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kishizyp · 2 months

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7 Camping Cookware Sets That Make Cooking in the Wild Easier

If you love spending time in the woods or at your local state park’s campground, you’ll quickly understand how important it is to eat outside. After a long day of climbing, you need to eat well. It can also help you forget about the rainy day and turn it into a “at least we ate well” adventure.

It’s not always as easy as it sounds to move the cooking outside. I’ve worked as a chef and led many groups through the woods. During that time, I learned something that every professional guide knows: the food makes or breaks the trip. I’ve put together a list of ideas for you, including the camping cookware with heat exchanger for fuel efficiency, titanium camping cookware for the ultimate lightweight option, and camping cookware with pot coozies for keeping food warm. This has something for everyone, whether you’ve been camping before or this is your first time.

1. Redcamp Camping Cookware Messs Kit

The Redcamp Camping pan Mess Kit is one of the few pan sets that you can get for less than $20 that has so many useful pieces. This camping cookware set with pots, pans, and lids has everything you need for an easy meal. It comes with bowls, camping tools, and a sponge for cleaning up. Everything fits inside the pot, so it’s easy to pack in a bag. It weighs less than a pound.

Note: Some reviews from outside sources say that the handles can melt and that the pots are small and hard to clean.

2. GSI Pinnacle Base Camper

The GSI Pinnacle Base Camper Cookset is my favorite set of knives for camping by a long shot. I’ve had the hard-anodized, nonstick set for more than 100 days in the field. You can cook almost anything in the camp with the two pots and pan.

The cooking set comes in both small and large sizes, and the stuff bag can also be used as a sink. You can also put pieces together. When there are only a few people, I only use one pot and leave the skillet out. I’ve cooked for up to 12 people with the big set.

Note: You can bend the pots back easily if you push them too hard. The set of aluminum cookware is not good for cooking over a campfire.

3. Primus Stainless Steel Campfire Cookset

The Primus Stainless Steel Campfire Cookset is a stylish and durable set of stainless steel cooking tools that is light enough to take hiking and strong enough to use while camping in your car. It has a pot, a kettle, and a skillet that can all be used on a stove or over a campfire. It comes in small and large sizes. Pot lids with leather tabs look nice and make it easy to take off hot lids. It’s also easy to hang over a campfire because it has a bail handle.

Note: There is no lid on the pot. The cooking gear for camping doesn’t fit together well and rattles around in a bag.

4. Lodge 3.2 Quart Cast Iron Combo Cooker

The Lodge Cast Iron Combo Cooker has a deep pan and a fryer that can be used together to make a Dutch oven. Dutch ovens cook food very evenly, so you can use them to make soups and bread. Cast iron is also one of the most durable materials for cooking. My family has used cast iron for generations.

There is vegetable oil already on the Lodge Cast Iron Combo Cooker, so it is nonstick and ready to use. It doesn’t have any PTFE or PFOA in it, and you can use it to cook over a campfire.

Note: This camping cookware set is by far the biggest on the list. To keep it from rusting and sticking, cast iron also needs some simple care.

5. Primus Stainless Steel Campfire Cookset

This is a high-quality set of stainless steel cookware that is light enough to take hiking and strong enough to use while camping in your car. There are small and large sizes, as well as a pot, a saucepan, and a skillet. You can use all of them on the stove or over a campfire. Leather tabs on the pot lids make them look nice and make taking them off quickly when they’re hot. The pot has a bail handle that makes it easy to hang over a campfire.

Note: There is no lid on the pot. The cooking gear for camping doesn’t fit together well and rattles around in a bag.

6. Stanley Even-Heat Camp Pro Cookset

The Stanley Even-Heat Camp Pro Cookset was made to cook food well, which makes it a great choice for eaters. The three-ply, thick stainless steel evenly spreads heat, and the two pots and pan of different sizes let you cook different parts of a meal at the same time. The cooking tools and cutting board that are BPA-free and can be folded up fit inside the pan. The pots and skillet all fit together.

Note: Many reviews say that the cutting board is weak and the plastic cooking tools melt easily. Additionally, it is one of the largest and most expensive choices on this list.

