#i caint decide

[briosca-sa-speir]

Dia duit! I'm trying hard to learn Gaelige, but I'm having a super difficult time getting familiar with the phonetics of the language and of being able to recognise sounds into words. I can read and write alright, but speaking and listening remains super hard for me. I was hoping I could ask if you had any references or tips for helping me out with this. I have found a few helpful sites to help with phonetics, but I'm still struggling and I was hoping maybe I could get some pointers. Go raibh maith agat!

Dia 's Muire duit!

I'm by no means an expert in learning techniques, what I think could help you associate words with sounds in a rather passive way is to start using subtitles as training wheels. TG4 and Cúla4 offer a variety of different kids shows and cartoons with Irish subtitles (if you're lucky some even have the double option Irish/English). They're both free but you might need a VPN if you live outside of Ireland.

Audiobooks are just as great a tool, but if you're just starting out maybe some visual cues would help make the process a bit more enjoyable. But then again, there is no fixed magic formula and you don’t have to go through like three hours of Spongebob every day, I think you just have to find what works best for you with the time you decide to dedicate to the task. That said, it takes time. It might be a little boring at first and it's normal, but as you gradually start to familiarise yourself with words and to associate them with speech patterns and sounds in general, I think you'll find that in the long run the game is worth the candle.

(I'm sure there are some books dedicated entirely to pronunciation and some grammar books with an audio accompaniment. Buntús Cainte is famous enough but other than that I wouldn't know where to direct you on this one.... it would be nice to get some feedback from someone who maybe is already familiar with one book in particular!)

As for speaking... having someone to talk to irl would help immensely, but I think there are apps out there aimed at connecting learners with native speakers in a sort of language trading. I think Tandem is free and offers a few different communication options, like chats and voice messages (I'm not too sure on how it works though, the source here is my sister, who's about as reliable as a chocolate fireguard).

Practising by yourself is also a great way to get started, repeating words and sentences as you hear them, reading out loud, singing songs, everything helps!

Last but not least, you can always take a peek at the tags #tips and #resources

Ádh mór le do thuras teanga <3

#bosca poist #tips #resources

[floating-on-avalon]

Got so bored decided to write a little Merthur fic in my shitty Irish. (Bhí mé an-leadranach agus scríobh mé scéal le Merlin agus Arthur.)

Tá fadhb ag Arthur. Níl a fhios aige cá bhfuil sé. Tá sé an-dorcha agus ní cloiseann sé aon rud.

Bhí sé ag dul abhaile tar eis bualadh le Gwen nuair a chuaigh gach rud dubh. Dhúisigh sé in aice leis crann agus bhí a chos brís.

Cloiseann sé duine ag caint.

"Níl mé i mo leaba mar is maith siul le Arthur."

Tá fhios ag Arthur an duine ag caint. Tá sé Merlin!

"Go raibh maith ag Dia, " a deir Arthur. Feiceann sé Merlin anois agus feiceann Merlin Arthur.

"An bhfuil tú go maith?" a deir Merlin.

"Cad a smaoinionn tú?"

"Bhuel, níl do chos uafásach agus tá Gaius sa caisleáin."

"Ach, conas a dul go dtí an caisleáin le mo chos."

"Seas suas agus cuir do lámh ar mo ghualainn," a deir Merlin.

Éiríonn Arthur le cabhrach Merlin agus tosaigh siad ag siul. Ach tar eis cúpla nóiméad titeann Arthur ar an urlár agus titeann Merlin leis.

Tá Merlin ar Arthur. Féachaint Arthur é ach tá Merlin ag staid sa spotaí. Tabhair Arthur séans é agus pógadh sé Merlin. Tá surprise ar Merlin ach pógadh sé Arthur freisin.

Rachaidh siad abhaile amárach.

#bbc merlin #merlin #arthur pendragon #merthur #irish #Fic #Foa has ideas

[greatwesternway]

Who’s an engine who’s backstory you would change, and how? (LOVE your stuff!💚)

Molly, in that I would give her one.

Entire absence of backstory excluded, though, I actually find this a difficult question! It is my way generally to try very hard to reconcile all information given, even if it sucks. I enjoy the challenge of making unfortunate narrative choices work. Too, most of the stuff about various characters that I don't like are problems with the way they're used in the present, not the backstory itself.

For example, I almost went with Freddie because his backstory (that he is a very old engine who was sent away a long time ago and has now returned) is incongruent with everything else we know about the Skarloey Railway. But this is in a context where what we know has already been thrown out the window. Otherwise, I might press X to doubt about specifically when it was that Freddie was supposed to have worked there enough to learn the line so well, but I could buy it if Skarloey was the one excited to see him and not Sir Handel. That way, Freddie could be plausibly old, but not older than the Little Old Engines. Maybe he was just on loan to the SR for a few years or something, not long enough to be noted in the extensive information we've been given about the SR.

A lot of HiT era additions occurred to me as possibilities but most of them are variants of the two above scenarios: either they have no backstory to speak of or the backstory would be workable if the rest of the show hadn't forgotten who everyone in it was.

Considered Norman for a hot second because he doesn't really have a backstory as given, but I feel like the CGI gives you enough of him for you to want to know more. But again, that problem is just that he has no backstory. Except, I looked his ass up and apparently his backstory is that he feels he breaks down too often and Dennis is his twin brother? So he actually has a great backstory, it just never got used. What you could do with him, as an engine who wishes he could work harder if not for his apparent ails, who happens to be brothers with the laziest motherfucker to ever grace Sodor's rails? Hmm!

Also briefly hovered on Hugo, because of all the characters that have ever been introduced, he's the only one that I just do not find interesting in any way. But I actually like having at least one guy on this goddamn show who didn't manage to grow on me after I decided I didn't like them.

But then I remembered.

If I could change any engine's backstory, it would be Stanley.

Stanley was introduced in The Great Discovery, which is in my opinion, the worst of the movies. Yes, even worse than Misty Island Rescue. Yes, even worse than Thomas and the Magic Railroad! Because while both of those movies are just dreadful, they are at least not boring. There's enough fucking wat shit going on in them that they keep you busy with lampoons. Caint say the same for The Great Discovery. The Great Discovery is like if you were trying to scientifically engineer a way to reflexively make someone check their watch that they do not have in the year of our lord 2022.

Also, Stanley has the same backstory (such as it is) as Ryan, but with Ryan it was executed better.

Stanley seems like a cool guy in the CGI though. Honestly, I would love if he'd gotten an episode or two. I think he deserves it. I think he's probably only in the CGI because he got a surge in popularity after the guy sent his toy into the stratosphere, but it's a waste just to have him do cameos. But it's hard when all he's got going for him character-wise is he came to sub in for Thomas and Thomas got smuckers about it but now they cool. Conflict's been resolved so what else you got?

I think I read somewhere that he's military surplus? And his livery looks medical. He's generally used for shunting and there's that one moment in "Pouty James" where James demands to know where the coaches he was pulling the day before are and Stanley has to tell him, all retail-like, that Edward took them for the day. He's described as empathetic, but I think if one reframed it more as him having good bedside manner... Like a nurse, though, not a doctor.

I think it'd make a nice comparison to Victor who also has good bedside manner but because he actually works in what is effectively engine medicine, he almost never needs to bust down an engine's sense of entitlement since he's taken as the authority to begin with. Stanley works in a position that, if one is not careful with how they let other engines treat them, can lend one to getting pushed around and taken advantage of.

So he's all smiles and helpfulness and optimistic of outcomes and he'll put up with some hysterics because he understands about delicate train feefees and egos and that how he's being treated in this moment isn't about him, but there eventually would come a point where he'd have to say enough was enough. He'd still do it in a way that de-escalates because he'd rather go along to get along and he ain't out to make others feel bad, but it would be clear there'd be no further histrionics in his yard over who got what stock today. Someone, somewhere, is getting their legs sawn off and they would love to be an engine taking cars of scrap to Reg's instead.

