#cowpoke confessions

[cowpoke-confessions]

yer mouth lingered on that shared cigarette like the taste might just capture long nights spent by the fire

[catholic-confession-booth-2]

Now listen sir I ain’t usually one to turn to religion for such n such like this but i must ask… how is it a man can’t find himself a wife even when husbands are in high demand. It’s not even there’s a shortage of young ladies but i fear none of them perk my interest enough to chase ‘em. Now father, is it a sin for a good man to ignore his earthy duty to start a family?

-@cowpoke-confessions

My son, starting a family is not a young man's only job, especially since you still have a bit of time before a wife is a necessity for a fine young man such as yourself. Give yourself time to gain interest in women, until then, focus on God and personal growth. I never found myself quite interested in women, so I devoted myself only to God. Keep an eye out for a pious young woman, though, God needs more healthy Catholic babies on this fine earth.

[madness-combat-confessions]

from a cowpoke to another cowboy . I need sheriff whimpering audio 12 hours

This confession made me burst out laughing Infront of my mother btw

[allzelemonz]

Warm Welcome: Micah Bell X Gender Neutral Reader

Pronouns: None Mentioned Physical Sex: None Mentioned Rating: T/Reference to sex Warnings: Micah Bell is his own warning, reunited, post-Guarma, mentions of cannon character deaths, confessions of love Summary: Micah is the first to find the group after Guarma and he’s been thinking about you for weeks.

When news hit that the robbery went bad you weren’t completely surprised. You and Sadie got everyone out of camp as quickly as possible, finding Charles and a new home. Sadie left a note behind, coded so only one of you would understand it. Between Abigail and Charles’ accounts of the job everyone pieces things together. Whispers circulate as people try to figure out why things really went wrong. Dutch, Javier, Micah, Bill, and Arthur are central parts of the group and are sorely missed. Getting the bodies of your fallen friends would have been much easier with the others here, but you manage.

Just as things really start to look bleak and people are starting to lose hope, you spot something in the distance. You’ve taken the late watch for the past few days, finding peace it it despite the creepy nature surrounding you. Nothing is ever there, nothing of note. But tonight there is a rider on the path. A lone rider coming into camp and you’re the only one awake.

You raise your rifle. “Who’s there?”

The rider stops a few yards from you, dismounting. “Now is that any way to greet your ol’ pal Micah?”

He walks into the light of the lanterns. It is, in fact, Micah. His face is sunburnt, his hair is dried out, and his clothes are ragged, but it’s Micah.

“You’re alive?” You say, lowering your rifle. “What happened?”

He sighs. “I was gone for weeks and all you got is questions?”

“Welcome back, Micah.” You say, mockingly. “Where the hell were you?”

“Ya really know how ta charm a fella.” He says, stepping closer. “We was stuck on an island, nearly died.”

“We found Lenny and Hosea, is everyone else okay?”

“They’re fine.” He clears his throat. “Ya know, cowpoke, all that time got me thinkin’.”

“Don’t you want to go see everyone?” You ask. “Nevermind, I know you don’t care.”

He chuckles. “There’s only one thing I been thinkin’ about since I washed up on that island.”

You shoulder your rifle, giving him a curious look. He steps forward, further into the light, and you can see more of his rough state. His shirt is halfway buttoned and the skin underneath is settling into a tan as the sunburn peels away. He looks worse than you’ve ever seen him.

“Jeez, Micah.” You sigh. “You okay?”

“I will be in a minute, Darlin’.”

He closes the gap between you and presses his lips to yours, his hands cupping your face and holding you in place. His lips are chapped, badly, and his hands are tough with calluses. He leans into the kiss, putting all of that pent up thought from his time on the island into it. He only lets you go once he needs to breathe, holding your forehead against his as you both take much needed breaths.

“That was a much better welcome, cowpoke.” He presses a short kiss to your lips and hums as he lets his hands fall to his sides.

“That’s all you could think about?”

He chuckles, shaking his head as he takes a few steps back. “Oh, I thought about plenty more, but we got time for all that later.”

It takes you a moment to collect your thoughts and refocus. “I’ll, uh, I’ll show you where they put your stuff.”

You turn and walk towards the main house, tip-toeing around the others to grab Micah’s bag and a cup of water. He takes the water from you first, chugging it with a sigh. You hand him the bag and he takes it, opening it right away to get at his hat which he places on his head.

“The washing barrel is around the corner.” You say. “You wanna see the others or do you still not care?”

He chuckles, digging through the bag for his usual clothes. “I’d much rather stay out here with you, Darlin’.”

A shiver goes through you. “Just don’t distract me from watch.”

He steps closer and presses his lips to yours again. “I ain’t promisin’ anything, darlin’.”

You steady your breath as he steps away and disappears around the corner towards the washing barrel. The relief finally comes over you, knowing that your friends are alive and on their way home. Things might finally get back on track.

[brewingcoffi]

I just binged your Addie content on TikTok and I NEED TO KNOW MORE

I need to know their relations with UT and UTY lore, Clover, and what the hell is up with V (is that their name?? The red demon thing)

just to put things simple and short (SPOILERS FOR ABYSSAL DEPTH LORE)

Clover and Addie in my own Lore, they canonically are straight up Rivals to Star-Crossed Lovers;

the reason why I say ‘Rivals’ is due to the fact Defiance can be seen as an ‘Negative’ trait to a person filled with Justice. For Addie, they are a canon Kleptomaniac; since they had to defy the situation and resort to stealing when surviving on the streets after running away from the orphanage. Which doesn’t leave a good impression for the towns ‘Cowpoke’ who ends trying to stop Addie from stealing and stop being an ‘evil’ bastard.

And that Rival part is moreover on how Justice would treat ‘ignorant‘ Defiance, and how Defiance treats ‘Corrupted’ Justice. Both of them can counter each other like magnets. Yet, those said ‘magnets’ can also ‘stick’ if they were positioned in the right sides.

And that happens, Addie and Clover ends up bonding. Sooner to develop feelings or child-like crushes

Both began being aware of their feelings, but it’s now too late to confess, for both of these two lads have separated into their own adventures not aware of the other wishing to confess. And it’s forever too late to confess due to one of them dying. (Addie’s Canon route is Genocide, while Clover in my canon Abyssal Depth lore is Pacifist.)

And about on what the hell is up with V?(Yes, that’s literally their name..)

V is literally their biological Dad.

(Addie was birth’d by a male when V and ??? Used to be humans.)

[art-of-manliness]

