#Micah Stock

[gordonstanheight]

badass gf himbo bf

[moviemosaics]

Maggie Moore(s)

directed by John Slattery, 2023

[ruleof3bobby]

MAGGIE MOORE (S) (2023) Grade: C

It didn't find it's footing, wasn't sure if it wanted to be a dark comedy, crime, or a rom-com. The cast is good & Jon Hamm & Tina Fey do have good chemistry from their 30 Rock scenes.

[bob-the-movie-man-film-reviews]

Maggie Moore(s) (15): Highly enjoyable small-town cop thriller.

A One Mann’s Movies review of “Maggie Moore(s)” (2023). I’ve found Jon Hamm’s movies to be a bit of a game of Russian Roulette. For every “Bad Times at the El Royale” or “Baby Driver” there’s been a “Confess, Fletch“ or “Wild Mountain Thyme”. “Maggie Moore(s)” proves to be a quirky and engaging film on the positive side of the Hamm balance. Bob the Movie Man Rating: Plot Summary: Jordan…

[tinyreviews]

Surprised at the low reviews. I enjoyed this. It checks all my boxes for a good story.

Maggie Moore(s) is a 2023 American black comedy film directed by John Slattery and written by Paul Bernbaum. It stars Nick Mohammed, Jon Hamm and Tina Fey.

[haute-lifestyle-com]

Maggie Moore[s], from Screen Media, presents an unpredictable murder mystery, as one bad choice creates a domino effect and snowballs into an insidious rash of violence, the local sheriff, and his deputy work to find the killer

[vintagewarhol]

[howardhawkshollywoodannex]

Brittany Runs a Marathon (2019) was filmed in part at the actual 2018 New York City marathon. In scenes where Brittany struggles during the marathon, actual runners stopped to help her, not knowing she was an actress not actually competing.

[actorsinunderwear]

Micah Stock in Maggie Moore(s) (2023)

[red-doll-face]

Snow Angel 10

Chapter 10: adamant Series Masterlist

low - medium honor Arthur Morgan x fem. Reader

Arthur has been living by himself, laying low (for real this time) somewhere in the Pacific Northwest. After the whole Pinkerton and Micah debacle, he has been hiding away, waiting for it all to blow over, occasionally getting letters from the people who still know that he’s alive. He’s been alone awhile and at first, he thought he could handle a little loneliness. He has been wrong before. Lucky for him, you look like the perfect thing to break up the monotony.

Warnings: depictions of a panic attack. PLEASE AVOID if that would end up harming you i beg !!! dubious consent, arthur’s mental health is kind of not so good…VERY low honor Arthur, darkish fic, a bit of naive reader. Reader has dated and period typical ideals, not very good ideas about men and marriage… if you want reader to be strong and a fighter… this is not for you sorry. suggestive themes. I am being serious when I say that arthur is bad at handling this situation. he does not think he has done anything wrong. if youve been reading so far you know that that is BAD. please do not read if you can't handle it, im putting a giant RED FLAG on this WC: 4753 SNOW ANGEL DROP TN??? everybody say thank you to @emerald-ranch CHAPTER 10 !!! we did it !! it took me a while to churn this out and get it to a place that i liked. im still not even sure i like it LMAO thank you for all of the lovely little niche questions i get about my strange snow angel arthur, he is everything to me and i love to speak him into existence. first time writing angst soooo Tags: lots of angst todayyy, no TB, weird but not that toxic relationship, Arthur being a menace.Arthur being rude as always just… low honor arthur as a warning lol You and Arthur clear the air.

“Caught me a little bunny, pretty one too,” you can feel his excitement behind the fabric of his pants, his belt digging into you uncomfortably. Arthur’s features, although covered in shadows from the dusk drawing in, still reflect his anticipation. He takes his hat off, his hand drags his hair back, damp with sweat, darker than the usual lighter brown. Some of it still flops over into his face anyway. 

Your hands push at his shoulders weakly, whining as he dips down to kiss you, the warmth of his breath fanning over the roundness of your cheek, you can feel the scrape of his stubbly hair on your face, the dimple at the tip of his nose brush over you. 

“Arthur, please, I just- I wanna go home, you won, you got me,” he hums, running his tongue over your neck, his arms prop his body up over yours, keeping you warm in the cold chill. He covers you well enough, shields you from the winter with his frame, wide and heavyset. You can feel the rumble in him when he says ‘you’re damn right, I did,’.

The sky is a pretty shade of purple, a little like lavender. You look up, feeling his body tilt to one side, held up on his elbow, his other takes the opportunity to roam over your body. “We can go to our home, Arthur,” you try to pull at his desires, but he won’t have any of it. 

“Wanna see my prize first,” he says between puffs of air, his tongue pacing over the delicate skin of your neck. His hands tug your skirt upwards while you try and keep your legs closed. His hands grip the fat of your thigh, dipping under the dainty fabric of your stocking. Between his legs is the rather stiff press of him and his arousal. You don’t like how easy it is for your body to respond to just the notion of him taking you like this, like an animal.

His rough fingertips skim over the mark he left on you, the one your mother saw. 

