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a-little-ray-of-fantasy · 8 months

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Barnaby facts (confirmed by the devs)

Hello! Since I was bored and it's making me so happy to see Barnaby getting so much love lately, I've decided to collect all the info I have about him! I most likely missed something, so if you have info I haven't put here, or got wrong, let me know, ok? ^^

Anyhoo, here we go! **}

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- Barnaby, despite his name, is not a barn owl. He's actually a long eared owl.

- Barnaby isn't his real name; he used to have a different one, back in his alive days. One of the drawings featuring him has him surrounded by many names starting with "B".

- Said illustration has "Who am I?" hidden among the names and words such as "Where" and "Help", hinting at something linked to his identity is torturing him.

- It's been stated that Barnaby is the way he is because of a dangerous experiment that corrupted then killed him, changing him completely as a result.

- Barnaby is asexual homoromantic, and is genderfluid: while he goes primarly by "he/him", he accepts any pronoun.

- He considers his Barnaboos as his "little pretties", and often offers help or advice if they need it; of course, his help may not be as helpful as he believes...

- He hates cheesecake.

- He's not a fan of rootbeer neither; he will serve it in his parties, but he personally won't drink it.

- His favorite food is eye scream, and favorite Halloween treat are caramel apples.

- As for ice cream, his favorite flavor is Strawberry Shortcake.

- Speaking of food, yeah, he doesn't need to eat, nor sleep. But still likes doing it anyway.

- Barnaby is a confirmed sleepyhead. He naps a lot, but never in an ordinary position, or in his bed; he tends to sleep in various gravity bending position, especially upside down.

- Meaning, yes, when Billie comes to steal his gem, he was sleeping!

- And when he sleeps, he apparently snores and hoots.

- While hugging him would result in a kill from him, Ash confirmed Barnaby is a hugger! Hugging him would still involve him squeezing or stabbing you to death, tho'. And he'd feel both soft and slimy to the touch.

- Barnaby is around 10-11ft tall, and with his size-shifting abilities, he can be any height he wants; when he was alive tho', he's as tall as Aristotle, more or less.

- He doesn't need glasses anymore, but sometimes will wear them because they make him look smart. They also tend to follow the eyes' movements.

- Barnaby is very emotional: while it won't stop him from trying to kill you, he will cry if he sees you cry. Ironically, he would comfort you until you feel better. Then he'll kill you.

- It's been confirmed that Barnaby's biggest fear has "already come true".

- His tears are orange, just like his eyes.

- Barnaby is not one to open his heart easily, but the moment he does, there's many ways to reach it. He's quite romantic, tho' not in the usual way: if you gave him a dead rat, he'd consider it a very romantic gesture!

- It's been stated he doesn't have a partner now, but in life, "maybe".

- When it comes to children, it's been confirmed he'd be the best caregiver alongside Dutch, althought for him "it's complicated".

- He apparently had a child of his own, if the picture posted about him during "Father's Day" is any indication. What happened to the little one hasn't been revealed yet.

- Apparently he's the least judgemental character in BBU!

- If he had a TV, it'd be old timey, and he'd watch something really random. Like ducks.

- Barnaby loves small critters; Ash specifically mentions they always linked him with guinea pigs. And indeed, Barnaby had a science guinea pig co-worker once, that turned into an actual guinea pig because of a reckless experiment, and he took care of them.

- He's able to control reality; it's unclear if it's his gem's doing, or his magic power as a ghost.

- In any case, he's now the most powerful character in the game

- Back in his alive days, he was a magic researcher and scientist.

- He actually owned the gem before he turned into a ghost. He even experimented on it, and it's suggested that actually sealed his fate.

- A lot of songs from Oingo Boingo and Lemon Demon fit him: Ash specifically mentioned "Weird Science" as really "Barnabycore"

- Barnaby is autistic: he stims by hooting and flapping his wings when he's excited.

- When he's scared or nervous, he tends to cover himself with his wings.

- Katie said that, if he were a candy, he'd be a sour blueberry.

- Barnaby lives in his own dimension, with his own mansion and everything. And he can travel between realities. Although one comment from Katie suggests he's trapped in there, but it's too early to say for sure.

- According to the devs, he was inspired by Weird Al Yankovic, Lewis from Mystery Skulls and Discord from MLP.

- No, he wasn't inspired by Snatcher, since the development of BBU has lasted longer than A Hat in Time. The two of them canonically know each other tho': only problem is, Snatcher hates Barnaby's guts and finds him too clingy, while the owl adores him.

- He canonically knows Wally Darling from "Welcome Home" and Kira from "Far Fetched" too, since he can travel between realities.

- Barnaby has his guests come to his home by portals that pop just below them. He apparently has kidnapped people before, every once in a while.

- He'd get along well with Dutch.

- It's left vague whether he knows Fantoccio or not.

- He actually has never met Arthur nor Aristotle before the game.

- In any case, he'd find Aristotle really funny, and wouldn't take them seriously.

-- Barnaby is aware of the player, and can break the 4th wall. And that's why only he can use Twitter.

- Whenever he writes on Twitter, hE WRiTSE LIkE THIS!!!

- Barnaby is REALLY mischeavous, and finds no problem in cheating in games. But if YOU cheat, then he gets ticked off.

- This suggests he's also a sore loser.

- Judging by his expression in the cutscene, he doesn't like being interrupted.

- It's been confirmed he smells like meldew. :P

- He could fake glitching out, then attack the moment you come to check out what's going on with him.

- He HATES party crashers. Also scarecrows: not good for conversations. And he's not interested in their crops.

- He can play the organ: Katie even suggested that if you hear it in the background of his chapter, that's him playing it.

- He was a young prodigy, back when he was alive!

- Don't be fooled by his goofy antics: he's very smart, still loves making experiments and can speak a lot of languages.

- Ironically, he hates skulls: he finds them icky.

- He was 25-26 when he died; he's been dead for 100+ years.

- Time is very important for him: that's why there's so many clocks in his parlor. It's been suggested he sees partying as a way to keep track with time.

- Despite that, Barnaby himself in the contest video has briefly stated he tends to forget what year it is.

- There's tons of pictures in his manor: all of them depict him, suggesting he's good at painting.

- Katie has noted that Barnaby "remembers everything". When asked if there's something he'd rather forget, they stated that "what he wants and what he needs are very different things".

- His family is "infinite", apparently. Then again, one of his very early descriptions stated he's got no friends nor family to speak about...

- He's been described as "self interested"

- When asked which character had the most trauma, without giving hints about being traumatized, Katie confirmed Barnaby as the answer, even stating his story makes them the saddest, alongside Fanto's.

- His favorite color is pink!

- He can change himself into lots of animals, and can even clone himself!

- When asked if he can talk to his alive self, Katie said it's "technically possible".

- Back when he was alive, he was noted as a dork and a hardworker, so much so he'd even pull one-nighters before making speeches for his research. Katie jokingly suggested that's why he parties so much: it's to make up for lost time!

- He had a different way of speaking, back when he was alive. And his icks were probably different as well.

- When he gets overwhelmed, he has a shutdown, and goes completely silent.

- At early stages, Barnaby was supposed to be a bug.

- The moment his design as a ghost was chosen, he went through a lot of palette options, like a pale blue color like he came from "The Haunted Mansion", or all colorful like "Dia de los Muertos". Ultimately they settled for his currently shadowy look because, not only it's easier to animate, it was in line with his backstory.

- Barnaby can melt. It's still unclear what triggers such a reaction, but some pictures hint that it's tied to his psychological state.

- Barnaby has been noted that he can talk fancy, but he's not eloquent.

- His favorite dance is the charleston!

- Ash has stated that in the game he is going to be depicted doing something similiar to "singing himself to sleep".

- Apparently he still makes pellets from his mouth. Dead or not, he's still an owl.

- He often puts emphasis on words, sometimes even making his bowtie spin.

- In the latest Twitter post featuring him, when you decode the garbled message, you can read: "Barnaby lies Along in his thoughts, Resting On the floor Neglected". Not only this hints at his turmoil, it also hides the word "BARON". It's unclear if it's his name, a title he possessed, or someone or thing else entirely connected to him.

- He loves recieving scretches on his head.

- Barnaby can cook, but he'll more often than not leave that to the Barnaboos.

- He's not that interested in gardening, even tho' he owns a greenhouse.

- He'd enjoy playing "Luigi's Mansion"!

- In Super Smash Bros. he'd main Meta Knight, even relating to him.

- He'd happily accept smoochies, apparently!

- His favorite party game is "Pin the tail on the owl".

- If you are his friend, he'd consider it even more of a reason to stay in the manor and never leave!

- He has claimed that he's used to give himself self love and compliments, since no one else does it. That, and his tendency to ask others for hugs or if they need a hug to calm down, suggests he's affection starved.

- He tends to react to compliments from fans by smiling bashfully, or happily shouting that he's popular.

- Katie stated that his favorite movie would be something unexpected, like "Marnie & Me" or "Up".

- Barnaby can see everything from the eyes of the plushies that look like him. So, if you bought one... watch out...

- Among his early designs, he also looked like a completely different owl, tall and austere looking, who was the guardian of the forest. It was changed because the devs wanted a goofy boss that could stand out among the others.

- Having said that, it seems Barnaby was the last boss to be officially revealed, and initially the game only had Elaine, Dutch and Fantoccio as the main bosses.

- Barnaby LOVES puns. A good deal of the lines he says when you get defeated in his chase contain a pun.

- You try being slick by stating you want to die of old age? Too bad: Barnaby will make you age rapidly. Despite that, Katie confirmed he doesn't have time related powers...

- Katie and Ash confirmed Barnaby can fly. And such a sight is apparently really hilarious.

- Barnaby loves shiny trinkets: if he sees a sparkly thread, he'll fixate on it and will follow its movements. It's like with a cat following a laser.

- Barnaby has teeth; they're orange and sharp, and come out when he's ticked off, or especially devious.

- When he was alive, he only used he/him pronouns. He became comfortable with all pronouns after he died. He's always been interested in men.

- This goes without saying, but still: he operates on cartoon logic. He can use both his wings AND his feet as hands. Even both feet can act as hands, even when they appear off camera. How? Because it's Barnaby and he can do anything he sets his mind into!

#Billie Bust Up #BBU Barnaby #Barnaby #Fave Character #Comfort Character #Personal Rambles

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inrockstarfashion · 15 days

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Reader is dating Max Verstappen, she let’s slip a Dutch swear word making him (maybe other drivers) break down laughing

I’m Australian with Dutch/Greek roots, so I know swear words in both and have let them slip out 😅🙃 verdomde hel (fucking hell)

I loved this prompt! I relate to this so much, I spent three years in Germany when I was extremely young and I definitely use sheise (shit) at least once a day.

I’m so sorry this is so late. University has been absolutely insane. It’s shorter than I wanted it but it’s been sitting in my drafts for far too long.

The weekend went amazing. Obviously in your biased opinion, being that your very own Max Verstappen got P1 (again). Tonight you were celebrating with Max along with several other drivers and the other wags at a club, getting drunk and letting loose after the intense race weekend.