Saddle Up! A Dictionary of Old-Time Cowboy Slang

The cowboy is one of the great archetypes of American manliness.  He embodies many of the virtues Americans prize, such as grit, freedom, and independence. The cowboy followed a code of honor that, rather than being set by an aristocracy, came from the ground up and worked itself out within a posse.  While many of our ideas of cowboy life are a myth, the romantic ideal of it has had an outsized influence on American culture, including in language.  Because the cowpuncher was typically uneducated, he often used slang to communicate with his horse-riding, steer-roping peers. In 1936, American folklorist Ramon Adams published an ethnography called Cowboy Lingo that focused on the unique language of American cowboys. In it, he cataloged the colorful slang words used by cowboys in the American West from the 19th century to the early 20th. According to Adams, cowboy slang is characterized by the use of picturesque metaphors. The cowboy drew from his everyday life to create phrases and words that could be used more broadly. For example, a cowboy might have noticed that when a bull gets angry, it starts aggressively pointing its horns at would-be targets. To tell a fellow cowpoke to quit looking for trouble, a cowboy might say to his compadre: “Pull in your horns!” Below, we give you a sampling of common cowboy slang words. You might notice some of them sprinkled in a Western movie or novel, and you’ll even notice some that are still in use today. Ace in the hole. A hideout or a hidden gun. According to Hoyle. Correct, by the book. “Hoyle” is a dictionary of rules for card games. Acknowledge the corn. To admit the truth, to confess a lie, or acknowledge an obvious personal shortcoming. Addle-headed. Empty-headed, not smart. A hog-killin’ time. A real good time. “We went to the Rodeo Dance and had us a hog-killin’ time.” A lick and a promise. To do a haphazard job. “She just gave it a lick and a promise.” All-fired. Very, great, immensely; used for emphasis. “He is just too all-fired lazy to get any work done around here.” Amputate your timber. Go away, run off. Apple peeler. Pocket knife. Apple pie order. In top shape, perfect order. Attitudinize. To assume an affected attitude. Bach (pronounced “batch”). For a man to keep house without a woman’s help. Backdoor Trots. Diarrhea. Ballyhoo. Sales talk, advertising, exaggeration. Barber’s cat. Half-starved, sickly-looking person. Barber’s clerk. A conceited, over-dressed fellow who tries to act like a “gentleman.” Barkin’ at a knot. Doing something useless; wasting your time, trying something impossible. Barrel boarder. A bum. Between hay and grass. Neither man nor boy, half-grown. Biggest toad in the puddle. The most important person in a group. Biggity. Large, extravagant, grand, haughty. Black-eyed susan. A six-gun. Blue devils. Dispirited. “I have the blue devils today.” Bone orchard. Cemetery. Bosh. Nonsense. “It was absolute bosh what he said.” Boss. The best, top. “The Alhambra Saloon sells the boss whiskey in town.” Buckaroo. A cowboy, usually from the desert country of Oregon, Nevada, California, or Idaho. Buckle to. Set about any task with energy and determination. Calico queen. Prostitute. California widow. A woman separated from her husband, but not divorced. (From when pioneer men went West, leaving their wives to follow later.) Cash in. To die. Catch a weasel asleep. Referring to something impossible or unlikely, usually used in regard to someone who is always alert and seldom or never caught off guard.  Clodhopper. A rustic, a clown. Cotton to. To take a liking to. Cowboy up. Toughen up, get back on yer horse, don’t back down, don’t give up. Dash. Euphemism for damn. Dead-alive. Dull, inactive, moping. Didn’t have a tail feather left. Broke. Docity. Quick comprehension, usually used in a negative way. “He has no docity.” Don’t care a continental. Don’t give a damn. Dry gulch. To ambush someone, especially when the ambusher hides in a gully or gulch… http://dlvr.it/T613jw

[themowearchives]

Press Archive, Part 1

The Noise

Cinnamon, Demo of the Month, October 1998

Opening track Free To leave has kinda rough-edged and spartan production values, but we can tell from the get-go that Sue has an in-your-face mode of presentation which might well lead to- forgive us if we gush- stardom. These songs are brilliant, stellar, and other adjectives connoting brightness that we tend to use when we get tired of the word "great." The jangly and harsh Cry For Frances deserves to be singled out- it's a classic right up there with "The Boy With Perpetual Nervousness" by The Feelies, or "Hate My Way" by Throwing Muses...We've listened to it a couple dozen times, and each go-round reveals new chunks of vituperation, presumably directed against Courtney Love- I like the way the singer mocks the former Ms. Cobain's vocalizing in the coda, and I think the hapless Brit who slapped together that Kurt and Courtney documentary ought to seriously consider playing this tune under the closing credits (and whoever thought of sticking a xylophone in there deserves a round of applause.) Equally wonderful is Paint the Town - the faux naif primitivism of Beat Happening meets the earnest lyricism of Jules Shear circa "Shadows Break" - this tune is inimitable in its own way as Green On Red's "Gravity Talks." Take It mines an elegiac mode that goes back at least as far as Neil Young's acoustic musings or Smashing Pumpkins in orchestral mode a la "Tonight, Tonight." It exploits a start and stop rhythmic impetus about as smartly as any band we've ever heard outside of the now-superannuated Rolling Stones. This one sent an art chill down my spine from the very first listen. Even the less successful songs, like Stay Away and the Laura Nyro-esque The Station adhere to a certain standard of excellence. Tape of the month for October. (Francis DiMenno)

Band profile by Joe S. Harrington, February 1999

I saw the live act: Sue in the red dress. And the cigarette. It was perfect. No wonder she has a "smoky" voice on Free To Leave (which is a dusky number with a broomsweep rhythm literally kicking up some dust (as in "head out on the dusty trail" etc.) Actually let me correct myself: that was the second time I saw 'em. The first time I must confess I thought "oh, more girl/boy stuff, total '91" and took the cassette they gave me and smashed it on the pavement walking home from the Middle East drunk one night at three in the morning. But then I might've done that with any cassette by any up-and-comers who'd foisted their homespun hopes and dreams on me. However, like Malcolm McLaren (another anarchist who was sick of it all) I know shit from shit. So that second time I saw 'em the SONGS kicked in. Maybe it was thanks to drummer Tony, who's a kick-ass stick-twirler worthy of your praise, awe and money. Listen to his machine-gun hands all over Cry For Frances, a great expositional forum for Sue which she embellishes even more in live-performance so that her manifesto becomes even more dramatic with her punching the mike stand and stomping down a li'l harder in her cowpoke boots. It's got one of those refrains that totally takes off, which can be said for almost all of their songs, once you really listen. Steve's Paint the Town is another winner. But then again, Steve's always been one of my fave over-emoting artists, ever since his days in Meatsicle, or his forays into poetry reading, which was really just a disguise so he could perform his exhibitionist/primal therapy looney tunes. He is one too (a loony that is) but with a winning personality and a high tolerance for alcohol. Sue's no slouch in that category either: she comes up from the tradition of other hard-boozin' lay-days like Patsy Cline and Jenny Mae, a real raucous jet-age momma who's voice evokes the slaughterhouses of western Kentucky. Which isn't where she's from at all. Hell, I don't know where she's from. Maybe Venus: check out the dreamy middle-eight in Stay Away which almost bursts out of ethereal Barbara Manning territory and then tell me she's in any way earthbound. I don't think so. Steve said she even got compared to Laura Nyro by one reviewer, then he asked "is that a compliment?" And I told him: "Yes son, it's a compliment." Sure enough, she emotes in the same realm of late-night loneliness and haunted obsession as Ms. Nyro did once upon a time. In fact, I can still smell the candle wax burning.(JSH)

The Weekly Dig

Treblemaker CD review, October 25, 2000

There is an irony in the new album, Treblemaker, by local rockers My Own Worst Enemy. The most memorable track on the album, Cry For Frances, is an angry, accusatory diatribe against Ms. Courtney Love. This song is the only one with the lyrics printed in the liner notes: "You're more vacuous than your band's name/fascinating/come on fascinate me/I hate you." Yet, throughout the album, listening to lead singer Sue, she sounds like, well...her voice has that thick, boozy slightly nasal tone, like Courtney Love right before she starts screaming. In fact, I'm sure My Own Worst Enemy could do a fabulous cover of Miss World. The rest of the album lacks the aggressive guitars of Cry For Frances. In fact, the band is made up of and acoustic/electric guitar combo that gives them a jangly kind of Throwing Muses sound. The album is pleasantly poppy, with switching girl/boy vocals and halfway catchy songs. Free To Leave is possibly the strongest song on the album, with searing vocals and propelling, pulsing drum work. It's a treat to hear this song. The richness of the guitars and vocals sound like a band larger than My Own Worst Enemy's three-piece of guitars and drums. The song also successfully works the hard/soft dynamic, filling in the song with girlish contradictions. (Maybe I'm a sucker for dramatically jangly guitars.) Other songs are less successful, trying for pop intimacy, but they're not very hummable. Treblemaker is a debut album filled with potential, and I hope that the band can develop upon it's best moments, creating more drama in it's two-guitar attack. (Elisabeth Donnelly)