(Thanks for the question and the compliment! :D )

#ttte molly #ttte freddie #ttte norman #ttte hugo #ttte stanley

[oldsamarie]

teehee i'm finally here. 17, 22, 23, 27, 40

MWEHEHEHE HIIII BABYYYYYY

17. Any OC OTPs?

YES A BILLION. between my own it's CAINTE but between mine and allys ocs... too many to count!!! im partial to glorenz and darina and and yvonnoe and abiki naturally but god it's so hard to rank them because i love all oc relationships

22. Is there any OC of yours people tend to mischaracterize? If yes, how?

Sometimes people(not you) get dante wrong because they don't know.his tragic backstory or how it changed his ways these days

23. Introduce OC that has changed from your first idea concerning what the character would be like?

I answered this before and said cain but i think it's also important to mention danny boy. He used to torture people and love it

27. Any OCs that were inspired by a certain song?

SEVERAL BUT oh my god for my earlier ocs ive forgotten..but valyo was definitely inspired by. Yes or yes

40. Any fond memories linked to your characters? Feel free to share!

Oh my god there's so many it's hard to list....ill say when ally and i decided to link darinas backstories. it genuinely was one of the happiest times ever..as well as when we figured out simeon+irinas lore together... and deciding GLORENZ!!!!!! our first couple ever!!!!!!!! and just. Every part of my ocs have made special memories because I do this with my special allyyyyy

[stormpainter]

i'm technically always on call so i caint just not answer my email but damn i wish i could

the world wide selkie collation is threatenin to stage a protest that would shut down new yorks big assed new years eve party because the ice caps are meltin

so some motherfucker decided since natural disasters and weather is my thing that i get paid to handle they're gonna make me deal with them

this aint even a natural motherfuckin disaster its a man made one but whoever the fuck ever askd my ass about it

anyhow i gotta go talk to a couple of ice giants and nordic gods, i'll be back at a time

[kycaint]

( having a breakdown ) you’re in a car with a beautiful boy is only a section of a longer poem

#im writing r/ichjake bc my practice exam gave me a prompt abt a car journey!!!!!! #and so i decided to look into the poem a bit for some inspiration. and i found a pdf of the poets book... and im losing my mind #'ky shouldnt you be in school' yes but we're here now #tá ky ag caint tag.

[anurean99]

First DR.A.G.

This shirt was red as where the pants.

I was perfectly cross-dressed in my sister's clothes.

I was genderbending as a toddler.

I'm from a nuclear society of mutants & non-human persons.

My sister was a liberated lady in secret. She could wear trousers: but not to church or grandma's house. She had to wear handmade dresses whenever we visited. All the pants my sister wore sometimes had to be hidden in my room and kept secret from cousins, little people the size of mice who lived in the heat register with the gerribles that frequently got lose.

These days she wears black leather & runs in every mohawk gang. She has been taken by Wild Injuns. We seem to be at race, corporate, holy, and civil war with one annother. It seems girls are not allowed to touch real money. So she left for a paralell dimension where women can and may touch currency, especially if its their own earned money designed to pad their dowery.

Well, not unless she becomes a Squa. Squa, are not ladies or to be called a lady. However we have always let them be a lady and equal anyway due to Human Rights Activism. Indigenous Persons are tribally human, more so than most Africans & Europeans. Squa can and may touch money if their business is honest and if they stay virtuous. Ladies caint not no touch not no real monies.

We never told the ladies what real money looked like, and decided to lock them up for counterfeitting if they became too shrewish. Why? Cuz gürlies may vote now, but theyre still not allowed to speak out of turn, touch money, or facilitate business unless they are cooking, giving birth, or baking a wedding cake. That wedding cake better be perfect too. Otherwise they get called a hooker & backhanded for not being not no lady. If the "lady" has been touching business or money she better stop being a total hocake and bring home more bacon and money than anyone ever did see.

I was smoking a camel.

I had to walk a whole mile for that camel.

I had to walk a whole mile in my sister's red pants, all the way to grandma's house just to ask my dad to have that camel.

It was up hill and my pants had to be tidy, or else.

I was still in trouble with grandma. She was an ostracized Welsh Witch with a bunch of little people for cousins.

Little people often hate the smell of cigarette smoke, if they arent human at all.

This photograph was taken with an antique wooden camera by little people, so little they where shorter than waist high. Cousins, persons who can & may be lawfully slavedriven and consumed as food for their certain lack of humanity. I barely squeek past the human barrior. They most certainly did & do not.

I was two, maybe three years old.

Why is this picture on the internet?

Who put it there?

We have to sue everyone.

It has been put in the public domain.

#Life #Memoirs #Love

[honeymoonjin]

im a bad bitch you caint kill me

hi im back ive decided

if ur a tgm reader pls vote in this poll on what you want to happen to the story

otherwise general update i’m no longer writing or interacting with any nsfw content for personal reasons BUT i do want to start posting here again and in fact i’ve actually started writing a new oneshot that i’m really excited about

thank you for your patience yee haw

[duvayknox]

HARD-BOILED MOVIE REVIEW: JAMES BOND NO TIME TO DIE Starring DANIEL CRAIG & LEA SEYDOUX

JAMES BOND was on his MAJESTYS SECRETIONS SERVICE--and I was on a Mission frum HER NIGGASYs SECRET SERVICE.

Mah job was to watch JAMES BOND: NO TIME TO DIE.

I didden really have da time to watch the move.

Butt I also didden have time 2 Die wich I was threatened wit if I did not watch this movie.

So I made arrangements to katch the late show when none of mah enemies wood B there.

I took a seat in the very BACK of the theater as is mah stile (da better to see hoo cums and goes and tries to make me keep mah mask on.... seems there is a pandemic of sorts by the SUPER SPY THREAT known as CODENAME: COVID).

I had already been warned that COVID had alretty brainwashed a number Black Citizens to name they Children CORONA.

So I was in extreme alert mode as the movie came on.

I had 1 hand on mah popcorn and the otha hand on mah GLOCK in case sum shit Popped Off.

I drank a COKE and SNORTED a smaller amount of COKE for extra ADHD (it helps).

The plot finds our hero JAMES BOND a reluctant one as we find him mourning the love of a Bitch he had lost--or perhaps given up to SAVE HER.

Butt apparently-JAMES wit all his training has never been made aware that U caint SAVE-A-BITCH or HELP-A-HOE where ever she may be. 

Nor shood one try unda ANY CirCUMstances. As THIS is always bound 2 Fail--and DOOM da FOOL hoo tries.

Yet BOND tries to doo JES this thang: SAVE HER.

Despite the Warnings of The great rapper/prophet PROJECT PAT hoo crooned in a 90s anthem: DONT SAVE HER CUZ SHE DONT WANNABE SAVED!!!!

So BOND goes afta this E-Vil muthafucka named Lyutsifer Safin aka LUCIFER SATAN hoo wants to CLONE DNA so he kan use it to KILL high level muthafuckaz he hates--and to DEPOPULATE all da rest of US chumps he feels dont have da rite 2 to breeve da same AIR as him.

Da LUCIFER cat snatches up his BOO and den shit really gits heated cuz Bond decides he aint having dat shit.

He follows DA PUSSY to sum old as castle-lookin place outta da 50s to confront da Foo.

See this was sposed 2 B Bond last time dooing dis shit for da QUEEN-rite?

And it dont help dat da Queen n nem brang in a SISTA to replace him as da NEW 007.

Bitch looked like a BIG BLACK THUGS BUNNY wit dem big ole 2 FRONT TEEFESS (and short afro).

They clap on each otha when they first meet/then wind up kinda having nuff respeck for each otha later on tho.

Imma tell U strate off dat if U a true JAMES BOND LOVER like I Am dats dis flick was full of da worst type ov 80s bullshit dey useta make movies like. Allat sappy ass music for one.

Den U had da 1-eyed Villain hoo cood not see strate.

And RAMI MALEK hoo was da E-vil muthafucka dey had him wit a bad case of wut looked like sum ECZEMA like he aint neva heard of NOXZEMA.

Even had 1 muthafucka hoo was sposed 2 B sum kinda RUSSIAN and da foo lost his ACCENT half-way thru da movie.

And u had BABY GIRL trippin ova her lil rabbit named DOO-DOO.

And dat shit fit da movie cuz it was a BOO-BOO to make this DOO-DOO.

I filed mah notes to mah digital recorder dat I keep hidden on mee in case da COPS try 2 check mee knowing as how I realize dat Im ALWAYS beehind enemy lines so I have 2 have sum kinda evidence on me recorded case I dont make it out ov deez theaters alive.

I watched da movie alla way thru down to da crediks cuz deez prices for deez sorry as joints are so high I have becum determined to watch ERRY THANG including down 2 da ROMAN NUMERALS on deez shits.

Then I left quietly thru da a back door.

Without mah MASK ON.

Mah MISSION had been accomplished like-a-muthafucka.

They KILLED JAMES BOND.

He tried to SAVE DA PUSSY.

And he FAILED his MAJESTY.

Not mee cuz I have always known dat U CAINT SAVE-A-BITCH no matter how hard U TRY--and WERSE: u mite jes git Yo self OBLITERATED in da process of tryna do so.