7. MSR Ceramic 2-Pot Set

This MSR Ceramic 2-Pot Set doesn’t stick and doesn’t contain any PFTE or PFOA chemical.

Since MSR doesn’t use Teflon, but Fusion® ceramic, you don’t have to think about chemicals that are bad for you when cooking on a campfire or over high heat. As with other nonstick surfaces, this nonstick camping cookware for easy cleaning is a best choice. The lids of the clay pots can be locked in place with the handle that can be taken off. This set of camping tools weighs just under a pound, which is light enough to take on a backpacking trip.

Note: This camping cooking set costs a lot for what it is because it doesn’t come with a skillet.

Camp cooking doesn’t have to be scary, after reading this advice. Compared to cooking inside, it’s not too different. By following these guidelines, you can ensure that your campers will have a wonderful time, eat well, and make lasting memories.

#camping cooking set #Camping Cookware

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xyziiix · 19 days

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•𝙻𝙸𝙺𝙴 𝙰 𝚆𝙴𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙽• VIII

•Pairing: Mid-honour!Arthur Morgan X Fem!Reader•

•Shit Summary: The gang hadn't been in Horseshoe all of one week, and already the boys were causing trouble in town•

•warnings: swearing, mentions of violence, SMUT: unprotected p in v, short but sweet fingering, not that graphic (probs is) reader is described as female with female biology and wearing feminine attire, no use of Y/N — and I plan to keep it that way for future chapters — reader can be lifted up? Other than that no detailed descriptions of reader•

•Long but important A/N at the bottom!•

•This is not proof-read as I was too impatient to post•

•series masterlist•

-ˋˏ━━━━∙⋆✫ ✪ ✫⋆∙━━━━ˎˊ-

←LatestChapter

This breeze was much more welcome than Colters gale, this one refreshing, more gentle — unlike the sharp, unforgiving winds that’d mercilessly flown through the glacial terrain, it was something you’d be happy to forget.

The day is dunked in warm pinks and orange hues from the setting sun, dusky fading light, the fingers of the trees sharp and black against the horizon. Horseshoe Overlook did have a stunning view, you’d give it that.

Pots and pans clatter near Pearson’s wagon, followed by a rusty voice damning the cookware to hell and back. The nearby fire pits crackle and glisten with heat. The faint scent of pine and smoke tickling your nose, and the quiet chatter of fellow gang members serenades the peaceful atmosphere of camp.

Well, mostly quiet.

Said peacefulness is cruelly interrupted when you hear a bark of your name, the familiarly rigid tone making your shoulders stiffen. And with a schooled, but validly wary, expression, you slowly swivel on your stool to see Miss Grimshaw stomping over to you.

“What do you think you’re doin’?” Susan asks you, in a voice that’s hard, yet somehow shrill enough you worry that nearby glass would shatter.

Your brow lifts, and you stare at her, deadpan, as if it was a trick question. “What’s it look like I’m doin’?” You wave a hand over the heap of clothes on the table in front of you, a needle and thread held in said hand.

“It looks like you’re just starin’ off into space, girl.” She manages to speak so quickly that one might worry her tongue would tie itself into a knot. Should you be so lucky.

You give her a look, one she’s had to see on your face and deal with since you were a delinquent— a cross between a smile and a pout, as if you were just as clueless as her. With an exasperated sigh and a pinch on the bridge of her nose, she regards you with a weary shake of her head. “Those clothes ain’t gonna patch themselves.” The bite in her tone reappears, though you know it’s just for show, as she gestures to the clothes sprawled out in front of you.

“Guess I better get a move on then.” You make a show of gathering a worn shirt, fingers skimming over the fabric until you find the gaping wound in the fabric. The woman huffs, somewhat satisfied, chin jutted up as she strides away from you, probably to scream at someone else who wasn’t breaking their back or chaffing their fingers to her liking.

That same gentle breeze flows through camp, barely moving a few strands of hair away from your face. Bored, you place the shirt back on the scratched table, indents from five finger fillet scarred into the surface. You glance over your shoulder, eyeing the hitching posts where Artax was loosely tethered. Poor horse hadn’t left camp either, he was probably just as restless as you.

