#or ignore her in favour of whatever Dutch is saying

[river-of-wine]

A bonus Molly sketch from my gilded cage things! Given the circumstances for Molly in particular during chapter 4 and the fact that Dutch being the way he is would likely just use her as an accessory for the evening I can’t imagine her having a good time, but at least the dress is pretty

#rdr2 #molly o’shea #I’ve thought about this a lot #she would not get a second away from him I’m sure #he can’t stand her even breathing the wrong way around him at that point but having a woman with him would make him seem less suspicious #which is a big thing during that mission #so molly would just be hanging onto his arm all evening unable to go anywhere or speak to anyone by herself #I’d get into how she would also not be received well by many people there especially if she approached them alone #because she is Irish and these are a bunch of rich people and it is 1899 #I have a lot to say about the importance of molly being an Irish immigrant as an Irish person myself #but I don’t feel like giving a history lesson here #so to condense my thoughts a little molly would have been stuck with Dutch the entire evening #surrounded by people who probably have an inherent dislike for her once they hear her speak #or ignore her in favour of whatever Dutch is saying #which is pretty similar to how the gang already treats her #so even once she finally leaves camp it’s just the same #there is more I could say especially regarding the dress itself but that’s too long to write here #fanart #digital art #sketches #my art

[emospritelet]

Heatstroke - chapter 17

I tweaked the prompt a little :)

[AO3]

x

Before leaving the city for small-town Maine, Lacey had told herself she wasn’t going to spend every night drinking until the early hours, as she had in New York. Since moving to Storybrooke she had mostly kept that promise to herself. During the week, anyway. Weekends were a different matter. Ruby usually had Friday nights off from the diner, but that inevitably meant that she worked on Saturdays, and while Lacey wasn’t bothered by going to the Rabbit Hole by herself, it was much more fun to have Ruby’s company while she slowly went out of her mind. Saturday evening found her at the bar in Granny’s Diner, drinking her way through a few tall glasses of ice-cold oblivion and telling Ruby about her latest unsuccessful encounter with Gold.

“So he wasn’t even dressed?” Ruby set a vodka and orange in front of her, leaning on the bar and resting her chin on her hands. “At that time in the morning? Not like Gold.”

“That’s what I thought,” said Lacey, stirring her drink with a straw. “It was weird, Rubes. I was all bracing for insults and sarcasm, and it was like he couldn’t even look at me.”

“You can’t tell me you wanted insults and sarcasm.”

“No,” she admitted. “But I think I’d choose that over being ignored.”

“Oh God…” Ruby shook her head. “Would you just ask him out already? Ask him to Zelena’s stupid dance.”

“I told you, he’s not going,” said Lacey impatiently. “And even if he was, it’s obvious he’s not interested. I mean it was obvious before, but now…”

“Maybe you just disturbed him doing something?”

“Like what?” Lacey stirred her drink moodily, and looked up. “Oh God, you don’t think he had someone there, do you?”

“Like a - a woman?”

“Maybe, I don’t know.” She took a drink, enjoying the tart taste of the orange juice and the smooth heat of the vodka in her throat. “I bet he did. I bet he had someone stay the night and I woke him up from a round of hot morning sex, good God!”

“Lacey.” Ruby leaned on the bar with a patient expression on her face. “Apart from you, the only person lusting after Gold in this town is Zelena. And he would never.”

“Okay,” Lacey nodded, feeling a little better. “That’s a fair point. But it could have been someone from out of town.”

“Maybe he’s sick,” suggested Ruby. “You could have pulled him out of his death bed.”

“Hey, that’s a point.” She perked up a little. “Yeah, maybe that’s why he was off with me. Great!”

“There you go.”

Lacey groaned, slumping on the bar with her chin pushed into her folded arms.

“God, I shouldn’t wish ill health on the man, should I?” she said dolefully. “What’s wrong with me, Rubes? I feel like I’m losing my mind.”

“Yeah, it feels that way to me, too,” remarked Ruby.

“Why am I like this?” demanded Lacey, pushing upright again. “Past Lacey was never like this. Past Lacey would find a hot guy, have a good time, and move the hell on! Past Lacey would have been like ‘pfft, so he’s not interested, his loss’. That’s always how it was before.”

“So maybe it’s something more meaningful this time,” suggested Ruby. “Maybe present Lacey wants an actual relationship, not just hot crazy sex.”

“Oh no, present Lacey totally wants the hot crazy sex,” said Lacey, snickering as she reached for her drink. “I just need him to want me back, that’s all.”

“I told you, the ‘you seeing him naked’ thing put him off,” said Ruby. “Guys like Gold need to feel like they’re in charge.”

“Hmmm.” Lacey grinned widely. “He can do that if he wants.”

Her grin widened at the thought of Gold taking charge in a number of very delicious ways, and Ruby rolled her eyes.

“You got it bad, girl,” she observed.

“I can’t help it!” said Lacey, slapping the bar with her palms. “First time we met I saw his junk, and believe me, it was absolutely no hardship as far as I’m concerned. And since then I’ve been checking him out every chance I get.” She took a slurp of her drink to wet her throat. “I thought he looked pretty good full frontal, but did you see his ass in those pants? Biteable.”

Ruby’s eyes had gone very wide.

“Lacey, shh!” she hissed.

“What? It’s true!” Lacey waved a hand. “I always thought you’d need a big hammer to bang in a nail that size, but nope! Almost as cute and pert as mine.”

“Yeah, that’s a great point you just made about - uh - carpentry,” said Ruby loudly, and Lacey felt her brow crinkle.

“Carpentry? What the hell are you - it was a metaphor, Rubes!” she insisted. “I’m talking about how Gold should man up and nail me!”

“Hey Mr Gold!” said Ruby brightly, a somewhat desperate smile on her face. “What can I get you?”

Lacey felt as though a bucket of iced water had been thrown in her face, the shock of it making her catch her breath with a gasp. A ball of lead the size of a small watermelon appeared to have dropped into her stomach and was trying to drag her down through the floorboards and into the diner cellar. She was tempted to let it. He’s right fucking behind me, isn’t he?

“Miss Lucas,” Gold’s lazy drawl made her close her eyes in horror. “Just the rent, if you please. I leave minor - uh - carpentry jobs to those with more inclination for the task.”

Lacey wanted to die. She slipped from the stool, snatching up her bag and coat. Perhaps if she didn’t open her eyes, he wouldn’t be able to see her.

“Later, Rubes,” she muttered, and almost ran from the diner.

Gold watched her go, slim legs moving remarkably quickly considering the height of her heels. Turning back to the bar, he favoured Miss Lucas with a tiny smile, but she was glaring at him, dark eyes flashing.

“Are you stupid?” she demanded, and he frowned.

“I beg your pardon?” he asked, in a freezing voice, and she threw up her hands.

“That poor girl just said out loud how much she wants to bang you, and your response is to be all snide and cutting? What the hell is wrong with you?”

“What are you talking about?” he snapped. “I know full well Miss French has no interest in me other than as an object of ridicule!”

Miss Lucas put her hands on her hips, glaring at him.

“Don’t you have eyes?” she demanded. “You telling me you haven’t seen her staring at you?”

“Oh, I vividly remember our first encounter,” he said dryly. “I also remember hearing her discuss it with you afterwards. You’ll forgive me if I’m not turned on by mockery.”

Miss Lucas sniffed.

“Look, if you’re getting your cock out in public you have to expect a little teasing.”

“I did not get my cock out in public!” he snapped. “It was on my own property, and frankly it’s no more your business than it was hers!”

“Yeah, well she wasn’t mocking you, she was just - surprised.”

“Oh please!” he said, in a disparaging tone. “I’ve no interest in whatever game you two are playing.”

“She just said you should man up and nail her! You heard her!”

“Really?” he said dismissively, tugging at cuffs that didn’t need it. “Hilarious, if one understands the context, I’m sure.”

“Oh my God…” She shook her head. “Blind, deaf and stupid. I should have just talked to Neal.”

“What does my son have to do with this?” he demanded, and she shrugged.

“Just saying. Something tells me he’s not as dense as you.”

Gold glared at her.

“Are you gonna give me the rent, or do I have to consider raising it?”

“Fine, resort to empty threats all you like,” she sniffed, turning away.

She unlocked the drawer beneath the counter, taking out the envelope of rent money, and slapping it on the counter. She was still glaring at him, and Gold took the money with an unpleasant smile, opening it up and beginning to count out the notes.

“She likes you,” said Miss Lucas, making him pause. “Lacey likes you. Weird as it seems to me, and as much as I don’t want to hear about her many fantasies involving you, she likes you. She likes you a lot. As in she wants to have sex with you. Also a lot.”