--the end--

#hardboiledmoviereview duvayknox blackpulpfiction streetfiction moviereview

[anon-emotion]

Battering through the trees, with the glowing flame licking my ankles. The spiked green branches scraping my arms, before getting swallowed by the blaze.The sharp gravel underneath my bare feet, when the scream pierces through the air. Loud, a siren in the smoke. It doesn't stop, and seems like it never will, when suddenly a gunshot rings and the scream cuts short. I wish for nothing more than to hear that scream again. A high cackle replaces it, and I look behind me to see a hand reach out, trying to grab anything it can. I turn my head back, and try running even faster. I stumble on a hot long branch, get back up, and keep running only to run into him. Now I scream, a short burst, and knee him. He groans, and drops to his knees, but not before whispering my name.

“Cassie”.

I look back to see the inferno catching up to us, and drop down next to him. “I hate you right now. The sight of your face brings me such utter relief and yet I can’t stand it after what you did to me. But right now, that don’t matter. Come on!” I yell at him. I grab him by the arm, and heave him up onto his feet. I kneed him hard enough that he’s still groaning, and some tears are slipping from his eyes, leaving tracks down his dusty face. But he knows to keep going, and with me to spur him on, he goes into a run. It’s slow going, for me, but the flames still haven't caught up to us. Yet.

A few miles ahead, I can see the wall. T’ain’t just any old wall either. This is our wall. I look down at him, and smile to myself. His head is down, and his foot is dragging slightly turned out like it always done. He threw one arm onto my shoulders a while back, and smiled when he realized he got away with it. My dumb brother. I’m still as angry as a rattler with its tail lit up on fire at him, but he’s always had that about him. Makes you madder than spit, but that smile o’ his makes you want to give him a big hug. I take his chin roughly in my fingers, glare down at him, and say “Look up Knucklehead.” He drags his fool head up, and looks around.

“What am I looking at Cassie?” he mumbles. That accent of his, ours, means he knows no one is around to hear it. We drop off the letters at times, cut our words short by habit. We use sayings that make others think twice about, though we know how to talk normal. But this used to be our language, and when it was only us two, we got used to only hearing it. Used to. I answer saying, “You tellin’ me that you don’t recognize that heap of stone? I knew you changed, but I didn't think you’d forgotten everything.” He looks up again, scowls at me, and looks straight ahead. He just about falls over, and almost takes me with him when he sees it. Just the sight of our old wall gives him enough energy to start running, and we take off as fast as our tired legs can go. Then I hear it. The flames, and the laugh. That shrieking cackle, and the thunderous roar of the flames. Bessie. Brother hears it almost as quick as I do. You get used to listening for everything you possibly can, and that don’t just go away. We’re limping with his leg and our tiredness, gasping for breath, but now it’s time to kick it into high gear. My lungs are on fire, and the sweet promise lying in wait on the other side of this wall is what’s keeping us both going. My heads down lookin’ at the green grass sliding into orange dust, and damn near almost run into the wall. Brother jerks me back by the collar just in time. I look for the hole in the wall frantically, for the little bit of purple rock. Brother finds it, and slams his hand on it. Bessie’s eyes flare, and she pulls to a stop as she realizes what happened. Brother and I shuffle in, and fall down. I wipe the dust from my eyes and see Brother already asleep. Tall as a tree that boy is, and the strength to break one in half with his bare hands too. But he’s already slid on over, put his head in my lap, and started snorin’ in less than a minute. Sounds right too, considering the journey here. I sit there for a while, until the orangey-pink sunset slides into charcoal black darkness, with my only light bein’ the stars. I get up, with half a mind to let his head thunk onto the ground, but I decide against it. I look around, for our castle of a home. It doesn't look like much till’ you walk in, but once you do? This place be the biggest home you ever laid eyes on. Meant to be that way. I walk around the home, pickin’ up blankets and some sheets and a couple pillows on the way. I put all of it into a wicker, and walk outside with the basket. Wouldn’t be the first time Brother and I have slept out here, and wouldn't be the first time he fell asleep first. I prop his head up on my knee, check to see he’s still asleep, and place two pillows right quick underneath him. We won’t use the blankets for sleepin’ on though. Never have. They catch food out here. Food and pets. The rascals lay on down, and depending on what they are, we determine whether or not to eat or keep. I[ve been doin’ this on my lonesome for 5 years without him now. He got bigger, miraculously. I put a pillow down for me, and lay down right behind him. Unsurprisingly, he immediately rolls over and puts his arm around my torso. Done it since we were little.

It’s been about an hour later, and I still can’t sleep. MMy thoughts are rattling in my head too much. Been mad at him for 5 years, and without even trying, he’s breaking that anger into bits. Which only makes me more mad, because I know I have a right to be mad at him. He left! When I needed him, he left. They showed up, and Sister and I hid. I was whispering fiercely at him to hide, but he refused. He knew they would find us, he said, and he stepped out. He went Outside, and they grabbed him. Smacked him in the face hard enough he passed out, and then I heard it. They had taken the way around, the back exit, and went close to the kitchen. The fire was on, and louder than Brother’s snoring, so I couldn’t hear them until they were right behind us. They grabbed Sister and hit me on the side of the head. I put up a fight, but that’s hard to do when you caint see straight. My eyes got cloudier and cloudier, and I fell to the ground. When I woke up, everyone was gone.

I wake up to the sound of bacon frying, and my brother’s whistling and whittling.

[biihoebi]

@newsiesgiftexchange

for @what-goesaround-comesaround for the Newsies Winter Gift Exchange 2020

aaaah ok so this unbetad because usually I bully you into betaing my stuff so it's quite stream of consciousness but whateverr. also maybe I took some creative liberties on the historical accuracy but who cares

(its kind of a shit show but shhhh Irish Spot)

——————————————————————–

read on ao3 here

——————————————————————–

While it was Jack's father who taught him not to starve it was his mother who taught him the value of his heritage. Which is why when the new kid at the lodging house was sitting at the end of his bed, distressed over a throwaway comment Albert had made, Jack was doing his best to comfort them.

"He said I was losing my accent" Rua had all but wailed. "How can I be Irish without me accent. And Granda said he used to have flaming hair like mine before it went dark with age. Then I won't even look Irish." they continued.

"But yer Irish by blood not by hair or by voice. I mean my hair ain't red but you'd be hard pressed tryna tell me I isn't Irish." Jack sighed. "Look, I've never stepped foot in Ireland, youse is ahead of me there, but my Mam kept it alive in the stories she told. Some were legends and some were just memories of her and her siblings getting into all sorts of trouble in the fields. And I can speak Irish just as good as the next guy, no matter what Spot Conlon says" he finished. Rua let out a short sniffle.

"But my Mam works in a factory. I never see her no more" they said wiping their face with their sleeve.

"We ain't the same, I'm Irish sure but I was born here. Youse is better off asking Spot about this, he was born in Dublin, didn't come here til he was about 8. And seeing as Albert started this whole mess he can be the one to go to Brooklyn to deliver the message after he's done selling. Now it's time for newsies to go to bed, you ain't no use selling if your half asleep." Jack declared.

——————————————————————–

To a bright eyed and bushy tailed Rua morning couldn't come soon enough and neither could the circulation bell nor could the final sell of the day. By the time Albert left for Brooklyn every newsie in Manhattan knew about it and was sick of hearing about it.

"Just because Albert's gone today, don't mean Spots gonna visit today. Heck he mightn't even visit at all. Do youse really think this is a big enough deal for the King of Brooklyn to take time out of his busy sche-

"Stop shit stirring Boots" Jack interrupted sternly. "Just because Spot doesn't like Brits like you doesn't mean he won't help out a fellow Paddy" he joked. At that Boots straightened his back

"I'll have you know Mr Kelly that Spot Conlon said I's is the best 'Brit' he knows" he said, smugly straightening an imaginary tie.

"Best of a rotten bunch" a new voice chimed in. Every newsie in the room suddenly started scrambling to look half presentable. "I got your message Kelly, now where's the young wayne?" the person continued. In response Jack stepped aside revealing Rua, who had been hiding behind his legs.

"I-I'm Rua" they stuttered out. The man crouched down to their eye level.

"I'm Spot Conlon, but I thought youse was supposed to be Irish. Where's me 'dia duit'? It's like you ain't even tryin'. No wonder youse losing yer accent" Spot said. That did nothing to help the already nervous wreck that Rua was.