Arthur hadn’t been around since early afternoon, something about meeting the boys in Valentine. Meanwhile you were stuck at camp, had been since the gang settled into the charming Overlook.

It wasn’t that you were against doing your share of the work that needed doing, it weren’t like that at all… you’re just more… in your own element when you’re slinging a revolver at your hip, not fumbling with needles and thread or bent over a wash basin to scrub at stubborn stains.

Miss Grimshaw was also aware of that, which is probably why the woman was — not so discreetly — circling the perimeter of camp like a baited shark. You briefly calculate the amount of time it’d take you to reach your mount and surge out of the tree line, but an anticipating Susan would probably tackle you to the ground before that could happen.

The cadence of jingling spurs catches your attention, eyes flickering towards the source. And you’re shocked at what you find.

Arthur was a few feet away from you, deftly angled in a way that made it clear he was trying to sneak past you. He was marred by a thick coating of drying mud, he wouldn’t have been easily recognisable if it weren’t for the subtle, familiar swagger in his posture. He looks tense, frustrated. But you’re more concerned as to why your outlaw looks as though he’s been rolling around with the hogs.

“Arthur,” your voice is unintentionally shrill as you stand up, his lips twist into a tight line, face etched with lines of frustration and streaked with mud. “What the hell happened to you?”

He dismissively waves you off as he beelines towards the wagon, you’re hot on his tail and your needlework is forgotten on the table — Grimshaw be damned. He bats the canopy flaps out of his path upon entering the private space, and you quickly slip in behind him, the warm glow from the oil lamp a contrast from the evening sky outside.

“Bill and his incapability t’keep the bluster outta his mouth, that’s what.” Arthur practically growls, and you watch, dumbstruck, as he yanks his satchel off of his shoulder and drop it onto the side table — flakes of drying mud breaking off of him at every movement.

“That don’t explain why—“ you pause at the crimson that coats his knuckles, barely noticeable under the grime. “You got into a fight?”

“Weren’t me that started it.” He grumbles defensively, his back to you as he removes his hat, giving a half-assed attempt at shaking the dirt off of it before slapping it onto the table next to his satchel, and you cringe at his mud-caked hair.

“Arthur, we ain’t even been in the Heartlands one week,” your rant starts strong and exasperated, your hands perched on your hips and your brows furrowing so tightly together that Arthur resists the urge to smooth it out with his thumb as he turns to face you.

His expression remained unreadable as you continued to chide him, only a handful of your words registering to him as he instead took in your own appearance — his eyes drawn towards your bosom, and the way your hand placement accentuated the swell of your hips. Even when you’re looking at him like you could smack him upside the head, which he wouldn’t put past you, he can’t help but admire your… you.

“Are you even listenin’ to me?”

The snap of your fingers makes him blink back to reality, his brows slowly knitting as exasperation spreads over his chest at your lecturing, causing a lengthy sigh to be pulled from his nose. “I don’t wanna hear it, woman.” He tells you gruffly as he peels his jacket off with a grimace. “Gotta get this shit off’a me.”

“Why didn’t you get a bath at the hotel?”

“Didn’t wanna stick around after that shit-show.”

Your lips pursed as you watched him move around the small space, unsure what to make of the state of him. You’ve seen him in worse conditions, streaked with crimson rather than dirt, reeking of copper and gunpowder rather than the heady scent of earth, but it was still aggravating considering you’d cleaned up earlier just for it to get messed up again…

“You joinin’ me?” Arthur’s voice broke you out of your brief reverie, your brows inching up, searching for clarification, “gonna have t’go wash up by the river, ain’t I?” There’s an edge in his voice, one you can’t quite put your finger on, but the subtle glance he gives you is a hint.

The rest of the scolding you had for him dies on your tongue. Though, you try and feign an air of resignation — like you were doing him a favour, despite the way your heart skips a beat at the prospect of joining him to bathe.

“Fine.”