“All you had to do was say you liked it. I know you did. You like everything I do,”

“I-No, I…I couldn’t-” You couldn't make it stop. Couldn't make your body stop reacting to him is what you want to say. But to say so would admit that some part of you liked what he did. You snap your mouth shut like a coin purse. You can’t bring yourself to say such a thing. Not that his ideas deserve to be validated. He gives you a knowing look which sends a tremor down your spine, your legs shifting nervously. 

“Quit your lying’, girl, you ain’t fooled me yet. Shouldn’t be ashamed, sugar; I might be a bastard but I ain’t the worst thing coulda happened to ya,”

“I’m not trying to…I told her not to say anything,” you whine and push again at his shoulders but he doesn’t budge. 

“Mhm, how come I don’t believe that for a second,”

Either way, he drops his mouth to your neck, sucks another painful mark just under your ear, the sensitive skin tingles with sensation, pulling pain from your nerves. You tilt your face away, you can’t get him to stop. You can hear the wetness of his tongue moistening your skin before he's sucking a deep red mark, which will be another bruise on your skin. You pull at his hair, but you’re held down just as easily while he nips away.

Your back arches, your skin tingles. A lewd whimper is all you have to offer, keening for him. The quiver inside you isn’t mindful at all. Pure reaction, pleasure rising to the surface. 

 He gives you more than one this time, leaving them at his leisure. He's ripping your blouse open next, so he can leave more on your breasts. The soft flesh is alight with nerves, rippling desire through you. 

“Think you’re starting to like it, angel,” you still your body, disconnected from its actions, which until then was moaning, clutching his shoulder for dear life. The tide of your emotions rises higher though, ice cold water crashing down on the pleasant warmth gathering on your lower belly.

Like you’ve stepped in front of a wagon train, the panic sets in, more than any other time before now. A shameful part of you; an awful desire that burns for Arthur somewhere inside of you, wants him to keep going. To make good on all of his promises. But it’s too difficult to indulge that part of you. The shock of what happened in your family’s home is too much. It drops on your head like an anvil or a blacksmith's hammer. You’re entirely too aware of how your father’s blood dripped over his own fingers. Your mother crumpled to the ground as she watched Arthur take you away. 

“I don’t-don’t want to do this right now, please,” It’s maybe the first time you cry at his insistence. And the first time you’ve been utterly clear about what you do and don’t want. In the most explicit terms possible. You feel the tears well up in your eyes. You cried like this when he first told you what he wanted. They drip down the sides of your face. You hadn’t been able to stop him on the first night. And after he made you all too aware of how things work between a man and a woman, you hadn’t tried to, overwhelmed with how good he was at dragging pleasure out of you. But now, it’s like the world has come closing in and there’s nothing that can stop it from swallowing you whole. Not after what he did, simply because your father thought to stop him from taking his only daughter away. 

Your breathing comes far too quick. Your head feels like it's full of air and it begins to hurt. The cold stings your finger tips. You have no regard as to what your face looks like, letting it bunch up in what is probably an unsightly expression of your reactive sobbing.

“Hey, hey, I-” He’s no longer using that husky tone with which he usually addresses you when he gets like this. It’s trying to be soothing but a certain panic underlines his words. You can see him take his hands off of you, as if he’s burning you with every touch. But he still keeps you underneath some of his weight, his mouth opens as if to say something else, furrowed brows 

“Get off…Get off me,” you push at his shoulders and at first he doesn't move an inch. When you don’t immediately feel his weight move from pinning you down, your sobbing becomes volatile. Struggling to breath through your tears and your desperate wails, you inhale faster but it still feels like it's not enough. Thrashing mindlessly at him, uncaring of his anger or his punishments, is what makes him ease off of you a little. 

“Woah, easy,” he tugs your skirt down, shielding you from the cold as much as he can without touching you but you can’t stop yourself from being consumed by the physical reaction your shock evokes from you, wrenched from you. Like a child and their toys infected with scarlet fever. 

His soothing does work a little, now that you know he’s stopping, that he’s covered your legs. You sniff and writhe, your fingers grip at his upper arms. You can finally blink through your tears to see his expression, worry clouded with something you’ve never quite seen. The pull of his mouth tugs towards a guilt he’s never shown you before. 

You’re starting to breathe way too much, all of the air makes you dizzy and the cold still burns your lungs but you don’t care, letting the pain ground you. Your arms wrap around yourself to cover your breasts, trying to fix your ruined shirt to no avail. The frustrated fumbling of your fingers has Arthur softening more, but his voice still intonates with his natural authority.

“Sweetheart, you need to slow down. Jus’ breathe, you’ll be alright,” his commanding voice controls you more than you thought it would. He sits back on his haunches, hoping the distance might do you some good, crowding you isn’t in his best interest. You gasp for air, sitting up a little with the space he’s afforded you.

Arthur comes closer to calm you when he notices you can’t seem to do it all on your own. He’s slow, shushing you, his hand pets your hair, down behind your ear, to the side of your neck. He keeps his eyes low, the warmth of his hand helps you a little, so does his own rhythmic breathing, slow and steady.

He doesn’t say much for a minute or two, a ‘that’s my girl,’ tingles your ear, warms you up. You sigh, trying to regulate your breathing, appreciating his help but still feeling frightened and confused. Especially when you consider that he is the source of all your troubles. Arthur is close enough so you feel body heat, his fingers brush your tears away. Sweet in this gentle moment. How could you stand to take comfort from a man who shot your father? Who could have missed, who could have killed him? As always, you doubt that you’re right in the head. Something must be broken within you.

