#micah — character study.

[drinkinggblood]

And I saw, and behold a white horse: and he that sat on him had a bow; and a crown was given unto him; and he went forth conquering and to conquer.

[fearmakess]

my rdrOC Vittori Vegras 🌹

[bobabisch]

I think it is very interesting that the writers of RDR2 chose to have the Arthur become more involved with the storyline of the Native Americans at the time that they did.

I feel this for many reasons, but mainly because what Colonel Favours' destructive and insecure nature is doing to the native people directly mirrors what Dutch's own insecure and destructive nature is doing to the group. On the first mission Arthur does with Captain Monroe, the Captain tells him many things:

1) That Colonel Favours destructive/insecure/angry nature has corrupted his men, I quote, "There is a culture now in his [Colonel Favours] regiment, the rot has traveled down the trunk". The Captain is stating that the horrific ways the Colonel has been treating the native people has prompted his men to treat them the same. The rotting tree metaphor is easily applied to Arthur's current situation with Dutch and the group (at this specific time especially). After Molly's death the whole vibe of the camp becomes unstable and dreary; nearly everyone has been prone to anger, Arthur included. This attitude in the camp is not unlike the new personality Dutch has begun to show since he returned from Guarma. This corruption can also be seen particularly well in Micah--as he thrives in the chaos in the camp and in Arthur's disintegrating relationship with Dutch--and in Bill's newfound anger/resentment with seemingly everything and everyone.

2) Captain Monroe tells Arthur "He [Colonel Favours] didn't have a very good war so he's trying to start another one." This one seems pretty much obvious, but as Arthur states during a few missions prior to this one (mainly the one with Eagle Flies and the mission where Dutch kills Cornwall) the past few heists/jobs have not gone well. Arthur significantly understates this; rather the last few heists/jobs have gone horribly, terribly wrong. All of Dutch's previous heists/jobs have led to death: I.e. Mac, Jenny, Sean, Hosea, Lenny, and Molly. It's clear Dutch has been feeling lost and inadequate since Blackwater and his recent failures and the recent deaths have only put more pressure on those insecurities, and with Micah in his ear those insecurities have only become more prevalent and dangerous.

3) Captain Monroe also tells Arthur "I think he's taking some of these actions more to protect himself now. If he can incite more retaliation maybe he can prove a stronger defense." Like Colonel Favours has decided to wage his own war with the native people in an attempt to alleviate his insecurities, so has Dutch decided to "wage war" as well, using the conflict with the native people and the army so he may "make noise" (as Dutch calls it) to reassure himself that his insecurities have not become reality. The more "noise" Dutch makes easier it is to claim he is defending the groups honor. Dutch uses people a lot, he used Angelo Bronte, he used the Grays, he used the Braithwaites, but the difference between Dutch using them and Dutch using Eagle Flies and the native people--as well as the army--is that he no longer does it for the reason's that he was doing it beforehand. With the former groups of people, Dutch truly was using them to help the group, to protect those he views as family.

Moreover the former groups of people were not good people in any way shape or form meanwhile the Native Americans are entirely blameless in this situation. "We help those who need helping, feed those who need feeding, and kill those who need killing." It's something Dutch says to Arthur on the very mission they take with Eagle Flies which puts not only the native people in a more precarious position than they were already in, but also makes the situation Dutch's gang are in more dangerous. Dutch has stuck by this motto for what seems like his whole life, but now even it has lost its meaning. He no longer helps those who need helping as he refused to rescue John Marston from being hanged, and he no longer kills those who need killing as he unnecessarily murdered Cornwall and actively urges the native people and the army to kill each other. In this light it is undeniable that just as Colonel Favours is prosecuting the Native Americans to save his reputation, Dutch has taken all of these new measures to save his own reputation and to placate his troubled mind.

4) Captain Monroe's final statement about Colonel Favours hits the hardest however, "A failed man is often the most dangerous." Arthur has come to know this as true, as he watches Dutch slowly descend further into madness, finding new enemies in anyone who is not his "yes man" and actively seeking out his old enemies who have wronged him so horribly in the past, all at the risk of the family which he claims he is trying to protect by doing all of this.

I think it is so clever of the writers this situation with the Native Americans play out as all this is happening with Dutch. Although Arthur probably does not fully understand the parallels, I'm sure being directly involved in such a similar situation helps Arthur to realize at least on some subconscious level just how far gone Dutch truly is.

[dead-finches]

TOO MANY OBSESSIONS TOO LITTLE TIME SO I GOTTA HIT FIFTEEN BIRDS WITH ONE STONE HERES HATSUNE MICAH THANK YOU GOOD BYE

[jay-avian]

Character Pen Pals!

I was looking through some writing exercise ideas for myself earlier and came across one that was essentially to write a letter to someone. Then I thought how cool it would be to write a letter from OC to OC. But then!

What if we wrote letters as our characters to each others' characters?! It doesn't have to be physical letters of course (unless you're okay with that, then feel free to privately message whoever your pen pal is the address/P.O. box you want. I personally love getting mail and making fancy letters)

You can send people your letters in their asks (if they're okay with it) and they can answer with their own letter. Reblog if you want to participate and add whichever of your character(s) you want to send/receive letters with, along with a little bit of info about them to start. Feel free to ask people for more info about their characters if you need it. I'm sure they'd love to share!

[peacockeryabound]

Dance of Deviants - Part 1

(From the story of the same name on my AO3.)

Synopsis: Arthur danced with danger every day. He should have known what he was getting into when it came to Micah Bell.

(Pairing: Micah Bell/Arthur Morgan)

----------------

"O-on this beautiful night, will you dance with me, Miss...Mary-Beth."

It was such a stilted offer that Arthur had to look up from his game of dominoes with Lenny. 

He was not a peeping man, not even when he would round corners in camp and walk right into a moment of intimacy. Fights, stories, laughter, confessions; everyone had their secrets and their gossip, their own unique tells. He had learned to keep his ear out of things that tickled it. The look Lenny was giving him, however, suggested something different. The kid's brows raised and he was sucking in his bottom lip to compose himself, confirming in complete subtlety that the reaction was mutual.

Because, out of all the sorry fools in camp who got gutsy at flirting with their own, it was Micah Bell who was bungling it hard, right in front of the one woman they all knew would be his softest target.

"No, I will not."

Her answer made Arthur and Lenny shoot glances at one another. They were now both leaning on elbows and turned to face the fiery wreck of this humiliating display, Arthur tilting back just enough for his presence to be seen by her and Lenny was trying to bullet walk a domino.

Both sad fools, they both were, to not have jumped up so fast to go and slap some sense into the blustering idiot but...Arthur felt a hand clapping over his wrist, holding him down once the vehement snort from Micah made him almost jump up.

Mary-Beth noticed it too, or perhaps she was balking under the wild eyed stare that Mr. Bell was known for.

"I..." She couldn't escape the dignified pout she wore most days, which only drew him closer, hand extending in an offer that felt more dire than kindly.

"Arthur," Lenny hissed. His voice was quick, laden with amusement but also of urgency, "Give her a chance. She-"

Arthur hushed him as he overheard Mary-Beth speak up again.

"I got two left feet."

They both glanced at each other again and snorted towards the table.

Fortunately, Micah hadn't heard their snickering. His posturing was absolute, perhaps the only honorable thing to come from his reputation as a dirty sneak. Arthur saw Micah's outstretched hand curling in on itself, an inviting display tightening into a tense point. It trembled with his agitated breaths.

"I am not a monster , miss."

Rigid and low, that voice now became. It had summoned a fury that compelled Arthur to rip himself out of Lenny's grip, leaving the poor kid almost halfway flung across the table in a desperate reach to hold him back. It was the sheer disrespect of those words, of this bastard lying through his teeth in a floundering attempt to get frisky that had put this harmless fooling into fighting territory. He knew what Micah was capable of when he got twitchy like that.

He only held himself back, stopping right there within pummeling distance behind that mop of dirty blonde hair because he heard Mary-Beth's pointed rebuttal.

"No, of course you're not." She was staring more at that jumpy hand, ready like a rattlesnake. Milquetoast in demeanor and pretty in the face, she was still an established thief and in her next move reminded them all of that cutting wit. "You're just...not that interesting."

An apologetic frown, a batting of her lashes and there forth came a practiced sigh of disappointment, misdirecting herself as the fool to not see a suitor in him like the heroes in her books.

And it worked.

Micah was frozen in his spot for a moment before his finger wagged and his snorting resumed. A growl of "Very. Funny." clawed out of him as he followed suit in his shame, spinning with purpose on his heels to leave little pits in the soft dirt. His eyes caught Arthur's and a curled lip was the only fight he could muster in passing.

It was simply one of those dumbfounding moments where one - no, everyone - had to pause. Arthur loosened his hands after he realized they had balled into numbed fists, loosening a tight breath he hadn't been aware he was holding in. He stared at the trail of awkwardness left behind, in which the other gang members paused in their duties to gawk.

He knew what he was getting into, following the dirt clods towards the outskirts. A small hand wave to Lenny was good enough of an apology, as his voice was already calling out to the tree line.

"Hey, dumbass."

If it weren't for the fact he had gotten into Micah's good graces lately as the only one to play his games on a job, he would have been shot on sight. They both knew that, an agreement made excruciatingly clear from how the other man stopped with his back to him, tightening up his shoulders and arms as if he were ready to draw…but did not commit. 

The timid breaths droned through the awkward silence, one too many forcing a shiver through Micah's shoulders.

Arthur glanced down to the new abundance of forest litter beneath his boots, taking care in each step to really let his toes crunch down on the twigs he could find. It was a message that was plain only between them- don't you dare run .