-ˋˏ━━━━∙⋆✫ ✪ ✫⋆∙━━━━ˎˊ-

The sun had since laid its head, the sky now spilled with ink and navy, dotted with countless stars that flicker over the dark canvas of the night. Tall, douglas fir, serve as an outcrop for the crescent moon in the far distance.

Arthur had opted to wait for the sun to finish setting, because while he’d rather not sit in his own filth and reminder of the fight he’d had, the Dakota river — though being closest water source to camp — wasn’t very secluded. And he wasn’t gonna take any risks.

Though the night served as privacy, and there’d be very little chance of any passers-by at this hour. Plus, if something were to happen, Arthur’s gun laid only a few feet away on the shore, along with the rest of his dirtied clothes, your own a growing pile as you had yet to enter the water.

Arthur was already in hip-deep, eager to scrub away his sins, his back to you as he cupped water, dragging it over his skin to wash away the grime and hints of dried blood — not all of it his own.

The smooth pebbles and stones were cool under your bare feet, though probably not as icy as the waiting water in front of you.

The air is crisp, carrying an earthy odour, perhaps from the river foam, or from plant material decay. There’s also tinge of something salty… but fresh is the most accurate description of your surroundings.

The tender breeze strokes your skin, while is being gradually exposed, your blouse falling into the pile of clothes by your feet. While you undress, your eyes are stuck to your lover like a magnet, taking in the way the pale skin of his broad back — a contrast to the sunburnt, more tanned, skin of his strong arms — seemed to look so smooth in the moonlight… there were a couple thin scabs littered over his shoulder blades, the curve his spine trailing down his vast back, dotted with two dimples at his lower back before the rest of him disappears under the waters surface.

Your chemise joins the heap, followed by your bloomers, the last barriers of clothing removed, bared to the world, to him.

Without further ado, you gingerly step into the lapping water by your feet. You swallow a gasp, your body taken aback by the temperature difference, though you acclimate to it quickly, your arms wrapping around your chest as you wade over to where Arthur was. The water grows deeper the further you go, the current pushing against your legs and thighs, though not strong enough to wash you away.

The closer you near, the more you can take Arthur in. Most of the dried dirt was off of him — save for a streak on his shoulder and neck — droplets of water racing down his forearm as he splashed water onto his chest.

The dark water lapped at your waist now, and you move around him so that you were facing him.

You frown.

Underneath the grime, you can see the aftermath of his fight. There’s an ugly, yellow and violet bruise blossomed over his ribs, another one splotched on his strong jaw, darkening the stubble that grows there.

Arthur seems to notice the worry spurting inside of you, of course he does, and his gaze lifts to meet yours as he scours the muck off of his forearm.

“M’okay, darlin’.” He reassures you, cupping the cold water to start washing the streak off of his neck, head tilted back slightly, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows, “should see the other feller.” He adds, his cerulean eyes glued to you. His tone isn’t as curt anymore, his frustration having died down, plus, his appreciation for your concern softens him inside.

You still huff, not entirely convinced when evidence of his injuries was staring right back at you. Arthur’s lip twitches.

“C’mere.” He tells you, voice resonant as he drops his hand from his neck to instead hold both of them out to you, beckoning you with a twitch of his finger.

The water that’d been clinging to Arthur’s hands, callous and firm, rivulet onto your own skin when his palms curl over your sides, trailing down your waist, the curve of your hips… Arthur’s gaze chasing the droplets. So pretty…

Your own hands lay on his broad shoulders, fingers accidentally pressing into one of the thin, shallow, but still tender slices on his skin. He sucks a small breath through his teeth. You notice.

“What’re these from?” You ask, voice quiet, flowing with the gentle sounds of the running river.

“Got tossed through a window at the saloon.”

You lean back, brows jumping up, “what?”

“M’alright,” he repeats with a puff, hands tightening on your waist before sliding down to your hips.

“It ain’t alright,” you argue, your hands pressing against his chest, the wry hair on his sternum tickling your palms. “Dutch said we ain’t supposed to cause trouble—“

“I know what Dutch said, sweetheart.” he sighs, exasperated with you, though he only pulls you closer. He then adds, a vexed plea, “let’s just forget ‘bout it for now, hm?”