It’s hardwired though. Arthur is all you have left now. The only one here with you.

He doesn’t seem excited in the same way he was before. The adrenaline from his chase dies in your blood, leaving behind the residue of stress, a headache forming. The pace of your heart does slow down now, the puff of the air in your lungs. He watches you with an odd expression. Glad that you’ve calmed down but still disappointed. Perhaps with you, having ruined his plan of taking you, of spreading your legs in the snow, burying himself inside of you. If things hadn’t gone so wrong today, you might have let him.

The thought makes more shameful tears drip down your face. Despite any calm summoned from you, you still feel the curl of disgrace, laying in your tattered shirt underneath this man, shrinking away from his stare.

“What's wrong? Did I hurt you?” You can at least appreciate that he is worried about you, even if he has no clue why. You can see a fear in his eyes that he tries to hide from you, a fear that he’s caused you real pain. At least you know now that if you had done more screaming and crying, he might have stopped that day. You didn't think him to be so thick as to not understand why you are as emotional in this moment as you are. 

“Arthur, no, no, I just- I don’t want- I want to go home…now,” You had wanted to come away from this moment, maybe just a bit touched at how he had helped you through your foolish hysterics. But as always, some part of Arthur balances it out. 

“Just tell me why you was cryin’. I know that ain’t all of it,” He narrows his eyes. Your jaw drops, unable to hide your outrage. Your anger, which you keep in check most of the time, pushes at the lid of the pot you stuff it in. Every single grain of it threatens to spill out. Your fingers scrunch, your face does too. 

“Shooting my father and then hunting me like an animal; pushing me in the dirt for- for your desires- that’s not enough?” You realize now that dusk is here and it’s colder in this dark valley than it was before. You move to stand, he’s upright before you and he does try to help but you refuse him. Unfortunately, your anger hasn’t been honed into a point sharp enough to cut. It’s only wet and girlish, it makes you cry and tremble, your throat thickens unpleasantly.

“You did what you wanted with me, like you always do. But my family… I never wanted-” You wobble onto your feet, closing his coat in front of your chest. You should never have indulged him. You should have bitten and chewed and snarled and spat until he left you alone. 

You aren't sure why you didn't. You suppose it felt nice to have a man notice you, to call you pretty. To want you in some way other than to just ignore or to leer at disgustingly like the lonely trappers at the trading post, even when they were friends of your father. How pathetic of you. 

Yet, nothing about what he did felt disgusting. It was the expectation on you as a woman to reserve these affections for marriage that lashed against the inside of your ribcage. That whispered that it was wrong; it was anything but the pure and gentle lessons you received as a girl. Opening your legs so willingly for a man because he called you pretty, called you all sorts of saccharine praises, was tearing away at you. You hadn't fought him harder and at first you thought it was because there was no point, that he was too strong anyway so why waste the energy? But now, you aren't so sure of that resolve. 

He was handsome in his own way and he didn’t seem like all the boys your mother told you to keep an eye on in case you should marry one day. Lanky and thin, sparse hairs on their chins which they stroked like great beards. He wasn’t a drunken fool or witless boy.

Arthur was a man. He acted like one, he smelled like one, looked like one. He wasn’t afraid to muck stalls, to cook. And he acted like you were married already, like you loved him and he loved you. Perhaps you liked the idea of having a man such as him, a man who didn’t need you to replace his mother’s duties, a man who wanted you to simply be with him. And those glittering moments where you played house with him, sat on his lap and let him kiss you. You could have stayed with him there forever, buried in the snow. You would have been happy if spring’s thaw never came. But now, he stands, with an almost resentful look at your accusatory tone.

Everything has dissolved into a coagulated mess, like spoiled milk. 

“I do what I want with you? The hell does that mean?” He’s more upset now, at the insinuating circumstances. 

“Arthur,” you recoil at the anger in his voice. You don’t even know what you meant particularly but Arthur fishes a meaning out from your words, even if you hadn’t put too much stock into your own words. 

“You’re sayin’ that I violated you, is that it?” his hands rest on his hips as he moves to keep staring you in the eye, you’ve never seen him like this before. Really angry. 

“I didn’t ask to do that with you, I told you to…” It’s like he can sense how noncommittal you are with your own sentiments. Your own certainty doesn't linger with you. As much as you would like it too. He sniffs it out like a bloodhound, throwing the truth in your face. 

“You know what I think? I think- fact, I know. You’re one of those gently reared girls, think they’re better than this, above any of this low down ruttin’ us sinners do. You can’t even say it, can you? All that we got up to. That’s called fuckin’ , sweetheart,” The word curls into his vicious smile. You’re scandalized, can feel how your hands pull his coat even tighter. You don’t think you’ve heard anyone talk like that to you. It’s a dirty word but you suppose that is what it felt like to be with him. Dirty. But that rush, you can’t deny that. The one that shoots up your spine when you remember how it made you feel. 

 “Can’t say you ain’t like it, can’t say you did; and I get it. Ain’t the first time I met a girl like you. But you can’t lie to me,” 

You ignore the hind-brain jealousy that pokes your mind. His words are truer than you want them to be. You said stop once or twice, although you can’t recall too well about things you said. Instead, you told him you belonged to him. You had meant to endear yourself to him. It worked far more than you wanted it to. 