"You really dropped her bloomers there." He chuckled, testing the limits. It was funny, but funny to him was absolutely not the same to his fellow outlaw. "What was that?"

"I don't know what you mean, Morgan." The other blonde growled. He still refused to turn around. "Can't a feller shoot his shot without being peeped on?"

Arthur raised his brows, arms crossed in an attempt to control himself. The urge to grin again was intense; Micah always had been a pathetic liar.

"Yeah, you was quiet, alright. Half the camp heard you tripping your words, moron."

"Shut up!"

Micah had spun on his heels, straining his lungs to breathe in the soupy Lemoyne air.

"Just…piss off, alright? We all ain't like you, pretty boy."

Pretty boy?

That was new, and it made Arthur close his mouth as he pondered it. It certainly wasn't the face he saw looking back at him in mirrors, tired and far too done with himself.

The stare they shared was becoming uncomfortable, his calm stance infuriating that cornered fidgeting from the other outlaw…yet he didn't care. Not a lick. He considered it good medicine for the asshole.

Instead, Arthur feigned a gulp and raised his hands, all projected as submissive when they both knew he wasn't.

"Alright, fine. Just…damn, Romeo."

"Fuck you, Morgan!"

He had to chuckle as he listened to those spurs spinning as their owner stomped off into the woods. He couldn't stop himself, grinning through every word,

"If you ever need a dance lesson-"

He wondered if Micah even could.

-----

Camp life, in the end, consumed everything. There were chores to be done, plans to be talked, supplies to be brought back. After swapping some stories over the dinner fire, Arthur had busied himself with splitting the last few logs before the sun fully dipped behind the distant hills. Pearson had managed to keep him after he had hauled over some grain bags, where together they had some beers while he listened to some tall story about a legendary coyote, taking mental note to investigate the next time he was in the area.

Indeed, life carried on. It was only on the next morning, as he was brushing out his horse that he caught a glimpse of Baylock wandering through the patch and got reminded of his rider. Again. Pearson might have nudged him once or twice after a few bottles.

Did he like Micah?

Not particularly, just as someone didn't have to like rats to understand their place in nature but he wouldn't be musing about the fool if there was any true deep hate there. For all of his shit temper tendencies, the man was a genuinely faithful companion in a gun fight and had some semblance of humor in camp talks. Perhaps there was a bit of pity to be had.

Arthur dropped his hand and set the horse brush back in his saddle bag, withdrawing a beet from another pocket for his mare to nibble on.

"Good, girl." He smiled from the heavy head that turned to nearly bump his own. He took a moment to stroke one of her soft ears. "You're alright. Just gotta keep you clean, you dirty girl…"

She made a small whicker to contest his laugh. The Count wasn't the only pale beast in the herd. White tracked everything.

Dirt and dirty tricks, absolutely, as a new splash of white wavered now in the corner of his left eye, mixing together with a stark red. All he needed to do was lightly cant his head to see the only man in camp who boldly wore such a fickle color for pants, though he absolutely was not intending to stare at Micah's ass along the way. It just happened.

There was a noticeable weight to the footwork that he caught, almost a lurch in a every step that suggested either the nuisance was boozed up or broke down from his ongoing insomnia issues. Arthur caught the burn of smoke that smothered everything else, a telling sign that it had been another night the fool suffered, no doubt endlessly playing with his guns at the scout fire as was habit.

"You alright, Romeo?" He called out his thoughts before he could stop himself. Shit.

Micah paused again, exhaling a heavy, clearly dramatic sigh.

"This again? Don't you got something better to do?" He glanced over his shoulder.

"Sure." Arthur found himself smiling, hands on hips. Might as well commit. "Like askin' what crawled up your ass after what you tried with her."

They were definitely fighting words, language guaranteed to hold an audience with Micah. It was a gamble to dig up skeletons now buried, but he demanded answers. Micah never was nice for the sake of being selfless. Something about that one exchange in particular showed a stranger, more rubbed-raw side that Arthur had never seen before.

He didn't let Micah speak, however, talking over the sputter they both knew was going to be worthless words anyway.

"I know, I know, you're gonna say you're a ladies' man and tell me all the other times you popped off on the girls in good fun and all. Listen, cowpoke, I can sniff your bullshit faster than you can try to bury it."

Micah curled his lip at him for a moment, giving a "what the fuck" sort of gesture with his arms before he closed the distance between them.

"Yeah, well...not all of us got a golden tongue like you, asshole."

It infuriated him to no end to see Arthur looking unbothered by his spitting, a fact that made the amused smile he was receiving spook something unhinged inside of him. He retorted instead through his fist, curled tight into a firm knuckling against the other man's sternum. His teeth were bared in an unrepentent smile as he watched Arthur stumble.

"Why do you care so much about that? You want her too? You get all bristled up like a dog seeing another man putting on the moves, don't ya?"

The point he gave after was less threatening, only succeeding in turning his face redder than his shirt as he scowled under a barking laugh. He had no idea why this was such a knee slapper, though Micah also should have found his peace offering sooner and not missed Mr. McGuire's return party.

"Oh yeah, those were some moves, alright!"

Arthur was wheezing, almost doubling over and restraining every part of himself to not just burst out in another loud uproar as the amount of eyes on them was only growing. He had to wipe away the building tears with the heel of his palm, snorting from the ridiculous straight posture Micah had suddenly snapped to, lip twitching and chest puffed in a feeble attempt to weather the attention of the others.

"Ah, looks like it's a mighty big stick up pokin' up there then-" He put his hands up again to deflect the readying fist his way. "Calm down, Micah. I'm just teasing ya."

It was time to reign back. Unlike this jumpy jackrabbit before him, Arthur actually had sense and meaning behind his motives. He made a point of taking in a deep breath and pushing it back out, watching those ornery blue eyes darting all over his person and finding the blushing cheeks to be rather cute on big bad Micah Bell. Ridiculous...but cute. Human. 

He clapped a hand on Micah's shoulder, his smile remaining harmless.

"Ain't right to me that you have all the fun taking the piss out of folks and I with my "golden tongue" can't." He patted the spot in a too-tender fashion, nodding towards the baffled squint he was getting until the gesture was mirrored. Micah's smiles were never pleasant, nor was a nod from him anything innocent but it was a start. "So...consider it me just worryin' about you...brother."

The word felt curdled on his tongue but it hit the mark he wanted. Micah had pestered him enough with slinging it around in an attempt to slither into his good graces, just like his tension in the moment had loosened and he flicked his tongue out to wet his lips, long having cracked from his anxious breathing. 

Micah lowered his head, hissing under the number of stares he caught during a cursory sweep. His smile was fighting to stay, to play along; believe the jest was real.

"Well...ain't you sweet...my best pal." He flashed all of his teeth in a long chuckle, smacking Arthur hard on the bicep and then tearing himself away. "Good ol' Morgan..."

Arthur noticed the jab dying in a sigh from the other man's lips, Micah's eyes beginning to strain under heavy lids. The man looked like hell when he stood like that, almost swaying the longer he stayed put. Clearly, this little exchange was burning the final threads of his energy, so Arthur sidestepped him until they were hip to hip, his hand slipping from Micah's shoulder to push under his bicep and up into his pit. He used the entirety of his slung arm as a guiding force, pushing the exhausted fool into a stumble with him.

"The hell you doin-?" Micah snapped out of it after a few steps. He tried to shove his way out but was crushed right back into his fellow outlaw's ribs. Arthur was a strong bastard, damn him.

"Would you knock it off? I'm taking you back to your tent, dumbass."

"You started all this!"

"Hey. I ain't the one caught trying to get cozy in front of the whole camp..."

Micah's hand was right on his pec, pushing at him like an ornery kitten.

"You ain't my mother, Arth-ur. Fuck you ."

Arthur exhaled through his nose and feigned a pearly grin towards Grimshaw as she stopped her sewing to stare at them both.

"Either I do it or Susan will. She's real eager to give you what on that age thing you said to her."

Micah and him both paused together, looking over their shoulders to catch the sneer coming from the woman.

"...take me to bed, Morgan."

"Why'd you say it like that.."

The tent wasn't an eyecatcher, a bit on the small side and equipped with only the necessities to make camping life a step up from sleeping under full exposure. Considering Micah's difficult relationship with rest, Arthur was not surprised to see how immaculate the bed and crates were.

"Yep, little patch of heaven, ain't she?" Micah mumbled as he pulled away to take in his space, hands on his hips. He was clearly digging for time.

Arthur hummed as he closed the flaps and tied them. 

"Get on it, moron."

"...are you still here?" Micah looked back at him. "Gonna undress me too, cowpoke? I know what sleep is like- hey!"

He could only stand there, hands back into fists as the other outlaw took a seat on his bedside crate. 

Arthur fished his journal from his vest and peeled it open. He licked the pencil tip while scouring for a clean page, ignoring the glare he was receiving.

"Just makin' sure you actually stay put. Don't want a shaky trigger finger out there."

When it was clear that he wasn't going to budge, Micah ultimately gave in and climbed onto his cot to tug off his boots. The silence between them felt oddly domestic, with Arthur letting his gaze roll over to watch the gun belt be delicately placed on the ground beside the white hat. 

He was honestly surprised that Micah hadn't cussed him out right there and shove him out; perhaps he really was dead tired. 

Another quick look confirmed at least part of the theory, as the grumbling pissant had gotten into a comfortable position on his belly, arms coiled around his pillow and…leg curled in such a lurid way that his ass was perked up. Bastard was grinning at him from where his face was half buried.

"Figured you'd want a shot for your art if you insisted on staying, sweetheart ..."