The Noise

Treblemaker CD review, December 2000

My Own Worst Enemy is the rough-cut, unpretentious rock of cigarettes and straight liquor. The band doesn't even have a bass player, for the love of god! The production on Treblemaker, their debut CD, has a sort of Dumptruck sensibility, complete with fuzzily distorted guitars at low volumes, drums set nicely in the background, vocals up front and clean. Lead singer/songwriter Sue is no lilting, yodeling, cookie-cutter, modern-rock femme vocalist. Rather, her voice embodies all the desperation and formidableness of a late 70's Patti Smith. And when Garfield, the first cut on the CD, takes an unexpected turn into its somber but infectious chorus, Sue's unmistakable talent for songwriting shines through as brilliantly as her voice. As far as the lyrics go, Treblemaker is a journal of loss and bitterness, sometimes mellow and dreamy, sometimes edgy and biting. And just when you think you've reached your fill of alcohol-laced depression, here comes guitarist/songwriter Steve with Paint the Town, and electrifying blast of a tune that rises above the somber mood of the rest of the CD. But of course the sentiment here is just as stark- "let's paint the town red tonight!"- like rising out of your depression long enough to go out and get blasted on alcohol. Steve's singing on this track and one other entitled Portland is emotive and raw. In fact, their songwriting and singing styles complement each other perfectly. If you like honest, guts-on-the-table rock devoid of trickery and preciousness, then My Own Worst Enemy is the band for you. This is the kind of CD you'd expect to hear blasting from behind the counter of your favorite indie record store. With any luck, Treblemaker should become a college radio favorite. (Wayne Gibbus)

The Noise

Butterfly demo review, May 2002

The opening track (MIA) is power pop produced with the echoey twang of rockabilly and performed with the reckless killdevil ambiance of Ventures-style surf twang. A fragment of delight. Poison is a Boston-area classic-in-the-making, a song slopping over with the sort of pop theatrics that could have issued whole from the maw of 7 or 8 Worm Hearts circa 1989 or maybe even the Dangerous Birds circa 1983. A blast from the unreconstructed recombinant past. Best of all is Not The One, which is sui generis- in some strange way. I would hardly care to associate with the kind of person who couldn't appreciate the madman incantation of a chorus like "I'm the one you wanted, not the one you got." Nor should you. This is one demo you shouldn't oughta let get away. (Francis DiMenno)

[joedarkedefensesquad]

mod neil marshall’s comprehensive joe darke defense analysis

now, I know what you’re thinkin, pardner. joe darke? that serial killer from the ace attorney case famous for bein added on afterwards, bein Too Fuckin Long, and kinda retconning edgeworth’s character arc?

well if you’ll remember, rise from the ashes and the entire sl-9 incident hinges on the fact that most of the evidence was either forged or sent floatin down the river, and ain’t nobody found the body. of the evidence, that is. the forged evidence.

how, i gotta ask, did a team of detectives and prosecutors know, for a fact, that joe darke, famously described as the murderer in a case with no solid evidence against him (aside from his own confession -- which don’t necessarily indicate guilt), was guilty? the answer? they didn’t

joe darke got put out to pasture based on forged ‘n concealed evidence and he never got a proper defense. now, am i sayin’ he definitely ain’t guilty? naw. he did confess, after all, and that’s gotta be taken into consideration, pardner. but all i’m sayin is he was convicted on falsified evidence and every cowpoke deserves a fair trial

anyway justice for joe darke i guess yeehaw

-mod neil marshall

[inkrabbit]

About a Cowpoke - Flaco x GN!Reader

Okay, it’s done! A small gift for @mallr4ts I had wanted to finish before her birthday <3 It was originally supposed to be a fluff where Flaco either takes the reader on a sweet date, or simply travels into town to meet them. I ended up going off that path, however, and making it to where Flaco just fantasizes about what he wants to do before confessing. Maybe one day I’ll do the original plan.

Italic words: Mi corazón (my heart), mi vida (my life), my alma (my soul)

Word count: 1,294

Everyone forgot old Flaco.

Oh, but not everyone. Not the one little job hunter who always came up to his old, rickety cabin, rifle ready to go and that look in your eyes. The old familiar fire that burned bright and, in some odd way, always warmed him up. Maybe it was the can-do attitude, or how you would always give him that excited but curt nod before you accepted a job from him. The small smile that splayed across your lips, or how your thumb hooked into your belt, shifting your weight from one foot to the other as you listened to his nonsense rambling.

He had studied you every time you entered through that door, quick to shut his old door to keep what little warmth there was inside. He would watch you stomp off the excess snow clinging to your boots, the way the shiver would crawl up your spine and make you tremble. He had offered you to stay a few times, warm yourself up by the fire before you went out into the dreaded cold again. And he noticed how a few deer carcasses had found their way to his doorstep, no doubt a gift from his favorite little errand runner.

Maybe you had finally melted that old, frozen heart of his. As silly as he felt, Flaco found himself awaiting your arrival almost daily. Cleaning his guns, sharpening his knife, whittling away at the piece of wood he worked on day in and day out. Even now, he sits in his old chair, knife carving away pieces of the wood, holding it back every now and then to admire his handiwork. He was almost done, having kept it hidden every time you would burst through his door, looking for more work. Was he a fool for doing this? Making a carving of your faithful horse in hopes it would bring that old smile to your face. Perhaps he was. But truth be told, the thought of you had warmed him more than any fire could.

Everything had gone through his mind regarding how you would accept his feelings. A look of disgust, discomfort or confusion. A relieved expression, confessing you’ve felt the same way. He knew you weren’t much of a talker, something he quite appreciated most of the time. You listened to him, never spoke back, never tried to talk over him. He could tell you the most boring of stories, and you’d stand there silently, listening to everything he had to say – or so he hoped. Maybe you just stood there, slinging every insult in the book at him in your head. He could never know.

The approach of horse hooves catches his attention. Speak of the devil, he supposed. He takes a look at the carving. No, it wasn’t perfect. A gift for a later date, but he couldn’t stand to be silent any longer. He tucks the piece of wood away as you open the door, jacket wrapped tightly around you, a bandana covering the lower part of your face and trapping in extra warmth. He raises his hand, motioning for you to come forward.

“There you are, mi alma,” His voice comes out as a purr, and he can see your eyebrows raise as you draw near. “We got a lot to talk about, you and me.”

He slowly stands from his seat, letting out a soft groan, commenting about his ever growing age. He can feel your eyes on him, watching his every move as he goes to tower over you. He takes in your features, something he had memorized, but was still captivated by. He watches you slowly pull the bandana down, exposing your frozen face.

“I’ve been waiting for you, you know?” he starts slowly. He opens his mouth, intending to continue his talk, but he finds his mouth going dry. It was almost laughable. The “Terror of the Grizzlies” had found himself speechless, almost intimidated by the patient stare you had greeted him with. What was he going to say?

“Flaco…?” Your voice is soft and it snaps him out of his trance. Your eyebrows knit together, searching his eyes for any hint as to what’s going on. His hand almost moves on its own, reaching up to cup your cheek with such a gentle touch, almost like he was scared of breaking you. He’s bent over slightly, lips parted as he finds himself slowly leaning forward. He’s searching for a sign – any sign of you wanting to back out of this. But you never give him one. He feels his heart race. Had you actually been waiting for this? He notices how you slowly lean up, meeting him halfway and pressing your lips against his. Soft and warm, enough to send a shiver up his spine as he lets his eyes flutter shut, using his free hand to wrap it around your waist, dragging you closer. The trembling of your body slowly stops as you reach up to grasp his coat, both of you molding together as the once slow and shy kiss turns more passionate. His sombrero is soon knocked off, one of your hands going to thread through the loose locks of hair. He groans softly against your lips, trailing his hands up and down your body.

It’s not long before he’s taking hold of your thighs, lifting you up and coaxing you to wrap them around his waist, pinning you against the cold, wooden wall of his cabin. He pulls back just enough to admire you, your eyes half lidded and your lips red and parted. His heart is thumping, face tinted red as he brings his face lower, burying it in the crook of your neck and covering every inch of exposed skin with hot kisses and soft nips.