Pretending like you didn’t want him to do what he did protected your own self important image as your father and mother preferred you, not how things really were. And now that you don’t have them anymore, what use was that image? You try to cling to the truth of your old life, crumbling to pieces around you. 

“It’s not just about that. I…I didn’t say yes…I thought you would hurt me, you told me you didn’t want me to fuss. When you told me I had to stay…” you stun him, he seems like he hardly remembers doing that. In that low voice, his startling command. It scared you to the bone then, but it did shake something awake. You had never felt so wanted in your life as that day. Both of you are some type of wrong, you think. Maybe he recognized the same kind of wrong in you.

Carefully, he mulls over what you said. It affects him, you can see how that same guilt settles in the creases of his face. It roots around his eyes, the harsh lines soften. How his boots scuff against the ground. One of his hands scratches at his beard. But all too soon, it’s gone and a resolve hardens on his face, like he’s dashed the guilt away. Made room for something else. 

“Am I just supposed to believe you was lyin’ when you said you liked it? I don’t make you talk, darlin’. You might be pretty as a doll,” He looks over your features, over your hair and your pouting lip. “But you ain’t no string puppet. Wouldn’t hurt you, honey, not like that, not how you’re meanin’. It’d do you some good to remember that ain’t true ‘bout most anybody else,” He lets his body naturally intimidate yours, looking down his nose at you.

You don’t know how he can have such a prideful stare. Like he knows he’s right. He pushes the memory of your father, kneeling and gripping his wound to the front of your mind. 

“You didn’t have to shoot him. Heaven forbid my father from trying to protect me from you. Wouldn’t be the first time a father tried to keep his daughter from marrying you. Arthur, why exactly is it your first instinct to go waving a gun around when something goes wrong? I don’t understand what drives someone to do the things you do,” He chuckles darkly, as if you told a morose joke at a funeral. He does let a quiet frustration come over him, a glare gets leveled at you. But he holds himself tightly in his own restraint. Your retaliation against him; he treats it as a minor slight. You cross your arms while he brushes it off. All too good at letting insults slide off his back.

“That makes the two of us. I ain’t been a good man most my life and I ain’t sure I’ll ever be any good at it. I try to be good to you, I do, but maybe it ain’t enough. That’s just fine with me,” He steps closer to you, sensing your shock at his words. He’s back to that prowling wolf from before. His demeanor changes on a dime. He bends at the waist to grab his gloves and hat, dusting the bottom of the brim casually against his coat before placing it back on his head. His gloves are shoved haphazardly in his pocket. “I don’t know if I need that from you, some fairytale love story, where your Pa hands you over to me and I bring you up to the altar dressed like a government boy,” You’re almost afraid of him, how he carries himself. There's a dread hanging in the air around him, a foreboding poke in the back of your head. 

“Used to be an outlaw, around New Austin, Heartlands, all over…” you look at the cold look in his eyes. Colder than the snow that dusts the ground. Frozen stiff like a corpse, but you tremble anyway. He shifts his legs, widening his stance and placing one hand on his belt, next to the shiny revolver. “I’ve killed people, robbed them, or both…done things I wasn’t always proud of. I ain’t too proud of what I done with you neither. Tellin’ you that is…just about as good as bein’ married. Can’t let ya go wanderin’ off knowin’ the truth, now,” Arthur raises his arms in something like a shrug. The nonchalant air about him has that wet anger rising in your throat again.

“You ain’t goin’ back home. Least the home you had. Me puttin’ a bullet in your Pa don’t change that. I’d advise you to make your peace with the fact. I keep havin’ to tell you. I hate repeatin’ myself,” You continue to stare, eyes wide with the realization of his truth. An outlaw. You must be the most unfortunate girl in the state. To walk into the home of a killer. Your thoughts trail back to how he disposed of the body of the man who had tried to rob you. The cold and careless manner of dealing with death was telling then. It screams at you now.

“I-I’m not some belonging for you to collect, for you to hang on your wall. To put up on top of your fireplace, Arthur,”

“No, you’re much more than that,” You aren’t completely sure of his meaning. But it’s something that entails you being with him how he wills it. No better than being chained to his bed, really. He nears you and you do take a wary step backward, a little afraid of the neutrality on his features. He schools his reactions, tells you of his past with no remorse. 

“If you care for me, care for me at all, wouldn’t you- wouldn't you let me go?” you ask but you know his answer, when he finally closes in on you, drags one finger down the curve, the roundness of your cheek. His thumb rests on your lips, his other fingers curl around to almost the nape of your neck. His hand makes you feel entirely too small in his hold. Guides you to look up at him, as your fingers clutch the fur of his coat tightly around you. 

“See, that’s the problem right there,” he has a strange twist to his voice, a light lilt while he smirks down at you, the darkness dipping the shadows across his face into an even darker tone. “I care about you too much. Maybe it ain’t right, can’t say I give a damn either way,” the fragility of this moment isn’t broken until he puts a kiss on your lips that’s a thousand times lighter than the precarious air of this conversation. But you should have known being so restrained isn’t permanent with Arthur. 

A strong hand closes on your hip, drags you into the front of him. His breath quickens, it flatters you how much he likes you so near to him. Your hip aches pleasantly as he squeezes it. Your heart swells, you wish you could will yourself into rejecting him.

