

[reddeadmort]

I love your writing! I can visualize your setting so well and it's so pleasant to read. 😁♥️ Could I request a lil drabble with Micah and a female s/o and how he gets jealous seeing his s/o hanging around someone else in camp? Maybe where the s/o and Micah are kind of drunk and it ends in some nsft? ;) Thank youu!

Rat boi returns! I know this won’t be all that popular, normal Arthur service will be resumed shortly, but I do actually enjoy writing for Micah. Partly because I go on youtube and find clipsof him talking, then stumble across clips where Arthur antagonizes the camp somuch John repeatedly knocks him out LOL! I did actually manage to work somesmut into this, right near the end, I hope it makes all you Micah stans happy 😊

Micah Bell x f! Reader | She ain’t yours, cowpoke | AO3 

Guidance: Jealousy/arguing/angst, with fluff, then eventually a bit of smut, with a little fluff finisher.

Words:1.5k (so much for it being a drabble)

It was celebration time in the camp; the boys had, for once, managed to do a lucrative job where nothing went wrong. Everyone was drinking, singing and laughing; you were sat round the fire with Arthur, John and some of the others, while Micah was having an in depth conversation with Dutch at one of the camp tables. He was completely engrossed in Dutch’s latest plan, but even so, occasionally you caught him glancing in your direction. You hadn’t been together long and you still got little butterflies in your stomach whenever he looked at you. None of the other girls understood why you had chosen Micah; you’d stopped bothering trying to justify it to them.

You turned your attention back to John, who was talking about that day’s events.

“Of course, none of it would have worked if weren’t for Y/N nosin�� around and getting us the info.” John’s words were met with a rumble of agreement, and he leaned over to pat you on the back. It was nothing more than a gesture, communicating how proud and grateful he was of you; but his hand must have lingered longer than an inebriated Micah could take. You looked up and saw Micah stalking towards the pair of you, coming to a stop less than a metre in front of you.

“Didn’t Dutch tell you to take a look out” he growled at John.

“What I do and don’t do ain’t no concern of yours” John retorted back. “Hey Arthur, you seein’ this? Looks like Micah’s running things now.”

“Only thing Micah runs is his mouth” Arthur chuckled as he took another swig of whiskey.

“Shut it, cowpokes” Micah snarled. He was really angry; you’d known he’d had some jealous tendencies, but he hadn’t been this drunk since you two began seeing each other. This was a trait you were going to have to look out for.

“You’re a creep and a fool Micah. An’ I ain’t takin’ orders from you” John said as he stood up.

“At least I have the good grace to shoot a feller full in the face when I got a problem with him, not go after his woman behind his back.” Micah and John were nose to nose now; if something wasn’t done to defuse the situation this was going to get ugly.

“Huh, that’s where you draw the moral line” Arthur quipped. You shot him a scowl – his sarcasm wasn’t helping – but he was feeling too pleased with himself to notice.

“You wanna get shot too Morgan?” Micah turned away from John, stepping towards Arthur.“I’ve seen you in action, from that range, you’d miss.” Everyone except you and Micah chuckled at that last line.

“It’s ’bout time you removed the pole you’ve got stuck up your ass Morgan” Micah said, spitting in Arthur’s general direction. You saw Arthur stiffen at this; if it was just John, they would probably not end up in a fight, but Arthur always seemed to be looking for a reason to punch Micah.

You stood up, throwing your empty whiskey bottle in the fire to get everyone’s attention.

“Enough, all of you! This is ridiculous!” You moved quickly, and making use of the slight shock in everyone, dragged Micah away by his arm. He resisted at first, but a growled ‘now’ made him follow you. Arthur made some comment as you left; you didn’t quite catch it, but had to tug Micah hard once again to keep him with you.

Once you were in the trees, away from prying ears and eyes, you rounded on him.

“What the hell was that!” you almost yelled.

“I just say it how it is” he sneered back at you.

“For god’s sake Micah…. I don’t want to hear it. I don’t care about what you think you saw.” You knew it was a bad idea to return his anger with the same, but you’d had a few and couldn’t help yourself.