Gold had lost count the moment she mentioned Lacey’s name, but there was no way he was about to admit it. He gathered up the pile of bills, stuffing it back into the envelope and retrieving his notebook from his pocket.

“It’s all there,” he said stiffly, flipping through the pages. 

“Just ask her out,” went on Miss Lucas. “Or go to that dance of Zelena’s if you’re gonna be a wuss about it. Then you don’t even need to ask her out. You could just - you would be there, and she would be there, and the two of you could - you know.”

Gold could barely see what he was writing, but he pretended that he knew what he was doing. He wrote the date out with such a flourish that it tore the paper, and slipped the notebook back into his pocket. The envelope of money followed it, his hands shaking a little.

“Thank you, Miss Lucas,” he said, his tone hollow. “Do give my regards to your grandmother.”

Turning on his heel, he fixed his gaze on the door and limped towards it as though it was the path to his salvation.

“Why are you both such idiots!” called Miss Lucas, and he flinched as he grasped the door handle.

Getting out into the cool summer evening, he let the door close behind him, and exhaled slowly, head rolling back as he let the soft breeze caress his skin. Surely Miss Lucas wasn’t being serious? Admittedly Lacey had said something extremely suggestive about him, but what if it was part of their banter, the joke that never got old. Gold and his naked body, forever an object of ridicule.

What if it wasn’t? A voice in his head whispered to him, a faint spark of hope igniting deep within him. What if she actually likes you? You could go to that tedious charity ball. By the sound of it, she’ll be there, no doubt reporting for the Mirror. You could ask her to dance. That wouldn’t arouse anyone’s suspicions. Maybe not even hers. And if she does like you...

The idea of Lacey actually returning his feelings was too heady to contemplate, and Gold shook his head, striding off down the street. No. He would think about this intriguing possibility when he was in the safety of his own home and with a large glass of something strong. He definitely needed a little Dutch courage to plan his next move.

#fic: heatstroke #golden lace fic #golden lace #my fic #rumbelle fic #rumbelle #timelordthirteen

[cowboisadness]

Hang ‘Em High {Arthur Morgan x OC} Chapter 12

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x FemOC

Summery: Belle Hawthorne is high society looking to escape her mean husband. A robbery by the Van Der Linde gang could be her chance. Can she escape his cluches and possibly discover what love should feel like?

Warnings: Mentions on injury and assault  ..... Chapter 12

I woke to blinding light. Disorientated and panic building as my mind is slow to catch up with where I could be right now. I’m still in the cabin. I can hear the men outside talking amongst themselves, unaware that I’m awake again. I push myself up noticing my hands and legs are free, ignoring the overall ache and searing pain running down my chest. I need to get out. This is my chance. If I could -

“Hey, hey it’s okay.” A feminine voice calls out beside me, gently placing their hand on my shoulder. I look over, glad that my eyes are starting to focus to see Tilly, in her beloved yellow dress. Please don’t be a dream.

“Tilly?” I squeak, my voice sounding harsher than it ever has.

“You’re safe. Here,” She passes over a flask of water. The liquid soothing my throat and easing the pounding in my head. Drinking the whole thing before passing it back, murmuring my thanks.

“I’ll go tell Arthur and Miss Grimshaw that you’re awake.” She says before leaving the tent, the covers over the entrance letting in more daylight, causing the back of my eyes to sting slightly before they closed behind her. I’m not even in my tent, not in my bedroll. I’m in Arthurs tent. Once again waking up here after passing out. I really need to make sure that doesn’t become a habit of mine. Trying to think, all I can remember was being carried out of that cabin, but I can’t even remember reaching the door. I didn't even get to see the aftermath of Johns and Arthurs handiwork. Those mens bodies spewed across the grass. Shame.

I can’t help but scoff at that thought. If my mother could hear my thoughts on how I wished to see the corpses of the men that harmed me she would turn in her grave for sure. But my brothers would be proud.

The tent flaps opened again, the sting more bearable, as Miss Grimshaw and Arthur made their way in, the former holding a small medicine bottle and some whiskey.

“How are you feeling dear?” Miss Grimshaw asks in a soothing tone I'd only heard before when I first arrived here. A serious case of Déjà vu happening.

“Like shit. I’m guessing I look it too.” I hum out a quiet laugh.

“Got you a tonic to fight any infection. And some whiskey for the pain,” She said as she placed the two bottles on the crate next to the cot. “I’ll get Pearson to whip something up for you. Then I’ll be back later to change your dressings.” I called out my thanks to her as she left, leaving just the two of us. Arthur pulled up a chair to sit beside me, picking up the whiskey as he did.

“Than-”

“I’m s-”

We both spoke at the same time, causing us to huff out a laugh. He gestured for me to go first.

“Thank you for coming for me,” I said, he looked down to the floor, his hat covering most of his face from view.

“Belle, m’ sorry we didn’t get there earlier. Me, John and Charles tried to-”

“You got there just in time. Before they…” I couldn’t even finish. But I didn't have to, the look on his face told me he knew. He saw the state I was in, the other guys’ intentions were very obvious with his pants halfway down. Thankful now that I wasn’t that far exposed but in the process of stabbing the bastard it was the last thing on my mind. My hand went down my chest as I slowly tried to sit up, feeling the layers of cloth that wrapped around my shoulder and waist then across my back through the clothing, which I also just realised are not mine. Arthur stood to help me sit, leaning me against the crates behind me. Sitting back down and handing me the now opened bottle of whiskey, drinking as he continued.

“Miss Grimshaw stitched ya up. Said it would probably scar.” I nodded and took a drink, feeling it burn as it passed down my throat. I opened my mouth to speak, only to be interrupted by the tent opening being pulled back, Dutch now making his way in, his eyes on me.

“Did you talk?” No hello, no how are you feeling...just did I talk? Talk about what exactly?

“Dutch, she's just come round-” Dutch held his hand up to halt Arthur, his eyes still trained on me.

“I need to know. Did. You. Talk?”

“Talk about what?”

“Did you tell them where we are?”

“They didn’t ask anything about you.” I looked between the two men, completely confused as to what he as asking.

“Really?”

“Dutch-”

“I told you. They never mentioned you or camp or anyone here. I don’t even know who those men were.”

“The safety of this gang depends on if you gave away any information to those men. I surely hope you are not lying to me, Mrs Hawthorne.” He spoke slowly and low as if I were a disobedient child that needed to understand every word he said. A quiet threat heard loud and clear.

“I didn’t say a word. They only cared about me. If they are a threat to you all, they never made it known.” I replied back in the same slow tone he gave to me, making sure he understood every word I said. I’ve been here for weeks, over 2 months, making myself at home and seeing the others here as a family, my new family. And he thinks I would sabotage the one thing that makes me feel safe? Sure, torture is a good way of getting people to speak, but Dutch doesn’t seem to realise id rather die than be alone, or back with him.

With that another person emerges from the outside, Hosea, he must have heard the raised voices. I was on the verge of tears knowing Dutch probably doesn’t believe me, in a way I understand the concern, but I was in pain and the constant dull ache in my head was now throbbing. Hosea took one look at us all and motioned Dutch out of the tent, telling him to let me heal and to ask questions later. Dutch left without another word, practically stormed out. Hosea was about to speak but I cut in. “I promise I never said anything, I don’t even think they knew I’m with you all.” Hosea put his hand up to me to stop. Before Hosea could speak a word, Arthur sat forwards, taking my hand in his, stilling my clenching fist in the hopes I would relax.

“I believe you, Bella. Charles and me saw a missing poster of you in Rhodes station. $500 reward. Those guys that took you, they were some of the O’Driscolls. We have a history with them, all bad business.”

“Did the poster mention being able to do whatever they wanted with me but to leave my face untouched?”

“No…”

“Then...I don’t think it was the poster that led them to me. Frank asked them himself.” Arthur and Hosea shared a look of disbelief as I cried. Knocking back more whiskey to numb as much of the pain as possible. The realisation of what happened hitting me like a damn train. Hosea promised he would talk to Dutch, try and calm him down, and that if I needed anything to not hesitate to ask.

Arthur stayed with me till nightfall. Answering whatever questions I had about this rival gang and the very colourful history they have with them, especially the leader, Colm. We talked about anything else that didn't involve the O’Driscolls or what had happened the day before after that. I asked about the photographs he had pinned to the side of the wagon and the two in frames propped up. He spoke fondly about his mother, Beatrice, who passed when he was only a boy. And his dog, Cooper. He even admitted he would bathe with him sometimes. I couldn’t stop laughing, causing him to flush with embarrassment. I assured him it was sweet. He didn’t seem to have many kind words when it came to his father, Lyle. Saying he was a no-good man that didn’t die soon enough. When speaking about Mary, a beautiful woman from what I could see from the photograph, I couldn’t help but notice him hesitate when speaking about her. But I could sense the fondness he still felt for her, a young love like that always holds a special place in your heart. I felt a tang of jealousy. Not because of her, but because I didn't get the chance to feel love like they once did. To have someone you love, love you back just the same despite any differences. It was a shame it didn’t work out for them, some of those differences becoming the wedge that drove them apart. He only left me when Miss Grimshaw came along to change my dressings, to get us both some supper and another bottle of whiskey after we polished off the last one together.