Now Arthur knew what it was like to feel pink in the cheeks while making eyes at Micah god damn Bell. He regretted licking his lips in the moment.

"Quit wigglin' your ass, Christ…"

"I dunno, cowpoke, you seemed really fixed on it earlier." Micah crooned. "Look now, who's insecure…"

Arthur glanced over again to catch Micah's eyes closed. A peculiar thought overcame him, dawning as he observed the picture framed before him. Micah hardly ever loosened up to this extent, often too alert to where everyone was at all times, watching his back from every perch…

He had laid himself completely exposed to Arthur in this bafflingly intimate moment, his gun belt out of reach, knife stabbed into a wood block that served as a headboard…it made for something worthy of a new page to scratch on to pass the time.

Arthur was about halfway through drafting the basic framework of lines when he was interrupted by a long purr that rolled into soft chuckling at the end.

"You really are a sap." Micah mumbled. He nuzzled his face against his pillow and stretched an arm out under it. "Hope you are getting my good side."

Arthur raised a brow. He sat upright, wincing from a light crack in his lower back. How long had he been hunched?...

"Yeah, well…someone's got to keep you in line. Maybe I'll rub off on you."

Micah snorted. His exposed eye parted, just enough to lazily squint at his watchman. 

"If you do, shoot me."

They both surprised each other with a shared laugh, which hushed as quickly as it came. Arthur scribbled for a few more seconds until he put his pencil down, frowning.

"You…really alright? With me in here…drawin' you?"

Micah closed his eye, sighed, and raised his leg to crack his ankle. 

"Only if you burn it, pervert."

When the silence persisted, Micah grunted and raised his head to get a more proper look at the other man. His cheeks and neck tingled from the patient, almost doting look that was taking him in, lingering for a moment more before dipping back down to add more to the elusive sketch.

"Maybe. Maybe not. If you behave…" Arthur smiled. "Gonna capture this moment- the only time in history that Micah Bell is actin' friendly."

"I'm always friendly to you, Morgan."

"Sure, sure." He paused and bit his tongue before he could let manifest what he actually wanted to say. This was a rare moment, insightful and fleeting, ready to be cherished. Even he was honorable enough to admit this was actually enjoyable for once. "Just…keep it up and out of trouble, alright?"

He studied the progress he made so far, perfectly capturing in graphite what he felt tickling his belly: a troubled man, snuggled up, finally at peace. 

"...cowpoke."

His breath stilled. 

"...Yeah?"

Micah was barely holding on at this point, his eye lid straining to push above his pupil. His jaw danced for a moment, finding resolve more easily in nearly chewing the fabric as he shifted. Despite the tiny voice and through the muffling between bed and elbow, he knew Arthur was leaning in close enough to hear.

"You're the only one here who really gets me. That's why."

[mycharacterdump]

𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐇 𝐊𝐈𝐓𝐓 — insta, phone + fb deep dive !

[stuckonvenus]

𝗠𝗜𝗖𝗔𝗛 𝗞𝗜𝗧𝗧 — 𝙈𝙊𝙊𝘿𝘽𝙊𝘼𝙍𝘿

I'm living in that 21st century Doing something mean to it Do it better than anybody you ever seen do it Screams from the haters, got a nice ring to it I guess every superhero need his theme music No one man should have all that power The clock's ticking, I just count the hours Stop tripping, I'm tripping off the power (21st-century schizoid man)

[immajustvibehere]

Touch Starved Arthur x fem!touchy Reader

Pairing: hh!Arthur Morgan x fem!Reader (fluffly)

summary: Arthur wonders why you, the most touchy person who doesn't mind hugging and being close to everyone in the gang, avoids him. Then you catch him alone one night and he finds solace in your closeness.

warning: Mentioning of Micah's abuse, it's platonic now but maybe second part for some lover action if y'all want?

2400 words, about 10-13 minutes reading time

Arthur didn't understand how you could be so open, giggly, and affectionate with anyone in the gang but him. Your willingness to engage in physical touch made no difference of man, woman or child. He had started to observe your interactions with others more closely, ever since he had found out that they gave him a bitter feeling of jealousy. You held hands with the girls, play-wrestled with Jack, leaned into Hosea's hugs at the camp-fire or happily jumped on Sean's back for some piggyback rides. Even when talking to someone, you'd stand unusually close, a hand on the arm of whoever you were conversing with.

Everyone came to you with their problems, because they knew they could expect hugs or soft caressing. Your role as source of comfort and support within the gang was truly valued, but you weren't stupid or overly naive when it came to intimacy. When you found it not appreciated or uncomfortable, you'd soon let it be. After Micah had joined the gang, Arthur had kept a close eye on how you proceeded around him. For a couple of weeks, until he had settled in, you had kept your distance before approaching him. Arthur almost boiled when he saw how gently you rested your hand on his arm and he almost intervened when he saw Micah's prudish reaction of pulling you closer, groping you and asking if you were the camp's whore. After this encounter with Micah, you wisely chose to keep your distance.

Arthur wondered if he had done something wrong, but he coulnd’t remember any occasion where he would have abused your trust. You had been closer to him before, but it seemed a long time ago. You'd lean into him during story times or greet him with a hug after coming back from a big score…but eventually, it had stopped. Had he given an unintentional signal that he didn't want to be touched?

Those were Arthur’s thoughts as he sat opposite of you at the campfire. You were seated on the log which Javier used as backrest. You sat exactly behind him, your arm and head resting on his shoulder. Sometimes, Javier would snuggle his cheek against your arm. A lover's touch, Arthur thought. He wondered about certain situations that felt needlessly…loving. Keeping in mind that you weren't as restrained and conservative when it came to touches, he thought that some people tended to abuse that. Dutch, especially. You'd sit on his lap and while Arthur was sure your thoughts were naive and you'd just figured out that Dutch likes the attention and you saw nothing more behind it than similar physical intimacy you granted the others, Arthur was convinced that Dutch's thoughts weren't as pure. It was he who had picked you up from a saloon one day, praising your carefree and happy character, warning everyone to respect you. But when he pulled you onto his lap, Arthur swore it was a patronizing move with afterthoughts. Not that he thought either one of you would act upon it.

But it riled Arthur. You'd hold Lenny's hand when he had a bad day and even massage Uncle's back if he asked kindly enough…but Arthur had been ignored for a while now. Arthur had been starring at you and Javier, at your arm that rested so comfortably on him, but as Arthur's eyes wandered up with the intent of studying your face, he found you staring back at him. Slowly, you receded your arm and sat up straight, no longer in contact with the man in front of you. Arthur felt like you had caught him daydreaming. Then you nodded towards the outer rims of camp, standing up and signalling Arthur to follow. He waited a few moments and gave you a head start, before following you into the darkness, away from the group and the campfire.

Arthur had soon caught up with you, as you headed straight for the little patch of woods.

"What're ya up to?", he asked, watching you curiously as you made your way through the forest.

"Nothing specifically, will you join me for a walk though?", you invited with a kind smile.

"Sure. Ain't exactly safe to wander away from camp in the middle of the night", Arthur commented and stomped through the dry leaves on the ground, right at your side.

"How have you been recently?", you asked, your eyes trying to catch his.

"Jus' fine."

"Mh, don't you lie to me, Mr. Morgan. I can tell you have something on your mind."

"Yer that good at reading people?", Arthur said surprised.

You giggled: "Not particularly. But you always have something on your mind, so that wasn't a far-reaching guess."

"Suppose not", Arthur chuckled warmly.

"So?"

Arthur shrugged and caringly extended his arm for you to hold onto, as you climbed over a fallen dead tree. For a moment, he was very focused on your warm and soft hand that had a tight grip on his arm as you tried not to lose balance. Though as soon as the obstacle had been crossed, your touched ceased from his arm, only its memory remained a while longer.

"I don't like 'round here. The way we are foolin' with both of 'em families. I don't think it'll work out,” Arthur said truthfully, "Besides, I don't like the stifling weather."

"I understand", you answered. You never argued when someone was confiding in you, neither did you come up with solutions, if not requested. But you listened, and this was enough.

By now, you had crossed the woods and had reached the meadow with some old ruins of houses and fences. You strolled towards a wall barely higher than a log and watched as Arthur sat down on it. You stood in front of him, carefully inching closer between his legs. Then you reached out and fixed his collar: "Has been annoying me all night..."

Arthur blushed profusely at this domestic gesture, but you barely noticed as you sat down next to him.

"You saw Mary Linton back in Valentine, didn't you?"

"I did", Arthur admitted briefly.

"So tell me more! I bet it's been on your mind", you said.

"I don't know,” Arthur sighed, “I think I miss what we had, but I'm no idiot. It didn't work before, and it wouldn't work now… Maybe I am an idiot, 'cause I keep entertaining those thoughts."

"Why wouldn't it work?"

"Ain't the best time to go off and stay away from camp. There's always something happening, I'd feel like a fool if I pursued her. Besides, her daddy never liked me and that for sure didn't change."

"What would make you happy, though?", you asked and looked at him. Arthur looked you in the eye.

"I think I just miss having a woman by my side. Marston is a damn fool to behave so cold around Abigail and little Jack,” Arthur complained. His gaze wandered off in the distance, searching for a landmark to focus on.

"He'll come around eventually", you smiled, knowing a lot more about John's situation after he had confided in you only a few weeks prior.

"I hope. I just want him to do right by her and the boy,” Arthur said.

"There it is,” you smiled and bumped your legs into his, "big, bad outlaw – lovingly caring for his friend’s wife and kid."

"Yer a damn tease, don't know how they all flock to you talking about their problems", Arthur quipped, now bumping his shoulder into yours. To his surprise, you stayed leaned against it, sighing happily and watching as he lit himself a cigarette.