Spot shot up suddenly, shooing everyone but Jack, Rua, Crutchie and Race out. He sat down on the middle bed and kicked his feet up, gesturing for everyone to follow. Ever the rebel Race decided to lean against the bunk instead while the rest settled into the surrounding beds. "Look, Jack says youse is struggling with moving on with yer life while staying Irish. I went through the same thing when I first came 'nd look at me now, King of New York"

"King of Brooklyn" Race coughed out which Spot shot daggers at him for.

"I'se is the King of New York, don't let no street rat tell you otherwise" he spat "but I wasn't always, I was once a youngin like you, fresh off the boat with only my poor parents and a sack full of stuff between us…"

——————————————————————–

The dock bustled with workers and passengers alike. Some leaving but most stepping off boats and into their new lives. Among those coming off was a young Seán Conlon. With wild hair and big eyes filled with the wonder and excitement of seeing somewhere beyond the slums of Dublin. It was an outbreak of TB amongst the tenements that did it in for his parents.

Seán didn't have long to admire the new world he had just entered before his hand was grabbed and he was dragged off into a long line filled with fellow immigrants. Hours passed before the tired young boy would make it through the front door to his new home. It was a small one room apartment completely unlivable by today's standard but to someone from the worst slums in Europe it might as well have been Buckingham. "Go bhfoire Dia orainn, tá sé linne!! Níl aon theaghlach eile ina gconaionn liomsa?" Seán gawked in awe.

"Tá, ach bí curamach, níl cead agat bí ag caint as gaeilge nuair a tá tú taobh amuigh" his father responded.

"Cén fáth?"

"Mar ní maith a lán daoiní, duine eile ag caint as gaeilge agus sin é sin a bhfuil."

"Ceart go leor"

That night Seán lay awake in his bed wondering why anyone could dislike speaking Irish. Well besides the British but Uncle Seamus always said that their opinion didn't matter and that he and a few of his friends from the Irish Republican Brotherhood would soon rid Ireland of them. Whatever that meant. His father would always laugh alongside and say 'that would be the day' while his mother would give out to him for encouraging Seamus.

It wouldn't be for a few weeks that Seán would find out what his dad was talking about. He was out selling papers to help make ends meet, as small as the room was all three of them had to work hard in order to pay for it. He stood there waiting at the gate for the circulation bell to ring, when it happened. On his first day one of the older kids taught him a few tricks and gave him a few pieces of advice. One of those pieces was 'stay away from Acton Williams'. An unspoken rule he had managed to avoid up until that point.

Acton had walked right into him, dropping a strange wooden item in the process. Seán liked to think that his mother raised him right so he apologized and bent down to pick up the trinket

"Brón orm" he mumbled as he crouched, item in hand.

"The fuck you say to me?" Acton grunted. Seán froze realising his mistake and everyone went silent at the sound of Acton's voice.

"I was just saying sorry" Seán rushed out, trying desperately not to get baited so soon after joining the newsies. Acton let out a laugh.

"That's not what you said though is it?" he said " see I think youse was speaking some stupid language from the stupid country you came from. So I'mma ask again 'the fuck you say to me?"

"I said 'brón orm', you heard me the first time," Seán said, gaining confidence. It was one thing to be intimidated by an older kid who would definitely knock your block off but his Nan taught him better than to let someone talk shite about Ireland. Acton scoffed.

"I pity the Mum who raised such a rude brat " he spat taking a step towards Seán.

"Yeah well I pity the Mam who gave birth to such an ugly ogre"

And they were off! Acton could easily outrun Seán's tiny legs so his only hope was to lose him with twists and turns through the back alleys and busy streets. After what felt like hours of running, Seán finally ran into a deadend. Turning to face a panting Acton, Seán gulped and started reciting any and all prayers he could think of to any saints that popped into his head. In fact it wasn't until Seán went to clasp his hands in prayer that he noticed what he had picked up earlier.

A slingshot!!

Grabbing the nearest rock Seán loaded the sling. 'Dear St Anthony, pleeaassee help me find the ability to aim well' he prayed as he scrunched his eyes shut and released.

The next thing Seán heard was the large thump an unconscious Actons body made as it hit the ground. Opening his eyes to examine the noise he had heard Seán was shocked to see his feeble attempt at fighting back was actually a success. Seán quickly pocketed the slingshot and left before Acton had time to wake up.

——————————————————————–

"...and that's what it means to be Irish" Spot finished proudly

"Beating up British people is what it means to be Irish?" Rua said in awe of Spot's story. Spot grinned.

"See, this kid gets it" he joked, ruffling Ruas hair.

"That was a lovely story yer highness but how is that surppsoed to help 'em keep their accent" Race chipped in.

"Well what about you then Higgins if you have so much to say? D'you have any stories worth listening to?"

"What about being Italian? Well I-"

"Italian? Are ye not Irish?"

"No? What made you think that?"

"Yer surname is Higgins"

"Yeah, Higgins is a classic Italian name"

Jack and Spot made eye contact for a good minute before bursting out laughing. "Yer telling me this entire time youse never knew you was Irish?" Jack choked out between laughs. Even Rua stifled a giggle.

"My own mam was a Higgin, Racetrack" Spot roared. "Yee just can't make this stuff up" he said wiping a tear from his eye. Race's face was a brilliant red as he sputtered out excuses.

"Yer just joking, right guys? Right guys??"

——————————————————————–

BONUS :

At the gates the next morning Seán stood there absolutely shitting bricks. What had happened yesterday had been a stroke of luck but if Acton decided to continue the fight he was dead meat.

"Wait, is that Williams? No way what's with the giant bruise on his forehead?" a voice spoke interrupting Seán's train of thought.

"No way that's a bruise, he doesn't get those" another shot back. Soon a whole symphony of voices were arguing over whether it was a bruise or not.

"Wait a minute, weren't you getting chased by him yesterday, newbie? How come there's not a scratch on ya, and why's there only a big bruise on him?" the first voice said piecing the puzzle together. Soon everyone was crowding around Seán, looking for the story of what happened.

"Look nothing really happened" Seán reassured trying to downplay the situation "he chased me for a bit before I eventually shot him with this sling and he passed out on the spot."

Apparently telling them he knocked out the bully of the newsies was not the right thing to say to defuse the situation. Some started cheering for him others just rolled their eyes at his story.

"He clearly made that up on the spot" one voice chiming in.

"Nah, look at Acton, that's a massive bruise, obviously from being shot with a sling" another rebutted. Eventually the crowd settled a bit and someone had the common sense to ask for his name.

"Oh! I'm Seán." he responded. Everyone groaned.

"Not yer real one, yer newsies one" someone said. After Seán told them he didn't have one, everyone put their thinking caps on.

"Let's call him Spot, 'cause we'll never really know if he knocked him down on the spot or made up that story on the spot."

#boots newsies #jack kelly #livesies #newsies live #crutchie morris #jack newsies #race higgins #racetrack higgins #albert newsies #albert dasilva #spot newsies #spot conlon #newsies holiday exchange

[gaeilgebee]

hi! i have a five subject notebook and i want to learn gaelic- do you have a reccomendation for how i should split up the sections? especially for someone who knows absolutely none of the language (i love your blog btw i’m deinitely going to be using the resources you’ve put on here) thank you!!!

First of all, I’m gonna say thank you! I’m so glad to see that you’re enjoying my blog, and that my posts are going to good use! ;)

Five subject notebooks are a great resource for note taking, and honestly they’re so amazing to write in if you’re like me and love to have your notes ordered. I do think that for Irish (the Gaeilge branch of the Gaelic Languages) vocab is pretty important, but so are the rules, as is the same with any language. Since there’s five sections to your notebook, I’d say to order them like this (then again, this is all up to personal preference and tastes!)

1. The Rules (such as the Nathanna Cainte), and Verbs (if you can fit them all in, you may need to go to another section for one), Regular and Irregular. Past, Present, Future. Briathar Saor is rarely used in everyday writing, so I wouldn’t worry too much on that tense.

2. Everyday Vocab! For this section, have a page title (for example; The Kitchen | An Chistin) and write out all the vocab relating to that topic underneath on that page. Really, for starting out, just have easy words, and their pronunciations in whatever way you see them as to help you remember.

3. Definitely have a section on everyday sayings, unusual sentences that make sense in Irish but not in English or so, and old sayings (seanfhocail) that you love, or find funny. Looking through these can be a nice reminder to yourself on why you love learning a new language, and clearly see interesting differences in what makes it up and differs itself from your native one. Write down sentences you hear or read that you find interesting, and don’t mind if it’s silly. It’s your notebook, not anybody else’s.