“Tell me you don’t want me, honey. Tell me to leave you alone…” You’re stiff as an iron rod when he pulls you to him. You brace yourself on him, hands compelled naturally to lay flat on his chest. Something about the full form of his body is so pleasing to you, the breadth of him against you. The warmth you feel and the strength lying in wait. The smell of him, leather and hide, tobacco and mint. It closes you in. You open your mouth to say something. Anything. 

“Arthur, that’s not fair,” you whine. Your anger might have caused you to lash out at him for once. But you’re back to the docile thing he liked to chase around, too occupied with his body so close to yours to realize that you’ve dropped all pretense of that strong front, that you haven’t answered his question. You wish you could continue being the kind of person who could tell someone like Arthur what he's asking. Strong willed, not so swayed. But you’re moved in the opposite direction by whatever is inside of you, some deep buried want of yours. And the constant tone of knowing that he’s bigger and stronger than you. It’s always there, rain pattering on the roof in autumn. He had no trouble chasing after you like this, in the encroaching dusk. It was more a game than any real challenge.

“Just say it, you keep tryin’ to, don’t ya?” you look away. Why can’t you say it? When he’s inviting you to rebuff him. You look up at him. A knot gets tangled in your insides. Your tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth. What is wrong with you?

“You can’t cause you don’t mean it, not when this little pussy gets wet when I touch you, when you kiss me back. You don’t remember when you was touchin’ all over me? Those kisses you put on me?” he teases you, a more smug exhale is what you get. The night weighs on your shoulders like a heavy blanket and so does his reality check. He has a sigh and a faint groan, as if thinking of all that you’ve done with him in the privacy of his home. 

You think to defy him, to spite his words but you can’t when he gives you another kiss. The dryness he licks away. This one is a wet sloppy mess, it doesn’t last long but he’s as right as he knew he was, you melt into it, grab onto him, tilt so he can kiss you deeper. His teeth nip at your soft lips, his tongue rubs over yours. A warm shame fills your belly and crawls up your face. You can’t bring yourself to hate his stupid smug lovesick look, the way he rubs the scar on his chin as he pulls away.

“You like me, don’t you, sweetheart?” He’s mocking you now, he knows the answer just as well as you do but he likes to feel like he’s wrenching it out of you. He’s caught you and he’s holding you up by the ears while you dangle uselessly; a rabbit caught in the hunt. You stare up at him, caught in his pretty blue eyes, the little nicked scar on his nose bridge. You have a very reluctant almost imperceptible nod. Despite the raging heat in you at such an admittance. You like the man who locked you in his home, who wants you to marry him while hardly knowing him, who used to be an outlaw. 

“Even after I shot your daddy? You’re somethin’ else, girl,” he revels in your reaction but with his own version of pity, an endeared expression at your warbling chin and heavy sniff.

A bad feeling curdles in your belly, you bite your lip. You shouldn’t do this. How could you ever do this to your family? Turn your back on them like this? But you didn’t see another choice. Tears bead on your lash line. He has to rub his inevitable victory in your face. You don’t know how you’re going to continue. How you can even stand the sight of Arthur: of yourself. Now that he’s twisted everything out of shape to suit his needs. You should spit on him. Curse him until he gets struck down by the powers that be. 

But you don’t. You aren't sure there’s any end to that. You hope to never repeat this cycle again. Where you try to pull against his control and he overpowers, strong-arming you into doing as he pleases. He gathers your tears, brushes them away. Rough calluses over the little sensory hairs on your skin. 

“C’mon, sweet thing, it’s time you get what ya want, huh? Time to go home.” 

UGH this arthur gets on my fucking nerves but i am so weak for him i hate his corny ass. god dark arthur is just too much for me lmaooo feedback is more than appreciated, please let me know your thoughts im begging wahhhhh

[08melancholie]

FIC IDEA

i need you guys with me on this one

"After drunkenly robbing a lawman of his handcuffs, Bill proposes a challenge; the first two people to bust during a poker game will have to stay cuffed together for a whole day. All of you, buzzed out of your minds, decide to agree. The game is quick and relentless, with nobody really wanting to be the laughing stock around camp by being cuffed to one-another. It's then that you have to risk it and go all-in on a round, where you lose and bust, gaining the title of the first cuffed candidate. You accept your fate—until it's none other than Micah that busts next, and everyone at the table starts snickering and laughing at the two of you. Now, you have to spend the entire next day cuffed to the worst guy you know; just great."

are you guys with me on this.......

[mayweneverdie]

Rdr2 Walmart AU?!?!

Me and my friend we really bored at work so we thought up of who would work in which department

—

Front end

Arthur (associate)

Micah (associate)

John (associate), but after a while he’s perpetually stuck at gm self check (analogy for the penitentiary)

Dutch (team lead)

Maybe Lenny?

Human Resources

Hosea (people lead)

Grimshaw (not sure what position but it makes sense imo)

Deli

Pearson (main guy/manager)

Sadie (regular cook)

They fucking HATE each other, but refuse to transfer departments

Greeters

Kieran

Reverend

Self explanatory imo

Custodians

Uncle (fucking sucks at it)

Abigail

Electronics

Lenny, but that’s mainly because i didn’t know where else to put him… maybe front end?