The alcohol did help with the ache, replacing it with a slight buzz but not without slight weariness, but I knew drinking anymore would be asking my headache not to leave. The sun was far beyond the horizon now, the moon firmly replacing it. Now slouched on the cot and Arthur splayed out on the chair with one foot perched on the cot beside my hip. A yawn made my tiredness become more apparent, soon I'll be fighting to keep my eyes open. After a few moments of silence, listening to the nocturnal birds fly overhead, realising everyone else must have gone to sleep, Arthur stood, motioning to the tonic that I had neglected in favour of the whiskey, telling me to drink up before I fell asleep.

“I can go to my tent. Don’t want to hog your bed again.” I said, another yawn making its way out of me.

“Nah it’s alright. Not gunna kick an injured lady out've a more comfy bed.” he looked down at me, his mouth turning up into a small smile.

“Where will you sleep?”

“I got my bedroll out there, I’ll sleep where I drop.”

“I'll feel bad if you have to sleep out there when I’m in here,” He just looked at me, expecting a fight to stop me from sleeping somewhere a little less comfortable no doubt. “Might as well sleep here.” His eyebrows raised at that and it took me a moment to realise what he must have thought I was suggesting. “Oh, no, I mean you might as well bring your bedroll in here. At least then you will have a cover over your head.”

His face relaxed at my explanation, giving off a half-smirk and looking back down at the ground, stroking the back of this neck that I noticed he does when nervous or uncomfortable. Lord, it is cute when he does that. Finally, he nodded, giving in with a quiet, sure.

He returned within seconds with his bedroll, which must have been nearby, and laid it out on the floor. Kicking off his boots and draping a worn blanket over him. I did the same, both of us now staring up at the canvas with our hands resting behind our heads. Sleep slowly taking over me.

“Goodnight, Arthur. Thank you again.” I spoke softly.

“Goodnight, Bella” he replied, just as soft as i.

-

It was barely daybreak when I woke up. The birds singing their morning song all around, a call to breakfast and a new day with new possibilities. My head still had a lingering pulse, not sure if it was from last night whiskey or finally getting over the multiple blows I received. Either way, coffee could fix it.

I took my time getting on my feet, my body still aching lightly and to not wake Arthur, who was curled up on the floor facing me, his arm propping up his head as a pillow. I made my way out of the tent to be greeted by stunning orange hues illuminating the camp and Flat Iron Lake. I made my way to the campfire to brew a fresh batch, adding wood to the dying fire as I waited. I grabbed two tin cups, waiting for the coffee to emit its awakening aroma before pouring. Even just the smell was helping my head ease off a bit. I sat with my coffee, blowing on it absentmindedly, my eyes lost in the fire as my mind flashed, replaying what happened not two days ago. It wasn't the first time to be taken against my will in that way, although I'm thankful it didn't get that far. But just knowing that Frank gave his permission for my captors to do whatever they wanted with me and to be paid handsomely for it along with my return made a feeling burn within me that I have never felt before. Pure rage. Staying in camp would be the safest thing I can do now, Frank won’t give up. No doubt I would go insane. Maybe I could change my appearance somehow so I could venture out from time to time.

I was pulled out of my thoughts as Arthur sat down beside me on the log. I never even heard him approach me I was so lost within my mind.

“How are you feeling?” He asked as I handed him his cup of coffee, still piping hot.

“I'm gonna kill Frank,” I said matter-of-factly, turning to face him. The look of bewilderment on his face made me huff out a laugh.

#hang em high #hang em high fic #arthur morgan x oc #arthur morgam x fem oc #arthur morgan #arthur morgan fic #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 fic

[have-some-gotdamn-faith]

Oh friend... do I have a request for you. Fem!reader x Pining!Micah. He finds her having a complete breakdown (crying, like the kinda crying you'd only do in the shower cause no one's going to interrupt you and the water is so loud... [guess who's still in her depressive state =D]) but anyway angst, fluff, nsft, sft whatever you'd like. Please and thank you. If you don't wanna, as always it's totally okay and I understand.

I’m sorry to hear you’re still in the dumps, but I’m more than happy to try and help! Order up :D

Additionally, I’m making this my celebratory post for 242 of y’all! I thought it only fitting, considering you were one my first friends in this cowboy hell fandom

Word Count: 1,893 (but it seems WAY longer)

An Unwitting Shoulder (fem!Reader)

Clemen’s Point was a good place to be reflective; water lapped at the shore lazily and, on days where one could manage to get away from camp, there was almost a lulling quality to it.

A cigarette landed on the water with a soft ‘plonk’, and Micah watched it bob for a while with a frown. He hated the silence; it made one think, about things what needn’t be thought about. Thoughts, that led to something even more dangerous:

Hope.

Glancing up, the early morning sky had begun to sink from a dusty blue to hazy and grey—the clouds rolling in were heavy with the promise of a downpour, and soon. The soles of his boots crunched against the harder sediment in the wet earth and, unbidden, you came into his thoughts again.

It was fortunate you were away on duties; he was thankful for the wide brim of his hat, ducking his head down to shield himself from the first trickles of raindrops and any wandering eyes that might fall on an uncharacteristically wistful half-smile. Casting a surreptitious glance into your tent, he saw the small gathering of flower’s he’d left—no name, nothing to identify the origin—resting on your pillow, and Micah’s chest tightened happily.

You’d kept them.

The rain began to come down proper, now, blanketing the camp in a gentle, whispering lullaby. Come to think on it, the errands you’d been sent on shouldn’t have taken quite so long as they were. Before he had a chance to continue that line of thought, hooves thundered through the mud as your companions—Arthur and Charles—returned. Your absence was glaring, and defensive concern spurred him towards the hitching posts.

“You’re back late,” he spat, offering his hand to take as though he were actually being helpful in the burden of spoils. On that regard, he was unanswered—instead, Micah was met with a scoff from both men.

“You keepin’ track like some hen?” Arthur quipped. “We’re back, s’what matters.”

The blond man retracted his offered ‘assistance’, the corners of his lips turning down.

“You’re comin’ back a little light, ain’t’cha?” Micah tossed back, looking over them both with smug disapproval. “I seem to remember three of you leavin’.”

At this both Arthur and Charles looked between each other, sharing a look he couldn’t quite decipher.

“Wasn’t our decision,” Charles hummed, shrugging.

“What’chu mean by that?”

Charles shouldered a hefty haversack, ignoring him in favour of wiping hard at the soaking stains melting down his shirt and making off towards the camp’s communal funds. Arthur followed and, huffing at being so quickly dismissed, Micah brought up the rear.

“I don’t like repeatin’ myself, dar—”

“Then don’t—do us all a favour and shut your mouth.” Charles hadn’t stopped moving, but he shot back a look that threatened any further snide commentary to be met with physical rebuttal.

Arthur barked a laugh, catching the brief moment of baffled surprise on Micah’s face before it snapped to his customary scowl.

“What’chu so adamant for, anyhow?” It was Arthur’s turn to be inquisitive. “You think we’d just leave her without a reason, or makin’ sure she’s okay?”

“I think Dutch’ll wanna know why yer leavin’ our womenfolk all around the countryside—” Micah gestured vaguely, swinging his arm wide behind him. “—when there’s work to be done!”

“I ain’t leave nobody,” he reiterated. “And if you’re so worried, be useful for once an’ do it’cherself.”

It was all Arthur offered, throwing a hand towards him that bordered on shooing, as he turned back to catch up with Charles. Micah’s fingers twitched, itching so badly to go to his pistol. Why he was so fired up over you was hardly a question, but he had to remind himself that he weren’t yet your beau—no one knew how much of a weak spot you’d become to him, and no one would for as long as he had say.

To keep suspicions low he had to let the issue drop, and instead circled wide towards their charismatic leader’s tent. Knowing Dutch’s pet, he’d report dutifully and prompt—sure enough you’d been left in the Saint’s Hotel, and Arthur was already slated to ride back out to check on you first thing tomorrow morning.

How fortunate, then, that someone was already making his way to saddle up Baylock.

Before heading out, Micah grabbed a fresh shirt—his union suit was mildly damp, but not unbearable—and ignored any passing inquiries to his destination. Valentine was a quick ride, made infinitely more tolerable by the rainstorm’s passing, and within a few hours the train station bobbed into view. The high noon sun had warmed the dew to an almost strangling degree and, before hitching his horse to the post, Micah tugged a couple buttons free before stepping inside the wooden building.