He doesn’t let you argue further, tilting his head to nudge your nose with his own, his breath — carrying the scent of cigarettes and the acidic tinge of whiskey — hot against your parted lips. His hands shift on your hips, splayed, coarse fingertips pressing into the meat of your ass as he kisses you.

He tastes of tobacco, as well as the liquor that you could already smell on his breath, his stubble scratching your face as he groans into your mouth, the noise snatched up by your tongue.

It was as though he was trying to devour you, swallow you whole, or perhaps he was just trying to distract you from giving him an earful.

A thread of saliva stretches between you as he pulls away for breath, catching the moonlight before snapping. You wet your lips, the taste of him lingering on your tongue.

Arthur glances around momentarily, before spotting a boulder that had risen from the rivers surface. Perfect.

“Arthur?” You rasp as he starts steering you backwards, the water sloshing around both of your legs. Though after a couple steps, his rough hands drop down to the back of your thighs, hoisting you up with a grunt and carrying you the rest of the way.

You hiss as the cold face of the rock meets your back, a few jagged pieces digging into your skin. Arthur’s lips are back on yours, tongue pressing into your mouth with another rumbling noise of need.

You throw your arms around the back of his neck, fingers tangling in the sunny strands of hair at the nape. It’s grown out over the weeks, you think you prefer it longer.

You both reluctantly part to catch your breaths, lips swollen from his kisses and cheeks hot from the lack of oxygen. With one hand on your thigh, holding you up — the rock behind you holding most of your weight — Arthur presses a calloused thumb under your lips, gently prying them wider so he could roll his tongue over yours in one more brief, but deep kiss.

You can feel him, stiff and heavy against your navel, a hot and sticky bead of milky white smeared from the angry red tip.

“Arthur,” you whine, readjusting your grip on the back of his neck, both his hands back on your rear to keep you up at his level. Need burns between your legs, a blazing fire of want only he could tend to. “Please-“

“Please what, sweet girl?”

He damn well knows what. His eyes — darkened with lust — hold something knowing, something amused. He enjoys seeing you like this, it makes him rather smug, evident by the smirk he poorly suppresses.

Another whine, your cheeks and neck burning hotter than fire as you shift restlessly against him, ankles crossed behind his back. Was he really gonna make you say it?

“You know what I want.” You counter, though your breathless, needy tone bellies the demanding facade you tried to display.

Arthur wets his lips, and you unconsciously do the same, gaze drawn to the movement of his tongue. He makes sure you’re steady against the rock as he removes one hand from you, grasping his cock and dipping his chin so that he could let spit drop onto his length, slavering it over himself before nestling his hips more snugly against the warm apex of your legs.

But, instead of immediately giving in, he slips a hand between you, the rough pads of his fingertips inching down the thatch of hair between your legs, spreading your dewy folds and running a finger up the seam of your body.

He muffles your unsteady sigh with a lingering press of his lips to the corner of your mouth. “Gonna get you ready f’me,” he explains, the rumble of his voice vibrating against your skin, two thick digits nudging inside your cunt. “Don’t wanna hurt you, peach.”

It’s a sensible idea, but you’re already impatient. “Now, Arthur,” you plead, arms tightening around him, holding him to you, wanting more and more and all of him. “I can take it.”

He crooks the two digits inside of you, causing your breath to hitch, raising a brow at you in hesitation.

“I can handle it,” you insist, desperate. How could he ever deny you?

Slipping them free, he takes a moment to line himself up with you before adjusts his hold on you again, fitting underneath the curve of your ass and tugging you more securely against him as he pushes forward.

He slowly splits you open, his cock sliding into you and carving out a place for itself. Your head tips back against the boulder behind you, and he sinks deeper with a grunt. He bottoms out, balls flush against your ass as he tilts his hips upwards to reach an angle inside of you that has you seeing stars.

It punches the air from your lungs, being so full of him — a feeling you’ll never completely get used to. His grip on you tightens, blunt nails digging into the fat of your thighs as his head drops to the juncture of your shoulder, a throaty groan reverberating against your heated skin. He lets you take several moments to adjust to him, while he’s currently trying not to finish just from the feeling of being inside of you.