Stocking

Sean

Javier

Lenny if electronics or front end is slow

Apparel

Karen

Runs it like the navy

Sporting goods

Bill, runs it like the army

Service desk

Strauss (money orders are his favorite)

Seasonal/garden

Tilly

Also wasn’t too sure where to put her, but @tempting-andromeda helped me decide :3

I also see Charles potentially working here

Delivery guy

Trelawny

He’s a very important part of the gang, but works more behind the scenes yk?

Carts

Charles. I know he seethes when people leave the cart just outside the corral. Wears that neon green vest like a badge of honor and constantly has one earbud in.

Has thought of taking one of the carts home but he’d rather not lose his job.

Regulars

Sister Calderón

Albert Mason

Dino Lady

Blind man

Rains Fall

Annoying customers

Angelo Bronte

Uncle when he’s off work

Strange Man (terrorizes john)

Honorable mentions!!

Donation people - Downes family

Used to work there and either quit or got fired - Eagle Flies, Molly O’Shea

—

IM SORRY FOR DISAPPEARING FOR ONE MILLION YEARS YALL 😭

Please take this as reimbursement for vanishing…

[ataraxiaspainting]

YANDERE OC - The College Student.

Yan OC x F Reader.

Synopsis: He isn't sure of what to do with you, but you are sure of what to do with him.

Warnings: Yandere themes, some descriptions of not SFW (dub-con), unhealthy relationships, manipulation, thoughts of potential sexual blackmail, and masturbation.

Word Count: 600.

*~*~*~*

"Fuck, you're getting heavy."

"Huh?" Micah puts his glasses back on the bridge of his nose but because of his clumsiness he drops them back on the floor beside your bare feet. "Am I?"

"Yeah," You scoff as you pull one of your stockings back onto your calve and then back onto your thigh. "You probably even fractured a part of my spine, the way you were sitting on me."

It's... odd. Micah has always been a pushover – he has always stayed in his own lane and has never spoken out of turn when it comes to the rest of his classmates.

But with you, he feels like he is a completely different person. His hair is tied up halfway and he proudly displays his tattoos to you. When he kisses you, he doesn't bother to brush his teeth – that is, until he has to go back to his classes.

"That means those workouts are working then," He murmurs, laying back down on his side. "Can you pick those up for me? My glasses?"

"No." You blurt out. "Get them yourself, you lazy ass."

*~*~*~*

You never lock your door, Micah thinks as he swings his satchel. It lands right where it has to, your bed. 

He wonders why you lock your window then. Is it out of fear a stranger would hurt you, but not him?

Oh well – this is just a test run, in case you did go through with the little joke you told some of your friends. I’ll lock myself up in my room until he finishes my essay. 

You have quite the ego in you. He minds it sometimes when he is his true self – the self that has you lying in his bed for high enough grades on papers to pass the semester and for him to slip some money in professors’ pockets.

Micah is unsure what self he is right now. He’ll reach into one of the drawers on your vanity no matter who he is or will become soon enough. 

He can choose to be the good guy and clean up the mess afterward. Or a neutral party that keeps your panties on the bed as a reminder but still mops up whatever work he did on himself. 

Or he can steal them and threaten to show them to the whole school – his cock gets harder when he imagines that. 

Your carefully made-up face fracturing – falling to the floor – as students point and laugh. Potential suspension, expulsion. It’s so thrilling when you cry – not that he would ever admit it.

All the names you have ever called him will be released onto you – yet ten times worse and will never fade from your life, let alone your record. They will play forever in your ears as you fall asleep in his arms near tears again.

Micah wants to cackle as he sinks further into his imagination – but the kind part of him that still hasn’t faded away completely frowns.

[verdemoun]

What does everyone do for a job in the modern era?

i love posts like this where i just get to list the gang. thank u. i also think this is the first official complete list of all the canon timewarpers!

dutch: institutionalized, professional case study for psychologists hosea: retired, he earned it arthur: professional extra pair of hands. just helps people. later technically works for charles, despite charles insisting they're equals john: tradesman! specifically, a residential framer and carpenter javier: state-paid carer for kieran bill: ranchhand, ironically at the modern macfarlane ranch micah: seasonal paintball attendant. trucker in the off-season charles: self-employed handyman sean: pizza delivery driver. that is all lenny: professional student and later lecturer sadie: homesteader! she really went back to her pre-1899 life karen: stay-at-home mom and housekeeper uncle: retired. gang often ask when he wasn't retired abigail: after studying, became a professional assistant grimshaw: bartender and manager. she loves it strauss: insurance agent. he loves it, and his bosses love him trelawney: time-wimey man is still a con-artist kieran: he's on disability payments, finally not surviving for survival molly: influencer queen who preaches self-love and self-defense davey: imprisoned. maybe stocking shelves for the bit but right to jail mac: worked at a wholefoods before joining bill as a ranchhand jenny: waitress! she loves it, her boss approves of pouring hot coffee on the lap of creeps annabelle: human rights activist and UN ambassador bessie: womens history professor, we love an educated queen jack: unemployed writer who accidentally writes a bestseller isaac: mechanic but far more passionate about his hobbies eliza: also a waitress! ironically the same diner as jenny, though they didn't realize they were both timewarpers for months jake adler: homesteader with sadie, like they always should've been alden: everyone's favorite postman, still a postman

[allzelemonz]

Lesson: Micah Bell X Male Reader

Fictober Prompt: Day 11, Humiliation Pronouns: None Mentioned, Reader referred to as ‘boy’ and ‘man’ Physical Sex: AMAB Rating: E/Smut Warnings: Kisses, smut, outdoor sex, long term humiliation, anal fingering, anal sex, top Reader and bottom Micah, established relationship, jealousy, rough sex, Bill is kind of a wingman Summary: When Micah gets too close with Dutch, you feel the need to remind him of something.