Asking for a ‘miss Kilgore’, he was directed up to the last room on the right. He’d barely cleared the landing when your choked sobs made it to his ears, and Micah approached his destination gingerly to keep from giving himself away. 

The noises you made were strangled, and skipped any time you fought to take in a breath. Your sorrow was wet, deep-bellied and, unthinking, he pressed the flat of his hand against the door. Micah was absolutely, entirely certain he’d never heard anything so harshly guttural from you—he lost track of how long he spent, listening.

A rapid succession of sniffles and coughing brought him back to reality and why he was there at all, and suddenly his throat was gripped by an invisible hand.

Comfort wasn’t his strong suit, unless it erred on the physical side, and he was very much aware that he had no actual plan, here. He pursed and unpursed his lips, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, before placing his hat on his chest and running uncertain fingers through to smooth his hair.

Knuckles rapped against the door, and the hiccuped attempts at muffling the crying inside only twisted his throat harder.

“A-Arthur?”

“No, but it ain’t any less a friendlier a face.”

The doorknob clicked, and you cracked the door open ever so. Bloodshot eyes met his blue ones, and he couldn’t help but reach up towards you. You watched him, studied him with an occasional hitched breath, and under your gaze he faltered—instead, the pads of his fingers fell on the door gingerly, and a hard exhale left his nostrils.

“I, ah, just wanted to check on you,” he murmured slowly, forcing the words out. “You…didn’t come back with the boys, and, ah…”

His mouth was dry, and Micah snapped his lips shut in the hope he could restore some moisture so he wouldn’t look like a damn fool—

Your hand came up to cover his, thumb running gently back and forth across his knuckles, and he found himself mesmerized. Saying nothing, you gestured to invite him in before stepping further back; he followed your lead, walking inside before closing the door behind him with nary a sound.

You had nothing but a chemise and your skirt on—modesty was the furthest thing from your mind, right now, and Micah wasn’t one to object. He hung his hat on the rack nearby before approaching closer; to test the waters, both hands rested on your bare upper arms.

His touch was rough and calloused, but warm, and you heard him take in a breath when you leaned backwards into his embrace. Leaning down, he very nearly pressed his lips against your shoulder, but his proximity ignited a fresh wave of tears—it was alarming, and Micah stiffened as you buried your face in your hands.

When you turned to push yourself into his chest, it took him a few moments before realizing he ought to wrap himself around you. Any time he tightened his arms, you only cried harder, and it was difficult to decide what it was you truly wanted.

“Come on, sugar pie,” he murmured. It was surprisingly tender, to his disgust, but the gravelly rumble of his low voice pushed you further in, so perhaps it wasn’t so bad. “What’s got you all riled up?”

You shook your head, and your shoulders shook harder.

“Did them boys do somethin’ to you?” It was unlikely, he knew, but having a physical target gave Micah enough resolve to lock his arms securely around you. “You can tell me.”

You shook your head again, confirming what he knew to be logically true. A shame, really—he would have loved any excuse to stroll back into camp with the distinct pursuit of decking Arthur or Charles into the dirt. He might still, if he inflated the fact you were bawling your heart out in his arms. The idea drew a wicked grin across his face.

You choked out something indiscernible, and he pressed his lips into your hair. Micah was deeply grateful you were too wrapped up in your sorrow to see him marinating in such cheshire glee.

“Don’t matter now, I’m here. I gotcha.”

Newly inspired with an ulterior motive, and the chance to be the one to soothe the hot tears spilling down your cheeks, he hummed sweet things to you as one of his hands pushed a heavy, soothing trail up and down your back. Truly, what a unique position he found himself in.

It distracted him from the thought he continuously kept shoving backwards—again, those thoughts. He didn’t dare let it take a foothold that being here, alone, with you threatened to encourage something else.

Happiness.

Contentedness.

The thought alone snapped cold in his gullet, and Micah pushed his attention even harder on you. Cradling you close to his own body and setting his feet apart, he began to sway softly at the hip to ease your nerves. It seemed to be working—your sobs had softened back to hiccups and gurgles, and he whispered sweet encouragement. Fingers combed slowly, awkwardly, through your locks, and he breathed you in when you dug your hands into the breast of his shirt.

“My girl, you gonna be alright,” he whispered. “I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

He kept digging himself deeper and deeper into this rabbit hole of tenderness, but the reactions Micah got out of you made the lurching vulnerability in his throat easier to bear.

“How’s about I get you some more flowers. Would you like that?”

Bleary-eyed you looked up to him, and he did his absolute damnedest to school his expression into what he hoped could be interpreted as a soft smile. He bore himself against every instinct beat into him, claiming ownership of the flowers waiting for you at camp—he locked his legs into place, hoping to stop the trembling that had taken hold in the joints.

Micah pressed a light kiss to your forehead when you said nothing, unwilling to linger on your skin for his sake more than your own. When you nodded, though, he kissed you again.

“Wash your face, doll—let’s get you some fresh air.”

For now, he could show you that he was a stable foundation, that he was reliable. He needed to buy some time to calm the fluttering in his belly, anyhow, as you pressed a kiss to his cheek before he left you to tidy up.

#madnessismylover #micah bell #micah bell x reader #an unwitting shoulder #micah drabble #red dead imagine #red dead redemption 2 #red dead fandom #red dead writing #WOW THIS GOT.......REALLY LONG #AND REALLY FLUFFY

[saxonspud]

Outcast - Chapter 6

It wasn't long after you had been tied to the wagon, that the convoy rolled out. You didn't have much choice, other than to lay where Arthur had put you, your wrists bound, and secured above your head. You weren’t able to see much either, other than the sky.

The track that the wagons took, was bumpy to say the least. The blankets which you lay on, didn’t give you much protection, as you were thrown around, your back taking the brunt. You grunted a few times, as the wheels of the wagon hit a rock, or went down a pot hole.

Dutch looked behind to check on you, a couple of times, asking if you were ok. You completely ignored him, so after the second time, he didn't bother to ask.

About half-way through the journey, you heard Dutch call out to a couple of the men, sending them off the scout ahead. Whilst they rode next to the wagon, one of them, a blonde haired man, kept winking at you. You just glared back. From the conversation he was having with Dutch, you gleaned that his name was Micah, the other rider, a young black man, was called Lenny. You hadn’t come across them in the camp at Colter. You wondered how many other people there might be.

As the convoy descended from the mountain, the climate became warmer. The wagons were just fording a river, when you heard a lot of swearing and cussing.

The wagons all stopped momentarily, and it was Arthur's voice you heard above most of the others. The wagon that him and Hosea were on, had lost a wheel. The convoy continued, Arthur yelling that they would catch up. It was only a short while later, that the wagons turned off the road, and into a wooded area, then into a clearing.

The wagon came to a halt.

Dutch and Pearson jumped off, and you were left in the back of the wagon, still tied up. You were, however grateful, that the bumping around had stopped.

No one came to untie you, the winter clothes you wore, overheating you in the mild climate. You had no option but to lay there, sweat slowly running down your face. You closed your eyes, waiting. You knew in your heart you were right to mistrust these white men.

The sound of another wagon approaching caused you to open your eyes momentarily. You heard Dutch’s voice in the distance calling out to Hosea. You closed them again, then you heard someone climb into the back of the wagon.

You felt the blanket being thrown from you.

“Nizhoni, why didn’t you say something?” Charles scolded you.

He took off the wolf skin cloak and unbuttoned the coat.

“take ropes?” you asked.

Charles shook his head, “I’m sorry Nizhoni, I can’t. I’ll go and find Dutch. See what he says.”

You closed your eyes and sighed. You would have been better off if you had died in the mountains, or been killed by Bill.

Surprisingly, you didn't have to wait long. You felt the movement of someone climbing into the back of the wagon.

“C’mon, lets get you out of here.” Arthur chimed, as he cut the rope securing you to the wagon, but not the one that secured your wrists together.

Once he had helped you down off the wagon, you held your wrists out to him, hoping that he would  cut the ropes which bound them.

Arthur rolled his eyes, “Not yet, Nizhoni. Don’t want you running off now, do we?”

Your dropped your arms, and lowered your head, as Arthur guided you into the camp, his hand firmly gripping your good shoulder. All the bumping about in the back of the wagon, hadn’t done the wound from the wolf bite, any favours. You said nothing though. You were convinced now that these men were no better than the soldiers. The more you fought them, the harder they would be on you. In the end, they would do with you as they wanted. So you kept your head down, and said nothing.

Arthur guided you to where Dutch was standing, in front of a large tent.

“Ahh, Nizhoni!” he exclaimed.

You didn't look up. You just waited, whatever he wanted to do, he would do. He had made that clear in the mountains.