4. Make sure to have fun too. If you love an era of history, or a certain time of day then you can make a whole section full of vocab and sayings you can say while talking or thinking about it. If you love a TV show, write down different translations. (Although this may be more suitable to a few single pages rather than a full section). If you love irish or gaelic poetry then you should for sure have a section on that too so you can find them easily.

5. Have a section purely on your favourite way to learn. If it suits your fancy, you can draw or paint a picture and label it in Irish and try to label as much as you can without consulting notes. For some, mind maps are a godsend. For others, links to good audio files matter more. Do a whole section of just letting loose and enjoy what you’ve learned. Have a go at writing out short postcards from imaginary places, or love letters to a crush. Do each imaginary thing that you enjoy, and enjoy at least one section where you aren’t afraid to mess up. If you don’t want to do this in a good notebook, try a paperback copy. Let yourself make mistakes. Progress isn’t linear!

If you haven’t guessed, I don’t really use notebooks myself, so I’m probably not the best person to be giving notebook advice. My class copy is a huge mess of scribbles and red marks and Xs (I’m terrible at written Irish like for essays and introspection of poems). The cover is hanging off, and it’s bram-packed with doodles, triskelions and celtic knots I’ve decided to draw just to keep to the theme, if anything else. You might find other important things, and better things to sort and section your notebook into, and that’s perfect. Learning is all about preferences and individual learning styles. I love to collect notebooks, I just never write in them - even when I should.

Since my tips are kinda lacking, here’s how to organise your notebook, 5 tips on how to tackle a foreign language notebook and stay motivated, Duolingo’s tips on how to keep a language notebook

I wish you luck with learning a Gaelic Language, I hope you’ll enjoy it!

[calebwittebane]

caint decide on my team in crystal... i have cyndaquil, i know i want ampharos and gyarados, what else what else... i love steelix but i wont be able to get it cause trading. same with scizor :(

[phoniex742]

Hey everyone so I had an idea for my emtions story I'm going to be doing am altnerte story of fear where instead of fear acuttly go to the portal himself he ends up getting caught of course he gets sent to earth anyway but as a punshiment and caint go home or go amywherere for help he hasn't been to earth in almost forever sure he went there to eat a couple of times but he has a home and if he even if he went back he was hated and treated badely seen as vialln when all he want ttp do was help so he decided that in oder to go back he must find the source of the problem what will happen?let me know if you want to know more !

[yeet-or-be-hawed]

“No One Mourns the Wicked Part 1: What is This Feeling?” Low Honor!Arthur Morgan x Low Honor!Reader

For those of you who saw my post about the multi part fic based on a musical, wait no longer because this is the first part! Okay, I know what you’re thinking; ‘Wicked and cowboys? Amber, you’ve really lost it this time!’ Just trust me on this one, and I promise you’ll enjoy ☺️

The first part of this fic was loosely based on the song What Is This Feeling? from the Broadway musical Wicked. I’ve been listening to the soundtrack on repeat for a solid two weeks and it has consumed my life so obviously I had to tie it into my fics.

There has always been a tinge of rivalry between the two of you, one might even say, loathing. Between constant clashing around camp and the stress of being roommates, theres a tension between you and Arthur. What kind of tension you ask? One might say the tension is...wicked. 

Part 2

There was only one word to describe how you felt towards Arthur: loathing, pure unadulterated loathing. He’s rubbed you the wrong way ever since you became a part of the gang. He bumps you on purpose as he passes you when your hands are full, he insists on joining jobs you’re on, ‘to ensure your dumbass doesn’t mess it all up.’ And to top it off, you shared a tent.

The two of you were polar opposites as far as you were concerned. He woke you up every morning at the break of dawn, rummaging around loudly as he got ready for the day. You swore he did it on purpose. Usually you didn’t care about clutter, but when you’re forced to share a space with someone you can’t stand it’s like every little sock or shirt on the floor boils your blood.

But what sparked this detestation? It all started years ago, when the two of you were teenagers and you had just been brought into the gang by Dutch. You had only been around three days and most of the camp’s inhabitants came in and out from jobs frequently.

Dutch had asked you to meet him in the local town for a drink, he wanted to discuss your first job with the gang. As you hitched your horse, you noticed a guy around your age leaning against the support beam outside the saloon. Easy pickin’s you thought to yourself. As you passed him; your hand oh so gently entered his pocket, but he turned to you and drew his pistol like lightning.

Shit you thought to yourself as you drew your own, eyes locked on his. There was a tense moment of silence as you faced off, it was ended by Dutch as he rode up and hitched his horse. “Arthur my boy, looks like you’ve already met Y/N.”

Arthur didn’t lower his pistol. “Aw hell Dutch, is this the new blood you was talkin’ about?”

As soon as his eyes shifted towards Dutch, you placed a warning shot at his feet. He jumped back and you gave him a menacing smile. “New blood for you maybe,” you turned to the door to enter the saloon. “But you’ll find yourself dead quickly if you undermine me boy, and don’t you forget that.”

Dutch laughed at the bewildered look on Arthur’s face. He wrapped an arm around Arthur’s shoulders, “what a woman! Come on son, I’ll get you twobmore acquainted over a drink.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “I think we’re already more acquainted than I’d like to be.”

“Get over your hurt pride and be nice.” Dutch said quietly as they entered the saloon. The two men approached you, you already had shots down on the table for you, Dutch, and Arthur. Dutch slapped Arthur on the back hard as you looked up at them. “Ah, Y/N lovely as ever. I think Mr. Morgan here would like to apologize to you for gettin’ off on the wrong foot.”

You raised an eyebrow at him and Arthur sputtered and turned to Dutch. “Me apologize? Like hell! She’s the one who tried to rob me! I ain’t apologizin’ for shit.” He crossed his arms defiantly.

“Okay,” You said evenly as you sat up. You snagged the shot glass that was originally for Arthur and knocked it back. “I guess I’ll keep this then.”

Arthur rolled his eyes and slumped in the chair in front of you. “Didn’t want yer damn drink anyways.” He huffed.

Dutch sat beside him, not hiding his amusement at the exchange occurring. He knocked back the shot in front of him. “Thank you, my dear you’re very kind.” Arthur shot him a look. “Now, you have a job you’d like to discuss?”

You nodded, waved over the bartender for more drinks, and leaned in speaking quietly. “Okay so, the plan is....”

That was years ago, but you and Arthur have been on rocky ground at best since then. You could still remember the screaming match the two of you got into when Dutch informed you the two of you would be sharing a tent.

“It’ll teach you two to work and live together...hopefully. You can have your own tents when you learn to get along.” Dutch had said as he walked away. The two of you took Dutch’s word as gospel so you just had to suck it up and deal with it. Needless to say, you were still sharing a tent to this day.

At least with age Arthur became tolerable, and much to your relief, a good bit quieter. When you entered the tent, he was lying on his cot, writing in his journal. He grunted to you as you entered and you threw up your hand in a lazy wave. You plopped down onto the cot, exhausted.

“Haven’t seen you in a few days,” Arthur said quietly. “Started thinkin’ I’d finally lucked out and you got yourself eatten by a bear.” He was hiding his smile behind his journal, teasing you had become one of his favorite pastimes.

“Very funny.” You said keeping your face buried in the pillow.

“Caint hear ya over there, get yer face outta that pillow.”

You sighed and turned your face towards him. “Can you not see I’m tired, Morgan?”

He tore a piece of paper from his journal and started balling it up between his fingers. “Yeah, I can.” Just as your eyes began to flutter closed, he threw the paper ball at you and it hit you right between the eyes. “But I really don’t care.”

Your eyes flew open and your annoyance was building. “You’re lucky I cant feel my legs, or you’d be a deadman.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “You use that threat way too much for me to take it seriously anymore.” He looked at you teasingly, “I think I’m startin’ to grow on ya. If I didn’t know any better I’d say you enjoy my company.”

“I enjoy having a roof over my head and a safe place to stay.” You retorted flatly. “And I don’t think Dutch would be very keen on lettin’ me stick around if I killed you.”

Arthur threw another paper wad at you, “so what you’re saying is your threats are pointless?”

“That’s it!” You lunged across the room and straddled him down under you. Your hands pinned his wrists to the bed. “I swear to God Morgan if you don’t leave me the hell alone, I will end you!” Your eyes met his and he had a strange look in his eye.

“Arthur could you-“ John poked his head into the tent, looked at the two of you and poked his head back out quickly. You heard him laughing. “Never mind, I’ll leave you two at it!”

