#thearthurcallahan

[charlesmiith]

Me, having the chance to write with Arthur muses: Yay!!! So happy! Happy bro time!! Charthur !! Happy lovey dovey Cowboy ring a dang doodler time!!

Me, actually writing with Arthur muses: DESPAIR, A N G S T, TUBERCULOSIS, ARTHUR DYING- NO MERCY, C OU HG IN G- 

@thearthurcallahan @ohrthur @outlawboah @anotherbadman @nctagoodman @norxstforthewickxd

[marstxn-blog]

Starter for @thearthurcallahan 

If you wanted some sort of legendary animal tracked down, John was absolutely the wrong man for the job. He didn't have any patience for the sport, and if he didn't need it to live he wouldn't bother with it at all.

He'd assumed that his inability was common knowledge considering how much shit he got from the rest of the camp for being bad at it, but he'd assumed wrong. Hosea had all but begged him to assist Arthur on his hunting trip. According to the older man 'Hunting that beast it a two man job' and by luck of the draw John was that second man.

That's how he ended up riding through Saint Denis side by side with Arthur. Allegedly, the Bayou just North of the city was home to a giant bore; One that rivaled the size of a bear... But those were Hosea's words and John had learned very early on that Hosea was a storyteller and tended to exaggerate things every now and then.

The metallic clank of a trolley's bell forced John back into reality. It also forced him to the side of the road where he wouldn't get run over. He flicked away the butt of a cigarette that had been dangling uselessly from his lips for much too long.

"You believe what Hosea said 'bout this thing?" He spared a glance over at the older man for the first time in miles. "Bet he was just tryin' to get us outta camp." He couldn't blame anyone for wanting that. The two of them were known for stirring up trouble whether that be with the law or not.

[wildflower-of-the-west-blog]

@thearthurcallahan

Ok so ever since Arthur called Annabelle ‘Annie’ I have not been able to get over how cute that is and I’m just over here like: 

Like I know it’s been a couple of days but I’m still thinking about this. 

[outlawmistermatthews]

“Happy Valentines Day, old man. Thought you might like this?” The blonde set down a wrapped gift beside the other that consisted of a new mystery novel from the author Hosea loved so much. Also folded between the pages was a drawn portrait of himself.

Hosea is surprised but he smiles and takes the wrapped gift from the young blonde. 

“Well thank you Arthur! That was mighty generous of you.”

Hosea unwraps the gift and see’s the book, he grins from ear to ear. 

“I haven’t read this one yet, but it look like it’s going to take me on quite the adventure!” Hosea can see a page that sticks out slightly and he gently pulls that page out, finding the drawing. And he just gives a content smile. 

“It’s all wonderful, thank you Arthur.” 

[wisenedup]

@thearthurcallahan

Bill squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t know what the hell it was, but something nearby was squeaking, probably in the hot, wet breeze that kept rolling through the camp. He’d always hated the humidity. It made the heat suffocating and was like a gross, uncomfortable blanket all over his entire body.        He struggled to block out the sensations, unable to breathe. Every sound and smell and sight were driving him insane. The stink of whatever vegetables Pearson was putting in the stew was choking him; the wind in the trees, scattering the shade from the leaves, was making his vision spin and his eyes burn; the squeak was like something stabbing into his skull and clawing deep into his neck and shoulders, especially coupled with the shrill cry of some mystery bird.          His hand was flapping before he even realized it, almost like he was trying to shoo away a fly but there was nothing there, and his hand was going too fast.         “Fuck!” He stood sharply and the barrel he’d been sitting on went flying backwards, hitting the back of his legs. He swore again and punched the table, causing white hot pain to lance through his hand and up into his arm. “Goddamnit-”

[faithgranted]

🐶 : surprise my muse with a puppy. (COOPER THE SECOND)

“Son of a gun…” His faced brightened, peeling his eyes away from the german shepard with paws too big for its lanky legs to shoot his brother an incredulous look, “Are you serious? ”

A delighted chuckle couldn’t help but escape when he knelt before it, wholly enamored by the animal’s inability to contain its excitement. Hands shook at the loose skin about the pup’s neck, stubby nails scratching at flesh beneath its coarse, clean pelt and earning himself a single earnest bark.