You sat at a table in the back corner of the club with Max, Lando, and Daniel

“I’m going to grab another drink. Do you want anything?” You asked Max, pinching his sleeve towards you.

Max nodded, “Gin tonic, please.” You nodded your head once and let go of his sleeve, placing your hand on his shoulder for leverage and standing up from the table. You made your way through the crowd of people, finally making it to the bar.

“Gin and tonic and a Negroni, please.” You spoke to the bartender. He turned and began mixing the drinks. You waited patiently and soon the bartender placed both glasses in front of you. You thanked him before picking up the glasses and cautiously made your way back to your table.

Successfully making it back, you passed the gin and tonic over to Max. “Thank you, liefje.” Max said, taking the glass from you. You set your drink on the table and sat back down beside him. Max moved his arm to rest behind your head, you listened in on the conversation currently happening between the three men, trying to catch up on what you’d missed. You picked up your glass, pinching the small, black straw and taking a sip of the smooth red liquid. You decided to get more comfortable and cross your legs but not before smacking your knee on the underside of the table, rattling everything sitting on top, and nearly choking on the Negroni. Pain blossomed through your knee at the impact.

“Verdomde hel.” You muttered, setting your glass down as you were rubbing your knee with your palm. Max immediately went into hysterics. Doubled over, howling with laughter. It scared me at first, Max does often laugh this loud (or hard). You watched him in confusion as you rubbed the top of your knee, trying to wipe away the throbbing sensation.

“Breathe, love.” You reminded him as he continued to wheeze into his hands which were currently covering his face. Tears were streaming down in cheeks as the other drivers at the table squealed and chuckled alongside Max.

“That was the funniest thing I’ve ever heard you say!” Max said, his voice still very shrill. He gathered himself and ran his fingers under his glassy eyes, wiping away the tears. “When did you learn Dutch like that?” He asked, turning to look at you and clearing his throat.

“Oh, uh, I don’t know. My parents spoke little phrases here and there. Guess I picked it up from them.” You shrugged, looking at Max and his rosy cheeks.

Max pursed his lips and nodded his head. He wrapped his arm around your shoulders and pulled you closer to him, giving you a quick kiss to your temple. “You should start talking like that more often.” He said, completely serious with a smile on his face. You threw your head back and laughed.

Ciao!

#max verstappen x reader #max verstappen #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x y/n #formula one #formula 1 drivers #formula1 #formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x you #formula 1 x y/n #formula 1 x female reader

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river-of-wine · 4 months

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I hate the attitude that so many people in the RDR2 fanbase have that gun = strong. When discussing the women - Abigail, Molly and Mary specifically here because they are who I was talking about when I was told these things - who are, to me undoubtedly, strong women who withstand horrible circumstances, I am told that no, actually, they’re not strong. Only women like Sadie are strong, or maybe Miss Grimshaw, on a rare occasion Karen, but always Sadie, because Sadie has a gun and she kills people with it.

I know I pin a lot of things on misogyny in this fanbase, but in a gaming space mostly full of men, you’re going to see a lot of it, and the way men and some women who like Sadie discuss her has always reeked of it to me. They reduce her down to only being a gun, taking away the actual depth and emotion of her character in favour of seeing her as one of the men, because she wears boy clothes and has a gun and she’s nice to Arthur, so she’s cool. Not like Molly who cries all the time and wants to die, not like Abigail who’s doing everything for a man, who aren’t strong at all despite what they have been through because they never go on a shooting spree, which as we know is the only thing that makes a woman strong.

The way Sadie is viewed by these people also completely diminishes the person Sadie actually is. I have so often found that Sadie is only held in such favour by certain men in the fanbase because she is the easiest woman to turn into a man, as it were, or they’re attracted to her. She dresses like them, spends most of her time around them, kills lots of people like them, and she’s still very pretty, so if you only value women for fitting in with men or for how attractive you find them, Sadie is the perfect candidate. She challenges plenty of men, but not Arthur, so she’s a good one, and she’s even got a more neutral stance on Dutch, so she’s doubly a good one, because now she’s not angry with the cool leader either.

This is not to say Sadie gets no hate. She absolutely does, and it’s all as unwarranted as you’d expect. Sadie has established skills with her gun, she’s going to be skilled with it when she picks one up, her and her husband shared the work as she says. She is rash and she has a short fuse, but her husband was murdered and she’s not going to be at all calm about that. Her final mission is optional. If you don’t want Arthur to go on that, don’t make him. She got a lot of people killed unnecessarily. She’s flawed, she’s very, very flawed, and she’s also not the only character to cause the deaths of innocent people during the game. But just as much as overly criticising her behaviour and looking at no motivations or reasoning she might have had, treating her more critically than you would the men, reducing her down to her flaws is an unfair view of her character, so is reducing her down to a generic cool woman character with nothing happening besides guns and chest, because that’s apparently all women are good for to plenty of the men in the fanbase.

The point of this ramble is just that Sadie is more than her gun, she has a whole personality in there, and while I do think it’s a shame that the entirety of her character was hinged on her revenge until the epilogue since it gave us quite a limited perspective on her, we still get to meet her properly when the epilogue comes around and she has mostly gotten over her grief. Sadie isn’t just a gun and her strength doesn’t just come from her killing lots of people, and there is no lack of strength in Molly, Abigail and Mary because they either kill very few people or none at all.

The strength these women have does not come from the bodies at their feet. Arthur Morgan isn’t a strong man because he kills people. Why is that only a condition for the women? Why does Abigail coming from being a teenage sex worker, a dangerous industry at the best of times, to a very young mother trying her best to keep her family together, to give her son a better life than she had not constitute as strength? What about that does not make her a strong person? Same for Mary, same for Molly. Both went through a lot of abuse, Mary did all she could to protect her brother and Molly’s drove her off such a frightened, paranoid edge, leaving her convinced everybody in the gang who she already knew weren’t the biggest fans at her were laughing at her, and yet she still went through multiple sessions of being sweater by the Pinkertons - who, I’ll remind you, treated Strauss rough enough to kill him - and didn’t say a word. How aren’t they strong?

They don’t have guns. Abigail kills Milton, but he’s a character you 100% hate by now. Mary and Molly never kill anybody. If your one condition for a female character being cool and strong is they shoot a lot of people, these three don’t fit that, but if that’s your condition for the women, that says more about you. Stop using Sadie Adler to back up your misogynistic feelings about the other women, she’d hate that

#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #sadie adler #molly o'shea #abigail marston #mary linton #being annoying about the women again because I got comments calling only Sadie strong #like none of the other women are are the other three I mentioned are weak and only cool Sadie with her cool gun is strong #shut up and gain some media literacy please

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37sommz · 9 days

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✼. COME TO ITALY | 2015.

CH. 01. NOW PLAYING: dreams by the cranberries [fluff, angst]. ✼.⠀summary: prema saves michaela's career, 2.1k.

MICHAELA WAS NEVER GOOD AT SITTING STILL. Her mother used to scold her for the fidgety nature that seemed to plague the young girl when she would bounce around the doctor’s office or disrupt the teacher during storytime. Her father thought it was a good trait to have as a racer. He found it helpful that his daughter’s endless supply of energy allowed her the chance to spend many hours in their garage fixing up a broken kart or reviewing racing footage from that day. She would bounce around, spurting out corrections for her form, or her pace.

I’m breaking too late…

too early…

I’m much too wide…

that was a chance to overtake.

As hyperactive as she was, she was also incredibly self-critical. Her uncle always lamented she was much too focused on being perfect—in action, in talent, and in response—that she often missed her chances to celebrate. Her response was always the same, “For every single mistake I make, they give the same amount of grace to the boys on their 10th.” She reasoned that her perfection would eliminate any opportunity for the males in the sport to discredit her.

Not that they needed much opportunity.

✼.⠀OCTOBER 20, 2015 — surrey, england

“WE CANNOT GUARANTEE YOU A SEAT FOR NEXT SEASON.” That was what the team principal told her after she fell short of the rookie cup. Second to il Predestinato and his shiny Dutch car. Though Michaela was rarely still, she stood still in that moment. Staring up at the older Englishman’s eyes as he continued on with some excuse she had no interest in hearing.

It wasn’t until he delivered a short, “The team wishes you the best. We’re sure you’ll have your fair pick of teams to choose from next season.”

Bullshit.

She muttered to herself as she turned on her heels to leave without her famously permanent smile to comfort the older man.

“I outperformed those jerkoffs in every single race,” The words stormed into the silent room as Travis, her uncle and manager, stood across from her.

Approaching her with caution, he gently reached to grab her shoulders, pulling her in for a gentle hug. Meant to calm her, but it did anything but. After a beat, Michaela tore herself away from her uncle, a sigh emitting from his chest signaling to her he was just as frustrated as she was.

“Travis—”

He cut her off before she could say what they were both thinking. His eyes slowly tracked her movements as she paced from one end of the room to the other.

“Mickey, we both know that you outperformed Ryan and Gus. But let’s not pretend we don’t know what’s going on here.”

She scoffed at that, eyes rolling with angry disbelief as her arms found their way back into their pretzel over her chest. Travis, in his stubborn wisdom, continued speaking, “This is a test—”

“A test?”

She exclaimed, arms thrown from their place on her chest. Her head shook from one side to the other as Travis watched on with a subtle sympathy for his ambitious niece.

“They tested me all season.”

The words peaked in tone, hitting Travis’ ear with a sense of pain he hadn’t seen in the 15-year-old since she was back in Australia breaking the news over the phone that her father had been laid off.

“They gave me the least reliable car, they refused to protect me from the pricks who terrorized me off the track. Then, when I get a win in Germany—”

Her lips pursed together at the memory, stopping in the middle of her words to keep herself from crying.

“The only win between the three of us—”

Failure finds her, tears puddled in the corners of her eyes spill over.

“The engineers abandon me on the podium to talk strategy with the other two.”

“How many times do I need to prove that I’m just as,” Stopped to correct her words her head shook again, “...better than the boys?”

It’s Travis’ turn to fold his arms over each other. His head fell back against the door that stood behind his frame, too pained to watch Michaela fight to hold back the tears that kept flowing down the sides of her face. Their lips equally pursed as the silence filled the room once again.

This was what most of their conversations ventured into. That question of being enough tortured both of them, for admittedly different reasons, but the toll of it weighed upon their shoulders the same. It had been a question Michaela frequently asked her uncle, usually in jest, though revealing the depth of her insecurities just the same.

They both knew Travis would eventually have to offer her an answer.

One definitive so she would stop asking.

But Michaela would be lying if she tried to act as if she was naively unaware of the answer Travis fought back every time the question was posed.

She knew the answer was never.

She knew the answer would destroy her if confirmed by the one person who believed she was better than the boys. She knew the answer would tear down every step forward she took in the name of chasing the success she so desperately craved to taste.

So Travis didn’t answer. Neither of them was sure he ever would.

Instead, with his head pressed against the hardwood behind him, he offered up a solution. As he always did.

“We’ll call around in the morning like we always do. We’ll use every trick, every piece of leverage we have. I’m going to get you that seat. Doesn’t matter where, doesn’t matter how.”

When Michaela didn’t respond, his head broke away from its hold tipped back. His eyes met hers searching endlessly for a sliver of hope in her clouded brown eyes. The same eyes she shared with his older brother.