He brushes soft, wet kisses along the curve of your shoulder and neck, lowering his head to flutter his tongue over a pebbled nipple, pulling it between his lips, his mouth like liquid molten around the bud as he finally starts to move.

He draws back an inch or so before shoving his hips flush against yours again, the coarse hairs at the base of his cock pressed against the softer thatch covering your mound. The drag of his length, the friction, has your temples growing hot and thoughts even less coherent.

He does it again and again and again, his body fitting into yours like the last piece to a puzzle, the two of you moving in synch like a familiar song and dance.

The moan you’ve been holding back spills out of you, mingling with his own guttural exhale.

“God -“ Arthur grits his teeth, fucking you with deep, steady plunges of his hips, the rock face pressing harder against your back to the point you’re sure there’ll be bruises that you’ll proudly wear, you’ll wear it along with the marks his fingers are no doubt brushing into your thighs and hips. “Look at you, s’pretty like this, darlin’, my pretty girl.”

He really is enraptured by you right now… his breath ragged as he watches you with a slack jaw, taking this moment in, not daring to look away so it’s burned into his memory. Maybe he’ll sketch the view of you like this into his journal later…

The way your back arched against the slick rock he has you pressed onto, the way the droplets of river water — that had transferred onto your skin from his beard — rivulets down the curve of your neck, the valley between your breasts… slowing down at your abdomen before disappearing into the soft curls covering your mound.

…

Yeah, he was definitely drawing this later.

Arthur swallows your next whine, his tongue tangling with yours in a sloppy, uncoordinated and desperate kiss. Your hand buries into his hair again, eliciting another groan from him, your other hand pressing against the uninjured side of his jaw — the coarse stubble scratching your palm. He uses his grip on your ass to bounce you, grinding you against him, sending heatwaves rolling down your navel.

You can feel it, rapidly building inside of you. Like a Jack-in-the box, winding up taut until it unexpectedly bursts.

He breaks from the kiss, his pants mingling with yours as your foreheads press tightly together, your eyes fluttering shut as his eyebrows pull in concentration.

“Arthur, I’m —“

“I know,” a kiss is brushed onto your burning cheek, then he’s nosing against your jaw, breath ragged and a shudder running through his body — signalling he’s also near his peak, “I know, sweetheart… give it t’me, c’mon.”

There’s a certain demand in his words that has the coil pulling rigid, then it snaps.

You can only hear the blood rushing in your ears, not the sounds of the water rushing, not the wet smacking of his hips into yours, not even the delectable grunts being pulled from Arthur’s throat. Your body locks up, inner muscles constricting around his cock, coating the length, base and balls slick with your release. White-hot pleasure burns through your body, desire pulses in your veins and you feel like you’re melting. Turning into liquid ecstasy to be carried away in the current that laps at the both of you as well as the rock behind you.

Arthur isn’t far behind.

“Shit… atta girl,” he grunts in approval, the rut of his hips stuttering at the sensation of you coming undone around him, clenching down on him so hard it yanks a strangled gasp low from his chest. He tugs you flush against him, breasts pressed up against his chest, and he hitches your thighs higher up his hips, hoisting you back up before you can slip down the face of the boulder.

His thrusts shift into a vigorous grind, a whimper exhaled from your lips as the coarse hair covering his pelvis tickles your overly-sensitive clit. And at last second, he forces himself to pull out of your cunt.

Hot strings of spend shoot out of the weeping tip, splatting onto your abdomen, leaking down your skin and drying into a sticky mess. Arthur’s head falls back onto your shoulder, groaning and panting as his arms completely envelope you — one wrapped around your waist and the other following the curve of your spine, large hand cradling the back of your head, keeping you tucked against him as he empties himself.

Arthur isn’t a holy man, but by the way he’s chanting your name like a prayer as he releases, one would think he’s a devout believer.

Several moments go by, heart rates finally starting to steady, no longer beating against your rib cage like a wild animal trying to escape., Arthur gives you one last kiss, this one tender and affectionate, before he carefully sets you down.