“He do kinda look like a Cooper, don’t he?” Not the same breed, but that same spark of life; same goofy charm. Morgan found himself helpless to do little else but smother the dog with more of his affection, “Arthur, you really outdone yerself this time, I swear.”

valentine’s day asks //  not accepting

@thearthurcallahan

[brokebxckcowboys-blog]

(For Charles) “Hey darlin’...? I just, um, wanted to give you this? Fer... Valentines Day?” His cheeks were beet red while he held out a wrapped up bundle towards the hunter. Inside was a beaded necklace that bore a wooden carved feather as its pendant. “Got taught how to make it up on the reservation? I don’t know if it’s nicer than the one you got now but I hope you like it regardless?” Besides the necklace, there was also a folded up portrait of the hunter there as well.

Charles had been standing outside of camp amidst the trees, watching the clouds move. At Arthur’s voice, he turns, blinking as his secret lover handed him the bundle. He smiles softly, unraveling the bundle and looking at the gifts. He stares at the necklace, his heart swelling with joy. 

     “ Arthur- it’s perfect, this… This means a lot to me. ” He breathes, smiling warmly at Arthur. He puts the necklace on immediately, wanting to keep it close to his heart always, now. He looks at the portrait and laughs softly, eyes shimmering happily. “ God, I always forget how talented at drawing you are. Arthur, this is- You’re too good to me. ” 

He turns, eyes casting around to make sure they were all alone, before leaning in to press a soft kiss to Arthur’s lips. “ I have a gift for you, too. I’m afraid it’s nothing you can touch, though. ” He murmurs. 

He pulls back, eyes soft, moving his hands to take Arthur’s hands. 

     “ Arthur- I know this world isn’t kind to people like us. It doesn’t understand us. But there are people out there- though few- that do understand us. And, Arthur- if we ever find someone who will do it, I want to marry you. ” 

[enturmoiled-blog]

❛ Win by losing. That’s the spirit. ❜ (Nothing like brotherly taunting)

legacies meme. ( closed! ) | @thearthurcallahan​

     accepting a race with anyone has its hazards, but it’s a different kind of beast where arthur morgan is involved, because the man’s as relentless as he is sarcastic, sharp in mind and manner and tongue, and if john doesn’t get the worst of his licks, he’ll be hard-pressed to find the one bastard who does. 

     taunts notwithstanding, john brings a hand to old boy’s muzzle. the half-bred is still chuffing hard, warm breaths breaking against john’s calluses as the sweat cools across his coat, but he lips the peppermint from his rider’s palm nevertheless, eager for the well-deserved treat. a muffled crunching settles into the air, and john, beleaguered, twists to reprove his companion.

   ❛ look, old boy ain’t no race horse. he’s big, and heavy. meant for — i don’t know, war, and all that. ❜ ( he pats the horse’s neck once, idly. ) ❛ sorta like you, come to think of it. ain’t like you was built for speed, neither, morgan. ❜ 

[outlawsaviour-a]

✉ - push my muse back down when they try to get out of bed (perhaps involving illness, injury, or sleep deprivation)

manhandling prompts | accepting !!   //   @thearthurcallahan

he was overly appreciative of the fact arthur BOTHERED to stick around, ( could easily assume how hectic an outlaw’s schedule was after dealing with them for this long ). nonetheless, that doesn’t push aside the fact he has chores to attend to and duties to fulfil. ❝ - it was real nice’a y’a t’ be stayin’ ‘round when i ain’t feelin’ t’ hot, mister morgan, but i got plenty left t’ do today. ❞ it sure wasn’t a lie; still had yet to feed the horses, hadn’t even thought of attending to the chickens. farmer huffs at the very idea of lugging his aching body about for another minute more, yet makes to rise back to his sluggish feet DESPITE that. a quietly curious noise is uttered as hands deny him the chance, clasping at his lithe shoulders to forcibly guide him back to the bedding. ❝ ah, really, arthur, please, i ain’t THAT sick. ❞

[hellbentwidow-a]

“Hey gorgeous… is this seat taken?” (Insert eyebrow waggle)

DIRTY LEVELS // ACCEPTING

“excuse me?” Sadie isn’t offended– not when she trusts Arthur as much as she does and he’s very clearly drunk. it seems like tonight she’s the only sober one in the camp, but she doesn’t mind. someone’s gotta keep their head on their shoulders. she scoffs as she scoots over just a bit, giving Arthur some more space. he looks like he’s about to fall over and she really doesn’t want to struggle to pick him up. “no, it ain’t. sit down before you fall, you idiot man.”