“C’mon Mickey—” He coaxed in an attempt to draw an emotion out of the teenager who stood before him. Any emotion would do in that moment. “I’ll make it happen. You believe me? Right?”

It must have been nearly a minute before she broke the staring contest she held over him. She shrugged her shoulders, arms folded over to offer a sense of comfort to her pained self.

“Yes?” Travis pushed once more, eyebrows raised in a way that reminded her of her father’s own instinctive heroism.

“Yeah.”

A nod was all he needed to cross the space over to her. With a shake of her shoulders, Michaela released the smallest of giggles. His paler hand ruffled at her curly hair, a move to diffuse the tension that hung between the two family members.

“Right,” He exhaled as his hand retreated to its place. “Let’s get out of this shithole.”

✼.⠀NOVEMBER 05, 2015 — london, england

“In a post to her blog, Susie Wolff has announced her formal retirement from Formula One.”

“The prospect of a female driver on the grid.”

“The events at the start of this year and the current environment in F1 the way it is, it isn't going to happen."

IN THE FEW WEEKS SINCE HER DROP FROM JAGONYA, MICHAELA HAD NOT LEFT HER RACING SIMULATOR IF NOT TO EAT OR SLEEP. The TV directly to her left was left on Sky Sports, news within the racing world kept her both alert and melancholy.

Paradoxically, it worried Travis, and his wife, just as much as it reassured them. The duality of the feeling pulled at their emotions as they witnessed the extent of Michaela’s worries that she wasn’t—and couldn’t be—as good as the boys. That’s what most of her hyperactivity came down to. At least in their eyes.

“Michaela, love.”

Bea’s words were as gentle as ever given the depths of her concern for the teenager. Her eyes caught the end of Michaela’s racing journal as it perched on the edge of her desk. Battered from her obsessive writings, Bea picked it up carefully to place it down carefully.

As she turned back to her niece, Michaela’s tired eyes stared up at her, hands still gripped at the wheel of her simulator with the screen paused in wait.

“It’s been ages since you got up.”

With a softness, her eyes conveyed the true weight behind her words. Michaela was more than aware her obsession with perfection worried her aunt, though she was unwilling to give it up. A relaxed sigh left her mouth as she rose from her chair, the simulator shutting down as Bea observed from her stance just across the room.

“Come eat, Travis has news.”

The casual words stunned Michaela more than she would be willing to relate. A knowing smile pulled at the corners of Bea’s mouth before she shrugged calmly.

“I’m not sure what it’s about, but he was quite insistent you come down.”

Those words were all it took before Michaela rushed down the stairs, her hair flying behind her in a messy haze of brown and blonde curls, bouncing against the gravity of her run.

“Mickey?”

Travis’ voice beamed with excitement as he caught the attention of his excited niece.

“We have a guest,” His head shook with a laugh. “Best behavior?” His pinky finger reached for Michaela’s own, an ill-fated attempt to calm her down before the unnamed guest presumably seated in their living room.

A clear of her throat and a twist of their pinkies and Travis led her to the living room.

A full head of dark hair turned to face the overzealous 15-year-old clothed in a raggedy Lightning McQueen t-shirt. With a laugh, he stood to attention, and a hand reached out to shake hers.

“René Rosin,” She exhaled with a breathiness that conveyed her amazement. A smile graced his features at her recognition, sure his decision had been reassured in that moment.

“I heard the Brits left you without a seat for next year.”

“Can you imagine?” She muttered, her smile never faltered despite her uncle’s clearance of his throat as a reminder of her ‘best behavior’ promise from just moments before.

“Sorry, I’m really—”

She cut herself off as René raised a hand to signal he graced the comment.

“When I found out, I can admit I was shocked beyond belief.”

The team principal’s Italian accent bled beautifully into his words. Michaela almost found herself distracted by the flourishes he added to the end of his sentences as she hung on to every word he expressed to her.

“How has your break been?”

Caught off guard by the question, Michaela shrugged her shoulders. With a nervous bite of her lip—terrified and in awe of the principal’s appearance in her living room—she chose her words wisely.

“Unfulfilling. I miss the track.”

With a nod of his head, René exchanged a knowing glance with Travis who gently chuckled at his niece’s criticalness.

Michaela’s mind spun at a mile a minute, an infinite number of scenarios of René’s next words ran through her consciousness. Hope was tussled with paranoia at the back of her mind. Hoping that this would be her moment of redemption but paranoid she would be put in her place once more.

They got someone to convince me to give up.

The thought displaced her for a moment before she snapped back into reality. Her teeth chewed at the inside of her mouth and her fingers pressed into her palms. Both were nervous habits that didn’t escape Travis and Bea’s attention though they exchanged subtle smiles that completely escaped Michaela. With a gentle tap on her shoulder, Travis coaxed Michaela to stop her movement. The action reminded her to exist in the moment before her.

“How soon would you like to be back? Racing?”

Michaela didn’t need the clarification he offered before she burst with attention.

“Tomorrow—today—I… I don’t care when. Just as soon as possible.”

René chuckled again at her eagerness. With a clap of his hands that startled Michaela as much as it excited her, René cleared his throat.

“Then tomorrow, I’ll see you in Veneto.”

Michaela tilted her head in confusion, feeling as if she had missed a few words before the statement.

“Sorry,” She stammered, paranoia crept back into her. “What—what do you mean? V-Veneto?”

His smile did little to calm her until his response accomplished the mission instead.

“How would you like to race for Prema in GP2?”

✼. view:⠀masterlist⠀⸻⠀join the taglist⠀⸻⠀request. ✼. taglist:⠀@cha-hot @certifiedlesbianbaddie @nichmeddar @d3kstar @thewannabewriter

#driver!oc #f1 female driver #f1 fem!driver!oc #f1 grid x driver!oc #f1 grid x reader #formula one fic #formula 1 x fem!oc #formula one imagine #formula 1 #formula ona #f1 fiction #f1 fanfiction #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #formula one x reader #formula one x oc #f1 x oc

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brujahinaskirt · 9 months

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You know, when it really comes down to it, the main thing that tears me to pieces about Arthur & John is encapsulated so nicely in the trope of the Lonesome Cowboy.

RDR2's storytelling is particularly masterful as it shows us that everyone is the mythic Lonesome Cowboy... but at the same time, I believe it manages to quietly suggest there is one true Lonesome Cowboy of the series.

And it ain't Arthur Morgan.

DEEPLY overwritten explanation below!

On the surface, Arthur is clearly set up by RDR2 to be our Lonesome Cowboy. He even sings the song. But is he really? Really, truly? Or is Arthur's brand of lonesomeness a clever model to help us, through comparison and contrast, begin to notice and understand another, deeper type of loneliness?

Arthur thinks he's unlovable and alone because he lacks one specific type of love, romantic domesticity, which he has dreamed throughout his life and consistently been denied. But though his pain is genuine, the idea that Arthur is alone and unloved is almost laughable. R* shows us every single game day that Arthur is surrounded by people who love him, live with him, and depend upon him.

But that's the great irony of the RDR Lonesome Cowboy, right? Arthur feels lonely and believes he is alone because he is a "bad man" and nonbeliever whom "no one will have" (not even God, and he remains true to his atheism through the bitter end [and thank god for that honestly because the last thing I needed was a Come to Jesus cowboy game...]).

But the inverse is true, and his depression is lying to him; Arthur is almost never alone and pretty much everyone in his family unit actively enjoys his company and wants him around. And yes, many of these people are damaged and have trouble communicating that (though fewer than you'd think). And no, it isn't the same as getting married to one person and raising a family with them for the rest of your life. But lonesome? As in, emotionally and/or physically alone?

Nah! Come on, man! Not even close.

Arthur is more than just loved and needed: he's actually understood by those he chooses to let in, because Arthur is definitely capable of telling his closest confidants how he feels and what is lurking in his heart. We see him do this many times. Sometimes with surprising ease and honesty.

When Arthur is physically alone in RDR2, he's wandering at the player's command, and if he wanders for too long, he's eventually retrieved & lambasted by the people at camp who quite openly/forcefully tell him they missed him and worried about him. Even Low Honor Arthur is a popular man at camp, in his own way, the support beam of his strange family (though LH Arthur is more likely to selectively deny that support, or to provide that support with the caveat of verbal cruelty).

A messy run-down of some obvious examples to illustrate my point:

Despite Dutch's deterioration and manipulations, Dutch and Hosea openly dote on him and relish telling embarrassing family stories about their Big Man Old Guard son to each other. Hosea especially frets about and tries to care for Arthur, mostly physically but sometimes emotionally as well. Susan can be abrasive at best, but she also clearly favors Arthur, thinks often about his well-being, and is one of the primary worriers when he's away from camp for too long.

Abigail and Jack completely rely on Arthur for a significant period of their lives, and though Abigail struggles greatly with showing affection & vulnerability, I would argue her primary and most extraordinary mode of care and affection for Arthur is allowing him to help her raise her son. Sure, she needs the help... but Arthur needs the nuclear family experience of being heavily relied on, too, and Abigail makes it clear she understands that about him better than anybody else. (I'd go on to argue that being relied on in a family way is essential for Arthur's self-esteem and is how he can continue to function despite the massive clash between his true nature and his violent lifestyle, for which he constantly berates himself. But that's neither here nor there...)

The Girls (Tilly, Mary-Beth, Karen) actively worry about his mental health and invite him to share his burdens with them, comfort him (each in their own unique way), play games, dance, etc. They do this for Arthur we don't see them do for anyone else in camp (apart from each other, which leads me to believe Arthur is sort of an honorary member of The Girls, though I won't get too much into that here).

Sadie: "Aside from my [BELOVED HUSBAND AND SOUL MATE] Jake, you're the best man I've known."

Though Arthur seems more likely to trust & befriend women/non-masc men, he has masc men friends & confidants too, and most of the men at camp seem to rank Arthur as somehow more reliable than other members. Charles very obviously loves Arthur & vice versa to the point where I tried to pick one demonstrative example and couldn't figure out where to begin. Uncle is a pain in Arthur's ass, but when shit hits the fan, he knows (and tells him) that Arthur is the best man of them all. Lenny, while young, enjoys Arthur's company (though I would argue Arthur feels more strongly about Lenny than the inverse due to Arthur's tendency to protectively fuss over young people). Hell, Sean constantly tells Arthur, word for word, "I love ya, Arthur Morgan!!! I really do!!! I love ya!!!!" He's being goofy, but he's not joking! He said that!

And that's just a surface-level sampling of gang members. These threads run much, much deeper and we could spend essays analyzing each one, but my god this has gone on too long already.

One could argue that Arthur's story aloneness is at the moment of his death, but I can't quite agree. With Save John + High Honor Arthur path especially, I would argue Arthur has never been less emotionally (even spiritually) alone than when he chose to change the very nature of his death from a random consequence of his hard life to an act of love that gives his surviving core family (John, Abigail, Jack) a chance at happiness. In less peaceful endgame scenarios, Arthur might not actually die alone, or even have time to linger on his approaching departure from the world.

So I posit that Arthur is not, was never the Lonesome Cowboy. Arthur is loved as much as he loves others.