“Mi corazón,” he breathes, his hot breath tickling your skin and making you squirm beneath his touch as his chilly hands find their way inside your shirt. “Mi vida. Mi alma.”

“Flaco,” There’s no question behind his name this time, your head tilting further to the side to allow him leave more marks across your neck. He can’t think properly – can’t even form words in English to tell you how he feels. So he relies on actions, spouting out everything he can think of in a jumble of breathless Spanish. You’re perfect and dependable, a loaded gun with such precision aim it almost reminded Flaco of himself in his glory years, and he makes sure to let this be known. Whether you can understand him or not doesn’t matter to him. What matters is getting his point across, rolling his hips against yours as he trails his kisses lower, nipping at your collar bone and tugging at your shirt as he continues on his tangent.

 It’s when the cold breeze hits him does he finally snap out of it. Blinking his eyes frantically, he looks up. He’s no longer got you pinned against the wall. Instead, he’s still seated in his chair, the carving of your horse in his hand as his gaze falls on you. You shuffle inside, a concerned look on your face.

“You feelin’ alright?” you ask, stomping off the snow from your boots as you walk towards him. “Normally you’re on guard, hearin’ me from a mile away…”

“Just thinking, mi corazón,” he tells you softly, straightening his posture and tucking the carving away. The look of concern on your face turns to confusion.

“Mi what?” you question. He shakes his head, waving his hand as he slips his knife back into its sheath. He admires your face, just like he had done in his fantasy. It was now or never.

“We got a lot to talk about, you and me.”

[lurking-latinist]

AU Meme Fill: Eight, Charley, C’rizz

ok, so this is one I set myself for practice/as an example, before I got any submissions. So I’m not sure if it technically counts but here it is anyway:

AU Meme: Eighth Doctor, Charley Pollard, & C’rizz

1. Wild West

“Really,” said the English runaway, “I may be a bit out of place, but at least I’m not a cowpoke who’s afraid of cows.”

 2. Coffee Shop

“That’s why you two are my favorite baristas,” C’rizz admitted. “Everywhere else they always just label the cup ‘Chris.’”

 3. Pirates

“Take him below,” ordered Captain Charlotte.

Lieutenant C’rizz of His Majesty’s Navy shuddered as two burly sailors, in obedience to the pirate queen’s orders, thrust him belowdecks and down one of the ship’s narrow corridors. What horrors awaited him at their ruthless hands?

They threw him onto his knees and left him. When he recovered his balance, he found himself in a small cabin with a slight, good-looking fellow. The stranger was dressed in a style that, while far from seamanlike, was more dandified than the pirates’ rough splendor.

“A fellow prisoner?” C’rizz guessed.

“No,” confessed the other man with a rueful smile, “I fear I am as much a renegade as any of these abandoned ruffians.” He offered a handshake. “John Smith, ship’s surgeon. Are you injured at all?”

 4. …in SPACE

“I’m not sure if I really belong here,” said C’rizz. “Captain Smith has been very kind, but there’s never been a Eutermesan serving in Starfleet before.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” said Lieutenant Pollard. “I mean, look at me. I wasn’t actually even accepted to Starfleet Academy. I swapped places with a cadet!”

He did not seem to find this as encouraging as she’d hoped.

 5. Schoolfic (slightly meta)

The Rich Girl had fought hard for years to be more than a trope, but she worried she was just ending up as the Tomboy instead. The Clever but Absent-Minded Boy helped, and the two became inseparable in their battle against cliché. But it wasn’t until the New Boy turned out to be an extradimensional lizard that they knew they’d finally won.

 6. Urban Fantasy

“So you see,” said the dragonborn, pushing back the hood of his sweatshirt, “keeping up the Masquerade is harder on some of us than others.” He shot a challenging glance at his new friends. The Edwardian ghost flickered sympathetically—invisible, then visible again. Her companion, otherwise normal, met his gaze with eyes that shifted from green to grey as he watched: the sure sign of fae blood.

 7. Regency/Historical

Miss Charlotte’s long-standing devotion to the village doctor had started to raise eyebrows, but the gossips had to admit that a clergyman—even such a mysterious foreign one—made a perfectly adequate chaperone.

 8. Magic/Fairy Tale(/Shapeshifters)

C’rizz stared at his hand, which remained stubbornly blue. “I just don’t understand it,” he said.

A bright-eyed, shiny green bird landed on his extended hand. “It’s simple,” the bird fluted, in tones even more musical than the Doctor’s normal lilting voice. “Whatever factor has given us the ability to change our forms must be interfering with the related natural ability you normally possess.”

“Like a radio picking up two stations at once,” suggested the small orange cat winding herself around his ankles, then added a startlingly creditable imitation of hissing static. “Ooh. Didn’t know I could do that!”

 9. Canon Divergence

(Caerdroia, obviously)

“It’s a shame the three of us didn’t turn back into one Doctor—”

“—but on the bright side, things will get done so much faster!”

The third identical figure glanced between Charley and C’rizz. In any other circumstance, he’d have been charmed by the unconscious similarity in their frowns; but at the moment he suspected they all had enough lookalikes to last them a good while.

 10. Crime/Detectives

(because I wanted to do one that highlighted Charley and C’rizz as a team)

She’d been keeping the security guard talking while her accomplice broke in the back door. They’d have been in and out unnoticed if an employee hadn’t decided to sneak a smoke break and raised the alarm.

“We’re very sorry,” she said, with a bright smile.

“We won’t do it again,” he vowed.

Inspector Smith sighed. He didn’t know why, but he felt, somehow, that these two young scoundrels had potential.

Here’s the ao3 version: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32973250

[cowpoke-confessions]

sometimes the only thing a fella can do is run. a town gets tainted with a girls memory, or the coyotes just keep on getting after the cattle. it'd be a dumb shame if the cows had bleeding wounds for no reason other than a fear to change.

[catholic-confession-booth-2]

what true purpose could i yearn for when the dawn's so huge and the whiskey so sweet? when the two of us are out there i fear nothin' could chase my smile away. i ain't ever found that company round any folk 'cept for him.

-@cowpoke-confessions

My son, there is nothing wrong with having close friends, but you cannot let your brothers in Christ get in the way of your future wife or your journey with Christ.

[geminiimagines]

Mk krew + finding they’re parents

Kabal 

Pre- burn   

Hold the phone! A baby? Like an actual baby?! 

The baby was a complete surprise. You guys hadn’t really planned on having a kid for a couple of years, but hey! 

Surprise! 

He picks you a nearly squeezes the life out of you until gently remind of your precious little bean. 

Kabal is so excited! He’s already making plans for you and the baby. 

He quits Black Dragon, taking a job along with Eorron as part of Kotal’s gang 

He calls his mother as soon has everything calmed down. 

No, he’s not crying, it’s the ninja mimes 

Post-burn 

He didn’t think you would ever touch him again after the accident 

But here he was holding the sonogram of the little jelly bean that was now in your belly. 

It had been a rough few years before he worked up to being inmate with you again

He was so damn happy. He cried. 

Kabal hugged you, placing a kiss on your head thanking for everything 

This was more than he deserved. 

He calls in old favors for help

Of course, when Erron finds out the two of you he offers to let the happy family stay on his farm in Outworld 

Kabal happily agrees. 

Nightwolf 

Grey Cloud is a family man through and through 

The topic of kids has come up casually 

He wants to be able to pass on Matoka traditions to his child 

But he never rushed you into it. It was something that took a lot of thought. 

Then one day after coming home, he found a little note saying to look in the oven. 

Opening the there was a single bun... 

“My love?’‘ He asks. You just sit there with the biggest grin on your face 

Nightwolf is on cloud 9. He’s like 90% his soul left his body and met with the Ancestors for a little bit. 

He hugs you and kisses you. 

He savors this moment and vows to protect you and the baby. 

Kuai Liang 

Sub-zero ex. stopped 

It was late at night when it came out. You had been anxious for a little over a week. 

It had spilled out all once, with you sobbing into the blankets

Kaui Liang is quiet for a moment before pulling you into a tight embrace. 