Now you have never had a problem with Micah being such a suck up to Dutch, but something about the way Dutch smiles at your sweetheart after one of his many compliments makes your eye twitch. Micah is doing his usual thing, being a massive sycophant and loitering near Dutch’s tent, and you don’t blame him. He was probably bored with you out of camp, but you’re back now and you can’t even focus on your conversation with Arthur because you’re too fixed on Micah.

He’s practically leaning on Dutch, his head tilted over with an adoring look on his face. And that would be fine. Micah is a suck up, you knew that as soon as you met him, you knew that when you got sweet on him, and you know that now. But this time, for the first time, Dutch is smiling at him. Not brushing him off, not giving him a half-annoyed thanks, but smiling broadly and looking down at your sweetheart with eyes you’ve only seen him reserve for Hosea. And Micah, the socially clueless fool that he is, doesn’t stop. He puts a hand on Dutch’s shoulder and smiles at him.

“You listenin’?” Arthur asks, his fingers snapping in front of your face.

“Uh-huh.”

Arthur sighs. “Fine, partner, we’ll talk later.”

With Arthur stalking off, Dutch’s attention wavers, favoring his son. He excuses himself from Micah and meets Arthur to talk. Micah’s eyes follow him, seeing Arthur and immediately snapping to the horses, because if Arthur’s back then you are too. For the time being, you decide to act unbothered. This is a conversation for later, a real conversation about reading body language and the difference between bootlicking and flirting, but before that you feel the need to remind Micah who he’s supposed to be such a desperate fool for.

He saunters over, the usual cocky look on his face when he wants attention. “Cowpoke.” He smiles broadly. “I missed ya.”

“Is that right, sweetheart?” You ask, your hand finding a place just above his gunbelt and pulling him closer. “You wanna prove that for me?”

And Micah, who long got over being judged for showing affection so long as it appears that he is in charge, leans in to kiss you. And you let him take the lead, you let him keep up his ruse of dominance. But tonight… tonight the whole camp is going to hear the reality, all because your dear sweetheart needs a bit of a lesson. You know you can’t just be harsh and cruel, he’d like that. Or, worse, he’d hate it too much. You could never call him pathetic or weak, or anything else he spits at others because that would actually hurt him. No, you need to poke at the shell rather than make it solidify.

First in your preparation, you visit Abigail. Handing her money and telling her about a children’s show you heard is playing in town. Because as much as you want to humiliate Micah to get the message into his thick skull, you’d rather Jack not be subject to what the adults will overhear. Cluelessly, Abigail thanks you for the money and smiles when she kneels down to tell Jack about the show.

Second, you talk to Bill. He grumbles about it, claiming that he in fact does not have a stock plié of pomade hidden in those boxes by his bedroll, but he ultimately relents when you tell him what it’s for. Fucking Micah, that’s one thing that Bill isn’t exactly keen on enough to share his pomade for, but making him look like an idiot… He hands you two full tins with a smirk on his face.

Third, you chat with Arthur and Dutch. One man, Micah can’t stand, the other he adores. Both are people that Micah would never want to know anything about his sex life. He’ll get over it of course, and you can’t count on your hand the number of times you’ve nearly been caught roughly fucking Micah out in the woods around camp. It’s best you capitalize on the opportunities rather than let them go to waste on some accident. So you make sure both of them will be in camp.

Lastly, you sweet talk Micah. You find him by the lake, whittling something to keep his hands busy. His hyper vigilance keeps him alert, hearing your footsteps early and gladly tucking away his things in favor of putting his hands on you. After all, you’ve been gone for an entire day and Micah Bell is a needy bastard. It doesn’t take much convincing to get him to walk into the woods with you. And you distract him, making sure he can’t tell how close to camp you are

“Been waitin’ all day, cowboy.” He grins, letting you push him against a tree. “Thought you was a gentleman.”

“Desperate bastard.” You mutter, pressing yourself against him.

You kiss him, more furiously than you usually might, and Micah feeds off of it. He returns it without issue, always happy to be treated rough.

“You wanna tell me what you and Dutch were talking about earlier?”

“Don’t matter…” Micah mutters, rutting into you with a half-hard dick. “I were waitin’ fer you… got bored.”

Starting gentle, you trail your hand down to palm him through his pants. He groans, pulling back from his kissing to focus on the feeling. You take the opportunity and turn rough, gripping his dick hard enough to make him whimper.

“F-Fuck…”

“You were being awfully friendly with our fearless leader, Micah.” You mutter. “He seemed to like it too, you notice that?”

“J-Just jokin’ around, sweetheart. I wouldn’t-“

He gasps as you squeeze his dick tighter.