I posit that the true Lonesome Cowboy of RDR is John.

John Marston, who on the surface has everything Arthur ever wanted... but who, due to the nature of his heart and what he's seen, cannot bring himself to fully open up in a way that enables him to be truly understood and embraced by anyone, not even the person he comes to love most in the world (Abigail). There's a reason the epilogue feels so shocking and lonely, and while I do think Rockstar could have done a better job on the transitional cinematics from playing as Arthur to playing as John, that crushing loneliness and sense of discomfort and incompleteness is vital.

It feels awful. It feels like we just lost a limb and were thrown back into everyday life with no fanfare, no true honorable sendoff, no closure, no greater understanding of the world, no peace or contentment. And it feels that way because that discordant, jarring dis-allowance of grief is the ONLY mechanism that helps us feel how John must feel now. Because unlike Arthur, John cannot express or unfold or understand his own pain and loneliness. Not to us, the player, and not even to himself. He never grieves.

Of course, when Sadie and Micah drift back into his life, John snaps. He's never grieved! He's been emotionally alone through all of that, even when he has his family and friends, because he can't open up and let them in! He risks destroying his family in a way that would have undoubtedly caused Arthur extreme horror and anger because John's family is not and has never been a cure for John's loneliness, even though John truly loves them more than anything at the end.

John can't express it, so it's these lyrics themselves that serve as the fount of his grief: I ain't got no brother. No wonder Abigail has her own quiet epilogue rendition of this song (and she, too, is a profoundly Lonesome Cowboy in her way, just like Karen, Hosea, Javier, Jack, etc....). Once Arthur is gone from the world, so too is the only person who knew this deeply damaged kid well enough from his wild childhood to really even hope to see into John's heart.

tl;dr: Arthur thinks he's the legendary Lonesome Cowboy, but he's not. He's just lonely, not alone. In reality, the character who is fundamentally alone, truly lonesome, has always been John.

#rdr2 #red dead redemption #john marston #arthur morgan #redmeta #long long long long post

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twola · 1 year

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Yo yo yo! I have a request. Do Arthur x f!reader where he's teaching her to fish because Hosea/Dutch has found out shes weirdly squirmy about fish but she's being a reluctant brat about things and Arthur loses his temper 'GODDAMMIT wOmAn!' Style. Make its as unhinged smutty as you please (so a LOT 😏) Thank you! 😘😘😘

Ooh. Well now - I do not like fish that much, so this isn’t a stretch for me 😂 This was super fun!! I hope you enjoy.

Gone Fishin'

Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader Smut (18+), MDNI

➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link

As Arthur reaches the end of his convalescence after his run-in with Colm O’Driscoll, Hosea has a task for him - teach one of the girls how to fish. The task, he finds out, is a little harder than he imagined. Also, he’s a little harder than he imagined.

Lemoyne was warm. Warm and humid, buggy, and miserable. Arthur’s work shirt stuck to his skin, even after shedding his full union suit underneath his clothes, he’s still too damn hot.

He’s hot and bored.

The pain in his shoulder is just a niggle at this point, but Grimshaw refused to let him go work again, even though the wound has closed up, scabbed over, and is scarred with new pink skin.

Three more days, Grimshaw pointed at him, and with that tone that he knew he would catch hell from her if he disobeyed.

But he’s past languishing under the shade of his tent. Idleness may suit a drunk like Uncle - but not a man like him. He is a man of action.

He needs to do something. Or he is going to go crazy.

“Oh, come on, dear. It’s relaxing.”

“Hosea, I don’t do fish. I don’t like eatin’ them, and I sure as hell wouldn’t like catching them.” You huff, standing at the end of the dock.

Hosea sits next to you, a fishing pole in his hand as his feet dangle over the side of the dock. You fiddle with your skirts as you gaze out at the lake, the water glinting in the afternoon sun.

“It’s an art, dear girl.”

You scowl down at him, “Fish are disgusting.”

He laughs, “Oh, you. We’re on a lake, you’re gonna have to get used to fish real soon, missy.”

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. It’s hot, and you wear just a simple white chemise top tucked into your cotton skirt, baring your arms and decolletage to the sun, a welcome opportunity after almost freezing to death in the Grizzlies.

Hosea looks back toward the camp, where he sees Arthur mulling about. An idea strikes him, genius, as his ideas often are. He stands up, and waves over to the recovering gunslinger, “Arthur, c’mere! Got somethin’ for you to do!”

“No- Hosea,” you whisper harshly, clenching your fists in your skirts, “What are you doing?”

Arthur approaches the end of the dock, running his hand through his long beard, not having shaved in weeks at this point. “Hosea,” He grunts, then looks to you, “Miss.”

“Dear, you need to learn the fine art of fishing. And Arthur over here? He needs somethin’ to do other than sit around pissin’ off Grimshaw.” Hosea waves his free hand toward the camp,

Hosea claps Arthur’s back with his free hand, then turning and tugging you toward the gunslinger on the dock.

“Now you kids take the boat and get on out there, it’ll do both of you some good.”

“Wait wait, wasn’t it you and Dutch makin’ fun of me for the trout incident? I shouldn’t be teaching anyone how to fish.” Arthur shakes his head.

“Nonsense, boy. You caught plenty last time we went out. Besides, it’ll get you out of camp.”

“Fine.” Arthur groans, grabbing the fishing rod from the older man’s outstretched hand.

“Hosea-” You whine, but your benefactor nods his head, cutting you off.

“Go on.”

You roll your eyes, following Arthur as he steps into the rowboat moored at the dock, taking his outstretched hand, and helping you step into the small boat.

“You kids have fun now.” Hosea waves, a smile on his face.

Arthur grunts, picking up the oars and pushing off from the dock. You sit in the bow of the rowboat, scowling, as Arthur rows away from the camp, scanning the horizon. A hushed quiet falls as he guides the boat southbound, the camp becoming smaller and smaller as he rows deeper out into the lake.

“Why do you want to learn how to fish?”

“I don’t.” You huff, your arms crossed over your chest.

“Then why the hell are we out here?” Arthur stops rowing, a scowl also settling in on his face.

“Cause you can’t say no to Hosea.”

“Looks like neither can you.”

An awkward silence settles in between you.

“Well, we’re out here now. Might as well make the best of it.” Arthur says, pulling the oars into the hull of the boat and picking up the fishing rod. He holds it out to you.

You let out an exasperated sigh, refusing to uncross your arms.

Arthur grumbles, adjusting the hat on his head, before drawing the rod back and pulling a feathered lure from his pocket, placing it on the hook. He casts the line further out into the lake.

“Didn’t really plan on fishin’ today, otherwise I’d have some live bait - worms or crickets or whatnot.” He turns back to you, tugging on the rod slightly, glancing back as the lure bobs in the water.

You glower, scrunching your nose at the mention of live bait.

“I hate fish.” You grit out.

“Oh, hush.” Arthur chides. The line pulls, and he feels something bite.

“Here ya go!” He pulls back the line, the fish hanging in the air. With a grin, he swings the pole in your direction, the bluegill flopping on the line, getting closer to your head.

You scream, standing up in the boat and batting the fish away from your face, causing Arthur to jerk to the side, dropping the fishing pole in surprise. The boat violently bobs side to side with your movement.

“Goddamnit, woman!” Arthur yells, nearly falling over the side of the boat as he tries to catch the pole that you batted away from him.

“I told you I don’t like fish!” You screech, sitting back down slowly as the boat bucks.

“That’s it, Christ; you’re such a goddamn brat!” Arthur throws the pole within the hull of the boat and grabs the oars, thrusting them into the water forcefully. He heaves the oars, forcing the boat forward as he angrily pulls and pushes back toward the shore, breathing heavily as he propels the boat through the water.

“Arthur - wait-”

“Waste of my goddamn time,” He continues, fuming. It actually feels good to work his muscles like this.

“Arthur!”

By then, it’s too late. The boat hits a sandbar and beaches itself, and the speed at which Arthur was rowing causes the boat to lurch violently, sending you flying forward into his body, and you both tumble to the hull of the boat, a jumble of limbs and your skirts.

Arthur pushes you up, and you nearly fall backward with the force of his shove.

He swears as you get your footing, sitting up and looking for the oars as he pulls himself back up to his seat.

The oars are nowhere to be found. He probably dropped them when he beached the damn boat. Actually, as he squints, he sees one floating away from the sandbar, back toward the middle of the lake.

“Shit.” He curses.

“You idiot.” You sneer at him, lifting your boot to find it wet with lakewater, a hole having sprung in the bottom of the hull, the wood splintered as water rushes in. You hike up your skirts as the level of water rises within the boat.

Arthur jumps out of the boat, grumbling, looking this way and that as you climb out as well. The sandbar the boat is beached upon is on one of the small islands off the shore of the lake, a good fifty feet to the mainland. He curses to himself as he looks back into the boat, the hull filling with water.

“Now what?” You ask critically as you let your skirts down, following him as he stalks along the island’s shore.

He doesn’t answer, looking around at the sandy ground beneath his boots.

“Watch out for the snake.” He points at the ground next to you, and your eyes dart downward as a brown water moccasin slithers by.

You scream, jumping toward him in fear away from the snake as it glides away into the water, and in a jumble of limbs, you’re somehow climbing the man as he stumbles backward.

“Get me out of here!”

Arthur tries to have some sort of propriety as he tries to regain his balance, but it’s hard when the only hold on you he can get is to loop his hands under the backs of your thighs. You’re clutching at his shoulders, trying to get yourself off of the ground, and end up finding purchase on him by wrapping your legs around his hips, your skirts askew as you pant in terror.

“Fuckin’ stop-” Arthur grunts, stumbling backwards, finally losing his battle with gravity as you and he tumble into a sand dune. His hat flies off, rolling on its rim in a circle, finally settling a few feet away.

Of course, of course, it couldn’t suit him to land in any kind of proper or decent way. No, no, he had to land completely on top of you, slotted between your hips, your skirts creeping up while his traitorous, immature, villainous cock swells at the pressure of his weight against your clothed cunt.

The air has been knocked out of your lungs, but beneath him, you gasp as he tries to move. Your knees frame him, skirts fallen to your hips to show your skin. Your arms are still thrown around his shoulders as he tries to push himself up, his hands slipping in the sand, causing him to crumble down on you, his hips fully pressing down on yours.

Shit. Shit.

He’s trying to think of anything - rotten meat, Uncle’s laundry - anything to stave off the growing erection tenting within his pants. But alas, he is a slave to his own biology, as his cock stiffens and his blood rushes into his groin.

You stare up at him. His eyes dart away in embarrassment, a blush deepening on his cheeks.

Then, you do something that throws him even further into this pit of arousal he finds himself in.

You slowly roll your hips against him and he cannot help but to let out a low moan in response and press his swollen cock against you harder.

Christ, your hair has fallen from its bun, spread out on the sandy soil of this island like some sort of halo.

Two minutes ago he wanted to throttle you. Now, underneath him, he wants to make you gasp and cry and oh, to say his name in a high whine-

“Fuck-” he curses, but before he can go any further, your hands move from his shoulders to the back of his neck, and you pull downward gently - not enough to move him, but enough to give him permission.