Suddenly, your hand now rested on his arm, very lovingly and gently.

"All of a sudden, huh?", Arthur commented.

"All of a sudden what?"

"The touchin' and listenin' and stuff. Thought you'd keep ignoring me."

"What? Ignoring you? I'm sorry if I gave you this impression...I thought you didn't like that with other people around."

Your hand had disappeared from his arm, which pained Arthur.

You were right, of course you were. Arthur wasn't too big of a fan of showing that he needed loving attention as much as anyone, but you had figured it out. And now he realised why you had stopped, because you always felt him tensing up, shutting down and avoiding your gaze when you initiated some intimacy.

"Oh", Arthur mouthed. Now he took your hand and placed it on his thigh, squeezing it lightly, "I'm a moron, Miss y/n. I didn't realize you had picked up on that."

You smiled, satisfied that you'd been right, and leaned your head against his shoulder.

"I feared I had said something improper to scare you away", Arthur admitted in a quiet voice.

Of course not, you thought, if anyone in the gang was as gentle, pure and seemes the revel in those little touches, it was Arthur. And it was rewarding to see him soak up those little attentions like a sponge.

"Then you're right about being a fool. You haven't done anything wrong, Arthur", you said and squeezed his hand to emphasize those words. Hearing his first name roll from your lips had something very comforting. Arthur felt right at home, though he was sitting in a field.

"Yer a good person", Arthur said, "I'm damn sure you're the person holding this gang together. We'd have crumbled if it wasn't for you."

"You're giving me too much credit. You work way harder to keep us on track", you admitted and snuggled your face on his shoulder. Your thumb was slowly stroking his arm, Arthur watched shyly how the finger disturbed the hair that was growing on his forearm.

He had forgotten how much he needed that.

You heard the shaky breath the man next to you took.

"'s it dumb that I enjoy that?"

"No. Not at all", you honestly answered.

"What's the most ridiculous thing you've ever done for one of the fellers?", Arthur asked, feeling slightly embarrassed about asking you for something, even though all it would have been is if he could wrap an arm around you. After all, you had initiated all touch.

"Mh, well Micah-"

"No that", Arthur scoffed, "Could have beaten this rat's head in when he called you names, but i felt like you could handle the situation."

"Yes, I had", you said, squeezing his arm.

"I meant more like...did any of the man ever request something funny?"

You giggled: "Oh, you'd be surprised. But I won't tell you. Their secrets are as save with me as yours would, so don't feel bad about asking. I've heard that I give brilliant head-massages."

"That so?", Arthur said.

But he kindly refused the offer to lie his head in your lap, but when he offered this service in return, he was surprised when you readily agreed. "Thought you'd never ask!"

With your head resting on his thigh and looking up into the night sky, you could feel his muscles flex and tense under the weight of your head. Arthur took a while until he relaxed, even longer until he leisurely started to play with strands of your hair. He was very gentle, barely daring to touch your head and only letting few strands of hair run through his fingers.

Arthur closed his eyes and could imagine things that he normally would never let himself indulge in. A family, a cabin out west, a wife and a kid. Boy or girl or both, it didn't matter. A time where he didn't have to worry about the law chasing him down. Maybe, also a dog.

Lost in thoughts and thinking about what could have been, Arthur lost sense of time. It was your voice that brought him back to reality after a while.

"Arthur, dear? I'm getting a little tired. Could we head back?", your voice was soft and whispery. It didn't quite shake him up from his dreams. It's as if his wife called him back inside. But of course, you weren't his wife. And there was no "inside", only back to camp, back to the others.

"Of course, sorry. I didn't want to keep ya from sleepin'", Arthur apologized and waited until you had risen, before standing up himself with a stifled groan.

"I enjoyed this a lot, you know", you admitted. Even though neither of you had spoken, you felt like you had been part of Arthur's imaginations. And maybe found some solace in the same little dreams that he had.

"Me too. Thank you", Arthur said, and still was surprised when you hugged him gently. He hesitated for a moment, before putting his hand in the small of your back. Arthur felt good. It was a feeling that he hadn’t felt in a while. Having confided in you, the intimacy…there was this warm sensation in his chest. It had been a energizing experience, to say the least, dreaming without being judged.

You walked back with your arm intertwined with Arthur's. So not to "trip" on branches in the darkness, but also because it felt right. Arthur didn't dare to ask if that could become a regular thing. You only said good night when you had reached camp and he watched as you walked off to your bedroll.

Something had changed though, because the hugs after coming back from a long day of robbing and killing came back. Suddenly, when you handed him a plate of stew, your fingers would briefly touch. Whenever you found the opportunity, and Arthur gave you plenty, you fixed his collar or suspenders. With time, he lost the hesitation and would pull you closer when you were busy with dusting off his shirt.

Yet, you were occupied most of the nights. Arthur would see you at the jetty, talking with Lenny or deep in concentration while playing a game of Dominoes with Bill. You’d help Kieran with the horses and most of all, you’d always take time for Jack. It was you that put Jack to bed most nights, Abigail exchanged a few words with Arthur one morning on what a great help you’d been. From this point onwards, Arthur loved watching from a distance when you interacted with Jack. Slowly, an idea started to form. Maybe, if he worked up the courage, he could ask you to spend a night or two away from camp. Take Jack with them, as a kind gesture towards Abigail and to give the boy some distraction from his daily life in camp. Hell, you spent more time with him than John did anyways, and Arthur doubted that Abigail would have trouble entrusting you with him for a few nights. But it involved asking you…out, sort of. It wasn’t such a selfless action, though Jack would benefit, Arthur craved some time with you alone. And Arthur wasn’t sure if asking for this was overstepping a line.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Second part with Arthur taking out reader and Jack? Anyone interested? Wanna be tagged?

Second Part here!

[nthspecialll]

Red Dead History: My problems with it

Red Dead History is a book that does a great job at casting light over the history and background to the scenes, places and troubles we meet in Red Dead Redemption 2. Talking about both the things done well and the things done not so well, what is true to the time and place and what is not.

It is clear that the author knows alot about history and studied it, however there are times where I find it clear he spent more time focused on the real history rather than the in game and thus forgetting facts and drawing wrong conclusions.

When talking about the real life criminals that Dutch and Arthur are based on (Butch Cassidy, Sundance Kid and their gang The Wild Bunch) this very lovely and wrong sentence comes up: "Like Dutch and company, the Wild Bunch undertook robberies primarily for personal gain, not as a moral crusade against capitalism. Butch and Harry, like the van der Linde crew, certianly had a disdain for the corporate titans of their day, but it was desire for their wealth far more than social justice that motivated their heists." (The Wild Bunch, page 86) I do not think the author understood Dutch Van Der Linde very well, I don't think he understood the gang very well.

Dutch is a man based on princips, who can be found on any time of the day reading a philosopher who challenges capitalism and questions what man has become. "Men are fixated on greed, on desire, and on the acquisition not of experiences or pleasures but the ability to acquire." This is Dutch's hero, and he has several interactions with different characters like Mary-Beth, Molly, John, Abigail, Lenny and Arthur reading up quotes and discussing them, praising Miller to the heavens!

If that is not enough, lets look at the very first bank robbery that they commited, they did not keep the money, they gave it to the poor! And they still have their morals, like not robbing the poor, only the rich. We also have the fact that Javier joined the gang because of these morals, because he agreed with them.

While in the end, yes it might have been more for themselves, to get them to Tahiti because they got too big a price on their head, the majority of their time has not been.

Another example, just a bit further down the page that is wrong: "Another parallel to Arthur and Dutch, Butch Cassidy had a pronounced distaste for the racist ideologies so dominant around the turn of the century." While I can agree with him on Arthur, I can't agree with him on Dutch, Dutch is fairly racist, slowing his speech with people of other origins, calling Bronte a slur and "Here we are in this strange land of Papists and rapists." Papists meaning catholics, and the fact that a lot of minorities were hated on due to being catholics. (Read more detailed here)

Now this sentence is followed by: "One Black gambling companion of the gang noted that if anyone treated him unfairly, Butch would "get after them" with furious vengeance." Now that is not at all like Arthur or Dutch who are both in on the "stand up for youself" idea which is why they condone Micah because they expect Javier, Lenny and Charles to stand up for themselves. They ain't going to do anything. Also when they return with Sadie and Micah complains about having to sleep around people of color, Butch would have acted, Dutch and Arthut did not.

Several many pages later while talking about blood feuds we have this line "Like the mysteriously stolen gold from Red Dead Redemption 2" (The Blood Feud, 235) where I would like to point out that it is neither mysterious nor stolen(at least not by who you think). While it is not told in the story, we as players have the ability to learn about what happened to the gold.

On an island not far outside Saint Denis, hidden under a tree in a chest we can find a letter. This letter comes from Lucille Braithewaite and was written in 1803 to a Douglas Gray, whoms story was esencially that of Penelope and Beau, except Lucille was exiled by her family and took her family money, hiding it for Douglas to find and give to an organisation that would abolish slavery.

While it is not common knowledge about the letter, the other two things are, and if you are writing and publishing a book I would expect you to know your things.

A minor problem I have with his writing is that he puts the player experience into unenssesary boxes. For example he talks about the KKK and how Arthur encountered them: "One evening soon after their arrival, Arthur is riding on the outskirts of the dusty plantation town of Rhodes when he notices a constelllation of bright lights in the nearby woods." (The white-hooded menace, 115) He continues to talk about how Arthur curiously dismounts and sees who it is and that the player then has the choice to kill the KKK or watch them die.