“Just thought I’d make sure, darling.” You say, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Remind you who you’re supposed to be fawning over.”

He huffs a laugh through his strained breaths. “Shit, cowboy, by all means.”

And so the standard. You get Micah situated, his bare ass exposed as he leans against the tree and arches his back so you can stretch him out. Normally, he bites down on his hand, but you’re far too focused tonight. You press relentlessly on that spot inside of him until he cums, not stopping for a second even though your fingers burn at that point. Micah huffs and whines at the overstimulation, so you start pumping his dick to make it worse. He releases again in no time.

Then you actually fuck him. Fast, careless, enough to make him scream your name before he can muffle himself. Perfect. And by the end, Micah can hardly breathe. He shivers when you pull out, your cum dripping down his legs.

“Do me a favor, sweetheart?” You murmur, pressing light kisses to his shoulder.

He hums. “Anythin’.”

“When Dutch starts smiling at you, stop sucking up to him.”

He chuckles. “Ya jealous?”

“You wanna get fucked senseless again?”

“Not tonight…” Micah says, wincing as he stands upright. “Too sore.”

“Then do it.”

“Fine, fine, darlin’. If it makes ya feel better, I suppose I can manage.”

And when you return to camp, you make straight for your tent. Micah is exhausted enough to crash onto your bedroll and drift into a light sleep in your arms. As usual, when you wake up, Micah is sitting with something to keep him busy and waiting for you to give him attention. After a long morning kiss and a few teasing words, he leaves to stretch his legs as you go through your morning routine.

It isn’t until you sit yourself by Bill and thank him for the pomade, handing back the half tin that’s left, that you hear the commotion. Sean, of course, is the loudest of it.

“Aw, what’s that matter?” He laughs, stepping back from a glaring Micah. “Just didn’t know you’d be such a-“

“Shut yer damn mouth, cowpoke, best chose those words wisely.”

For all the effort, at least you think Micah got the message. One that will keep not only him, but the rest of camp, remembering who his sweetheart is. And even if he doesn’t connect the dots, you’ll explain it to him later. For now, the blush on his cheeks is too delightful to interrupt.

[my-current-obsession]

Super hot take but I genuinely don't get why Forte is so appealing/popular. As someone who has played a bunch of Japanese games and watched a bunch of anime she comes off as THE MOST bland and stereotypical of the entire cast in that game.

I've seen a hundred "lady knight" characters before (Ingrid from Fire Emblem 3 Houses is just one other example, and I'd say she's much more interesting). She's portrayed as something of a tomboy who is "secretly" girly because she has the super common (in Japanese media at least) girly traits of loving sweets and being afraid of ghosts. Once again looking at 3 Houses, someone else who has those exact two traits is Lysithea, who has them for basically the same reason. Those traits exist solely to "soften" her and make her seem more feminine (and thus in theory more appealing) without really affecting her personality in any way. Also note how many other girls in that game happen to love sweets compared to guys. And how often one or two males in the Rune Factory games specifically DISLIKE sweets while girls almost never do.

A better example of those traits showing up within the Rune Factory series itself would be Rune Factory 3. There are several characters who notably love sweets, some being Shara and Monica, who are very obviously feminine anyway in terms of appearance/personality/interests, and two others are Blaise and Rusk, two guys who comfortably deny the "norm" (again, in Japanese media anyway; I don't think Western media cares so much about whether liking sweets is seen as feminine/masculine) and love sweets while ironically Colette has no strong feelings on them despite being a big food lover.

And then Raven is similarly afraid of ghosts as a more hidden "feminine" trait, but HER dislike of ghosts and things related to death actually plays into her arc in the game. She doesn't like things that make her think of death because it makes her think of what she's lost. And she's afraid of losing what she has now. Also, unlike Forte's fear of ghosts being played almost exclusively for comedy and feminine appeal, Raven also happens to be STUBBORN, meaning she reluctantly faces her fear of death and handling death-related objects head-on if it means she doesn't have to look weak or rely on others. Her insistence on carrying a skull herself despite clearly being uncomfortable with it, when Micah is repeatedly offering to do it for her, is an important, dramatic moment in the middle of her "route" that almost results in Micah getting hurt and her secret getting outed.

I just don't think Forte does anything new or interesting with 90% of her character traits. She's a basic lady knight that I've seen way too many times before, and has stock Japanese girly traits to show she's secretly more feminine despite those traits not actually being important to her personality or events and romance at all.

She has a "just gals being pals" dynamic with Margaret that is nice in theory, but in execution it feels like Margaret is way more into Forte and overtly admires her than vice versa. I can tell Forte truly cares about Margaret as a friend, but it's not nearly as balanced as the Dylas/Doug obsession with each other is when it comes to eyebrow-raising moments/lines. If anything, Forte outright downplays or dismisses Margaret's admiration of her a lot of the time while offering little in return. Outside of festivals where Forte is remarking on or expecting Margaret getting a lot of attention from others, there's not any indication that Forte finds her particularly appealing, whereas Margaret has tons of lines about how amazing and even attractive she thinks Forte is.

The one thing about her that actually is unique and that I like is her clear love and devotion, yet somewhat strained and awkward relationship with her brother. That aspect is what actually matters, and it works well. It endears me to her as a character... but it isn't enough to save her for me as a love interest when everything else either does nothing for me or outright turns me off.