He waits for a moment, searching your wide eyes, your open, wet lips, and in that moment, he throws caution to the wind and leans down to slot his lips against yours. You continue to roll your hips against him, crossing your ankles over his back in a surefire sign of what you wanted, whining into his mouth.

And fuck, if he wasn’t going to give it to you.

As he leans back on his knees, sliding his arms from around your waist, he paws his suspenders down and starts unbuttoning his pants, desperate to free his swollen cock. He grunts with a hint of satisfaction as he pulls his length from his pants, closing his eyes as he strokes himself several times. He faintly recognizes your squirming beneath him, and when he’s opened his eyes again, hand still on his cock, he’s struck by what he sees. You’ve shimmied down your bloomers, skirts flipped up and over your hips, pooling across your waist.

Your folds glisten with moisture, and his hips jut forward near uncontrollably, his cock seeking out your warmth, his body yearning to bury itself within your hips.

“Y- you sure-?” One last chance - one more opportunity to back away from the precipice - to realize that you are both being ridiculous - one second ready to kill each other, the next…

“Arthur please.”

Well, there goes his reservations.

One of his large hands spreads out over your hip, the other around the base of his cock, and he presses the swollen, dripping head of his cock against your folds, trailing downwards as he parts them to your opening, groaning in pleasure as he slips in half an inch.

His hand leaves his cock as he leans back over you, arm landing next to your shoulder, as he gently presses his hips forward, sliding in as you shut your eyes in overstimulation. By the time his hips press against your own and he’s sheathed in you to the hilt, your eyes flutter open as you let out a breath you were holding. Arthur’s other arm comes up to bracket you in, his mouth hanging open as a strand of his honeyed-brown hair falls forward between his eyes.

He lowers himself down to his elbows to press himself completely against you, seeking out your lips again as he bucks his hips forward, causing you to mewl into his mouth, your arms wrapping around his neck, one hand cupping the back of his head, fingers threading into his long hair, grasping it tightly as he settles into a rhythm of rolling his hips back and forth.

You pull on his hair and he groans, thrusting hard into you in response. Seems like you aren’t over your surly mood. He finds a hard and punishing rhythm, again feeling good to work his muscles after his convalescence. It had been much longer than that since he’s worked these particular muscles.

“A-Arthur-” You moan loudly as he continually strokes that spot within you. He grunts in response, pulling his cock nearly out of your cunt before slamming his hips back into you.

You shriek in pleasure, and for a moment he’s thankful he’s marooned the two of you on this island yards away from the shore of the lake.

“Y’gonna come for me?” He harshly whispers into your ear, “Y’gonna come on my cock?”

That does it.

You cry out, back arching against him, head thrown back into the grassy dune, a high keening sound that makes him moan helplessly in response, gyrating his hips as your cunt clenches hard around his length, warm and wet and perfect.

“Fuck - fuck - woman…” He groans, rutting forward as you come down from your high, his cock pulsing and covered in your warm slick, and he is forced to pull himself from you, gliding out as he sits back on his knees and starts to pump himself.

You look up and god, is he a sight. His hips buck forward as he strokes his length, his mouth hanging open and muscles of his abdomen clenching under his shirt tails. A low moan escapes him as his other hand flies to cover the head of his cock, and he comes with his eyes screwed shut, looming over you.

He pants, for several moments, before opening his eyes. You sit up, needing, needing more, and you loop your hands around his neck again and pull his lips to yours, pressing your tongue into his mouth. He grunts in surprise, but leans into the kiss, tangling his tongue with yours.

You pull back, a smile creeping across your face, and as he opens his eyes, he cannot help the same.

“Is that how your lessons always end?” You laugh as he tucks himself away with his clean hand, leaning to the side to wipe his other hand in the grass as a half a smile creeps across his face.

“Only when the student is difficult.” He rumbles, tucking his shirt back into his pants as you start to pull your skirts down over your thighs.

“Mm.. I do remember you offering to teach me to shoot before Blackwater.”

Arthur arches an eyebrow as he rebuttons his pants and slides his suspenders back up. “Y’gonna be a brat about it?”

“Of course.”

He smirks, reaching for his hat on his knees. You push yourself up to stand, shaking your skirt free of sand and grass as you look for where you tossed your bloomers in your fit of passion.

“Arthur.”

“Mhm?” He replies, running his hand through his long hair before placing his hat back on his head.

“How are we going to get back to shore?”

Hosea smokes a cigarette sitting by the scout fire, the sun having gone down some time ago.

He’s starting to feel a niggle of concern that the two of you aren’t back. The both of you can certainly take care of yourselves.

You’re stalking back toward your tent, your clothes soaking wet, hair plastered down your neck. You refuse to give Hosea even a passing glance as you head back to the women’s tent.

Hosea arches an eyebrow as Arthur walks closer, also fuming. Also soaking wet. The gunslinger looks at Hosea briefly before carrying on.

“Lesson didn’t go as planned.”

#rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan x reader #red dead fandom #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption #red dead fanfic #red dead smut #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan x female reader #tumblr prompt #drabble #twolafic #gift fic

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adventuringblind · 7 months

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Enemy territory part 2 please!!! I need the angst 🥵

Enemy Territory Part Two

George Russell X Horner Reader

Summary: The end of a very good relationship

Warnings: Everybody is sad, Lewis is kinda the villain here (I'm sorry!)

Notes: IDK WHAT HAPPENED?! I posted the first part as a full fic but when I went to look at it to see if I could come up with a second part it was gone! This is really just the ending that was supposed to be on the first part....

Masterlist

Max had been doing his best to throw Christian of your trail for weeks. You and George, to your credit, are very good at sneaking around.

But Christian is not a stupid man, and he knows his daughter well enough to see that something is going on. He's noticed how she smiles at her phone more often. He catches her, walking around the paddock with no destination he knows about.

Max is probably the best distraction she could ask for. The Dutch doesn't need an excuse to be chaotic.

Which is how you managed to escape to see George before a race and steal one of his sweatshirts. It's cold. You really can't be blamed for needing to stay warm.

As is routine now, you creep through the Mercedes territory. Ducking, dodging, and weaving around all the staff.

George lets you in as soon as you get close. You claim he has some sort of radar with your on it. He can find you at the other end of the paddock, in clubs, in hotels, all without ever asking where you are.

George tugs you into a tight embrace. "I miss you."

"I miss you, too. Can I come to yours tonight? We can partake in the steamy extracurriculars I know you enjoy." You wiggle your eyebrows playfully at him.

You did manage to make it to his room unseen. It's not like the hotels are far apart. Plus, Max and your dad are out celebrating another victory. Less ducking and dodging around her own hotel.

They thought they were in the clear. That everything was going to be alright and they could spend the night in each other's arms. However, in their escapades, they had failed to notice Lewis catching on to them. The two are now completely unaware that Lewis holds photo proof of their meeting.

Everything goes smoothly until the next race weekend. Your father is in a practically spur mood all Thursday morning. Max doesn't have a clue as to why. Until you receive a text asking you to meet your father at the Mercedes hospitality. Then you proceed yo have a lovely breakdown in Max's driver room as he tries to convince you that you and George will be okay.

You end up convincing him to walk with you. It's a short walk filled with anxiety. People give you and Max odd looks as you enter the building and locate Toto's office.

Lewis is standing outside the door. Inside is her father, Toto, and George. That all-consuming guilt and dread Max had tried to help is back with a vengeance.

Max waits outside and tries to give you one last reassuring smile as you close the door behind you.

"How long has this been going on?" It's Chirstian who asks the first question. Arms crossed over his chest to show his disapproval.

George places himself in between you and the other two males. "About ten months now."

"George, you're entertaining the daughter of our biggest competitor. Either you split with her and never see each other again, or I'll be forced to find a new driver."

"You're giving us an ultimatum?" You're asking me to choose?" The Brit spits venom from his mouth. His anger wet with what his boss is asking of him.

"Could you give us a moment, please?" You ask in such a small voice it's almost unrecognizable.

The two older males leave the room. Immediately, you can see the heartbreak in George's eyes. The situation itself isn't fair. It's not what either of you want.

"I'll leave. I won't drive anymore."

You shake your head no and reach to sup his face in your hands. "You have a championship still to win. Dreams you've yet to achieve." It hurts seeing the tears pool in his eyes. "I'll still be cheering you on. You've given me the best year I could have ever asked for." You kiss him. A final kiss goodbye. A promise to not forget the happiness he'd given you. "I love you."

You leave George in the office alone. Barely stopping to drag an enraged Max with you. He'd been chewing out Lewis since he found out it was him who told.

Then you break.

It's 2026, and Mercedes has been doing fantastically well. George is in the lead for the title this year.

A woman watches on the television as he crosses the line in first, finally taking his first championship title.

She tears up a bit. What she'd given up those years ago finally paying off for him. The cruel heartbreak she'd had to endure was paying off.

She watches as George jumps out of the car. He hugs his team. Celebrates with his friends. They yell and chant.

Then he kisses another woman. He'd moved on from her. Found love once again.

She'd not been able to. Her life became a loop on repeat. Distanced from her family and friends. Her mind finds horrendous ways to cope.

People had reached out. Namely, Max. Even coming to check on her when he could.

But for now, she's satisfied. Her soul finally at peace. A broken heart mended by seeing his accomplishment.

She wipes her tears away when she hears the patter of small feet. "Did I miss it, Mama? Did I miss the race?"

Two and a half years go by horribly fast. The little boy rubs sleep out of his eyes and looks between her and the screen. "We can watch again, baby."

"Did Uncle Maxy win?"

"No, your favorite did."

His eyes light up as he does some kind of victory dance to celebrate. His eyes wander up to the screen where George is getting doused in champagne.

They show a close-up of his face. Just when the little boy turns to look at her. It's amazing how he has George's eyes. They look exactly the same.

"I wanna meet him!"

"I hope one day you do, Georgie."

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ccghastly · 9 months

Text

Arthur and Sleep

A series of Headcanons.

When he's in camp he is out, nothing short of gunfire and screaming can wake him

The hustle and bustle of camp actually helps him sleep, he's a very light sleeper when camping alone or out on the range. I lied, If there's a sudden silence in camp that will also wake him up

If Miss Grimshaw saw him ride in she wakes him at around 10am, if he rode in during the night and she didn't see him, she leaves him to sleep. She also shoos away and scolds everyone else that tries

Dutch! You leave that boy alone and let him get some sleep. If you need something done why don't you go bother Uncle, the useless layabout!

John is very jealous of how Arthur can sleep in full daylight like it's nothing. John only gets good rest if it's completely dark, hence why he bothers to completely batten down his tent every night

Arthur is a sleepy cuddle monster, if anyone gets within arms reach he will cling on and drag them down for cuddles. Which would be all well and good if he wasn't also a living furnace

He gets so warm during the night. It feels like the moon crests and he just starts sweating. Hates sleeping in an enclosed tent if it's not raining, thus why he refuses to use the sidewalls of his tent in camp. He needs any bit of a breeze that he can get. Great for the colder months however. Everyone wants to share a tent with Arthur in the colder months.