“Now, are you going to behave yourself, and not run off?” he questioned.

You nodded, silently. Without raising your head.

You watched as he pulled a knife, and sliced through rope. The remnants of the rope, drop to the floor. Your arms dropped to your sides, ignoring the rope burns that marked your wrists.

Dutch took hold of one of your hands.

“We should ask Susan to take a look at this,” he suggested.

You still didn't answer, keeping your eyes on the ground.

You heard him sigh, then felt his fingers under your chin, as he tilted your head up.

Your eyes were glassy, with unshed tears which you refused to cry.

“Nizhoni, I know your upset, but this was only done for your own good. You would have died up in the mountains,” he stated.

You remained silent, you expression blank.

Dutch waited a few moments, to see if he would get a response, when he got none, he removed his hand.

“Anyway, there's a tent setup for you, why don't you settle in. All your stuff is in there,” he pointed towards a tent, next to his.

You stood in front of him, not moving.

“Go on, your free to wander around camp, get your bearings. I think its best if when you venture out you go with some one, just check with me first,” he explained.

You nodded, and walked towards the tent.

You peered inside, there was a cot, a table next to it, a chair in the corner, and a chest. Your satchel was laid on the chair, along with your knife and your bow. You decided to close the tent flap, not that it would keep anyone out, but maybe they would leave you alone.

You pulled off your boots, and the jacket. You wouldn’t be needing those, unless you went back into the mountains, so you put them into the empty chest.

You laid down on the cot, it was better than the ground. You laid on arm across your face, and let the other hang over the edge of the cot.

You didn't sleep, you were too confused to sleep. If they were going to use you like the soldiers used your sister, then you wished they would just get on with it.

You heard the tent flap open, but you didn't move, or look. You silently prayed to the great spirit that your death would be a swift one.

“Nizhoni, sweetheart. Are you ok?” Susan asked, as she sat on the edge of the cot.

You didn't respond, you just lay there, with your arm still covering your face.

Susan lifted your hand that was dangling over the side of the cot, to examine your wrist, but you grabbed it away, and held it to your body.

Susan sighed, “I’ll come and see you later, would you like some food?”

You shook your head, without bothering to uncover your face.

Susan stood up and walked towards the door. You heard the sound of the canvas moving as she left the tent, then hushed voices just outside. You could still just about hear what was being said.

“Is she ok?” Dutch asked.

“What do you think!” Susan retorted, “was it really necessary to tie her up, any trust she had has gone! She won’t even eat, although she must be starving!”

“I’ll talk to her,” Dutch replied.

“No, leave her alone, you’ll probably only make things worse,” Susan huffed.

You heard her heavy footfall, as she walked away.

Listening carefully, after several moments, you heard more footsteps, which you assumed to be Dutch’s, walking away from the entrance to your tent.

You carried on listening, but all you could hear was the sound of an axe on wood, and birds chirping. You let yourself relax a little, allowing yourself to gently doze off.

You woke with a start, to a hand touching your arm. You catapulted yourself to the back of the cot, wrapping your arms around yourself, and hugging your knees to your chest. Just because you knew what the white men were capable of, didn't mean you weren't frightened. A death in the mountain would be preferable to this. You wondered how your father could allow this, why he didn't do more to fight for your sister and for you. You already knew the answer to that. Because you weren’t male. Females of the tribe, were only good for trade, or marriage. Now the only trade was with the white man. Women to stop the soldiers from killing the young men of the tribe.

You stared across the dimly lit tent. The sun had gone down, and there was a lantern hanging from the cross beam.

Hosea sat on the edge of the cot, one hand up in mock surrender, the other holding a bowl of food.

“I bought you some food, I thought you might be hungry,” he whispered, his brow furrowed in confusion.

You stared at him, fear in your eyes, your back pressed to the canvas of the tent.

You quickly shook your head.

Hosea put the bowl of food on the table.

“What’s the matter Nizhoni? No one is going to hurt you,” Hosea assured you.

You shook your head, “Nizhoni prisoner. Nizhoni not trust white man.”

Hosea sighed, “We’re your friends, we only want to help you.”

You shook your head again.

“Friend not hurt. Nizhoni hurt!” you held out your arm, and showed him the rope burn on your wrist.

“Not friend. Nizhoni prisoner now. White man hurt. White man take. White man kill. Like soldier,” you asserted.

Hosea frowned and shook his head. He rubbed his hand back and forth across his mouth, as he thought about what you had said, and how he could convince you.

He pulled a jar from his pocket, and put it on the bed.

“Put this salve on your wrists, it’ll help them to heal, and take away some of the discomfort,” he hesitated, “if I wanted to hurt you, I wouldn't bring you food, or medicine for your wrists.”

Hosea stood up, and walked towards the exit. When he reached the tent flap, he turned and looked at you.

“If you were truly a prisoner, Nizhoni, we wouldn’t have left you with a knife and a bow. You’re right though, friends don't hurt each other, it was wrong of us to tie you up, But it was also wrong of you to sneak off into the mountains, without saying goodbye!” He stated, as he left the tent.

You stared at Hosea as you watched him leave, then looked at the jar he left on the bed.

You crept forward from the corner of the cot, and grabbed the jar. Lifting the lid, you smelt the contents. It smelt herby. You put some on your finger, and smelt it again. You where still suspicious of it, but you put some on the rope burn on one of your wrists. It was cold, and took the heat from the soreness.

Your eyes then glanced at the bowl that Hosea had left on the table, there was still steam rising from  it.

Moving slowly to the edge of the cot, you sniffed at the stew. It did smell good, and you were hungry. You picked up the bowl, and started to eat the contents. It was good, and it took away the pains you had started feel in you stomach, through lack of food.

Once you had finished you placed the bowl on the table, and lay back down on the cot.

You curled up into a ball and closed your eyes, the warm food in your belly, helping you to drift off into a peaceful slumber.

#rdr2 fanfic #original native american character #dutch van der linde #charles smith #arthur morgan #susan grimshaw #hosea matthews #wattpad #a03

[myrcella]

I wanna know about Fifi! What's her story? Does she have children? Is she part of the Peggies? Does she have a love interest? ❤

omG i’m so humbled tysm for asking about fifi! the pastry princess 🌲🥐

fifi was born ophelia, surname unknown, in the wilderness of ismay, montana, like the smallest town in the state. she was brought up in a sect that involved child abuse and distance from family; no love or affection there. at some point when the feds raided the backwater region this little halfway point to a cult had built their mobile homes in, fifi and the other children were sent off to psychiatrists and then foster homes, or adopted out. fifi was adopted quickly by a dutch-american family in helena, montana’s much busier capital, and she managed to repress her early childhood memories quite well.

it was probably due to this operation that saved her that fifi wanted to enter law enforcement—as much as she blocked any bad parts of her life out, too. she became stalwart, hard-nosed and studious, utterly focused on completing whatever she had to to become the junior deputy we eventually encounter. either her supervisor was negligent or it was truly fate that a child of one cult was thrust into the ongoing of another as an adult.

so, for a long time i had no idea who to ship fifi with. i favoured joseph the most of the seeds myself, but @ladycomstock and i realised the canon dynamic with john seed was the most compelling. that guy is OBSESSED with her. fifi and john chase each other round and round, having relations and then denying any of it, trying to distance themselves, but they are falling in love and fifi is falling more and more sympathetic to eden’s gate. as i do with everything, i ignored canon and fifi eventually defects to eden’s gate, but the prophesied collapse we see in new dawn is rather an economic failure and crash of the world, so life goes on sunnily but the compound in hope county is cordoned off and only eden’s gate thrives with their self-sufficiency.

fifi and john marry: they soon have two children, john jr “jj”, and delilah-mae 👶��� peaches lives at the ranch with them all and is very domesticated, a very good girl. fifi doesn’t explicitly trust joseph, though, like all of her defection revolves around being committed to john as he is to her. she is pretty neutral to jacob as well. it’s taken a lot to put her on this path too, it’s a long time of being broken down and built back up over and over because she goes from being that loyal deputy like i say to just a homemaker...

#thank u!! this was so unexpected #Anonymous #fifi

[malecsecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @shipnotised!

Read on AO3

*****

My Telltale Heart

“Wow. You look like crap.”

Alec did indeed look like crap, and he knew that; 11am was too early to start a Saturday shift in general, let alone when he’d been up until 4am writing feverishly. He still gave Duncan an incredibly unimpressed glare, though.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t do my make-up on lunch break, but I was too busy trying not to throw myself out of the window,” he said, voice as flat as his patience was thin. He ignored Lindsay in the corner, proclaiming that a “mood”.

“Well if you need make-up tips, you can always ask Magnus,” he snickered.

“Stop being a dick to him,” Lindsay said from the depths of her locker.