He hushes you and explains that he could never be mad with you. 

He never really brought up children, and neither did you. 

Sub-zero was a busy man after all, but... 

You carrying his child puts it all into perspective 

He assures you it’s nothing that wanted more in his life 

The cryomancer apologizes for never really taking the time to talk with about having kids 

It’s a huge surprise

But’s a welcome surprise. 

He lays you back down and starts to dream of his family. 

Hanzo 

The topic of children was something the both of you never touched on

.It was a hard subject matter for Hanzo, so you left it alone for awhile 

The children of the clan looked to you as a mother figure and you were happy with that. 

It wasn’t until you started to feel ill one day. You could hardly get out of bed. Everything hurt. 

Concerned, Hanzo brought you to the Speical Forces base to see a doctor there 

After hearing the symptoms the doctor said you were pregnant

The word dropped like an atom bomb in the room. 

“Did you know?’‘ Hanzo asks quietly says after the doctor leaving giving you two a moment 

You shake your head. You had no clue. You start crying, saying how sorry you were for not knowing. For bringing this burden on him. 

Hanzo immediately hushes you. 

You don’t see it, but he’s on the verge of tears. 

He hugs you and whispers in your ear telling you how great of a mother you will be. He slightly thanks to the Elder Gods for another chance. 

You both go home that night and have a private dinner start planning for the future. 

Johnny Cage 

Say what??? 

When you told you were pregnant to took him by surprise 

It’s not like you hadn’t talked about kids, the subject came up but it felt awkward 

There’s a pause 

He scoops you up in arms with an excited laugh  

Johnny immediately calls Cassie telling that she’s gonna be a big sister. 

He plans private celebration not wanting to draw attention you. 

Johnny is so excited to have another kid 

Erron Black 

Well, this was unexpected. 

He asks you to repeat what you said.

After saying he’s going to be a father it slaps him like a ton of bricks 

He needs a moment to think 

This is a huge moment but is he ready? Raising a child is no picnic. 

What if he ends up like his father?

He never thought of himself as father  

Erron comes back after a while. 

He’ll confess to you, that he’s scared. He’s scared of a lot of things. 

But he hugs you close. 

He assures you that the both of you will work together for your child.

Erron takes on more stable jobs in order to support you and his little cowpoke 

In the months leading up to your due date, the more excited he gets. 

[thelastspeecher]

Stangie's first Halloween together. Or even Fiddauthor. Or both.

I cheated a bit.  This is technically Stan and Angie’s first Halloween together, but they aren’t a couple yet.  Because it’s the first Halloween after Stan moved in with the McGuckets.  And there’s just a buncha good feels and fluff in this ficlet, which I think is very appropriate, as it takes place during the OG “Stanley McGucket” fic.  Enjoy.

——————————————————————————————

              The rooster crowed.  Used to the routine after close to five months on the McGucket Farm, Stan woke, sat up, and stretched.  He swung his legs over the side of his bed and trudged to his dresser to get dressed for the day.  Once he’d pulled on a pair of heavy-duty denim jeans and a warm flannel to beat back the chill in the air, he headed for the kitchen.

              “Morning,” he mumbled to the McGucket parents, who were already working on breakfast.  Ma McGucket smiled fondly at him.

              “Mornin’, sweetling.”  She stood on her tiptoes to ruffle his unruly curls.  “Ya best comb that mop of yours ‘fore ya head fer school.”

              “Yeah, yeah.”  Stan yawned.  Pa McGucket chuckled.

              “Take a step outside.  We had the first hard frost of the year.  That nip ‘ll wake ya right up.”

              “How cold does it even get ‘round here?” Stan asked, sitting at the table.  “Do you guys get snow?”

              “Sometimes,” Ma McGucket said.  She placed a plate of pancakes in front of him.  “But the weather forecast says it should be warm on Halloween.  Perfect fer trick-or-treating.”

              “Huh.  Kinda figured not a lotta kids would bother to come out here fer free candy,” Stan remarked.  He began to dig into his pancakes.

              “You’d be right.  But the trick-or-treating I was referrin’ to was you ‘n Angie.”

              “…Me and Angie?” Stan asked.

              “Yep!  Don’t worry, we’ll hook ya up with a costume, since it’s so close to Halloween.”

              “Uh, but we’re teenagers.”

              “And?”

              “Teenagers don’t go trick-or-treating,” Stan said. Pa McGucket raised an eyebrow.

              “So ya haven’t gone trick-or-treating since you were twelve?” he asked.  Stan rubbed the back of his neck.

              “No, I- I went last year to piss off my Pops, since he said I was too old,” Stan mumbled.  Pa McGucket chortled.  “But I don’t have that motivation this year, so I think I’m gonna sit it out.”

              “Sorry, son, but Angie’s plannin’ on goin’, and we’d feel more comfortable if she had someone we trust to supervise her,” Pa McGucket said.  Stan sighed. “So, what do ya want us to get goin’ on fer yer costume?”

              “Don’t bother.”  Stan resumed eating his breakfast.  “I’ll just raid Harper and Lute’s closets and come up with a cowboy costume.”

----- 

              Sure enough, Stan managed to pull together a cowboy costume in time for Halloween.  He adjusted the cowboy boots with a slight wince.

              Even if these shoes are a bit small. Angie bounded down the stairs, coming to a stop in front of Stan.  Stan grinned at her.

              “Nice costume,” he commented.  Angie beamed in response.  She played with the tail of her costume idly.

              “This is actually one that Violynn wore,” she confessed.  “Bein’ the youngest means I have to wear hand-me-downs sometimes.  I’d prefer to be a salamander, but a cat ain’t that bad.”

              “Nah, it’s cute,” Stan said.  Angie’s grin broadened.  “You ready to go get some free candy, even though yer definitely too old fer it?”  Angie’s grin was wiped away.  She scowled at him.

              “I’m sixteen, Stan.  That’s only slightly less than the number of minors in town.  There are so few children here, that trick-or-treating extends to ages that most other places would consider too old.  It’s a local tradition.”

              “All right, all right,” Stan said, holding up his hands in defeat.  “Fine. I’ll back off.”

              “Good.  ‘Cause this kitty’s got claws.”  Angie made a clawing motion and hissed.  Stan burst out laughing.  Angie’s smile came back, her blue eyes sparkling with joy.  “Ready, cowpoke?”

              “You know it, kitty cat.”  Stan followed Angie outside.  The air was brisk but not unpleasant and the jack-o-lanterns the family (including Stan) had carved the night before shone on the front porch. Stan glanced at the one he had carved, with narrow eyes and sharp fangs.  It hadn’t turned out as scary as he’d hoped, but he was still proud of it.

              “Stan, wait!”  Stan and Angie turned around.  Ma McGucket came out of the house with a bucket.  She shoved it into Stan’s hands.  “Ya need somethin’ to collect yer candy in, boyo.”

              “I’m just chaperoning Angie.  I don’t need-” Stan started.  Ma McGucket smiled.

              “Just take the bucket, hon.  Who knows, maybe you’ll actually find yourself joinin’ in on the fun.”

              “Not likely.”  Ma McGucket ignored Stan’s mutter.

              “Be safe.”

              “You got it, Ma!” Angie chirped cheerfully. She grabbed Stan’s hand.  “Let’s go get some candy!”

----- 

              Once they got into the city proper, Stan saw that the McGuckets had been right.  While there were plenty of children wandering the streets, accompanied by weary parents, there were just as many teenagers, including classmates of Stan and Angie.

              “I like yer costume, Angie,” said someone dressed as a werewolf.  “It’s very fetchin’.”  Angie smiled.

              “Thanks, Max,” she said cheerfully.  The person continued down the street.  Stan looked at Angie, shocked.

              “Is that the same Max that harassed me the first day of school?” he asked.  Angie nodded. “What’s with the 180?”

              “Max actually ain’t usually like how he was to ya at school,” Angie said.  “He’s usually quite the sweet feller.”