You looked down and felt an embarrassing amount of heat rise to your cheeks when you realized what sort of position you were in. You jumped off him quickly. “Going so soon?” Arthur teased. “But we were just gettin’ to the good stuff.”

You rolled your eyes and left the tent. “In your dreams, Morgan.”

Arthur stared at the ceiling of the tent and readjusted himself. His mind kept reeling back to the way your body felt up against his, your face inches from his, pinning him hard to the bed. He couldn’t shake these thoughts no matter how hard he tried. You drove him crazy, but not always in a bad way. You were stubborn, arrogant, and always did things your way even if it endangered the plans. In a way you reminded him of himself, the way you always had a witty comeback or the way your lip curled up in disgust when you were angry. What was this feeling? He had decided loathing, but his hardened member was telling him otherwise. He bit his lip and watched the closed flaps. A pair of your dirty underwear was halfway under your bed and he stared at it for a moment before grabbing it. What the hell are you doing? His brain screamed at him. He knew it was wrong, but the thought of your hips pressed down against his groin invaded his mind again. As he sat on the bed, the thought of you returning made him feel conflicted. In all reality, you would be beyond pissed to come back and find him pleasuring himself, a pair of your used bloomers in his hand. But, the thought of you coming back and seeing him sent a shiver down his spine. He imagined your voice turning silky smooth, lust in your eyes as you took his hardened cock in your hands and pumped him slowly. He heard footsteps approaching the tent, he quickly tucked your underwear in his pocket and laid on his stomach. There was a gentle rap against the tent flaps, “decent?” You called from outside the tent.

Arthur rolled his eyes, “not decent!” He called back. His hips rolled against the bed at the sound of your voice.

“Ugh, well get yer self decent, Dutch wants us to go and stake out Caliga Hall. Meet me at the hitching posts when you’re ready.” You called to him, and he listened as your footsteps faded away. Your voice had that annoying belittling tone that he hated and he knew if he wasn’t out there soon, you would drag him out of the tent by his ankles. He sighed heavily and shoved your underwear into his satchel and tried to focus his thoughts so the bulge in his pants would fade away.

He grabbed his hat and left the tent. He approached you and Dutch and as you spotted him, you mounted your horse. Arthur’s gaze landed on your ass as you pulled yourself up. “Get a move on, you lazy ass!” You called to him. Your voice was heavy in annoyance and your impatience was written clearly on your face.

“I’m comin’ goddamn it.” He grumbled. This was what made him so angry towards you, the way you bossed him around and treated him like some grunt around camp made his blood boil. He mounted his horse and Dutch took off first with you right behind him. You shot a smug glance back at him as you rode beside Dutch. The two of you always got competitive when riding, especially with Dutch. There were multiple horse collisions throughout the years due to this rivalry, but his eyes trailed down your back slowly and a term he had heard but never understood floated into his mind, hate fuck. He remembered Micah retell a story around the fire late one night, all the girls had gone to bed so the men were discussing their various sexcapades. Arthur remembered with disgust and confusion as Micah described his experience with a woman he met in a bar. He couldn’t stand her, the way she talked, her voice, her personality, he hated everything about her and he said that’s what made it so good. A couple of the men agreed, it made it easier to get rough and they didn’t feel as bad about one night stands.

Arthur would never admit it, but he really hated one night stands. He only did it once, and it left him feeling empty, even though he never saw her again she burned in his mind for weeks afterwards. He barely knew her but the emotional attachment of being so vulnerable with someone was too overwhelming. Unfortunately being so long between the tender touch of a woman, saying he was sexually frustrated was an understatement. It didn’t help sharing a tent with a woman either. Even though he drove you crazy, you were still comfortable enough with him to change in front of him, you would turn away from him of course and make him swear to close his eyes. He only peeked when he was certain you weren’t looking and he would be lying if he said he had never pleasured himself to the thought of you. He told himself it was just because he lived in such close quarters with you, it’s not like he wanted you. Okay, maybe he wanted your body but did he want you? Your shitty attitude? Your smart mouth? On that he was quite certain he didn’t want.

“So, what’s the plan Dutch?” You asked as you pulled your horse beside Dutch.

“We’re gonna check out the layout of Caliga Hall. The lovely Mrs. Braithwaite has asked us to torch their tobacco fields.”

“Wonderful!” You exclaimed wickedly.

Dutch nodded. “After we stake it out, I want you and Arthur to come back after daylight and burn it to the ground. Right now we’ll be looking for hidden entrances, holes in the guard, any little sliver you can sneak in and out of with minimal alarm.”

You barked a short laugh. “Minimal alarm? I think that’s a bit of an understatement.”

“That’s why you’ll have Arthur, as back up when things get hairy.”

You groaned. “Come on, Dutch! You know I can do this on my own!”

“I know sweetheart, but ya just gotta trust me. And give the guy a break, will ya? He ain’t so bad when ya get used to ‘em.”

You rolled your eyes. Dutch was right and you knew it. Arthur wasn’t the worst man around camp, that’s for sure but it seemed like with every glance between the two of you, this feeling sparked within you, something strong and powerful and for lack of a better word, you went with loathing. Your stomach flipped whenever he said your name, and your heart jumps when he walks into the tent after a long day away from camp. You thought it was hatred, but hatred was reserved for the likes of Micah. Was it anger? It had a burning feeling similar to anger, but without the uncontrollable rage behind it. You decided loathing was a good name for whatever this feeling was, or atleast that’s what you hoped it was.

You slowed your horses and dismounted as you came upon a hill overlooking Caliga Hall. You pulled out your binoculars and laid flat against the ground beside Dutch. Arthur pulled in not far behind you and followed suit.

“Every entrance is guarded, and it looks like they’ve hired some extra muscle.” Arthur whispered.

“If we come in from the west side, there’s a small breach in the fence.” You pointed to the edge of the field and one of the posts in the fence was broken. “I’ll douse the fields, Arthur you keep watch on the hill, bring your rifle and you can snipe them off when I ingnite the fields.”

“No,” Arthur hissed. “I will do the dousing and you can be the watch dog.”

You opened your mouth to argue but Dutch cut you off. “No, you’ll both go down and douse the fields, then one of you will take out the guards while the other starts the fire with that barn over there.” Dutch’s finger pointed, and followed along as he talked. “That’s where they dry and process the tobacco leaves. Then you’ll light up the fields. Arthur, you take out the guards in the fields while Y/N gets the barn burning. Once that barn lights up, you’ll have all their men coming down on you.” Dutch lowered his binoculars and looked at you. “Once they start comin’ you two need to book it the hell outta there. You hear me Y/N? No gettin’ greedy out there. You too, Arthur.”

The two of you nodded in unison and Dutch stood. “Let’s head back to camp. You’ll need the moonshine from the Braithwaites to ignite the fields. See if Sean has any fire bottles you can use. If not, get him to show you how to make them.” He mounted his horse. “You two are my best men, I know you won’t let me down. I’ll see you back at camp.” And he was off, leaving only a cloud of dust.

You stood and extended a hand down to Arthur. He took it and groaned as he stood. “Jesus Arthur, you must be gettin’ old groanin’ about like that.” You teased.

“Yeah, well we’re the same age so if I’m old, so are you.” He mounted his horse. “I’ll catch you at camp later, I’ve got a quick errand to run.”

“Need me to come with?” You asked as you climbed up your horse.

Arthur flushed and tipped his hat down to cover his face. “Jesus what are you, my mama? I can handle this myself.” With a quick pull at the reigns he was off.

“I was just tryin’ to be nice damnit!” You snapped back. You didn’t mean to sound so hostile, but he ignored you. He knew being ignored was a big pet peeve of yours and it made you even angrier knowing he knew that. “I’m gonna kill that man one day.” You grumbled as you led your horse down the trail.

Arthur felt a pang if guilt when he heard the slightest note of hurt when you called after him, but he couldn’t help but panic when you offered to join him. He certainly didn’t want you following him so he made sure to check over his shoulder multiple times as he tore down the trail. When he was certain he was alone, he peeled off the trail and deep into the trees of a small forest that ran along the path. The trees were thick and he made sure he was deep enough to not be disturbed. He unmounted his horse and grabbed his satchel; as he turned away he realized how awkward his horse would make this just dumbly staring at him. With a swift slap to the hindquarters, the horse dashed away towards the main road. He let out a heavy breath as he pulled out your underwear. He allowed himself to think about earlier this morning, you pinning him to his cot. He thought of your bare back between changing shirts. The way that one button down you have is a little too snug over your chest, causing the material to part between buttons. He thought of the way your ass looked in the riding pants you wore today. It didn’t take much to get him hard, he unzipped his trousers and brought your undies to his face. With a deep inhale, he began pumping himself. He was desperately wishing you had followed him.