“Who the fuck is Magnus?” Alec asked.

“One of the new temps lol,” Duncan answered, literally saying “lol” with his mouth and

annoying Alec even more – which he didn’t think possible. “Linds thinks he’s handsome.”

“He IS handsome.”

Duncan snorted. “And obviously gay. He wears makeup. Everyone knows him already Alec, I can’t believe you don’t.”

Alec had already shut his locker – a little too forcefully after Duncan’s comment – and had started making his way out of the room, but turned to address him anyway.

“Like Lindsay said, quit being a dick.” She nodded sagely in the background, validated. “He probably looks better in makeup than you do without. Besides, I never usually learn people’s names unless they’re obviously going to stay and be important to me. But maybe I’ll make an effort for this Magnus – what do you think, Dennis?” He smirked and shrugged lightly before leaving the room and getting back to work. He distinctly heard Lindsay’s laughter behind him.

It was a Saturday though, and he was entirely too busy to give this mysterious Magnus much thought in amongst mentally ranting at every asshole who thought it was okay to leave half empty coffee cups all over his shop. He ran the whole mens floor more often than not, which was fine, he could handle that. What wasn’t fine was the absolute clowns he had been saddled with that day. Surely, it wasn’t that hard to read a label and work out where, roughly, an item belonged? It was fortunate that all the tills were staffed so he wasn’t needed there. He fucking hated the tills.

Obviously, the two new kids with him that day just had to leave dead on time, leaving him to effectively close up the entire floor on his own. By the time 10pm rolled around, he was cursing under his breath. Was it so hard for people to put things back where they’d gotten them from?

“As wonderfully colourful as you’re painting the air, can I offer any assistance?” came a voice from behind him, making Alec realise that his muttering hadn’t been quite as under his breath as he’d thought. He turned, either to justify himself or apologise – he hadn’t quite decided – but the words caught in his throat once he’d saw the owner of the voice. It was quite a voice, and this man was quite the owner. He made the simple all black uniform requirement look haute couture, with a brocade waistcoat over the plain button up shirt, and rings that looked far nicer than anything on display in the jewellery counter on the floor below.

“I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced,” said the beautiful man, offering a hand out to Alec. “I’m Magnus.”

“Alec,” he offered as freely as his smile. He fumbled with the multipack of socks he was still holding before taking Magnus’s hand, holding it perhaps a little longer than strictly necessary. It didn’t seem like Magnus minded.

“We should- are you sure? It’s late,” Alec stumbled out eventually.

“I’m positive. If it’s late for me, then it’s late for you too, Alec.”

“Thank you,” he conceded. “It’s just the rest of this-“ he gestured vaguely to the area around him – “to do.”

There was truthfully only about another half hours work in it for him, but with Magnus assisting him in comfortable silence, they were done in under fifteen. Alec took a moment to slyly check whether he’d have to stay a little longer just to make sure the sections he hadn’t done himself were acceptable – Magnus was new, and Alec had high standards – but it was with relief that Alec noted Magnus clearly knew what he was doing.

“Do you have to get someone to check before we leave?” Magnus asked.

“Normally, yeah, but they trust me to get it right. Thank you, Magnus, I really appreciate it,” Alec said, with a sincerity his colleagues rarely got to hear.

“Well, you definitely don’t look a damsel, but I can’t resist aiding someone in distress,” Magnus said succinctly, with a twinkle in his eye that intrigued Alec. He didn’t make friends that easily, but there was something about Magnus that he really couldn’t quantify. He felt like they could be very good friends, and he found that, unlike himself, he wasn’t averse to trying.

“I’m this way,” Alec indicated, once they’d signed out and left the store. The early November air was biting at this time of night, his ears an unfortunate victim.

“Ah, I’m the opposite. Will I see you tomorrow?”

“No, I got lucky and get Sundays off. Monday?”

Magnus grimaced. “I’m a student, I can only work weekends unfortunately. I guess I’ll see you next week then, Alexander.”

The use of his full name startled him, though not as much as the realisation that he didn’t mind it when it came from Magnus. “Yeah, Um, how did you-“

“Lucky guess,” Magnus smiled. “Do you mind it?”

“I think I’ll let you call me that,” Alec smiled back. “Good night, Magnus.”

“Good night, Alexander.”

And so it was that they spent every Saturday lunch break together. Alec was always scheduled for the long shift, and while Magnus’s shifts only ever started as soon as Alec’s breaks would finish, he was always around an hour early. Alec asked him about it, and Magnus shrugged.

“My lunch options are more varied around here,” he said.

Alec asked Magnus a lot of things, and answered just as many. He took Magnus to Taki’s, a little nearby diner that did amazing spanakopita and other Greek pastries. Thalia, the old lady running the place, had long taken a shine to Alec and insisted on giving him free treats – he accepted, purely on the basis that he’d sneak a good tip in when she wasn’t looking. She knew, and he knew she knew, but they didn’t speak about it. What was important was that she took a great liking to Magnus too, especially when he spoke to her in broken Greek.

“You speak Greek?” he asked, on their first visit there.

“Only a little,” Magnus conceded. “I speak a few other languages somewhat fluently, and figured since I’m good at them, I may as well learn them.”

It turned out that Magnus knew Spanish, French, and Italian (“once you’ve got one romance language down you’ve basically got the others”), a little Greek, a little Dutch, and was fluent in Indonesian. Alec found out that Magnus was actually from Indonesia, though moved as a young teen to America to live with his father. He eventually moved to New York when he refused to join the “family business” – whatever that was, Magnus never specified – and was a grad student studying particle physics now.

Alec, in turn, told Magnus about his family, about sharing an apartment with his siblings and he and Jace working so Izzy could focus on med school. He told Magnus about his mother and Max, trying to help how they could even though they were left with very little after Robert left them. He even told Magnus about Robert, about him being that cold kind of homophobic that tolerated him, but did not accept him.

They spent one memorable Saturday at the very start of December discussing books. Alec didn’t usually allow himself to get carried away in conversation, sweeping hand gestures punctuating his words, but he was talking about something he loved and – well. He trusted Magnus enough to be himself with him, to live a little more freely – similar, but even more so, to how he was with Izzy and Jace.

“I just- stories are such an inherently human art, you know? The best stories echo through time in their original forms simply because humans don’t change all that much, despite era or culture. That’s the goal,” he rambled. Magnus frowned a little, head tilting, and Alec thought that it might have been the cutest thing he’d ever seen a person do – and Max was a cute child.

“Do you write, Alexander?” he asked. Alec froze.

“I-“ he licked his lips, and leaned in. Magnus did the same, and Alec lowered his voice. “Don’t tell anyone, but… yeah. I do. Not even Jace and Izzy know. I don’t know why I don’t tell them, it’s not like I’ll ever get published, but…”

“It’s nice to have something for yourself,” Magnus finished.

“Yeah,” Alec smiled. “You read my mind. Maybe one day, I’ll put it out there, but for now,” he simply shrugged.

“If you ever decide to put your writing out there, I’ll be first in line. Knowing you, I have no doubt it’ll be incredible.”

The sheer belief that Magnus had in him, the trust after only four weeks, broke something down in Alec that he had no idea he’d even built. Suddenly, he wanted Magnus to know him like no one else – or maybe, it wasn’t sudden at all.

He leant down, rummaging around in the small bag he brought with him and pulling out his tattered cheap notebook, flicking it to the most recent page. He carried it with him to work, favoured green pen tucked into the spiral binding, in case inspiration struck him while commuting or on break (he would always leave the store on lunch, even Before Magnus – and wasn’t it something, that Alec was separating his life into Before Magnus and After Magnus?). Alec mostly wrote fiction, short stories, poured out his frustrations and lived his wildest dreams in them, and yet, on that morning’s train, he’d found himself hit with a three-quarter formed idea and rushed to scribble it down.

It was a sonnet, structured like Shakespeare’s ones, and its underlying tone was… hopeful. New beginnings, new bonds, change that was welcome. He consciously made another change now, in sliding the notebook over to Magnus.

“This came to me on the train this morning, so uh – I don’t know if it’s any good. But I trust you to be honest with me if it sucks,” he laughed nervously, hands starting to rub themselves nervously without a conscious thought.

Magnus was silent as he read, and though he read quickly, it seemed to Alec like a whole hour passed, rather than a minute. He watched Magnus read, watched his eyes widen, until Magnus looked up at him with a look on his face of… awe?

“Alexander,” he said, voice hushed. “This is incredible.”

“You… think so?” he replied, blush beginning to rise. Magnus nodded.

“You have a real skill for words, darling. None of the languages I speak could be as beautiful as your own.”

Alec smiled, a soft shy thing, as he gently took the notebook back from Magnus and closed it. He felt impossibly light, a burden he hadn’t realised was weighing on him as much as it had relieved.