While I do understand setting a scene, I think it is such an unessesary thing to add with the timing and place and what Arthur does when reacting to them. Rdr2 is known for being so unique and it feels so wrong to remove that, also because this encounter can happen at any time pretty much anywhere. I have never met them in Rhodes but I have met them in Big Valley twice, one time in chap 6 and one time with John.

Similarly he talks about the racist guy in Saint Denis and how it leads to the "inevitable conclusion of violence, with Arthur beating ot shooting the pamphleteer" (The Paradox of race, 96) as if it isn't completely possible to just walk away. And it isn't like the author never talks about the many choices the player can make, for example he talks about how Rockstar was under critisism because some boys had a kick out of tying up and killing women NPCs in different ways.

Red dead is such a wide experience and I don't understand why he is trying to narrow it down and tie it up into a box when he could have gotten his point across without needing to.

Last point I want to talk about is his idea for red dead three, that being Arthur Morgan in 1871 (Epilogue, 242), where I feel that it is more because he liked the time period more than anything. Arthur would be eight at this point and living with his dad (the one pic we have of him is taken in 1874). From what the author presents of the time period it does sound interesting with a lot of possibilites but I do not think it should be with Arthur if so, maybe with Black Belle or someone.

While I do really like all the history facts that the author brings, I am surprised at his lack of understanding for the gang considering his 3 playthroughs and 300 hours in game.

I have also heard rumors of historical inacuracies, and I am trying to dig deeper into that to see if there is something, but if anyone uses his work for something I would fact check him just to be safe.

[brothermoth]

Y'all I think Micah is into Dutch but in like...a Freud way. In a "wow you remind me of my dad whose praise is my lifeblood I love when authoritative older men praise me I don't get hard from it I swear I swear" way.

Yes he's manipulative but I also think Micah is, at his core, a follower. He likes being second in command, likes having someone to suck up to. It's definitely a lifelong thing considering the way he talks about his father, and probably went from a coping mechanism (fawning) to something more substantial. I love studying this man like a bug because he is NOT a flat character. A lot of his behavior is clearly an act, but there's snippets of genuine actions. He was upset when Mary Beth made fun of him, he's jealous of Lenny and Arthur. He does seem to respect Hosea and seek some approval there. In his attempts to befriend Arthur I think he was reminded very much of his brother. We know he tried to reach out after seemingly years of no contact.

I think deep down Micah is a lonely person who only knows how to lash out at others. Nothing he does feels genuine because he doesn't know how to be. At some point he was a child wanting his father's affection. He has that YouTuber "any attention is good attention" mentality. He's fucked in the head and it's great for me to analyze.

[meeks-just-wants-to-scroll]

I KINDA HAD THE SAME IDEA with the low honor high honor thing! Im currently figuring exactly in what way the story would change [granted it does involve one of my ocs so maybe a lot more than it should] but its fun to think in what way Micah would be 'better' or more loyal to the gang

I feel like he'd still pick fights in camp, but like in a way older siblings would. Its more teasing/bullying and shit instead of straight up slurs. Idk, might just be me NNXJXJC

I also think he wouldn't go out of his way to help someone if they asked him to, but he'd watch them continue to struggle with mayne like a gun to the point where he like has to get up and be like 'OKAY you are so pathetically shit at this - im going to show you how to do this and we're not taking a break until you shoot 3 targets in a row' or something

I dont think he'd willingly be vulnerable anytime soon based on his upbringing and shit, but iiii like to think it happens sometimes accidentally idk JXJXJC

Weep weep weep this is making me wanna explore what RDR2 would be like if Micah was a marginally better person (mainly what id he never ratted).

i am glad we have converging ideas when it comes to high honor micah! I’ve talked with mutuals before on wtf micah could do that could be considered high honor, and we came up with little. One idea i suggested is that he accidentally saved people)s lives through his own selfishness (ex: saves someone from rabid dog because “if i didnt kill it, it would have gone for me next.”)

Micah's high honor is selfish in a unique way compared to low honor. Instead of focusing on himself and his survival, it more becomes a common goal to keep the gang as a whole surviving. He is no hunter, but he can bring in money and be a daaaaaamn good shot. Guard duties are often reserved for Lenny and Sean and Charles and whoever else is free. Micah *can* go on guard duty but keeps himself out of that tiresome job by being out of camp and bringing in money. “Sorry, can’t got on guard duty, I just got back from a stage coach robbery and I want to enjoy my well deserved relaxation.”

he is still a snarky sounding piece of shit, but like you said, he is less of a full on hateful man. He is still a sly, observing snake and studies the flaws of his gang mates, but he keeps his fangs sheethed. The idea with the snake animal for high honor is that Micah is still as lethal and capable of assholery as he is in bad honor, he is just deciding to not. He holds his venom to be inflicted on those who the gang need (or want) dead. He also leans into the snake vibes by being a slimy slithering manipulator. He isn’t a charmer, but he has a skill for talking people long enough to get plans into action (or to just backstab the enemy).

i feel like Morgan would still dislike Micah for being a man with bad vibes. Morgan is also just a hater sometimes (look at how he perceives Kieran). Micah still murders and has bad plans like Blackwater so it’s not like Arthur has *no* reason to distrust Micah.

i imagine high honor micah makes an effort on occasion to be involved in camp socializing, Sean and Jack’s return for example. He mainly drinks and flirts with the girls and boys at the event.

and because i like the red vs blue honor color association of the game, Micah’s design would be a little different, making the blue in his design a little more present. A neckerchief is an example of blue, but i am sure more blue could be worked into his design somewhere. Idea is that the ratio of red to blue in character’s designs can allude to how honorable they are (though it is not a 1:1 visualization). I imagine Micah would be 1:3 blue to red. Maayyybe. One quarter an okay man, three quarters a pretty sleazy man.

micah is still deeply troubled soooo no sweetie pie vulnerability for him! At most he tries to flirt (like asking Mary-Beth to dance) and the people are 1-2% more polite about turning him down when he’s high honor. He’s still all alone and his prickly exterior deeps people at arms length from him. He is both deeply dependent on attaching himself to a gang/someone to follow (my hc), but he also aspires to be independent and run his own gang. I suppose in high honor, he hopes to earnestly stick with the VDL gang and rise in the ranks by impressing Dutch (because Dutch is kind of an easy man to impress when you bootlick).

[klutzymaiden123]

Writing a Magical Girl AU of Hey Arnold! and currently obsessed with how Arnold unknowingly wants to chase both sides of Helga.

The door that he had unknowingly began watching, suddenly was thrown open and a familiar girl marched out. Arnold recognised her dirty blonde hair immediately; the way she swung her fists and her face had set itself into its signature frown.

He hadn’t even noticed that he had begun staring at the Pataki house. Micah lived close to Arnold, so it was only required that he walk down the block.

Arnold narrowed his eyes when Helga held the door open and a small body followed her from the gap.

It was . . . was that a cat? He stopped. When had Helga gotten a cat? As far as he knew, she hated cats. And—he blinked—did it have purple eyes? Was that even possible?

He was brought from his internal questioning when Helga slammed the door shut in a huff. Arnold figured that she was, once again, in one of her moods, no doubt from another argument with her dad. But . . . something about her appearance was off. He didn’t know what it was . . . he scanned her form—she was no longer wearing her school uniform. She had adorned her usual baggy jeans and worn hoodie. That wasn’t out of the usual, Helga preferred to wear clothes that kept her from being noticed. His eyes jumped to her face and he then realised why she seemed so different—Helga wasn’t angry. She was serious.

Her complexion was smooth and steady like glass. She had her jaw clenched, lips pressed into a line. She looked at her cat, who he swore he could see nodding, before she pulled her hood over her face. Her eyes moved upwards and for a moment, Arnold’s heart jumped into his throat as he thought she caught him looking. Her eyes had always had that electric look, the type that either zapped you in their zest, or pulled you along for the ride. But then, Helga dropped her gaze, her stare melting into a ghostly wisp, before she and the cat dashed down the street, rounding the corner out of his sight. 

He sighed in slight relief. She hadn’t noticed his staring. Her eyes had barely seemed to even register that there was a window across from her, let alone that that someone could be watching her from it. She seemed much too tired for the thought to even occur to her.

But then, he frowned. Why had she seemed so tired?

Not that it was his business, but something about Helga seemed . . . off. Different. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but it seemed like Helga from last week and Helga today were two totally different people. When Arnold had knocked her over today, he had expected her to jump up with smoke pouring from her ears. He expected for her face to be red, for her to threaten to hit him, maybe even spit on him.

But she hadn’t.

Instead, she had looked at him—somehow, it seeming like she wasn’t actually seeing him—and apologised. Her, Helga Pataki, had apologised to him.

Even Gerald had thought it strange. In fact, his best friend was convinced that that wasn’t even Helga, but actually, an alien in disguise who had disposed of the real Helga Pataki but hadn’t been smart enough to study up on her character.

‘Helga Pataki—that girl never apologises,’ Gerald had stated as he stuffed chips into his mouth. ‘She probably doesn’t even know what an apology is! It’s totally an alien, I tell you! An alien that wants to eat our brains then take us over! And it’s starting by disguising itself as Pataki, although why they would wanna pretend to be her, I do not understand.’

Arnold frowned, thinking on it.

He hadn’t liked how Gerald had talked about her. He knew Helga could be rough, but she wasn’t bad. And even if she were, she had never been as bad as Gerald often described her. How their grade would describe her. He knew that technically, Helga had never been his friend, but he remembered those times from their childhood, when she would reveal to him that side to her. The side that wasn’t what everyone thought of her, what she thought of herself. The side that dreamed, the side that was gentle. The side of her that loved, loved so ferociously that she would race to the ends of the earth to protect. The side of her that cared so much that she had to pretend that she didn’t and had learned to keep her cards tight to her chest.