Jack gets first priority cause he's a child and he's teensy, but it is a vicious race for who else gets to share. Hosea is usually also a shoo in because he has Papa privilege, but Javier has a suspicious habit of being in the tent just chatting away when the time for bedding down comes and for Arthur to kindly extend an invitation to just stay the night. So, of course Javier obliges him.

Javier is Mexican down to his bones, he does not like the cold.

Arthur can and will nap absolutely everywhere in the camp, but it happens most often if he's sitting with someone. If there's a gap in conversation there's a 50/50 chance of him dozing off. And these odds rise in proportion to the length of the silence. Charles finds it very cute, he's very honored that Arthur trusts him that much. Hosea takes direct advantage of it by inviting Arthur for a chat then deliberately timing things so he falls asleep. Sean and Lenny have made a sport of timing it and the whole camp gets in on betting on how long it'll take this time, the current record is One minute and twenty-seven seconds.

Kind Anons have requested versions about the others so here's those links if that interests you↓

John and Sleep

Charles and Sleep

Javier and Sleep

#Arthur Morgan #John Marston #ccghastly #rdr2 #red dead redemption two #red dead redemption 2 #hosea mathews #susan grimshaw #sean macguire #lenny summers #charles smith #javier escuella #rdr2 headcanon #headcanon

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ilylovelyz · 9 months

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haikyuu as dog/cat breeds (prt 2.)

prt 2 lets gooooo - i really like pondering 🤔 about their breeds (includes aobajohsai and shiratorizawa) - c prt 1.

aobajohsai

oikawa - he's such a ragdoll. pretty and nice coat, not too long/fluffy or thin/short. won many cat competitions. he's real sweet and friendly with your guests but once they leave he'll attack your leg for treats. he's manipulative? really smart too. a very loud cat and loves to play. can be a total brat and knock your shit over just to fuck with you. absolutely traumatizes your dogs if you have any, gets really pissed off if you smell like another cat and almost borderline bullying if you do get another cat.

iwaizumi - either a tosa or dutch shepard. he's really energetic and you thought he would calm down as he grows but nope! he's still dragging you out of bed for walks lol. somehow gentle and rough while playing with you. doesnt really bite you, only nibbles. not rlly protective of you but wary of strangers, not really hostile and open to guests. barks a lot, but will quiet down if you shush him cuz hes a good boy. def has a silver chain for a collar cuz hes cool like that 😈 really good with kids, never runs away because he's content with the life he has.

akira - a really lazy snowshoe cat. can be really mean but sweet afterwards cuz he feels bad. the type to run away if you start to cry. sleeps majority of the time and usually only eats when hes awake. really curious but doesnt like it when you have guests. likes to sleep in the middle of your bed and will fight back if you try to move him. doesn't like being picked up. at first he wasnt really cuddly but now he'll be all up in your business if you lay down.

kentaro - boerboel. he's super aggressive and protective of you, barks at everyone who isnt you. he's super rough when playing and has given you a few scars. really heavy but i can see him being kinda cuddly. he'll sit at your side, ears perked up and doing that half bark thing dogs do when something catches their eye. definitely has a chain and you have to use it a few times cuz he doesn't listen that well. fights with any dog, but does have this specific friend thats not even a dog, but a cat 😭 loves to play fetch. doesnt run away because his instincts to protect the house are too strong. not the best with kids 😬

mattsun - simple black cat that is really chill. not necessarily friendly but doesnt run away from strangers. super sleepy and his meows are really deep for some reason. not super vocal but will occasionally meow for your attention. not too cuddly but sweet. when he cleans himself it's super loud and almost obnoxious and always at night when ur trying to sleep. not very fond of dogs. doesn't necessarily get scared of anything unless he's being toyed with.

hanamaki - a simple labrador. not necessarily full of energy and lays around, not even sleeping, just watching you. kinda judgy of you for some reason and always side eyes you. not really cuddly either and just overall just exists. occasionally howls tho. sometimes he'll have the urge to play, but it's not really playing but rather straight bullying cuz he's a jerk 😒 was a really cute puppy and you miss those days a lot

shiratorizawa

ushijima - please i was so excited for this one, he's a saint bernard. a really big and heavy one too. was even big as a puppy. doesnt bark often but when he does it's loud, only really barking for your attention. he's really good with commands. likes walks and occasionally plays. he doesn't get along too well with other dogs, just because he just stands there and watches. gives the sweetest puppy eyes ever. again, really heavy, and growls when someone gets into his personal space. but he is really patient, but will run away from little kids. has teeth, but doesnt know how to use them 😕

tendo - a greyhound. a really silly one that is so cuddly, he's practically glued to you. hes so energetic and always slipping. real vocal but not too loud. gets really sad if someone doesnt wanna play with him ☹️ really great with kids and really protective of them. not necessarily protective of you. chases after cars 100%. HE HAS A FAVORITE TOY. has kinda severe separation anxiety 💔

semi - hes a beautiful grey tonkinese cat. his personality is really dependable whether he slept well. moderately playful and just really nice. hes really chill, but can get a little annoyed if someone is bothering him. not scared of fireworks or loud noises, moderately vocal. he can be a bit of an asshole tho 💔 but its okay cuz hes pretty 🫶🏼

shirabu - obviously the biggest asshole so hes a chausie. you got him cuz he was really beautiful and calm as a baby, but you woke up the same night you got him to him clawing at your toe that was poking out of your blanket. bites hard and makes you bleed. gives many battle scars 😒 surprisingly very vocal and has screaming matches with you. not necessarily very playful but he does chase you from time to time. bro he has such a mean face 😭 not fond of people or other animals. sometimes cuddles, sometimes.

goshiki - a jack russel terrier 😭 please he's all bark no bite 🤦🏽‍♀️ tries to act tough and menacing but the only thing thats menacing is the way hes a squeaker 🌚 real playful and kinda protective, but theres not much he can rlly do cuz hes a small dog. cant even fight off a cat (shirabu), and will cry out if something bigger than him goes after him. hes a real good boy tho, absolutely smitten for you and has separation anxiety if ur gone for a little too long.

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immajustvibehere · 11 months

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Spark (6/8)

Arthur Morgan x fem!Reader - Enemies to Lovers

Chapter 6 summary: While still recovering from your wound, you get wind of a trap being layed out for Arthur. You might be the only one who can protect him from something bad happening...

link to my masterlist

chapter 1, chapter 2, chapter 3, chapter 4, chapter 5

Warning: You have to live with my headcanon that Micah had something to do with Arthur getting kidnapped by the O'Driscolls.

3800 words, 18 minutes reading time

Your wound was healing agonisingly slow. Or at least, it seemed like that to you. Miss Grimshaw had sternly forbidden you to leave your bedroll for the first two days. Afterwards, she'd remain on high alert and snatch everything out of your hands that was even remotely heavy.

Grimshaw also urged you to take care of your wound, so it wouldn't get infected. She offered to have a look at it. Charles and Hosea also offered their expertise, showing that they meant well. Yet, you always refused. Though the sight wasn't a pretty one, you insisted on taking care of it yourself. Had Arthur offered...you might haven't refused. But only because he was the one who stitched you up in the first place. You knew he was capable and secretly, you longed for his gentle hands, but you’d never openly admit that.

The following week passed with a certain routine. You'd wake up early, often forced awake by the pain in your abdomen, and share a cigarette with Arthur. You never said much in the morning. The only thing he usually mentioned in a gruff and raspy morning voice what he'd do today and how the previous mission had gone. Then you'd do the chores that Grimshaw allowed you to do: cleaning weapons, washing the dishes and chopping vegetables. This aside, the days were marked by sitting by the fire and listening to whoever's story was being told at the moment.

Tonight, as it grew late and camp gradually emptied, with every person retiring to their designated bedroll one by one. Micah was the only one left. And while you had enough alcohol in your system to numb the occasional pain in your abdomen, Micah had decided to get absolute shit faced. If you understood correctly, it had something to do with losing some decent amount of money while gambling earlier. For the past half hour, your half-brother had been mumbling a bunch of nonsensical words, you had stopped bothering to listen. But suddenly, you perked up your ears.

"Ohh, I gotta tell you something", Micah rambled on, but he put such peculiar stress on the words, it made your stomach turn. "You know some people here...", he went on.

Micah paused and grumbled, opening his sixth bottle of beer. Honestly, not too much of an astonishing number, hadn't he already arrived drunk at camp a couple of hours earlier.

"Some people here ain't no good for the gang...just gonna make a lot of trouble down the line", he slurred.

Though your thoughts on "those people" had changed significantly in the last weeks, you knew better than to let Micah know that. So you answered with an air of nonchalance and a hint of mockery: "The women, you mean?"

"No, no", Micah chuckled darkly.

"The hophead of a priest?", you swallowed after delivering these words. Swanson was getting on your nerves daily, but he had proven to be a good listener.

"You ain't thinkin' big enough!", Micah gestured some huge motion with his hands, "Morgan's gone soft recently...Ain't no use for that. I'll just send him up the ridge and maybe they'll take care of it", he hiccupped. Your eyes searched the camp, you weren't sure why, but maybe you wanted to see if Arthur was still awake. At this very moment, you couldn't make any sense of Micah's words and when you looked at him again, his body was slumped over with soft snores escaping his open mouth.

The next day, lunch had barely passed when you heard the commotion, whose cause was a livid discussion between Dutch, Hosea, Pearson, Arthur and Micah. Something about Colm O'Driscoll and a parley. You hadn’t been properly introduced to the feud Dutch had with Colm, but you have had enough run-ins with his boys. After all, when you stole the bank stage with Micah and Arthur, they had almost managed to surprise you.

While you watched from a distance, the discussion seemed to have found an end. Dutch and Micah strolled off to their horses, followed by Arthur, who reluctantly trailed behind them. He wasn’t so happy about the conclusion of the conversation.

"Fuck", you mumbled. Is this what Micah had been talking about? You waited until the group had left, staring at the dust their horses had stirred up. You had to follow. This uneasy feeling in your stomach that Arthur was in danger wouldn't leave.

For a moment you took a deep breath and thought: "The heck? Why should I care?" Only to blink and admit to yourself, you cared a fucking lot. There was no way denying that. As Arthur stitched you up, his warm hands all over your body, that did something to you. You never thought anyone would ever treat you this kindly. And even though the circumstances had been...peculiar...you didn't care. If there was even the slightest chance....of chasing this feeling could pay off...

You strode towards your horse, aware that neither you, nor your horse, were carried any weapons. Grimshaw still had a stern look at you and when you tried to carry your guns yesterday, it was frowned upon with some demeaning remarks. You were still grounded to camp chores and resting your wound, though you were pretty sure it had beautifully healed the last couple of days. It didn't matter now. You sneaked to your horse and seized the opportunity to ride off before anyone could tell you not to.

Arthur was lying in the grass, the scope of his gun pressed to his eye. He didn't exactly know what the hell he was doing here. It hadn't sound like a good idea before, and it didn't feel right even now, though he had a good view of the surroundings and saw that the coast was clear. A sigh escaped Arthur’s lips when he suddenly heard grass behind him rustling. He was in the motion of turning around when the sound of a muffled groan came almost simultaneous to something warm splashing onto his exposed arm.