“Hey Y/N, welcome back!” Lenny called as you hitched your horse. He looked around you, “No Arthur, huh? Did ya finally lose your patience and feed him to the wolves?”

You laughed as you headed towards your tent. “Not this time, unfortunately!”

When you got to your tent, you rummaged through your things until you found the shirt you were looking for. It was darker and a little tighter, better for stealthier missions as the dark fabric didn’t stand out at night and tighter material didn’t make as much noise rustling against your body. The buttons were a bit tight to your chest, but it didn’t matter as long as it did it’s job. After you changed your shirt and got your things together you went out to find Sean. He was sat in front of the fire with a drink in his hand. You came up behind him and grabbed the bottle from his hand quickly. “Oi! What’s the big idea?” He exclaimed as he jumped up.

“I need some fire bottles. How many ya got?” You asked as you handed him back his bottle of whiskey.

He took a quick swig, “I only got two put together right now, I’ll have to make more if you need more than that.”

You nodded. “I’ve been meanin’ to get you to show me how to make those for awhile now, after you.”

You followed him to his tent and he began pulling out the supplies and walked you through the process. It was fairly simple and between the two of you putting them together you had more than enough in no time. Sean helped you carefully load them onto your horse and you thanked him as he left. He threw up a wave as he wandered back to the fire. Just as you began towards your tent you heard the clomping of hooves and turned to see Arthur barreling into camp. He stopped his horse just in front of you and dismounted. “Welcome back.” You greeted him and matched his pace as he walked towards the tent. “How was your errand?”

He eyed you under the brim of his hat, he couldn’t help but notice the exact shirt he had just been thinking of. He cleared his throat. “Fine. Probably could’ve used your help.” He allowed himself a sneaking smile.

You looked at him and rolled your eyes. “Ugh, you’re gonna get yourself killed one day, you know that? Grab me next time.”

He had to hide his blush, “I’ll keep that in mind.” You opened the tent flap and held it open for him as you passed through. “I’ve already got my things together. I’m going to try and get some shut eye. Try not to be too noisy getting your things together for once, okay?”

He rolled his eyes. “No promises.”

You sighed in annoyance as you laid on your side and closed your eyes. “Why do I even bother?” You muttered.

Arthur breathed a laugh and began loading his satchel with supplies. As he was digging his hands found the cotton material of your bloomers and his face went hot. He turned to make sure your eyes were closed and quickly shoved them under his mattress. His eyes trailed back to you, the way you were laying was causing more distress in the buttons over your bust more distress than usual and one had popped undone. He could barely see the skin under the shirt, but that’s all it took and he could feel his pants getting tighter. “Shit.” He breathed. Your eyes opened slightly, “What is it?” You asked in a sleepy voice.

He turned himself away from you. “Nothing, just go back to sleep.”

You groaned and shut your eyes. Arthur sighed and made a promise to himself he wouldn’t look at you for the rest of the night.

It didn’t take long for him to break that promise. After your breathing evened in a deep slumber a small moan escaped your lips and Arthur’s gaze shot to your face faster than he could control. Your lips were just barely parted and your face had softened with sleep. Maybe we could work, he thought. If she was this quiet all the time.

But as much as he didn’t want to admit it, he had slowly begun to find your banter charming, if not just a little bit annoying. He found himself looking at you more often lately, and he also couldn’t help but notice more frequent trips to the woods with you on the forefront of his mind. He shook it off, but it was slowly becoming harder and harder to shake. He didn’t know what his feelings meant and that was what fueled his frustration towards you. But when he looked down on you like this, he could pretend you were just a normal girl and he was a normal guy. He could pretend the two of you weren’t cold hearted killers, but why did he pretend these things? He told himself you were just there, right place right time. You were a sort of place holder for a woman in his life. He only thought of you when touching himself because he had no one else to think of. But that wasn’t entirely true there were plenty of good looking women around camp, so why did he always think of you? Arthur didn’t like the way his thoughts were headed so he pushed the away. He grabbed his journal and headed out of the tent, hoping some drawing would clear his thoughts.

When you woke up, the sun was just beginning to set. You sat up and stretched. “Mornin’.”

Arthur was laying on his cot on the other side of the tent.

You yawned. “Hey.” You grabbed your hat from the night stand. “You ready?”

His hat was sitting on top of his face and his arms were tucked behind his head. Your eyes trailed his muscular arms, he was quite handsome when his mouth was shut. He didn’t remove the hat when he spoke. “Not yet.”

You scoffed. “Don’t tell me you’re getting tired now. You had plenty of time to nap earlier.”

Arthur took the hat from his face and looked out the open tent flaps. “Ain’t dark enough yet.” He paused before putting the hat back over his face. He pointed down at your chest.

You looked down, noticed the button and fixed it. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

You looked around the room, bored. “So,” You began. “What kinda errands were you runnin’ today?”

“None yer business.” He was glad the hat covered his face, he would rather eat shit than let you see him blush.

You groaned. “Ugh, why are you always so difficult?”

“I could ask you the same question.” He responded.

“Damn it Arthur, move that hat I can barely understand what yer sayin’!” You threw your pillow at him and knocked the hat from his face. “Hey! Watch where you throw that thing!” He threw it back at you with a little more force than necessary.

You caught it and rolled your eyes. “You’re such a child. I’m goin’ to see if Pearson’s got dinner ready.”

He sat up, “can you bring me some?”

You gave him a sweet smile. “Eat shit, Arthur.” And you disappeared behind the closed flaps of the tent.

Arthur smiled, couldn’t have said it better myself.

You exited the tent at the perfect time, Pearson had just begun serving dinner. You stood in line patiently and as you turned to sit at the fire with your food you noticed Arthur emerge from the tent and make his way to the dinner line. John plopped down beside you. “Where’s your man?” He teased.

You rolled your eyes. “Ain’t got one, where’s yours?”

“Very funny.” John elbowed you, “don’t act like I didn’t see you and Arthur gettin’ cozy this morning.”

“Pfft, please. I don’t know what yer talkin’ about.” You tried to keep your voice steady and casual.

“I’d believe ya, but yer cheeks are mighty red!” John teased.

“Don’t you got someone else to bother?” You snapped. “What you saw was me about to strangle Arthur from pure annoyance and nothin’ else.” Your tone was more defensive than you intended, why did you care what John thought?

He stood, “Whatever you say.” He turned to leave then stopped. “It’ll happen one day ya know.” And he left before you could respond. You looked down into your stew. You couldn’t figure out why John’s words bothered you so much. They left your stomach in knots. A heavy hand fell on your shoulder.

“You ready?” You nodded up to Arthur and finished the remaining stew in your bowl.

“Let’s do this.”

The sky was now completely black with night, and fate must’ve been on your side as the clouds were covering the moon, leaving very minimal light. The only light around was from the torches of the guards in the field. You and Arthur split, he took the fields on the right, and you the left. You snuck quietly through the fields, draining the big jug of moonshine as you went. As you finished, you headed to the barn. Shit. There was a man standing directly in front of the barn doors. You turned and saw Arthur across the fields. He caught your eye, picked up a small stone and threw it. “Hey, who’s there?” The man trailed off in the direction of the noise and Arthur gave you a thumbs up.

Arthur watched you slip into the barn and he pulled his knife. Four guards were more than easy enough. He quietly snuck up on one after the other, covering their mouths, pulling them down, and sticking them with his knife. The most noise any of them made was a gurgle. After he finished the last guard in the fields, he headed towards the barn.

As you opened the door to the barn, a man turned to you. “H-“ your throwing knife landed between his eyes before he could get the word out. You removed the knife and began dousing the tobacco hanging from the walls and ceiling. After the last drop of moonshine dropped the from jug, you nodded to yourself. You pushed the barn door open and almost ran straight into Arthur. “Good timing. You ready to burn this bitch to the ground?” You whisper, adrenaline already pumping.

Arthur handed you a fire bottle, “I’ll give you the honors.”

“How sweet.” You said as he laid the bottle in your hand.

“Now, as soon as this barn goes up we’re gonna need to-“ Arthur was cut off with an explosion of heat and fire. You were giddy with adrenaline and didn’t even hear him speak. Angry voices were immediately headed towards the barn. With a silent nod to each other you split. Arthur pulled his repeater and you took the bag of fire bottles. You ran threw the fields like a child, throwing fire bottles like a flower girl tosses petals down the aisle of a wedding. The sound of bullets flying and fire blazing was like a symphony to you. In all the chaos you felt most alive.