That side. The side that Arnold—truthfully—still thought about.

He wanted to brush off Gerald’s theories, but given what had transpired, Arnold was embarrassed to admit that perhaps there was some truth to his best friend’s words. Because apparently, monsters and girls with superpowers existed. Were aliens even that far–fetched anymore?

Arnold couldn’t get that look out from his head.

The one that she had given him on the bus. It had been so chilling. For as long as he had known Helga, she always had this intensity. It burned from her gaze like a force. She had begun dressing as she did, so she could sink back into the crowd. But Helga Pataki had always had an edge to her and regardless of what she wore, Arnold thought she would always stand out from the crowd. She couldn’t help herself. And that was something he had always admired about her.

That’s why the look that she had given him, it scared him. Her gaze lacked their usual intensity. They no longer were burning with her passion, that inner light that she had kept trapped behind glass. When her eyes had moved to his, it felt like her mind was elsewhere and she wasn’t really seeing him, even as she apologised.

It had made him curious and throughout the day, he couldn’t stop peeking in her direction. He wasn’t sure what he was specifically looking for, other than some understanding. Something that maybe he would find that would make everything click. But she had remained like that for the remainder of the day—lifeless. Empty. She had gotten in trouble for wearing pants rather than the mandatory skirt, but even that didn’t seem to get a reaction out of her. She had that blank look as she had simply muttered, “Must’ve forgot.”

Even Lila had seemed curious about it. She had shot him a look from where they were all sat at the back of the class.

Come to think of it, why had she worn pants today? Helga didn’t much care for rules, but she also didn’t like calling attention to herself. Surely, she’d know that if she disobeyed the rules like that, then attention was exactly what she would receive.

Arnold watched that corner. She had long disappeared, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from it. He almost wanted to follow her. He had watched as Lila had been brave enough to approach her, even chasing after her when she had walked away. He had remained behind, because as curious as he had become about her, he also knew that she was adamant about her boundaries. That she had created a small space for herself and she didn’t want people walking into it. She hadn’t said anything to him this morning, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t eventually break from her silence to yell at him if he crossed those boundaries. Although, he pondered whether it would be worth it, because at least then she would be feeling something rather than nothing.

He wanted to follow her, but he didn’t. Because they weren’t friends—nor had they ever been. Arnold liked Helga and didn’t mind the thought of pursuing a friendship with her, but given what had happened years ago, he doubted she would ever be interested in starting anything with him. So, as his not–friend, it really wasn’t his business what Helga did. He didn’t—and shouldn’t—care.

So, why did he?

🦋◽️🦋◽️🦋◽️🦋◽️🦋◽️🦋◽️🦋◽️🦋◽️🦋

But Blue Jay . . .

Arnold wasn’t sure why he hung back like he had. It was obvious that she wasn’t going to turn up. She had disappeared and so should he. But something twisted in his chest when he thought about that. Because what if she came back? He wanted to see her again. She was a colour he had never experienced before. A sound he wanted to keep hearing. She had a tall and electrifying presence that stung the air and everything around him. She was beautiful and dazzling and . . .

And her eyes . . .

He couldn’t shake them from his mind. They had been carved into his head, something he could wash away from his memories. When she looked at you, it felt like shooting stars had you pinned to the spot. Electricity shot through you, but it didn’t hurt. It excited you. It excited him.

They stirred something in him. He didn’t know what. He wanted to chase after her to find out what.

He knew that he wasn’t different from anyone else. Everyone stared at her in awe. Of course they did, she was magnificent. Her presence enticed enchantment and beckoned everyone towards her. He couldn’t get that image out of his head when she had been walking towards them. It had felt like a scene from a movie that had been caught in slow motion. Light had rolled down her back and fanned out beneath her neck and shoulders like she was an angel. The wind had whipped her hair around her face, making it dance beneath her chin and over her chest. Her hair was a cascade of golden curls but when the light caught it, her strands were turned into gilded ringlets. She had looked like a goddess.

But then, she had looked at him and he felt like he had been struck with lightning.

Because her eyes—they were beautiful, but . . . there was something about them. Something that made him feel like he was taking part in a scene he had already experienced. That her presence, as beautiful and hazy as it made things, it wasn’t as foreign to him as it had felt before.

But why? What was making him feel like this?

🦋◽️🦋◽️🦋◽️🦋◽️🦋◽️🦋◽️🦋◽️🦋◽️🦋

If you're a Sailor Moon, Buffy, Winx Club, Miraculous Ladybug, Wonder Woman girlie, or just a Shortaki fanatic, this is for y'all (because I am literally all of you)!

To read it, check it out here!

[outlaw-apologist]

✦ . Writing Collection . ✦

A collection of all my writing.  So far this contains Red Dead and X-Men works but I plan on releasing other writing I’m working on. REQUESTS OPEN! Request guidelines: Reader Inserts or Character Studies  (OC fics are available upon commission) NSFW is ok Please send characters and plot idea I write for: X-Men, Baldur’s Gate 3, RDR2, Outlander, Rings of Power, The Hobbit, and LOTR

🌲 = New Story

X-Men: Halloween with the X-Men X-Men if you had a Toxic Partner Red Dead:  How the Gang Kisses You

The Gang with a Plus Sized Lover

 The Gang as Fathers

The Gang’s Kinks and Fantasies 

Valentine’s Day with the Gang

How The Gang Comforts You After a Nightmare

Micah’s Little Sister 

X-Men: Meant To Be {Logan x Reader}  Monster (S)Mash (Logan x Fem! Reader Smut) Memory of You | Chapter 1 (Victor Creed x Reader) Red Dead:  The Gang Catching Feelings for You

 Bitter Sweet Goodbye - You Die in Their Arms

 The Longest Night (Arthur x Fem!Reader)

 Saved by the Gang - Your SO saves you from your kidnappers

 Save Yourself - GN! Reader x Various (Arthur convinces you to leave the gang)

 The Price of Cake - Charles x Reader 

 Soulmates - Josiah x Reader

N/A

Ghost Riders - Reader x Arthur x Charles Memory of You - Victor Creed X Reader

[loganofthenorth]

As promised, I present Glimmer for my Shera Swap AU!

This is the design I’m most excited about because Glimmer has the most changes to her origins out of all the characters

In this AU, Lord Hordak sent both Angelica and Michah to Beast Island, but attempted to use Angelica’s dna to make an immortal clone of himself. Instead he wound up with an accidental daughter that is extremely headstrong and loyal to him.

Hordak is basically like: God fucking dammit. Guess I’m a dad now.

But if anyone harms Glimmer he will annihilate them.

Glimmer becomes besties with Adora and Bow, which solidifies their loyalty to the horde.

She fights constantly Catra and competes with her over everything, which solidifies Catra getting shunned and outcasted by the Horde.

Shadow Weaver’s manipulation doesn’t work in Glimmer because she out manipulates her.

Glimmer puts the fact that she’s theoretically immortal to the test. Constantly. Her father is incredibly stressed out by this.

Laudie, Rogelio, and Kyle don’t like Glimmer because she’s a huge snitch, she constantly picks fights and competes with people, and she treats Kyle like an errand boy.

Out of respect for Adora and Bow, she hasn’t killed anyone…

(Yet)

When Catra betrays the Horde, Glimmer is unphased.

Glimmer: It was bound to happen eventually. She has the loyalty of a thief.

Bow: Actually thieves tend to be really loyal to their team…

Glimmer: I- well… Sometimes, I guess, but you know what I meant.

Glimmer is the only one of the Best Friend Squad that never questions the Horde or its motives. Not in the beginning at least. It’s only when she learns about Queen Angelica and King Micah that she considers betraying the Horde, but that won’t be until a long way off.

She’s also the reason Entrapta betrays the Horde and joins the Rebellion, since she constantly abuses Entrapta’s loyalty and talks badly about her, then blatantly doesn’t care when Entrapta gets captured during the first invasion of Bright Moon.

Glimmer: Oh my gosh! This is amazing! Now Bow gets to be promoted!

Bow and Adora: Glimmer now is not the time. We are grieving the loss of a friend.

Glimmer: But she was so annoying

Laudie: (sarcasm) Hmm. I wonder why people keep betraying us.

Adora and Glimmer: Not now Laudie!

Anywho

When Glimmer discovers a connection to the Moon Stone, she doesn’t form her connection yet. Mainly cause I realized if she does connect with it that activates the huge mega weapon. She just senses the connection. However it’s enough that she starts getting ill afterwards, and Hordak allows a second invasion to steal the moon stone so that it can be studied.

Shadow Weaver tries to prevent the research of the Moon Stone because she doesn’t want the Horde to find out about the weapon built into Etheria. This is what results in her imprisonment.

Glimmer’s really just going to be at the core of everything that goes wrong for the Horde, but she makes up for it by being a power house after she connects with the moon stone.

That is until she tries to go to Beast Island and Adora knocks her out to stop that from happening

But I think I said she ends up on Beast Island anyways?

I don’t remember how but yeah. She will end up there and Bow will join the Princess Alliance in order to save her, since it’s not like Adora can go to Hordak and be like: So, hey, uh… Your daughter got sent to Beast Island. Whoops.

But yeah after Glimmer reunites with Queen Angelica and King Micah she sides with the Alliance and tries to form a bond with her technical mother. Unfortunately Angelica is very hesitant about this artificial child of herself and her worst enemy and also just naturally gets along with Adora more when Adora switches sides.

This of course makes Glimmer angy

Then eventually Glimmer and Adora try to steal back the Moon Stone for the Rebellion so Angelica and Glimmer can be at full power.