“We have to go back now, but – it’d be nice to talk about writing with someone. Can I text it to you, sometime?”

“Absolutely,” grinned Magnus, exchanging numbers with Alec as they walked back to work.

Alec realised, two Sundays after he’d first gotten Magnus’s number, that he had no idea if Magnus was coming to that night’s work Christmas party. He certainly had never made his intentions of going clear, and now Magnus was already at work, so he couldn’t just ask.

Parties weren’t often Alec’s thing, but he did enjoy them now and then, and it wasn’t as if he hated his colleagues or anything. He just felt… out of place. To be perfectly honest, he felt that way most of the time, except around his family, while writing, or with Magnus.

Perhaps it should scare him, that Magnus felt a little like belonging. It didn’t.

He dressed reasonably appropriately for the night, tan wool overcoat and beanie part of his outfit, not just accessories, and charcoal shirt with the top few buttons undone despite the cold. He’d been something of a boring dresser once, before he’d come out, all large sweaters and baggy jeans – but now, while fashion still didn’t speak to him as such, he knew what he liked and how to dress and wore sharp, clean, well-fitting clothes. It wasn’t even a conscious decision, really, but the internet always said you dressed better after coming out and he supposed that had happened to him as well.

He wasn’t out out, but he wasn’t hiding anything either. It was no one’s prerogative to know everything about him unless he wanted them to.

Ten to eight, Alec found himself sat with a bunch of his colleagues waiting for those who had just finished work to join them. Magnus wasn’t already there, and he hoped that he would be showing up with the others, else Alec would probably just head home after the meal and text Magnus all night instead.

That was what they usually did, anyway.

He needn’t have considered alternate plans, though – as Magnus strolled in with the latecomers looking like an untouchable god.

He’d shaved, for a start, and put dark pink highlights in his hair – he’d not had them yesterday at lunch – and he wore a stunning crushed red velvet blazer. Red was certainly Magnus’s colour, Alec thought. He didn’t think about the fact that he noticed how tight Magnus’s pants were, or the fact that Alec couldn’t take his eyes off his friend.

Magnus seemed to be looking for something, and Alec began to stand to greet him, which led Magnus to look his way. He smiled at the sight of Alec, and Alec smiled back, heart leaping, as Magnus made his way over.

“Got you a drink,” Alec said, indicating the two on the table in front of him.

“After that day, I certainly need one. Thank you, Alexander,” said Magnus, resting his hand on Alec’s shoulder as he leant to pick up the drink. “Dark and Stormy?” Alec shrugged.

“It sounded nice, so I thought I’d try it.”

“Good choice, darling. Shall we go be seated?”

They managed to sit next to each other throughout the whole meal, and while Magnus entertained those in the vicinity – like a king holding court, Alec thought, all his subjects enthralled and enamoured – most of their attention was on them alone.

The food was decent, surprisingly good for the place they were in, and the free drinks meant the empty glasses began accumulating steadily. The air buzzed with merriment, and even Alec was laughing freely.

“Hey, everyone’s heading down to Pandemonium now,” Magnus whispered into Alec’s ear.

“Mmm? Are you going with?”

“Actually, I was wondering if you wanted to stop by a store, get some cheap wine, and come back to mine.”

Alec grinned. He wanted nothing more.

Magnus’s place was huge. A penthouse full of oddities and books and incredible art, for a grad student? Even Tipsy Alec was confused by it all, and Tipsy Alec was so much more of a dumbass than Sober Alec. As Magnus closed the door behind them, coming forward to take the bag from Alec’s hands, he noticed the expression on Alec’s face and seemed to read his mind.

“This place is the one gift I accepted from my father. I had… a sizeable trust fund, all legally in my name, nothing he could do about it, and I used it to buy this place after I’d left. I didn’t want to touch his money, but he never wanted me to come here, so - it seemed like a perfectly good ‘fuck you’.”

“It’s a pretty good fuck you, as fuck yous go. You know, I’m surprised you don’t like parties,” Alec said.

Magnus waved his hand nonchalantly. “Oh, I love parties. I’d just much rather hang out with you.”

And fuck, if that weren’t something right there.

Magnus and Alec found themselves sharing just one bottle of wine, far too busy talking to drink, simply enjoying each other’s company when not talking, enough that alcohol simply wasn’t necessary. As a fire crackled in the grate in front of the seating area, Magnus showed Alec his books, told wild travel stories for each trinket, regaled Alec with stories that while they could be those he told when winning friends and captivating hearts, Alec just knew that these were for him and him alone. Magnus had just told a story from his youth where he pretended to be his own father to get out of detention, and that it had somehow worked despite it being a face-to-face conversation, and Alec couldn’t stop giggling, which seemed to set Magnus off laughing too.

“Gods, I was such a little brat when I was with him. Still would be, probably, had I not met Cat and Ragnor and left.”

“Was it hard to leave? With your dad doing… whatever it is he does.”

Magnus’s eyes narrowed quizzically, but warmly. “My father owns a pharmaceutical company that jacks up the prices of literally everything. What did you think he might do, Alexander?”

“Honestly, thought he might be a mob boss, but that’d probably be better,” Alec said. “I see why you want to distance yourself from him.”

“Mmm. You’re one of three people who know about him, here.”

“I’m- Cat, Ragnor, and… me?” Magnus nodded at Alec’s incredulous tone.

“I trust you,” he said, warm brown eyes unwavering from Alec’s own.

“Thank you. For what it’s worth, and this may be selfish, but I’m kinda glad it led you here.”

“Yeah?” asked Magnus, twisting his body round so that he was sat cross legged on the couch, back resting against the arm and facing Alec, who was sprawled out so that his torso lay on the couch, head on the arm rest, and longs legs bent resting on the floor. “Be selfish for a second for me. Why?”

“If you hadn’t realised what a jerk he was, you wouldn’t be in New York. And if you hadn’t cut yourself off… you wouldn’t have needed a job to support you. And I wouldn’t have met you. I’m sorry, if that’s rude, but… I’m really glad I met you,” Alec steamrollered, knowing that if he didn’t get it out now he might never do it again out of stubbornness.

“I’m really glad I met you too, Alexander. Makes being yelled at for not returning things from last year worth it.” Magnus laughed softly then, and so did Alec, a shared experience joining them. Magnus heaved a sigh then, and Alec furrowed his brow.

“Alexander… how drunk would you say you are? I’m completely sober, unfortunately.”

Alec took a second to ponder it, but he needn’t have – they’d been sat there for a few hours, and were only halfway through their shared bottle of wine. The only thing he was intoxicated by was Magnus’s presence, the warmth radiating from him that had little to do with actual temperature and everything to do with the comfort and serenity that Magnus brought him.

“If it makes you feel better about it, I’m completely sober too,” Alec said. “But that’s okay. Being here at 2am is way more fun than any club could be.”

“Good, I’m glad you – that’s good. Alexander, tell me if this is too forward, but…” Magnus trailed off, eyes closed and breathing deeply, as if to steady himself.

“But what?”

Magnus shook his head, and swallowed, before he leant down and forward and pressed his lips to Alec’s.

It was relatively chaste, all things considered, but Alec felt his world turn on its head. Magnus tasted of wine, and chocolate, and home, and Alec closed his eyes and let himself feel. His lips were soft, and as Alec chased them, it hit him that he was halfway to falling in love with the man, and he hadn’t even noticed that that was what it was.

They separated, yet Magnus didn’t go far; Alec opened his eyes to see Magnus still hovering a few inches over him, his own eyes gazing into Alec’s own. Alec’s lips quirked into a smile.

“That was-“

“Yeah,” Magnus breathed out, and returned Alec’s soft, shy smile with one of his own, to which Alec, surprising himself with his boldness, rose up and kissed again.

The difference this time, as they sat up together, was that they could barely stop smiling to really kiss, but neither cared. Their laughter mingled between them in the firelit room, Alec’s admission that he’d never been kissed before at 24 simply encouraging Magnus to kiss him more, barely noticing when the embers started to settle, tangled up in each other on the couch with this new thing between them, that had somehow always been present.

“Stay the night, Alexander? It’s late, we don’t have to do anything, just… stay?”

“Magnus, there’s- there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

No one commented on the spring in Alec’s step the next morning, and he was grateful; he didn’t exactly want to tell them he’d been woken up with a kiss from a man who made his heart sing, after falling asleep wrapped in each other’s arms. That was his alone to rejoice in.

The next two weeks were much the same as their last five; a whirlwind of texts and soft smiles when their eyes met at work, among the many “no, we’re all sold out of those now” to people who left their Christmas shopping until a week before the date and were surprised everything had gone – like it didn’t happen every year. The only difference was that now they held hands over the table at Taki’s as they spoke, Thalia beaming at them whenever they stole kisses while sharing pastries. They didn’t notice that, though.