When Arthur looked up, he saw you slitting the throat of an O'Driscoll that had sneaked up right behind him. There was still some life in him when you whirled him around to bury your knife in his stomach. Once, twice,...

"God damn fucker!", you hissed, your knife about to stab him for a third time, when Arthur tackled you from behind and pulled you on the ground.

"Jesus, woman! What the hell are you doing here?", Arthur hissed.

"Saving your ass, you ungrateful bastard!", you yelled back. The adrenaline was rushing through your body and you feared your heart would jump out of your chest any second now. Your horse was at some distance, so nobody would hear you ride up and you had sprinted the last yards.

Arthur had to give you credit for staying almost clean after pretty much gutting the fellow, most of the blood had landed on him, anyways. When you opened your mouth again and sat up, angrily wrangling yourself out of Arthur's grip, you spoke more quietly, and yet not quietly enough for a mission where the job was to stay hidden: "This fucker was about to knock you out, Arthur! If I hadn't been-"

Before you could finish the sentence, Arthur's hand was slapped onto your mouth and he grabbed your collar, to pull you into a lower position again.

"Shhh! I hear you. Stay low, damnit", Arthur's eyes bore holes into you as he tried to get his point across. For some moments, neither of you said anything. Your heavy breathing, which you had trouble calming down, was the loudest noise. With his big hand pressed on your mouth, you feared you might suffocate if you didn't calm down. This man's blue eyes that looked you up and down did nothing to relax the situation, quite the opposite actually. The thought alone that they would be closed by now if you hadn't stepped in made you sob, muffled by Arthur's hand that was still covering your mouth.

It wasn't only that. Your suspicion had turned out to be true. Micah knew. He fucking knew. This whole thing was designed to get rid of Arthur, and aside from Micah himself, only you were in on that. Arthur too, was wrecking his brain right now. He quickly checked on Dutch and Colm before he lifted his hand off your mouth only to put his index finger onto his lips, indicating you to be quiet.

"We gotta get out of here. They know you're up here", you whispered. Your voice was shaky, which you found deeply embarrassing. But you were upset.

"M'kay darlin'. Come on", Arthur announced, gripping his rifle and crawling away from the edge before he stood up to go to his horse. You followed, flabbergasted. Darling? Where the fuck did that come from? He hadn't even given you time to react. You just hurried after him, catching up when he was mounting his horse.

"We gotta lay low for a while. I'm not supposed to be here and I dare say you aren't expected back either", you said as you pulled yourself onto your horse.

"I gotta tell Dutch that this was a set-up. I knew it was a bad idea to begin with", Arthur answered.

"No. Please", you almost whined. Arthur looked at you with knitted eyebrows. He did not understand why telling Dutch was bad idea, but he hadn't expected that tone from you either, so he decided to give in.

"Okay. I know a nice spot..."

You rode off, leaving the Heartlands behind. The next best creek you passed, you used to get some blood off of you. Despite stabbing the O'Driscoll from behind, you still had managed to get your arms dirty. Arthur watched you in silence. The last couple of questions he had asked had fallen on deaf ears, so he had given up poking for answers right now.

Later, you entered a wooded area. The sky had taken a mesmerizing shade of purple and the presence of some darker clouds in the South suggested that the drizzle that had just started was about to transform into a solid rain shower. It already smelled like damp earth. Guiding your horses with ease, you navigated through the light-filled gaps between the trees. They did a decent job of shielding you from the rain, except for the occasional drop that would land on your arm.

"I camped here a while ago", Arthur explained as he jumped off his horse when you reached a nice place, "'s a good spot."

"Yeah. I'll get a fire started", you said briefly, hitching your horse and walking off to quickly grab some dry twigs. Arthur was left behind at the spot he had picked and kept wondering at your behaviour. He noticed that you didn't have anything on your horse, no spare clothes, or a tent...So, instead of putting up his tent the normal way, he used every inch of the material, not fixing the corners in the dirt, but spanning it in between some trees.

You returned with wood and build a fire. Nothing was said until Arthur had warmed some beans and passed you the can before he had tried some. His eyes were begging for some explanations, but you sighed: "Please. Don't ask."

"I'm not", Arthur put his hands up in defence and though he remained silent, you felt his gaze on you. Trying your very best to ignore it, you gulped down the beans.

"Y/N...", Arthur started.

"Mh?", you replied, mouth full, starring into the flames. The fire had become strong enough to withstand the occasional raindrop, but the air around you had cooled significantly.

"Is your wound okay?", Arthur asked, "You have some blood on your shirt..."

You checked the brownish stain on your shirt, it was indeed at the same height as your wound should be. The wound which should have healed by now.

"Did ya take the stitches out already?", Arthur inquired when he saw your sceptical look.

"Planned on doing it today, but some things came up", you shot back.

"Want me to have a look at it?", Arthur now offered, already changing his sitting position to better accommodate you.

When Arthur caught the slight questioning gleam in your eyes, he smiled softly. You weren't someone to trust easily – he knew, because he's like that too. Yet, despite the wall you both harboured, Arthur couldn’t help but worry. He wasn't sure if you felt the same, but the events of the afternoon had surely left an impression on him. The fact that you had rushed to his side and stabbed a man a few seconds before his light would have gone out...You had been so calm the last two weeks, but today you were visibly shaken. Arthur wasn't sure if there was some deeper meaning behind this or if he let hope dictate his thoughts.

"I ain't gonna hurt you", Arthur said gently, when you didn't answer.

"I know", you shrugged, setting down the can of beans, "I just think that your reasons for getting me to take of my clothes are somewhat unimaginative." You gave a cocky smile when Arthur released a shaky breath. He mumbled a 'You're insane woman’ as you slipped one arm through your sleeve and therefor exposed your bare side.

In a moment, Arthur's hand was on you again. You flinched a bit as his thumb grazed the flesh near the wound.

"Looks good. Just a slight tear, should be all healed up again by tomorrow", Arthur assessed.

"Good", you replied briefly, getting into your shirt again quickly enough to not let Arthur notice the gooseflesh that had formed at his touch. He still saw the blush on your cheeks though.

In a tender moment, your eyes locked in a silent connection, and in that instant, you discovered that his hand hadn't budged. It remained steadfast, gently resting beneath the fabric of your shirt. It was as if an unspoken agreement held you both captive, unwilling to release the intensity of your gaze, except for Arthur's occasional stolen glances towards your lips.

The feeling of wanting nothing more than to protect you overwhelmed Arthur. He wanted to claim you as his, but not in a selfish, unreflective manner. More as a testament that he still could feel so strongly for someone. Arthur wanted to ensure that love was still possible for him. So he leaned in and in a moment, his lips met yours. The touch was so soft and loving that neither Arthur nor you would have expected that your body jerked away. The same moment, your hand met Arthur's cheek, slapping him. It wasn't meant to hurt, it was more your natural answer to this sudden invasion.

"What the hell?", you mouthed breathlessly.

Arthur's head remained frozen in the position your slap had left it in. His lips had curled into a sad smile, his eyes now avoiding yours. The slap had inflicted a sting, but it was a peculiar sensation, not one he was used to from other brawls and beatings.

"Sorry", Arthur mumbled in a soft whisper. The sad smile didn't leave his face, as if something else would surface if he dared to change his expression. "Might have gotten somethings wrong...", he added. Still looking down, he adjusted his hat, so it threw a darker shadow over his eyes.

You found yourself stumbling over your words, caught between the urge to apologize and swear at him at the same time. But your incapability to express your emotions frustrated you deeply. You managed a loud enough "excuse me" for him to hear before you stood up and walked off. Not too far, just a few feet into the shelter of forest where you thought the light of the fire couldn't reach. Arthur watched you walk off. He figured you thought yourself shielded from his gaze, but he saw as you leaned against a tree, lightly bumping your head into the wet bark.

Arthur couldn't bear watching you for long, so he took his journal out and quickly started to write. It was a momentary update of his state of mind and purposefully, he left some space before he started to sketch the outlines of the dark forest and the campfire in front of him, knowing that you would dictate how this evening turned out for both of you.

However, it wasn't long until he heard your boots rustling through the twigs and leaves. Arthur looked up and his eyes followed you, until you were seated right next to him. The closeness surprised him, but he took it as a promising sign. It was a flicker of hope that soothed the anxiety that he had felt at the thought of having offended you seriously. You had your words prepared, but Arthur was faster: "'M sorry, y/n. I should've asked."

Your eyebrows knit together in a sceptical look. You thought about snorting and and mocking him by saying 'Micah's right when he told me you had gone soft' but deep down you knew that this was just further proof that Arthur was more than what meets the eye.

After you had cleared your throat, you said: "It's okay. I didn't mean to slap you, I was just...surprised."

"Remind me to never surprise you again", Arthur joked, and a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. With light-hearted spirit, he continued the drawing in his journal. You caught a glimpse, but quickly averted your gaze and instead stared into the fire. You sat right next to Arthur, your arms occasionally brushed against each other, yet he didn't bother closing his journal - seemingly unaffected by your presence.

You couldn't help yourself. It was too impressive to see the drawing come together. When he sketched the shadows of the trees, you could make out the raindrops, though he hadn't specifically drawn them. Your eyes became fixated on the tip of his pencil, captivated by its movements, unwilling to tear your gaze away. But it didn't feel right, not after the last time.

Arthur noticed you were restless, so he said in an affirming voice: "I don't mind you watching, ya know?"

"All of a sudden?"

Arthur shrugged and continued to draw: "Not like you learned to read the last couple days, did ya?"

"Maybe I did. Didn't have much to do recently", you teased.

"Sure", Arthur replied, knowing you were bluffing, "So? Read it out then!"

You helplessly stared at the letters he had written, with not one clue in the world what was spelled out there. You tried to come up with something that could have been written there, but you weren't quick enough. Arthur interrupted your thinking process: "Knew it."

You sighed in defeat but lightened up when Arthur chuckled at your frustrated response. Both of you listened to the crackle of the fire. In a silent agreement, every passing moment saw you inching closer, gradually, you leaned against him. Astonishingly, Arthur showed no signs of discomfort, allowing the newfound proximity to exist, as if it were the most natural and cherished space between you.

"I like your drawings, you know", you whispered.

"They ain't special", Arthur replied. He was done with his little painting of the scenery and skipped back two pages to reveal a sketch of a squirrel.

"How can you even draw that thing with those little fuckers moving around all the time? Was it dead when you drew it?", you asked in awe at the level of detail.

"No", Arthur replied, "I jus' remember how it looks like."

Amidst the crackling of the fire, you uttered words that were almost indistinguishable, your voice muffled by your mouth pressed against Arthur's arm. Perceiving your intent, he instinctively adjusted his arm, skilfully manoeuvring it around you. Both of you were now enveloped in a half-embrace and you let it happen willingly. This was exactly what you had been craving the last couple of days. It was unusual, and yet so welcoming and soothing.

You sat like that for a while before Arthur stated his intent of laying down. You replied you'd still sit and tend the fire for a while.

Arthur lied down on his bedroll, staring at the canvas that obstructed his vision of the night sky...which probably was cloudy anyways. Aside from the usual forest noises, it was silent. About fifteen minutes had passed, but Arthur was still far from falling asleep.