              “Uh-huh.  Sweet to everyone, or sweet to you?”

              “What exactly are ya implyin’?”

              “I think he might have a thing fer you.  I mean, he did just hit on you.”

              “He didn’t hit on me,” Angie scoffed.  “He hit on my costume.  Which, I’ll remind ya, I didn’t even get.  Violynn got it.”

              “Hmph.”

              “Cut it out!” Angie said, punching Stan’s arm. “Yer startin’ to sound like Lute!”

              “Really?” Stan asked.  Angie nodded.

              “Maybe it’s the clothes,” she teased.  “Don’t think I didn’t notice yer just wearin’ stuff ya dug out of my brothers’ closets.”

              “Hey, it works,” Stan said with a shrug.  They walked up to a house with the porchlight on. Angie rang the doorbell.  The door swung open.

              “Trick or treat!” Angie sang.  The woman in the doorway beamed.

              “Little Angie McGucket and the McGucket farmhand,” she cooed.  “Hold out yer buckets!”  Angie promptly did so.  The woman dumped a handful of candy into the bucket.  “Farmhand, don’t ya want some candy?”

              “…If yer offerin’,” Stan said after a moment. He held out his bucket.  The woman tossed a few full-sized Snickers bars into the bucket.

              “Happy Halloween!” the woman chirped as they walked away.

              “You too, Mrs. Applesmith!” Angie called. Stan gaped at the candy in his bucket. “What’s wrong with ya?”

              “Is she brain damaged or somethin’?  Why’d she give us full-sized candy bars?  And more than one?” Stan asked, aghast. Angie grinned.

              “Small town.  Folks tend to be a bit more generous.”  She nudged him.  “Does that change yer stance on trick-or-treating?”

              “Are all the houses like this?”

              “Fer the most part.”

              “Then, yeah, I’m changing my mind.”  Stan looped his arm through Angie’s.  “Might as well spend my last year trick-or-treating in style.”

[emily-strange]

Growing Pains...

So this is a bit of a long one! I hope you bear with me haha also I apologise for the slooow burn....kind of ;)

Summary: Emmy has been with the gang since she was a little girl. Her mother moved on, leaving her to be raised by Dutch, Hosea and Susan. Arthur and John are her brothers (argue and she will fight you). Becoming a woman is hard when everyone still sees you as a child. Since the Blackwater mess she’s trying to find her feet while dealing with her new feelings for the gangs resident douchebag.

Tagging @strwxberrymilk @porkchop-ao3 @arthursgirl and @angelsjudge but if you’d like to stop being tagged just let me know! :) Also if anyone else would like to be tagged just say the word xx

Pairing: Slow burn Micah x female OC.

Warnings: Swearing (I think...), comments alluding to abuse, sexual themes

Chapter 14

And so, life went back to normal.

For about three days.

I started helping Hosea forge some legal documents that’ll hopefully put some decent cash in the box. Dutch was smart enough not to come to me himself.

So, life goes on and here I am bored out of my mind. Again.

It’s early evening and everyone’s finishing up their day. I’m pouring out the water I’d used to scrub some clothes when the sound of hooves gets my attention.

I dump the bucket in time to see Micah lighting up a cigarette and sauntering his way over to me. I’m pretty sure he thinks he’s being all mysterious but I just wait with my arms crossed. I can’t, however, help the smile that pulls at my cheeks. He’s been out of camp for the last few days, as have Javier and Sean who’re yet to return.

Hence why I’ve been so bored.

“Hello there darlin’” he drawls once he reaches me and I can see Arthur’s scowl from all the way over by the camp fire.

“Micah. How goes it?” I reply as I walk over to my tent. I can see John’s joined Arthur now and both keep glancing my way. I was actually quite thankful that Micah was gone by the time me and Arthur got back from our shooting practice. He didn’t push me any further about wearing Micah’s shirt but I just knew Micah would take any chance to wind him up.

“Ohhh not bad at all miss” Micah answers while reaching into his pocket and fanning himself with a large stack of dollar bills, “Had quite a good time actually.”

I stop when I get to my tent and pick up his black shirt.

“Well look at that. Make sure the camp gets its cut.” I say handing back the shirt.

Instead of waiting outside like most men in the camp would, Micah waltzed right in behind me. We’re now shielded by the surrounding canvas and as Micah goes to take the shirt, he tugs hard and I lose my footing. Sending me crashing into his chest.

He looks me square in the eye while he whispers, “Why don’t we keep this our little secret eh? Maybe, go out into town. I’ve been awful lonely out there these past few nights.”

I manage to catch my breath without making it obvious that his advances have caught me off-guard. I’ve spent every night thinking about Micah since the morning at his little camp but now he’s here I just can’t help but want to tease. To see him squirm.

So I lean in close. Our lips barely touching. And I whisper.

“Same here Mr Bell. Been awful lonely. And bored. I may have taken to wearing your shirt to bed. See, it still smells that little bit of you…..just enough to get a girl where she needs to be in the late, late hours of the night. Alone in her tent…”

After my hushed confession, I can see Micah’s eyes dilate and his tongue darts from his mouth to wet his lower lip. The very tip of it grazing my own lips.

I lean in as if I mean to bridge the gap.

Then at the last second, I pull back and walk over to my cot, sitting down and crossing my legs like the lady I’m pretending to be.

It happens so quickly; I can almost see the cogs turning in Micah’s head. And the strained crotch of his riding pants.

He clears his throat and slings the shirt onto his shoulder.

“Mmm and to think I came all the way back here with a gift. And all you do it torture a poor fella.” He says putting on his best fake pout.

I lean my hands back on the cot making sure to push my upper body out towards him.

“Money isn’t a gift Micah. You know you won’t get to keep it all.” I scoff and Micah takes a long drag of his cigarette before discarding it out of the tent.

“The gift is information little miss. Information about some very bad men, who do some very bad things, to very innocent people.” Micah says nonchalantly but he knows he has my attention.

“You found the men my father was running with?” I ask as I shoot up from the cot.

He chuckles, “Oooh now she’s interested.” And I roll my eyes.

“How’s about this. I tell you where they are, I may even help you kill a couple of ‘em and you….” He continues while lifting my chin with his finger, “….you come with me into town and get room.”

For a moment I just look into his eyes. He’s daring me to react.

So, I do.

I glance round his head to see if anyone’s near us and once I see no one in sight, I place my hands on either side of his face.

With one hand I push into the hair at the back of his head, shifting his hat a bit and gently scratching my nails on his scalp. Using that and the hand on his face, I finally bring his lips to mine.

He lets me take control. I think he actually likes that.

I nibble on his bottom lip and our tongues meet. He tastes like cigarettes and whiskey. Normal for Micah. Probably for most men around here.

He takes my waist and pulls my centre closer to his and I moan into his mouth. I’d like to say it’s for show but we both know it’s not.

Before we go too far in the middle of camp, I tear my lips from his and he smirks.

“Micah” I say quietly and after a moment he visually softens. Dropping our little game completely.

I take a step back and he adjusts his hat, not looking directly at me.

“They’re holed up in some ranch house past Strawberry.” He says after clearing his throat.

“When do we leave?” I say probably a bit too excitably and I find myself clutching at the bit of shirt covering his stomach, making him look at me properly again.

He smiles that almost, sadistic, smile he has and under these circumstances, it’s thrilling.

“Whenever you want darlin’” he answers.

I turn around and grab some string to tie my hair back with and grab my satchel and gun.

As I breeze past Micah, I crash straight into the wall that is Arthur Morgan.

“Woah there” he says and looks at Micah then back to me, “What’s goin’ on ovah here?”.

Micah just can’t miss the opportunity and answers before I can, “Whatta you think cowpoke?” he says with a wink.

Before Arthur can lunge at Micah, I push back against his chest and almost shout, “Arthur! Will you ride with me?”

Arthur and Micah both answer at the same time.

“What!?” they yell, both confused.