They spoke more about dating, than before; previously, Alec had always carried a small burden of shame that he’d never been in a relationship, but Magnus, with all his experience in good and bad relationships, never treated it as a set back in any way. He had a knack for making Alec feel comfortable in his own skin.

“I’m covering a shift tomorrow, by the way,” Alec said, after a few minutes of silent contemplation. Magnus quirked an eyebrow.

“My last day,” he said. “Can’t say I’m sad, but the place did bring me you, so…”

Alec snorted. “Run while you still can. I’ll just miss seeing you at lunch every Saturday.”

“Well, I still have Saturdays free. I see no reason why I can’t still meet you every so often – it might do me good to get out of the house and work on my paper.”

“Yeah?” Alec grinned, indescribably happy. Neither of them had defined what was between them yet, and that was okay; it was like they were still the best of friends, with the added bonus of kissing, and yet Alec was still surprised that Magnus, beautiful, kind, intelligent Magnus, wanted to spend time with him, read his writing and told him it was masterful, urged Alec to be a better version of himself simply by being there.

“Yeah,” Magnus grinned back. “Also we should go back.” He laughed at Alec’s groan.

“Ah ah ah!” they heard Thalia shout as they left the café. Alec turned, curious; it’s not as if they’d forgotten to pay – had they left anything? “Look above, just for you two loves,” she yelled happily.

Magnus chuckled. “Mistletoe, Alexander. Shall we?”

Alec laughed, and leant in, and made a note to ring Thalia later and leave his number, so she could send him the photo she very obviously took.

Sunday was like every Sunday, but times ten; he’d agreed to cover someone in the ladies department for a change of pace, and was kinda wishing he hadn’t. He had, at least, made plans with Magnus to get dinner and spend the night, which powered him through the chaotic day.

Before they could escape however, Jia, the store manager, gathered everyone around the doors. Alec groaned inwardly. He’d forgotten that she did this every year, giving them all a speech about how high the quality of seasonal staff was, and how it being the 23rd it was most of their last days anyway, and blah blah blah. Alec mostly tuned it out in favour of his favourite activity – looking at Magnus.

“Gonna miss your lunch date, Lightwood?” Duncan called out once Jia had apparently finished, laughing, though nobody laughed with him. Alec smiled, knowing exactly what he had to, and wanted to, do. He lifted his arm to embrace Magnus shoulders as he moved to his side, not needing words to know what Alec planned, arm snaking around Alec’s waist and hand settling comfortably on his hip.

“Well, now we’re no longer co-workers – I guess Magnus’ll just have to settle for being my boyfriend instead, huh?” Alec raised an eyebrow, daring Duncan to say anything. By the look of his reddening face, he had nothing, suitably ashamed by the smiles on every other associates faces – even Jia cracked a smile, and Alec thought he heard Simon whooping as Magnus pulled his face in for a quick, yet tender, kiss.

“We’ll just have to go on more actual dates, I suppose… boyfriend,” Magnus said to him as they left, Magnus for the last time as a staff member.

They’d agreed not to get each other gifts, Alec thought; and had ended up giving each other the best gift they could possibly have gotten. Alec had a boyfriend for Christmas for the first time ever, and as he held him close, Alec resolved that he’d never let him go.

#shipnotised #malecsanta18 #*fics18 #*gifts18

[ethicsorgbeh]

Hi everyone! Welcome to our fourth blog already. This weeks’ tutorial was about ethics focusing on organizational cultures. One of the most interesting things that immediately caught our attention while reading the articles was the ethical marginality trap. The ethical marginality trap grasps all forms of behavior that are at the margin of acceptability (Balch & Armstrong, 2010). The most interesting thing about this, is that it is very hard to judge the behavior that is right at the boundary of doing ethically ‘good’ or ‘wrong’. This because people can have different opinions about the situation. What one perceives as wrong, can be the right thing to do in someone else’s eyes.

Highly competitive and performing business environments tend to stimulate behavior at the margins (Balch & Armstrong, 2010). Managers of these highly competitive companies often have a win-win-win mentality and are only focused on achieving the best results without paying attention to the means that are used to get these results. This puts a lot of pressure on employees, which stimulates them to do whatever it takes to get the best business deals. Because, after all, the quickest way to climb the corporate ladder is by satisfying your manager. Another reason why people involve in unethical behavior, is that when many people in an organization behave unethically, it is easier to follow than to resist yourself. One example of intentional corporate wrongdoing is from thé Dutch law firm Loyens & Loeff. A employee was fired, because he resisted to behave unethically. In this goodbye Email to his colleagues he wrote:

“Creative registration of hours: not my biggest talent. Unfortunately, I only just found out that you need to multiply your time spend on a job by three to come close to the (suddenly much more realistic) target.” - Quote (2017)

This statement was quite shocking to us. Because an employee that was behaving ethically right by writing down the hours he worked instead of adding a few hours more, was punished for doing ‘good’. Normally, one would expect that the lying colleagues would be fired. 

As described above, the leadership style of managers plays an important role in ethical behavior of employees. One leadership style that stimulates unethical behavior is ends-biased leadership. Managers that execute the ends-biased leadership have a very strong focus on outcomes, that they do not pay sufficient attention to how these outcomes are achieved (Balch & Armstrong, 2010). As a consequence, employees will do whatever it takes to achieve those goals. Pleun once experienced a similar situation. She was addressed by someone of a charity when she was doing groceries. The sales representative tried to persuade her to donate a monthly aid to help refugees in a very aggressive way. After she told him that she was not interested, he continued to follow her to her house and kept telling her that she was a bad person. This boy was apparently really focussed to try to hit a high sales target, that he started to behave very rude. His tactic to convince her did not work, but we can imagine that most people would not dare to reject his proposal after such an aggressive sales pitch. In our opinion, it is very rude and unpolite to use such manners to achieve goals and we believe that behavior like this will not be beneficial for your brand image in the end. Referring to the second blog, unethical behavior can backfire you on the way consumers perceive your brand (Melo & Galan, 2010).

The leadership style of ends-biased leadership can be linked to the five barriers that is described by Bazerman and Tenbrunsel (2011). Using the example of the unethical sales pitch, the supervisor of the sales representative could have set ill-conceived goals. As a consequence, the sales representative behaved unethically to try to meet the high sales targets. However, as mentioned earlier this will not be favourable for the charity in the long term. Taking a look at the second barrier, motivated blindness, which basically describes a conflict of interest. The sales representative probably knows that his tactic is not the most friendly manner, but he is paid to the number of people he contracts and therefore remains ignorant. Another barrier that applies to this situation is indirect blindness. Indirect blindness refers to the fact that customers and managers often do not hold the people that behave unethically for account. This also applied to Pleun’s feelings, she expected that the sales representative was just following his script that was probably written by his supervisor. Even though, she was not sure if this was the case. To break down these barriers, organization should not force their employees to behave ethically, but they should ask them the question what implications could arise from the actions they take (Bazerman et al, 2011)

But how can organizations with thousands of employees monitor if all of their employees take ethically justified decisions? The answer is very simple, that is impossible. Conell’s (2017) theory of Convention is based on economic, psychological and anthropological insights and therefore takes subcultures into account. Which we believe is very important, because large organizations do not have only one culture, but many different subcultures, which need to be taken into account when analyzing an organizational culture. This links to a concept that was discussed in the previous blog, namely the economic theory of identity. The theory of economic identity assumes that people have multiple social identities, that are based on characteristics as their job, beliefs, but also ethnicity and gender (Cohn, Fehr & Maréchal, 2014). Combining these two theories, we can say that organizations and individuals are all unique, and there is no standard way to behave ethically at all times.

So if there is no standard way to stimulate employees to take ethically justifiable actions, what can organizations than do to implement change to the organizational culture? First of all, it is important to clarify specific areas in the organization where uncertainty has to be overcome. Than companies need to identify the order of worth that is most suitable to address each of the defined areas. There are six different orders of worth: domestic, civic, market, industrial/technical, inspiration and fame. What order fits the best depends on the situation. Moreover, behavior is measured in terms of someone’s obligations and rights (Conell, 2017). In the current times of COVID-19 someone’s rights are to work from home, to minimize the chance of becoming infected with the virus. However, some employers still want their employees to work at the office, which is in strive with employees’ rights. Lastly, companies need to secure that all actions are justified by the most suitable order of worth. In our opinion, this is could be a very effective theory, because it takes different points of view and does not assume one perspective as the only way to measure corporate behavior. Which fits perfectly to the diverse company cultures of big companies.

Picture retrieved from: https://mediatel.co.uk/news/2020/04/29/ipa-census-finds-marginal-at-best-improvements-in-diversity/

#organizational ethics #organizational culture #organizational diversity