Glimmer fully connects with the Moon Stone while Catra is trying to get answers from Light Hope and this activates the Weapon

Then when Catra destroys the weapon Adora, Glimmer, and Hordak (who tried to kill Adora at this time and technically capture Glimmer) get kidnapped onto the ship.

The only reason Glimmer isn’t killed instantly by Horde Prime for being an abomination is because Adora reveals that Glimmer is a key part of the weapon. From there Glimmer is able to advocate for both herself and Adora.

When Catra saves Adora, Bow saves Glimmer. At this point Glimmer tries to convince Bow that she can’t go back to the planet because she’s part of the weapon and Horde Prime can’t have access to it. She believes that Angelica will never care about her and that she needs to stay here with her father because that’s where she belongs, assuming she can convince Horde Prime she isn’t an abomination and is useful to him.

Bow tells Glimmer that it doesn’t matter what Horde Prime or Angelica think. That Glimmer has a family in Adora and himself. He tells her that if she’s nicer to others, that if she treats them with respect, she can find a family in Catra, Scorpia, Entrapta, and the rest of the alliance too. Glimmer agrees to go and Bow helps her figure out how to apologize to everyone for how she’s treated them.

I’m thinking Glimmer will have a really deep ark over the course of the war against Horde Prime where she’s slowly trying to rebuild her relationships with everyone. At some point I think it will be too difficult for her, and she’ll lash out, which will cause Bow to snap at her. The risk of losing her friendship with Bow snaps Glimmer out of her stubbornness, and her attempts become more genuine and vulnerable.

As she slowly grows more patient and more open minded, people start to form genuine friendships with her. Once she becomes her best self and has found strength in kindness and sincerity, feelings develop between herself and Bow.

At the end of the AU’s ‘Season 5’, Angelica will tell Glimmer how proud she is of her, and accept Glimmer as her daughter. Micah, who got along with Glimmer from the get go despite not being her biological father, is happy with this decision and essentially adopts Glimmer as his step daughter.

Hordak still remains her co-dad due to his own redemption ark, but since I’m not sure whether or not I’ll keep Entrapdac since it doesn’t work too well with my plans for Entrapta in this AU, I’ll have to figure out who his ark is centered around. It could be that rather than someone actively pulling him out of Horde Prime’s influence, he fights on his own to reunite with his daughter and protect her.

Yeah, I like that. I think that will be a good story.

So yeah! That’s Glimmer for this AU.

I was thinking of doing Entrapta next, but designing her in Hero Forge would be hard because they don’t have really long pig tails.

I’ll probably do Catra since she’s like, the main character in this au.

[peacockeryabound]

Dance of Deviants - Part 2

(From the story of the same name on my AO3.)

Synopsis: Maybe he should have not tempted fate by saying he was going to rub off on Micah, for Arthur was starting to feel like it was becoming the exact opposite.

(Pairing: Micah Bell/Arthur Morgan)

Arthur stayed, just long enough to finish the sketch.

Even under the protection of canvas, he could tell from the creeping heat that the morning had long passed. Dutch was going to start sniffing him out soon, but Arthur enjoyed the next few seconds in closing his journal to cup it in one hand, pencil in the other, resting his arms against his thighs during a leaning sit. There were far more important matters.

He could not confidently recall the last time he had ever witnessed Micah sleeping. The other blonde was still resting on his belly, arms snaked around his pillow with his face half buried, eyebrow long loosened up from whatever dream had stolen him. His lips parted on occasion to puff out air, maybe a stray whimper.

Micah, for reasons only known to him, had made himself vulnerable to Arthur and only Arthur in that moment, finding comfort in his presence to actually sleep for once in a camp he felt no comfort in. It had become an unspoken agreement between them then and there, allowing himself to share that vulnerability and knowing full well what Arthur was doing with it...

Arthur watched for a moment longer until a small smile grew on him. No other person in the world was going to hold audience to a moment like this, nor was his sketch ever going to do justice in providing the satisfaction of looking back later down the road. He pushed himself back onto his feet, beginning to tuck the small book back into an inner pocket of his vest.

You're the only one here who really gets me.

He paused. Micah never spoke like that.

It was a mental replay that made Arthur bite his lip, eyes set hard into a too-eager stare that surprised him more than the automated way he opened his journal again, found the page by finger memory and set the tip of his pencil to the paper. There was an uncomfortable sense of sorrow lingering in his reluctance to look away, just long enough to pen down those exact words right above the graphite capture.

Indeed, Dutch's voice was distant but it was a growing bark. It was only going to be a few more seconds until it would be booming and assertive, demanding muscle for yet another foolish job. It was selfish of Arthur to do so, but he grumbled, bristled up and glared upon his subject one more time. What he witnessed had twinged something deep that overrode his sense of decency.

The distance was closed in less than a heartbeat, his hand cupping a trembling shoulder. Micah had stiffened up instantly, having curled in on himself moments prior like a toothless pup, whimpering and scrunching his eyes tight from a wicked spell that had suddenly possessed him. A nightmare?..

"I know you're in camp, you sorry bum. Don't you hide from me."

A flinch startled the both of them. Arthur almost gave him a brisk shake to knock it off but held back, instead hovering his hand above the spot. It was almost like a conditioned reaction from the trembling outlaw, suggesting pieces of a history that soured deep into Arthur's gut. He caught Micah's hand before it could grip a chunk of his own hair, cussing at himself when their fingers just happened to lace in that moment, a tether so tight it made his knuckles go numb.

"Arthur!"

Shut the fuck up, Dutch.

That hoarse tone and the stress of losing time had kicked his actions into an impulse beyond sensibility. His own agitation at playing the errand boy was tightening to a snapping point the closer those boot sounds were, so close that the jingling of the spurs could be heard shaking in their facets. Only a thin wall of fabric separated them now, and Arthur held his breath. He'd take this secret to his grave, but he squeezed Micah's hand back and brought it up to his lips for a firm kiss. 

Whatever memory was caged away in that violent head had kicked in from association, for Micah's death grip on him had started to loosen, a labored breath squeezing out of him as his expression shifted to something sad but calmed in his throes. Arthur's thumb stroked over his whenever he tried to seize.

"Arthur! The hell is that boy..." Dutch at least had the good sense to not tear open the flap. Despite the uncertain noises, he instead found another poor soul to bother. "...You seen Arthur?"

Arthur's heart stuttered in that moment when a familiar coo sounded out. Mary-Beth.

"Hm? Oh, no I have not...I think he rode out with Javier this morning."

That was untrue. She had been sitting right next to Grimshaw as he and Micah ran their peanut act. She saw the both of them entering this space...it didn't make sense, but he couldn't deny the squirming in his gut at the implications. Fresh heat burned into his cheeks and up his forehead as he looked upon Micah again, brushing away a line of moisture as it beaded from his wrenched eye and trickled down towards the bridge of his nose.

Dutch's lingering silence was becoming one of the few occasions that Arthur felt truly distressed by it, as he was its current source of ire. He brought Micah's hand up to kiss it again, silently pleading for the sorry bastard to continue his silent streak now despite twitching through his nightmare.

"His horse is still here." Dutch's tone was practically burning through the canvas. Arthur could feel its direction set upon him.

Shit.

"O-oh...I meant "rowed", Dutch. They're going fishing, out on that lake there."

"And since when did Javier ever express a care to fish? He can't even swim, Miss Gaskill."

Those spurs clicked again with each step. Against his better judgment, Arthur found his free hand twitching above his holster.

"Arthur is teaching him! A-and Micah is asleep for once in there Dutch, honest. Please don't..."

He must have been quite the sight, aiming his revolver right at the tent flaps while holding the hand of his enemy. If this was how he was going to lose favor then so be it. 

His heartbeat choked out his own breath inside his throat. The seconds that passed tormented his free thumb, which tapped like morse-code against the hammer of his Cattleman. When the notable hand print against the tent flap disappeared after a painful moment extra of lingering, Arthur felt through his exhale that his soul was leaving his body. He stood there, almost boneless, jaw dancing in a furious tremble as hot adrenaline burned through his resolve.

The voices were softening, his best guess being Mary-Beth using her charms to lure Dutch away. Whatever they said was lost upon his ears in that moment, his own panting drowning out the world as his back unzipped and he sank back down onto the crate, gun clumsily shoved back into its holster so that he could wipe at his face. God damn.

He cast a tired glance back over to Micah, eyes widening again through a fresh bolt of emotion at realizing he was being stared at. The dull blue eye peeping out at him was glazed over, intoxicated by whatever body drugs were made for deep sleep. It was like staring into the eye of a dying fish, unblinking and clueless.

"Heeeeyyy....." Micah slurred, nose scrunching up in a more tickled way once he realized what their hands were doing. A sleepy giggle escaped him as he gave a squeeze, wiggling his fingers along Arthur's.

"Easy...easy..." Arthur croaked back. Fuck, his throat was so dry. He reached out to rub along the other man's shoulder, hoping to tease him back into some semblance of peaceful sleep. "I gotcha..."

Micah was smiling at him in so a sweet way that Arthur wasn't too sure if he was the one caught in some weird dream. Thankfully, the teasing set in and Micah's eye closed again. Arthur continued his petting, alternating between sweeping hair back and squeezing their joined hands until he could hear Micah's breathing had slowed down. He pulled his free hand away, but hesitated on his other. 

"...What's got you?..."

He wasn't too sure who in particular that question was aimed for.

-----

By the time he felt confident in creeping out undetected, Arthur felt a dull throb between his ears. 