A cry shook you to the core. You turned and against the light of the flames you saw Arthur fall. Everything went slow motion as his body hit the ground. Your body moved faster than it ever has, tossing bottles at the men closing in on Arthur. It kept them at bay long enough for you to grab Arthur and fling him over your shoulder. “You alive?” You asked. Your voice shook.

“Yeah.” He groaned. “Just took a bullet to the leg.”

You picked up his repeater and whistled for your horse. “Good. Don’t go dyin’ on me just yet.”

You kept as fast a pace as you could, tossing fire bottles behind you as you went. Bullets flew passed you as you hobbled with Arthur on your back. Your horse came flying down to you and you flung Arthur on the back of your horse. He grunted with pain when you threw him down. You grabbed his repeater and turned back to the fire. Men were coming through quickly. You tore through them with deadly accuracy, but they were coming in too fast. You climbed on the horse and dug your spurs in deep. “Come on girl, let’s ride!” You turned and looked down at Arthur. “If you’re still awake down there, whistle for your horse. I’m gonna need to lose your extra weight if you expect to get out of here alive.”

He didn’t say anything, he brought his fingers to his lips and let out a loud whistle. Bullets were whizzing by you and you turned to return the fire. Men fell behind you as you went, but more took their place. Arthur’s horse came quickly andbyou stopped to help him up. You gave him back his repeater and pulled out your pistol. You needed to help Arthur on his horse, but you also needed to shoot the men coming towards you. As you helped him down, you shot wildly, your concentration split. Arthur was losing blood quickly and he was having a hard time keeping his balance. You had one last fire bottle, and if you timed it perfectly, you could take out most of the men in one fell swoop. After Arthur got mounted, you slapped his horse’s rear. “Get outta here, I’ll be right behind you.”

Bullets flew passed you as you stood your ground. 3...2...1...Now! You threw the bottle with perfect precision and it did it’s job. You mounted quickly as the screams of your enemies echoed through the night. It stirred a sick desire in your heart and you felt more alive than you ever had. You rode hard and found Arthur’s horse stopped just up the road. “What the hell are you doin’? You coulda-“ you stopped. “Shit, Arthur!” He was slumped against his horse unconscious. His white horse was stained with the red of his blood and you felt an intense urgency. You tethered his horse to yours and rode a little farther down, a safer distance for camping.

You pulled the horses into a thicket off the trail. You started a fire quickly and pulled Arthur down off his horse. “Damn it, Arthur.” You groaned. “Heavy bastard.” You dropped him to the ground quickly.

“Ow.” He groaned.

“Glad to see you’re still kickin’.” You said, trying to keep your composure.

“I’m surprised you care.” His voice was low and raspy.

“Yeah, me too. First thing we gotta do is get this bullet out, okay?” You handed him a bottle of whiskey. “I’m sorry, this is gonna hurt pretty bad.”

You dug your knife into the bullet wound and he winced and gasped in pain. The sound of his agony caused tears to prick your eyes. “I’m sorry.” You croaked over and over again, until you dug the bullet out.

Arthur was breathing heavily through the pain. “I always thought you liked hurting me.” He took a swig of whiskey then handed it to you. You took a swig and poured it into his wound. “Aughhh! Damn it that hurts!”

“I know, sweetie I know.” Your voice was heavy with concern and it made Arthur’s heart lurch. He had never seen your face contorted in such worry and fear, and over him no less. You never used a pet name for him before either, unless you would consider ‘jackass’ a pet name.

“I know you’re in a lot of pain, but I need to cauterize the wound.” Your eyes were focused on his leg, trying to keep your mind as steady and clear as possible.

“I know, just do what you have to do.” Arthur clenched his jaw and prepared himself for the pain.

You stuck the blade of your knife into the fire and kept it there until it was red hot. “You ready?”

He let out a shaky breath and brought his arm over his face. You inserted the knife into the bullet wound and he thrashed wildly against you, stifling his screams into his arm. You looked up at him and he was biting deep into his forearm. The way the pain twisted his face broke you. Tears fell from your eyes as you twisted the blade, the smell of burning flesh invading your nostrils. It only took him seconds to pass out from the pain, but those seconds were brutal. You checked his pulse after removing the blade and wiped the tears from your face. You took the bandages from your satchel and wrapped his leg carefully.

Your body was shaking all over and you had to choke back the oncoming sobs. You had no idea what had come over you, the sight of Arthur’s body falling to the ground replayed over and over again in your head and it terrified you. But what terrified you more was the realization you didn’t want to be without him. It shook you to the core when you realized you needed him. You wanted to hold his hand and tell him everything was going to be okay. This feeling, does it have a name? You thought it was loathing, but now you’re not sure. He looked so vulnerable resting against a boulder near the fire. You brought the whiskey bottle to your lips and drank deeply. With each gulp of alcohol, you stared at Arthur and contemplated what you were feeling. You always knew he was handsome, that was a given. But was it also a given for you to yearn for him like you did? You found yourself envisioning the way his arms would feel around you and it invoked a deep hunger from within. This new feeling was invading your every thought and you couldn’t escape it. With liquid courage running through your veins your willpower weakened, and you found yourself scooting yourself closer to him. He was still unconscious and you studied his face. His thick beard hid his sharp jawline, but you could see the outline from the light of the flame. Before you could help yourself you found your fingers gently brushing his beard. It was so much softer than you imagined. You looked down at his big hand and picked it up with your bother hand. It was warm and rough, covered in calluses and scars. You put your fingers between his and leaned your head against the boulder. You leaned your head against his shoulder. He was so warm and soft, you nuzzled your face into the crook between his neck and shoulder. You had no idea when sleep took you, but it held you deeply.

Arthur stirred early and the first thing he felt was your even breathing on his collar bone. He opened his eyes and looked down to find you curled into his side, loosely clutching his hand. He winced in pain as he shifted and he remembered the night before. He remembered you taking care of his wounds, and right before he blacked out he could’ve sworn he heard the sound of you crying. Over him though? There was no way. But, you were also curled up in his side clinging to him desperately. He moved slowly, careful not to disturb you. He couldn’t put weight on his leg, so when he tried to stand, he just fell to the ground with a heavy painful thud. “Goddamn it,” He groaned.

The sound of him falling woke you instantly. You sat up quickly and when your eyes fell to him, you had to fight the urge to roll them. You stood, “Damn it, Arthur. I just digged a bullet from your leg, you know better than to try and stand.”

“Yeah,” he groaned as you wrapped your arm under his and helped him up, supporting his weight. “I just didn’t wanna wake ya is all.” You pulled him to his horse and helped him up on his saddle.

“Since when? I thought it was your personal goal every morning to wake me with your incessant noise.” Your voice wasn’t as pointed and antagonizing as usual.

You took down the camp quickly and mounted your horse. “Let’s get you back to home, darlin’.”

Arthur looked up at you in surprise and you looked away. Again with the pet names, plus he could’ve sworn there was a flush of pink across your cheeks. He felt a deep yearning within him, but didn’t fight quite so hard to repress it.

The ride back to camp was silent. The two of you were lost in your own thoughts. Neither of you thought these feelings were loathing but neither of you had a name for what was gripping them so tightly, making their hearts feel light and their stomachs knot when the other looked at them. Maybe this feeling wasn’t loathing, if not what was it?

Part 2

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan #arthur x reader #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #wicked inspired #what is this feeling? #no one mourns the wicked #part 1 #van der linde gang

[petty-revenge-stories]

That’s my turn!

In school we play kickball when it rains outside. I usually am at third base and catch poorly punted balls.

That day in particular I decided to switch things up and try rolling the ball, and did well for one roll. Once the ball was kicked we went for the ball and threw it etc. all is well.

Well this one kid picks up the ball, me, expecting him to give it back because I am rolling at the time reach for the ball. Nope! He walks up and shoves me out of the way and says, “bitches can’t ( said more like caint ) roll.”

I personally don’t like being shoved out of the way when everyone else was able to try. So I stood in a general area around the rollers to inact my petty revenge.

Note: This person has already pushed me out of the way several times in other occasions and twisted my leg on the in school water fountain.

Up comes the kicker I know is going to kick center. I jump to catch the ball and act like I drop it. But when I “drop it” I smash it into his face and let it fall to the ground. I wish I had some cool one liner like “guess you can’t catch either.” But no, I just walked away feeling proud of myself.

(source) story by (/u/abesterre)

#pettyrevenge #by /u/abesterre #petty revenge #revenge story #petty revenge stories #revenge stories #last10