I roll my eyes and walk past both of them to the ammunition wagon. They both follow.

“Micah, Arthur’s the best gun in camp and we don’t know how many men will be there. And Arthur, I’m asking you. Will. You. Ride. With. Me?” I say bluntly stuffing my bag with ammo. Before Arthur can answer, John appears.

“Wats this?” he asks and I turn just in time for Arthur to send him a concerned look before approaching me.

“Men? Emmy what’s goin’ on?” Arthur asks cautiously.

“Micah found the men my father was running with. Men who…..are like him. I didn’t get to put a bullet between his eyes so I’ll put one in theirs.” I say smiling. Micah seems to appreciate that.

I find myself getting increasingly annoyed by Arthur’s blank stare.

“What?!” I ask maybe a bit too harshly.

John jumps in saving, saving Arthur who seems speechless.

“Micah found ‘em?” he asks and I nod like it’s the most natural occurrence.

“Yeah. He found them for me.” I say bluntly and Micah pushes his way into the fray.

“Ho, hey, never said it was for you. I just enjoy a bit of…..excitement” he scoffs trying to distance himself from me. I just roll my eyes.

“Fine Micah, either way, he’s found them and I’m going. Arthur, John, will you ride with me?” I ask them getting increasingly frustrated.

“Wait a minute now!” I hear behind me and Abigail comes into sight from behind the wagon.

“For God’s sake!” I shout throwing my hands up.

“John’s not going on some, some, wild goose chase, wandering into lord know’s what with MICAH of all people” she screeches and Micah makes me laugh by covering his heart with his hand, as if wounded.

“You ain’t going John Marston.” She says pointing a finger at him and he tries to calm her by gently saying her name but she just responds with, “You’re my husband and you ain’t goin’.”

“I’m sorry Abigail” I say turning to her properly, keeping my voice deadly calm but no less biting, “but he was my brother before he was your husband. And I’m asking him. Not you.”

As Abigail gears up to begin a slinging match, Arthur finds his voice.

“Okay, okay!” he starts, holding his hands up between up, “Okay. I think, we need a minute.”

Arthur grabs my arms and drags me away from the other three.

“Look” he says with a hushed, gruff voice, “I know you wanna do this. But Emmy, it ain’t safe. We don’t do stuff like this.”

“Stuff like what Arthur?” I ask pointedly.

“Revenge killin’s” he hisses.

And my blood boils.

“No, Arthur. Dutch doesn’t do revenge killings. Unless they benefit him directly of course. But I very much do. When I’ve got revenge that needs taking and heinous men that need putting down.” And with that I walk to the camp’s table, full of rage and high on adrenaline.

I push myself onto the table and whistle loudly.

“Hey!” I say getting everyone’s attention.

The camp members begin to gather and I can already see Susan seething because I’m on the table with my dirty boots.

“We all know what’s been going on these past few days. Let’s not pretend…..” I start, stopping briefly when I see Dutch emerge from his tent.

“But I have a chance to put this to rest once and for all. Not far from here are men. Bad men. Men that like to hurt young girls and children. Men who, along with my own father, were willing to sneak into this camp….OUR camp….and take me. They would of taken me….and….” not being able to finish, I look from my brothers to Dutch, “For all we know that’s what they’re doing to some poor young thing as we speak.”

I take a breath and find myself looking for Micah. He’s smiling. But not his trademark smirk. A real, albeit small, genuine smile. And it gives me the push I need.

“I need guns. Well, maybe I don’t” and I can’t help but laugh at my own awkward speech, “I don’t really know what I’m walking into but despite that, I’m going. And I would feel a hell of a lot better having my family with me…I….I need you to ask yourselves what kind of men you are.”

I find Dutch’s eyes in the early evening darkness and keep the connection.

“Are you cowards?” I ask and his nostrils flare.

I then look at Arthur.

“Or are you outlaws? Men who run and live free? Men who…sometimes….do what’s right. Even without the promise of a payoff.”

It’s quiet for a very brief moment until:

“You have my gun” Charles says and I can’t help but smile, throwing myself into his arms from the table. He holds me tight for a second before lowering me to the ground.

“Why the hell not” Lenny shouts, grabbing his rifle.

I see Abigail pulling John’s arm but he gently moves her hands away. He approaches me slowly and kisses my forehead before walking off to grab his things. I don’t have it in me to worry about Abigail right now. I just hope deep down she understands.

“I hope you understand why I won’t be joining you on this, this crusade” Hosea says, struggling to stand from his seat. I help him up and smile. I know if he could, he would.

And that’s when Dutch appears in front of me for the first time in over a week.

“I hope you understand the enormity of what you’re asking these men to do. If something goes wrong, that’s on you Emmeline. It’s hard being the leader.” He says in a stern voice to me.

“They make their own choices Dutch. I just appealed to their humanity, not their wallets.” I say just as sternly before I make my way towards Arthur. I can hear Bill asking Dutch what he should do. “Just stay home Bill. Don’t want to get in trouble with daddy Dutch now would you.” I shout over my shoulder.

Before I can approach Arthur, Sadie appears in front of me.

“I assume that little speech was directed at the women as well?” she says while leaning on her left leg, popping out her hip. Looking every bit the picture of a perfect gunslinger.

“You know it does Mrs Adler” I say smiling. She winks at me walks over to Lenny patting him on the back and joining in the conversation with him and Charles.

I finally get to Arthur who’s checking over his guns.

“Do you hate me?” I find myself asking timidly before my brain has time to think it over.

Arthur holsters his guns slowly and puts his hands on my shoulders.

“I’m very proud you wanna do some good Emmy but I’m also shit scared of what’s happening with you. I think….I think maybe you need to….talk to someone after all this is done with.” He whispers, shaking his head.

“What….a priest!?” I ask incredulously while glancing to Reverend Swanson who’s tapped out under his lean-to with Uncle. Both snoring.

“What!? No!” he laughs and it catches, “I just mean….”

“I know.” Is all I can manage to say in reply. Because I really do. I do know.

“You stay behind me. And if not me, Charles.” Arthur says sternly and I hear John shout “Hey!”.

We laugh for a second and I hug him while I promise.

Everyone makes their way over to a horse and I join them once I finish getting told off by Susan and given some ‘good lucks’ from the girls. Mary-Beth is way too hyped up from my little speech, going on about how it was like something a hero in one of her books would do. I can already see Karen and Tilly getting annoyed.

I mount Jett and tie back my hair.

“Let’s move out!” Arthur shouts and we file out of the camp one by one.

As I’m trotting out, Micah sidles up next to me and pushes me to get my attention.

“Sooo. The speech.” He drawls and I laugh.

“Bit much?” I ask and he makes a small measurement between his thumb and index finger. I laugh harder.

“What can I say. I’m a natural.” I say winking at him.

“Oooh don’t go doin’ things like that before a gunfight miss. The excitement does somethin’ to a man.” He smirks before wetting his lower lip.

“Well, I look forward to seeing you in action Mr Bell.” I reply quietly.

“Ohhh, it’ll be my genuine pleasure Miss Grace.” he says, voice dripping with sin.

Thankfully he spurs Baylock into a gallop before the blush reaches my cheeks.

I’m in trouble.

[reddeadrevival]

Pregnant!Reader -

Pregnant!Reader - before she can tell the father it's revealed to the whole camp and Arthur and John (who are like her big brothers) are not happy.

Beginning is ambiguous about who the father is but it splits off at one point.

Choices are Kieran, Micah, Bill and Javier (Two are longer than the others cause I ran out of ideas)

You were the second person to find out you were pregnant. Abigail was the first and the one to tell you why you were getting sick so often. You honestly just thought your stomach had finally had enough of Pearson's stew day after day.

She took you aside and asked you if you had intimate relations with anyone recently where the two of you weren't exactly safe. You didn't tell her who but you confirmed you had been with someone; you also didn't tell her how many times but she told you that you were likely with child and with how many times you'd been with him in the past month you knew she was right.