Hunger was gnawing at him and the sun burned at his eyes, but he turned tail on both to make a direct line towards his horse. He was fast in adjusting her saddle and all of its fixings before he vaulted himself up onto her and spurred her out of camp. It was best to get away, lest he draw any further attention.

As his pale mare carried him up old dirt paths into the southern roads towards New Hanover, Arthur loosened the reins and scratched at his neck. Perhaps this flight of cowardice was more so to protect Micah's honor than his own. He could stand his ground and shrug off any fool talk against his reputation but Micah would rather starve himself in his tent than show his face again if the rumor mill persisted. Distance was healthy, that was a convincing excuse.

Even his horse turned her head to glance back at him. 

"What? Get on." He grumbled to her. "He's a tough bastard, he don't need me to mother him..."

What a crock of horse shit.

The regret burned down below his ribs at that. He left Micah there, fragile and exposed to an entire camp who would rather hogtie him than hug him. Shit shit shit. You are god damn pathetic, you.

The mare bucked under him from the sudden sharp tug on her bridle. She stamped in a circle, pulling back despite the senseless lack of direction being prompted by her rider. 

"Arthur." A voice called out. Unlike the leery undertone of Dutch's call, this one was warm and drew a pitying smile from him.

"Hey, Charles." Arthur mumbled, rubbing on his mare's neck to console her while he watched him and the great Appaloosa trot out from a thicket, fresh rabbits and a turkey hen hanging fresh from her saddle. "Got lucky there, I see." It was a weak attempt, but the tease made them both chuckle.

"I figured that Pearson needed someone else to bother for food. I think best anyway at dawn." Charles brought Taima up to join the stunning Arabian, just close enough so that he could playfully nudge his booth against Arthur's. "I know you're going to ask me."

"Yeah. Get on with it, I know you saw it too. He was a damn idiot with tryin' that on her."

Charles shrugged. Their horses both began a slow canter together up the path, leaving him to cross his arms without much of a care to the destination. 

"Didn't bother me any. You comforted a jackrabbit. Not many care to."

Arthur snorted, though that pang he felt deep had crystalized cold from hearing what he himself thought in a moment of mocking fancy. Charles had been the one who had instilled in him the habit of drawing comparisons to animals when judging people, explained once during a tracking of a perfect elk bull far up in Ambarino. Animals were the first teachers, Charles had said, his hand at the time ghosting above a fresh track that was slowly freezing over in the morning's chill. Charles had said something else that was strange that night, long after the trail had gone cold and they had humored themselves with tall tales over a campfire, that he saw Arthur as a buck. Never said why, but Arthur was left to mull over the possible connections from then on out. 

He hadn't realized he had been staring ahead, almost slack-jawed, until he was nudged again. 

"Ah...come on," He hand waved him to save face, "...more like a rattlesnake. Bastard shoots first and blinks second." 

There were plenty of animals to compare Micah to, depending on who asked...but Charles only held onto his sure expression, watching him. Arthur could feel it, prickling down the side of his face as he stubbornly looked elsewhere.

"No, I do mean it. He's a jackrabbit." There was an apologetic glance down to the little beasts hanging behind his thigh. "What does a civilized man do to them?"

Arthur made a face. This was not how he was expecting this encounter to go, but he appreciated not feeling antagonized for acting like an equal fool back in camp. He glanced down between them, watching the dead animals bounce with wide, fogged over eyes. Something about the connection made his neck tighten.

"I dunno. Shoot 'em. Run 'em over."

"No respect for a rabbit, right?" Charles mused. He looked ahead to catch a fork in the road but still kept his grip slack. Wherever the horses chose was of no concern to him. "Buck hares are twitchy. They kick hard and have a mean bite. All they want to do is fight each other with no sense. Get them backed up and they run. Everything in this world is an enemy to a hare." He shrugged again, though his smile was larger and far more perceptive as he glanced back over to see the uncomfortable expression on his friend's face. "It's no business of mine, so don't worry. I'm not going to speak up about what happened. It's not my place to."

"Yeah...thanks." Arthur lost his enthusiasm in bantering, instead watching where their mounts were taking them and perhaps whatever scenery was beyond. There were too many thoughts complicating his focus in the moment. "A jackrabbit, huh?"

"You're not denying it?"

If anything, it was hard to deny the soft features of Micah Bell that were pressing hard against the backs of his eyes, straining his vision and drying his mouth. All Arthur could think about was the warm and fuzzy feelings messing with his stomach and all the way down to his toes, visions of soft pouting lips and softer gazes tickling an unruly spot in his chest.

He swallowed.

"Guess...not."

-----

He might have stayed out of camp longer than he intended. It was easy to get lost out in the unknown, be it by trail or train tracks, chasing the next wild thing to keep the mind focused and out of trouble. He picked some herbs, tracked some game, took a few stranded folk here and there back into town. He played poker in the Rhodes saloon, hoping the loudmouthed bigots in the war garb by the barman wouldn't notice him.

By the time he finally dragged his sorry ass back into Clemens Point some odd days later, he was confident that he could at least say he made a good amount of a haul to offer.

Dutch was giving him one hell of a look, peering through the smoke of his cigar with one thumb hooked into his gun belt as Arthur trudged by, on his way to the collection box.

"That's a lot of watches you got there." The big man started.

"Yeah." Arthur mumbled as he tossed them in and snapped the lid.

"Well...good talk then." 

"Yep."

He wasn't so sure why he felt cornered, as he was not normally a bothered man. Dutch was like a father to him, after all. They teased and talked about many things. 

The discomfort, however, had already been building as he was hitching up his horse. Even though nothing notable seemed to be different, that folk were still going on with their duties and banter all the same, there was a biting sense of paranoia that possessed him during his walk. Even Dutch's normally comforting presence felt interrogative and cold, sensations that only added to what Arthur wondered were the same things Micah felt as the pariah in the gang.

Jumpy as a jackrabbit...

Arthur paused as he stared at the box still captured in his hands. His eyes shifted faster than his head could follow, projecting an air that looked more spooked than he really was. Dutch had the stare of a fox, pointed and sharp in essence of...something, to his smile that just didn't sit right.

Knitting his brows, Arthur took his gaze elsewhere. He sucked in a breath and flared his nostrils upon exhaling, playing off the tired game by snapping his head in a brisk shake to clear his mind. He took count of all the faces nearby, the lack of one in particular making his cheek twitch as a creeping dread began to rise up.

"You alright, Arthur?" Dutch's voice stabbed into his lower back. It forced a tremble right up into his neck. "Don't you lie to me, son."

"I'm fine, Dutch. I'm just...I got a lot on my mind." 

He had never been a man of faith nor fate, but he closed his eyes and took a thankful breath when timing worked in his favor for once, delivered in the agitated voice of Molly. He could kiss her in that moment, listening to a choke coming from Dutch as she no doubt biffed him in the gut while delivering her own sermon unto him.

"- and here I was, all dolled up for ya, waitin' by the horses for you to take me to the show like you promised!"

"Jesus Molly, I meant tonight! Seven hours from now!"

"Ooooh, so you can tell time?"

"What in the god damn...what is that supposed to mean?!"

"Well, you certainly seem to come up early when givin' me your charms, now don't you?"

Arthur needed to get out of there. He had his hand clapped tight over his mouth to force down a traitorous snort, which only came out in scattered heaves that made him sound like a choking victim. He was quick to stumble into the path of the campfire smoke, passing off his flubbing as simply taking in too big of a whiff. The cover was what allowed him to escape the fleeting glances that were quickly darting towards the fight.

He faked additional sputters until the final twinges left his lungs, allowing a thoughtful frown and a more controlled sigh to escape him. He settled on a little stool by the fire, hands cupping knees, looking towards the direction of the horses and grumbling into the wisps once he noticed that Baylock was missing. 

Perhaps he was just making mountains out of mole hills. Micah was a walking disaster but he could take care of himself, bounce off every mouthy bullet fired his way. Arthur wasn't an idiot, however, to not have seen on occasion the hurt in the other man's eyes when he acted tough tough under scrutiny...and that reminder only pinned the guilt a little deeper.

Did he actually, truthfully like Micah?

It was getting harder to twist excuses when Micah Bell, the foulest asshole that could knock a skunk dead, vehemently refused to leave his mind. He was an impulsive, pig headed, trigger happy bastard who killed for sport. He took every slight as some petty war to die for. He had no filter, hardly bathed, had a gut like a bear in winter, drank like a fish, upheld the social charm of vulture with his head up an ass...and yet every desperate jab Arthur was making only made his leg bounce just a bit faster. He knew his eyes were blown wide, stinging from the bite of the wood smoke, himself no doubt staring like a man forced at gunpoint to make a confession.

Because, despite all of those nose curling descriptions, himself the fool strung along to play patience with the ass...Arthur could not shake the image of Micah smiling at him from a cheeky hide in his pillow. Arthur kissed the man's god damn hand, for Christ's sake. He was now the secret keeper to perhaps the only kind moment Micah had genuinely showed anyone...and it was towards him. He couldn't stop himself this time from smiling as well.

Micah Bell, the ornery renegade, with his baby blue eyes and pouting lips, always struggling to look tough through the perpetual sadness he couldn't seem to shake. Looking at him like that in the tent with a fondness reserved only for a person waking up to the joy of finding their doting partner...

It was gutsy to do it here in the open, but Arthur withdrew his journal again and opened it back up to the drawing that was making him mad. Funny feelings aside, he was rather proud of how it turned out, capturing a fragment of time where the pressures of outlaw life had been loosened and he had witnessed a bloom of something he could admit was beautiful, in a very ridiculous sort of way. 

Heeeeyyy...

"H...hey yourself, partner." He chuckled at the drawing.