“See, least I still give a damn” he scoffed.

“Micah, you brute, you don’t give a damn about anyone but yourself” you said, rolling your eyes.

“No different from you then - the only thing you like is a bottle of whiskey, everyone knows that.”

You stared at Micah, a slightly disgusted look on your face. You shook your head; this conversation wasn’t going anywhere good, and you couldn’t be bothered.

“Why do you let yourself get so het up” you sighed.

“Why’d you flirt with everyone” he snapped back at you. 

“The way I see it, it’s unseemly.”“Micah! I don’t flirt with anyone, let alone everyone!” You rounded on him, really angry now. You weren’t taking this shit. “It’s about time you stopped acting like a petulant toddler who has chucked his own toy out of the pram whenever you perceive a slight has been made against you!”

Micah was shocked; you’d never really raised your voice to him, let alone release such a tirade of anger. You turned away to storm off, but as you did so Micah grabbed at your wrist. You pulled away, but he grabbed it again, pulling you back round to face him. Before you could push him away, he grabbed you firmly by the shoulders and stared into your eyes.

“Y/N…..” You could see his anger fading; he was an ass, who pretended to not care what anyone thought of him, but he hated making you cross. “You know, Y/N, there are winners and losers in the world, and that’s a fact.” He swallowed, as if he was nervous. “And what confuses me about you is……well…. is that you’re a winner, and you’ve picked a loser like me.” Your scowl softened at his words, encouraging him to continue.

“I’m sorry for being foolish… it was an old thing and my emotions got the better of me”. Micah pulled you in for a hug and you let him, nestling your face in his neck. This was the side of Micah only you saw; the vulnerability behind all the bluster. His childhood had left him with a constant need to impress, be the centre of attention. As soon as he got a whiff of not being the best thing to a person, be it you or Dutch, he panicked and reacted in the only way he knew how; with anger.

“I… errr… I never told you this. Not properly anyway” he spoke softly in your ear. “Sugar pie…you know I ain’t had a proper family for years. But you…. you are my family now.” You smiled, giving him a slight squeeze. “I’d do anythin’ for ya.”

You lifted your head up, kissing him softly on the lips. For a moment, you both stayed there, perfectly still, just smiling at each other.

“Prove it.” You smirked at Micah, biting your bottom lip. He looked confused, so you moved your hands to his shoulders and pushed him downwards. Realisation dawned and he smirked, sinking to his knees in front of you. He knew exactly what you wanted.

Micah reached up under your skirt and pulled your underwear down, before pushing your skirt up above your knees and deftly hooking one of your legs over his shoulder. He looked up at you, grinning like a cat that had got the cream, then his head disappeared under your skirts.

You gasped as you felt his moustache brush your clit and shuddered as he started to lick and suck. You rested your hand on the back of his head through your skirt as your hips involuntarily flicked forwards. Under your skirts you heard Micah give a pleased little growl as he moved his hands up to grip your ass, holding you in place.

He moved his tongue in quick little circles around you, occasionally giving you a slight nibble, as he brought you closer to climax. It didn’t take long; the drink had already had a relaxing effect on you, and the way his moustache brushed against your sensitive areas always made you melt.

“Oh god Micah… please……” You pressed his head hard into you as you came and Micah dug his nails into your ass cheeks. Eventually, you released him, and he emerged from under your skirts.  Micah licked his lips as he stood up, already starting to undo his belt.

“Oh no” you chided, reaching down to put your underwear back on. “I said you had to prove your loyalty to me; I ain’t got nothin’ to prove”. Micah paused, hands on his buckle; you weren’t too sure if he’d take kindly to this interruption to his plans.

“Sure thing, sugar pie.” He smiled, stepping forwards, embracing you again. You placed your arms around his neck, kissing him, his slightly damp moustache tickling your face. You wished that, just once, he would be the Micah you knew in front of the others. Maybe one day you’d be able to take him away from here, have a different life, stop him chasing after Dutch’s approval. One day…..

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