You’re a little reluctant to untangle yourself from him, using him as an anchor to ground yourself, though you’re forced fully back to the present as your feet dip back into the chilly water, soles meeting the slick rocks under the surface, fresh water lapping at your hips again.

“Y’alright?” Arthur breathes, holding you steady until you use the rock behind you for support, legs feeling light and akin to jelly. Arthur releases a quiet groan as he rolls his shoulders, swallowing as he cups water to gingerly wash his softening cock, all the while keeping his gaze on you, ensuring you were fine.

“M’okay,” you reassure him, sighing as you shift your weight, getting the feeling back into your legs. You take a moment to also wash yourself, cleaning his release off of you, the evidence of your encounter carried down the gentle current.

He looks at you, his eyes softening, something that bellies the gruff outlaw he presents himself to be. He wades a step closer to you, calloused palm gently curling around your upper arm, guiding you towards him, hand sliding down to take yours.

“C’mon, let’s get you back to camp,” he murmurs, planting an affectionate kiss to the side of your head before starting to lead you back to the shore where your clothes laid waiting.

“Yeah, I’m fuckin’ freezing.”

Arthur chuckles in agreement.

-ˋˏ━━━━∙⋆✫ ✪ ✫⋆∙━━━━ˎˊ-

*awkwardly* heyyyy guys… long time no see, huh?

-‘long time’? It’s been a fucking year bro

Yes! Yes I know! And I come bearing gifts and many apologies.

I will start by saying that writers block is a real mf thing. This has been in my drafts for ten months, and please believe me when I say I was looking at this every few days with the intention to finish it and post it… but as soon as I get it up my mind goes blank.

It’s also been more than that, I know a year is a really long time to go without posting, but, I’d like to think that over this year my writing has matured and evolved a little… had a bit of spice added to it 🤌— not that I think I’m the next goddamn Shakespeare, but I know it’s improved when I’m looking back at previous chapters and cringing while reading the shit I wrote.

I know it sounds like a piss take when I say this, but I have the full intention of finishing this story — I wish I could tell you guys the shit I have planned, shit that’ll make you happy, sad, horny, the whole works. But I ain’t gonna tell you cause I ain’t spoiling nothin’. It’s just hard for me to connect the dots and fill out the gaps between all the important plot points I have planned out, my head works in weird ways. All I’m gonna say is I promise I’m gonna try and get back into a regular schedule of posting this story.

Side note: sorry to others who come across this who have been waiting and sending asks about the other wip stories I have on my masterlist— I was really overestimating myself thinking I could be righting multiple series at the same time 😭🤦‍♀️ while I do have drafts (that need to be heavily edited) of these fics, I wouldn’t be expecting to see them anytime soon — because I’m prioritising this story for now. At least until I find the motivation to regularly post and not just once every six — or in this case, 12 months.

Also, I know this is gonna sound strange, because while I do know where this story is going and ending — as in the general direction — I’m still figuring out some things, like certain cannon points that I’m gonna incorporate reader into, reader and Arthur’s dynamic, who reader is personality-wise… there’s a lot going on up here rn *taps temple*

Oh, and one of the biggest things I’m trying to decide about Arthur is how I should go about his honour… for the first eight chapters he’s been leaning towards higher honour — at least that’s how it’s been in my head, though it might be hard to tell by my wack-ass writing for the last seven chapters — so I’m torn between making him dip down into low honour for a while… and splice things up a bit, maybe shake the dynamic of him and reader… or if I should just stick to high honour. Because I know that some people (I am some people) who prefer HH Arthur. Please share your thoughts via anon asks or commenting… I would love the advice!

One last thing! If I go about two weeks or more without posting WITHOUT a valid excuse, everyone has permission to bully and peer pressure me back into being active!

I’m very sorry my luvs here’s an Arthur edit🫶

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Tag list! (PLEASE LMK IF YOU WANNA BE TAGGED IN FUTURE CHAPTERS):

@flw3rrr @vena91 @sickvictorianangel @sykeswrites @babyttsumu @rexibn

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#Spotify #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #smut #fanfic #arthur morgan imagine #rdr2 arthur #rdr2 fanfic #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan fanfiction #LikeAWestern

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