No one knew about your relationship. The two of you agreed it would make things easier if no one knew. You wouldn't get teased by the girls about it and he wouldn't be bothered by the other men about it or possibly maimed by them. The two of you had rarely ever been together while at camp anyways.

You were terrified to tell him, mostly because that would mean telling everyone else including Arthur and John who treated you like a younger sister. To say they were overprotective was an understatement and you knew if they found out who the father of your child was they would most likely castrate him, if they didn't end up killing him first.

You made Abigail swear not to tell anyone but she convinced you to at least let Miss Grimshaw know so that the older woman wouldn't make you work as hard. After a scolding from the woman, she agreed to keep it quiet and to keep you working on the lighter chores. This did not go unnoticed by the other girls who were a little annoyed about it until you caved and explained it to them. After a few squeals of joy from them you made them promise not to tell.

Abigail pointed out that you'd start showing at some point and asked if you'd told the father yet. You hadn't. And it turns out you didn't need to.

Everyone knows Karen and Sean like to get drunk together and when they get drunk they tend to let out secrets to each other.

One night, while the gang was enjoying themselves for no apparent reason the two had a bit too much to drink. Karen had already told the Irishman the night before. Your heart felt like it stopped when you heard him. He'd raised a bottle for a toast.

"Ta tha newest addition ta tha family!"

Everyone looked at him like he was crazy, though some were used to it and didn't question it, until John spoke.

"What are you talkin' about?"

"Tha baby!"

Now everyone was looking at him like he was crazy.

"What baby?" John asked. "You finally get Karen pregnant?"

"Not 'er ya idiot!"

A million thoughts ran through your head.

You can't get up and leave now, they'll know. They're going to find out anyways. Damn it, Karen! Damn it, Sean!

"Y/N's baby!" The ginger clarified.

All eyes were on you.

"What?" John snapped.

"Tell me he's just drunk," Arthur started with a frown. "There's no way yer pregnant."

"I uh…" You swallowed and stared at the ground. You didn't risk looking at the father, it would give him away immediately, but you needed to know his reaction. So you looked at Arthur, then scanned the group. His expression was unreadable.

"Who?" John asked as he stood. "Which one of you was it?" he glared at the men around him.

"I'm a grown woman!" You snapped as you stood. "It's none of your business who it is or that it happened!"

"Well," Dutch started. "I want to say congratulations but I don't know who else to congratulate."

"I think he should just confess," Arthur seethed.

"Confess? It's not a crime!" You scoffed. "He didn't even know!"

"Well, who is it?" Hosea asked as he looked around. Nobody moved for a moment until one of the men stood up.

  (Now we split off. Sorry about some being shorter than others, I ran out of ideas)

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Kieran

  "M-me," he stammered as he raised a hand slightly. Two glares were now directed at him, as well as a few looks of disbelief. His heart was pounding in his chest as he looked at you. "Y-yer really pregnant?" You nodded. A big smile grew on his face but was quickly replaced with fear as Arthur and John came at him.

"Yer dead, O'Driscoll!" John shouted.

"I ain't an-!" he cut himself off as he ran around the group away from the two.

"Bill! Get those tongs!" Arthur shouted.

"Stop it!" you cried and stepped in front of the two as Kieran ran passed. "You ain't killin' him!"

"I-it wasn't just one night!" Kieran shouted.

"Don't think you wanna be braggin' right now, boy," Dutch advised though he was amused by the whole situation.

"I-I ain't braggin'! I'm tryin' ta say I love her!" he squeaked. You turned around and you might as well have had hearts in your eyes.

"You do?"

"Yeah! O' course I do," he said, his eyes softened and a big goofy smile came to his face. "M crazy about you," he admitted.

"I love you too," you confessed and a moment later he took your face in his hands and kissed you.

Arthur cleared his throat and the two of you turned to see him and John still glaring (though not as hard as before).

"I-I ain't gonna leave her. I don't know nothing about babies but, I can try," he said as he put a hand on your belly lightly.  

"You better," the two growled.

"Yer gonna have my baby," he breathed, ignoring the two.  

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Micah

  "Yer all lookin' at the mother of Micah Bell the fourth!" He gestured to you with a huge grin on his face.

Arthur's pistol was out before he finished his sentence. Micah ducked just in time for his hat to get blown off.

"Arthur!" Dutch shouted as you let out a yelp. Micah actually looked scared and scrambled to get behind you.

"Ya wouldn't leave her a single mother, now would ya cowpoke?" he asked, half joking, half genuinely scared for his life as he put his hands on your shoulders, leaning to hide more of himself behind you.

"Really? Him?!" John shouted.

"Yes him!" You shouted. "You can't tell me who I can and can't sleep with!"

"You want him to be the father of your child?!" Arthur yelled.

"Hey! I'd be a great dad!" Micah snapped back. "And I ain't gonna leave either!" he directed this at John who put a hand on his holster.

"Not like I can change the fact that he's the father," you pointed out to Arthur.

"Hey," Micah mumbled in your ear.

"And I wouldn't change it," you added as you glanced back at him. He grinned and wrapped his arms around you, putting his hands on your belly. "Please just be happy for me?" Arthur let out a big sigh.

"Jus' don't name it after him," he groaned.

"It's Bell tradition!" Micah argued.

"It ain't a Bell til ya marry her," Mary-Beth pointed out. She may not like the man but she was still a romantic. You gave her a look but secretly you were grateful.

"Just gotta get a ring, right?" He looked at you.

"It's more than that!" Mary-Beth protested. "We gotta have a ceremony!" It was clear she was excited more so than the two of you were. Micah looked at you, saw the hope in your eyes, and let out a groan.

"Fine," he mumbled but was trying to hide his grin.

"You hurt her, or that kid, in any way," John started. "Yer gonna wish you were dead."

"Yeah yeah," Micah muttered as he slowly rubbed your belly, ignoring them. "Told ya I was gonna put a baby in ya," he murmured into your ear.

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Bill

  "Uh…" He raised his hand a bit before scratching the back of his neck sheepishly.

"What?" John looked between you two.

"Yer kiddin' right?" Arthur asked.

"What? Is it so hard to believe, Morgan?" he snapped.

"Pretty girl like Y/N with you? Yeah," Arthur said bluntly. You made your way over to Bill and took his hand.

"Well I am," you said. Bill looked down at you.

"Yer really…?"

"I wanted to tell you, I just didn't know how, I-I was scared."

"Of what? That I wouldn't want a baby with you?" You bit your lip and nodded. "I'm gonna be honest… I don't know what kinda father I'll be but … I'll try." You smiled up at him. "Sides, kid's gonna have the best mother to make up for what I do wrong anyway."

"Sure I don't have ta tell ya but I will anyway," Arthur started.

"I ain't leavin' her and I ain't gonna hurt her, if that's what you're worried about," Bill said. He put a hand on your belly and a soft smile came to his face.

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Javier

  "That would be me."

"Why am I not surprised?" John asked.

"And what is that supposed to mean?" Javier asked with a slight confused frown.

"You think we don't see you singing to her all the time?" Arthur asked. "Mind you we didn't know you two were together," he added in a mumble.

"Why did you not tell me sooner?" Javier asked with a sad look in his eyes as he turned to you.

"I wanted to… I just didn't know how, I was afraid of how you'd react," You admitted.

"Mi corazon, I am so happy," he said as he walked to you and took your hands in his. "To start a family with you," He brought your hands up to kiss your knuckles. You smiled at him as he lowered your hands. "My bebé," he said looking to your belly as his hands found your waist. Arthur cleared his throat. The two of you turned to look at him and remembered everyone else was watching you.

"I know you'd never hurt her, but if you do I will hunt you down."

"I could never," Javier whispered as he smiled at you. He knelt down and pressed a kiss to your stomach before he looked up at you with the proudest smile.

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Again sorry about the last two being shorter, it doesn’t mean I like those two any less I just ran out of ideas.

(Master List)