"It just has never worked out for me...every time I tried the whole trusting thing...it ended badly", you explained. Your voice ended the silence and caught Arthur's attention. He sat up again.

"'m sorry to hear that", Arthur answered, "But yer still young. There are plenty people out there. I'm sure you'll find someone. If ya weren't so bad behaved-"

"Hey!", you turned towards him, to see a sarcastic smile back at you. You wondered why he’d just said that, when he kissed you earlier. When he clearly wanted you.

Arthur continued in a teasing manner: "I thought you were a nasty companion at first too, but you’re alright if ya calm down a bit and let yer guard down."

"Could say the same about you", you drew circles in the dirt.

After a while, in which you felt Arthurs eyes on you, he said: "You should try 'n rest. There's nobody around."

"Maybe a bear passes by and attacks us."

"Sure", Arthur readjusted his bedroll, "You ain't much to chew on, so ya gonna have plenty of time for running as long as it's busy with me."

Arthur had adjusted his bedroll vertically, so you could at least put your upper body on something softer.

"I bet ya taste like shit. It won't bother with you for long", you grinned at the teasing, surprised to see that Arthur had arranged a sleeping setup that would benefit you both.

"No doubt", Arthur chuckled.

You looked at the bedroll.

"If ya don't mind sharing with an old man that tastes like shit, it might be more comfortable for you like that", Arthur offered and lied down, his head now resting on one part of the soft material, while still leaving enough space between you. You joined him in the grass, turning your back towards him and fixating on random trees in the darkness. It was difficult to get those words out, but you had promised yourself to at least try expressing some of your emotions.

“I…I don’t really care if there’s plenty people out there. I think, I already found the one I’d like to trust...” You might have rushed the delivery of those words, but Arthur had understood them very well. There was a boyish smirk on his lips when he answered.

“I don’t mean to offend, miss, but you picked a real weird fella.”

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Next chapter HERE

@xclovers @photo1030 @cowboydisaster @stilinskiwitch @globetrotter28 @unbotheredbeeeee @eyelovie @ashjbu @lovrgirlsstuff @how-the-heck-would-i-know @j4llyf7sh @urfavjanalein

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan fanfiction #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #red dead redemption community #rdr2 #arthur morgan x female reader #rdr2 fanfiction #rdr #rdr fanfiction

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murakamijeva-muza · 2 months

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“The Greek word for "return" is nostos. Algos means "suffering." So nostalgia is the suffering caused by an unappeased yearning to return. To express that fundamental notion most Europeans can utilize a word derived from the Greek (nostalgia, nostalgie) as well as other words with roots in their national languages: añoranza, say the Spaniards; saudade, say the Portuguese. In each language these words have a different semantic nuance. Often they mean only the sadness caused by the impossibility of returning to one's country: a longing for country, for home. What in English is called "homesickness." Or in German: Heimweh. In Dutch: heimwee. But this reduces that great notion to just its spatial element. One of the oldest European languages, Icelandic (like English) makes a distinction between two terms: söknuour: nostalgia in its general sense; and heimprá: longing for the homeland. Czechs have the Greek-derived nostalgie as well as their own noun, stesk, and their own verb; the most moving, Czech expression of love: styska se mi po tobe ("I yearn for you," "I'm nostalgic for you"; "I cannot bear the pain of your absence"). In Spanish añoranza comes from the verb añorar (to feel nostalgia), which comes from the Catalan enyorar, itself derived from the Latin word ignorare (to be unaware of, not know, not experience; to lack or miss), In that etymological light nostalgia seems something like the pain of ignorance, of not knowing. You are far away, and I don't know what has become of you. My country is far away, and I don't know what is happening there. Certain languages have problems with nostalgia: the French can only express it by the noun from the Greek root, and have no verb for it; they can say Je m'ennuie de toi (I miss you), but the word s'ennuyer is weak, cold -- anyhow too light for so grave a feeling. The Germans rarely use the Greek-derived term Nostalgie, and tend to say Sehnsucht in speaking of the desire for an absent thing. But Sehnsucht can refer both to something that has existed and to something that has never existed (a new adventure), and therefore it does not necessarily imply the nostos idea; to include in Sehnsucht the obsession with returning would require adding a complementary phrase: Sehnsucht nach der Vergangenheit, nach der verlorenen Kindheit, nach der ersten Liebe (longing for the past, for lost childhood, for a first love).” ― Milan Kundera, Ignorance

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renslo161605 · 5 months

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The old Camp Gals

Okay brief headcanon/backstory thing

This obviously isn't probably canon but- whatev I'm having fun leave me.

ELIZA JONAS -

Eliza worked in the bar but she was like a play-gal. She KNEW she was purdy and she used it by robbing drunk perverts and such, sometimes she'd end up killing them depending on how things went. But she did actually love Arthur and would often swap between the camp and the saloon she worked in ( keeping in mind in Arthurs words the gang was much less of a gang and more laid back then) when she had Isaac tho, she became good and honest for him. She always had a grudge against Arthur because she sacrificed everything for Isaac and he couldn't even give up a gun. She never really fell in love with an another man but her and Arthur weren't a thing for long. Mary happened somewhere inbetween Isaacs birth and Elizas death.

BESSIE MATTHEWS -

Okay i know Bessie looks STRIKINGLY like Mary Gillis in this and trust, she wasn't meant to. It just happened.

Anyway her and Hosea were never able to bare children and so basically just adopted everyone. Eliza was an orphan and never really had a female role model, Bessie quickly stepped into that role snd they got close - Bessie would often look after her when she was pregnant and help her with Isaac. When Bessie died Eliza stopped going to see the gang as much and simply waiting for Arthur to come to her. She was like a grandma to Isaac.

SUSAN GRIMSHAW -

idk how canon it is but i saw an old photo of her somewhere? I prob js missed it in the game but the photo was mighty purdy. But rarely do i see people talking about miss Grimshaws scar on her face? Maybe thats why she's so insecure - maybe that 'tainted' her beauty and Dutch quickly replaced her with Annabel, who he deemed 'more pretty' and she forever had a distain toward girls she thought were pretty. I actually love miss Grimshaw she needs more appreciation.

ANNABEL STARK (?) -

Not much to say about her. Her father was a bigger business man but tried to basically sell her, Dutch 'saved' her snd from then on she was 'golden girl'. She never got a chance to experience the loss of love that Miss Grimshaw and Molly O'shea did as she was murdered whilst picking flowers by Colm O'driscoll.

Yeah this is really far from canon but I'm having fun LMAOO

Elizas my fave dunno if you can tell...

<33

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leveloneandup · 9 months

Text

Extra Time: Two World Cup Champs Aren’t Scared of the Dutch

Holland day

So, two-time World Cup champion Christen Press, what scares you about the Netherlands, America’s second-round opponent at this 2023 World Cup? The U.S. Women’s National Team (USWNT) will face the Orange Lionesses tonight at 9 p.m. E.T. in New Zealand's capital city of Wellington.

Press, who won titles in 2015 and 2019 as a forward for the U.S. but recently underwent a fourth surgery to repair the knee preventing her from playing in this World Cup, is mildly offended by this question. “As soon as you say, ‘What scares you,’ I took that as a player,” Press says. “And I’m like, ‘Nothing scares me.” Press, 34, laughs. “OK, go ahead, Tobin …"

As in Tobin Heath, who’s also on this call—and was also on the 2015 and 2019 USWNT World Cup teams (in addition to the 2011 one)—and has also won a pair of World Cup titles, in 2015 and 2019 with the USWNT. Like Press, Heath, 35, has been sidelined due to injury. So I called on the duo—who are among the founders of the lifestyle brand RE-INC, often finish each other’s sentences, and are co-hosting an excellent podcast and YouTube program during the World Cup called The RE-CAP Show—to break down the U.S.-Netherlands matchup.

Heath agrees with Press. She doesn’t find the Dutch all that frightening. “The Dutch are a good team,” says Heath. “They're not a great team in this tournament.” Heath concedes that the Dutch are the best team in the USWNT’s group, which also includes Vietnam—whom the U.S. defeated 3-0 on Friday in the World Cup opener—and Portugal. “Outside of us,” Press chimes in.

“Outside of us, yes,” says Heath.

Yes, U.S.-Netherlands is a rematch of the 2019 World Cup final. But Heath cautions against reading too much into that. “There were a ton of better teams we played in 2019,” says Heath. She and Press point to games against Spain in the Round of 16, France—in France—in the quarters, and England in the semis as much tougher tests. The U.S. won those games 2-1, but shut out the Netherlands, 2-0, in the title game. “We always say our final was one of the easier games for us,” says Heath.

What’s more, the Dutch—who beat Portugal 1-0 in their World Cup opener—are down a superstar. Vivianne Miedema, the country’s all-time leading goal scorer, is missing this World Cup due to an ACL tear. “We don’t have to significantly adjust what we’re doing in order to take care of an individual player,” says Heath. “I don’t think they can do much damage to us.”

The one Netherlands player Heath mentioned in our conversation as a threat to watch—striker Lineth Beerensteyn—is now unlikely to play, because of an ankle injury she suffered against Portugal. Heath notes that the Dutch have a solid aerial presence off set pieces. And the Orange Lionesses could exploit the tendency of U.S. outside defenders Crystal Dunn and Emily Fox to play “inverted” positions—meaning they sometimes serve more as midfielders, moving into more centralized spaces on the pitch, getting involved in short passes on the attack. That strategy can leave the U.S. defense susceptible to Dutch counterattacks out wide. “You are leaving a big area to exploit,” says Heath.

Still, the former USWNT players aren’t all that worried. If anything, this is a huge opportunity for the Americans to make a statement. Germany made its mark, with a 6-0 crushing of Morocco. Brazil cast itself a real threat, with its 4-0 opening game victory over Panama. Spain beat Zambia 5-0 on Tuesday. “There’s a few teams that are like, we’re here,” says Heath. “We didn’t have that game against Vietnam. We can have that game against the Netherlands, if we want. I don’t see there being any reason why we can’t.”

~~~

Parting thought

Since they’ve played in past tournaments, I asked Heath and Press what it’s like for players at the World Cup between games. The U.S. did travel from Auckland to Wellington in the five days between its matchups against Vietnam and the Netherlands. Still, that’s plenty of downtime.

Enough to make you go stir-crazy?

“It’s almost like surrealism,” says Press. “The days are a little gray and foggy. You almost can’t remember. You’re very careful with when you look at your phone and who you even connect with. Or how much you walk. Your whole life is bubble-wrapped. Every second of the day. And then you have to go out and do this incredibly physical and risky and hard and emotionally draining thing. And then you just are bubble-wrapped again.”

“We sit around and talk and try to get a little bit of relief. It's this incredibly difficult experience to explain. You're with the only people in the world that get it. And that creates a bond with every single player I've played with in a world championship that's unlike any other. Because there's this respect. There's this knowingness. You don't even have to say anything and you know what's going on with your teammates.”

“We eat too many meals. We’re really just trying to fuel, fuel, fuel. And we talk and we laugh and we make it to the next game.”

#christen press #tobin heath #wwc 2023 #uswnt #uswnt vs netherlands #article

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