[charlesmiith]

“Happy Valentines, Charles... I... shit I’m bad at this.” He shyly hands over a cloth-wrapped bundle that hid a new bearskin quiver. The outlaw had just picked it up from the trapper that morning and since then had been worried it was a stupid gift. If Charles checked inside, he’d find a rolled up drawn portrait of himself tucked up in the quiver as well.

          –- Charles nearly DROPPED the arrows he had been fletching the second he turned around, staring at the bundle thrusted towards him by the gunslinger. His chestnut hues glanced down before flickering back up to meet crystal blue. A second.. two, before a soft smile graced the man’s lips, Charles gently reaching out to take the gift from Arthur. He didn’t spare a second to unravel it, the ghost of a smile broadening as it was obvious the hunter was more than pleased at receiving such a heartfelt item. His calloused fingers tenderly rubbed across the new, clean hide of the quiver, the craftsmanship unmistakable.

          –- “ ... This is extremely high quality. Bearhide, even. Thank you, Arthur... ”

     Given the spontaneity of the gift, Charles did notice the piece of paper sticking out, and he was so -so tempted to grab for it, but he didn’t want Arthur running away- not yet. He knew how the man worked. He would give Arthur’s gift the appreciation it genuinely deserved momentarily, as Charles was suddenly too preoccupied with his own surprise. With a rather knowing glint to his eye, smile still hovering along his lips, Charles turned back towards his chair, picking up a cloth satchel beside it. Given it was Arthur who broke the ice, the hunter no longer held any hesitation as the item was warmly offered to the gunslinger.

          –- “ My turn now, it would seem. Happy Valentine’s Day to you too. You’re not bad at all, not to me.” 

     Almost anxiously, Charles then waited for the man to discover what he had secretly been working on- or well hunting for a solid few weeks now. It was a brand new hunting knife, paired with a smooth, dark buckskin sheath. The blade itself was heavy, resilient steel- just like it’s wielder, the handle the most prominent. It was not wood, nor bone, but stag antler, Charles of course using only the best he could find. If the man looked close enough, Arthur would also find a prominent A. M. burned into it, forever marking it as his own. 

[loielic]

‘your fear of looking stupid is holding you back.’

soft angst starters. ( accepting. )

        ❝ IF I WALK IN that bar as the only greaser in there, looking stupid is the least of my problems. ❞ the problem with valentine was the amount of folk who didn’t enjoy seeing his kind and the fights he found himself in, whether he started it or not. javier trusted that arthur wouldn’t let anything BAD happen to him, yes, but he was also aware of how drunk arthur could damn well be the start of a fight neither of them needed. from the voices and whooping, it had already sounded like some other gang inside was already wasted to a point of no return and javier wasn’t stupid to know he’d be the source of some NITPICKING fun. ❝ you know how i like to avoid confrontation unless it can’t be dodged, right? and whenever i get drunk with you or be in a bar WITH YOU, we end up getting shot at? lawmen? that’s the STUPIDITY holding me back– the arthur morgan can’t fake being civilized in civilization and neither can escuella stupidity. ❞

[wildflower-of-the-west-blog]

🌀 (Time for sads!)

Annabelle looked into the camp’s money box. There was a lot in it since Arthur robbed that coach a couple of days ago. Maybe she would take up his offer to buy a new dress. The clothes she had on  were dirty and worn. Her shirt even had a couple of holes in it.

She grabbed about 600$. 300$ for supplies: ammo, food, booze, and soap. They really needed that. She liked it when the camp was full of supplies, though Dutch always complained when it was time to move again. The rest of the money would be put toward some new clothes. She headed off to town in a carriage.

…

Annabelle filled the carriage up to the brim with supplies. She bought so much she needed the help of the shopkeeper to carry it. As she was walking back and forth from the store to the carriage she noticed a couple of men staring at her. They were rough looking folk. One of them had an eye missing. The other, a much larger man, gave her a menacing smile with the couple of teeth he had left. She tried to ignore them and made sure not to make direct eye contact. She went into the tailors hoping that by the time she got out they would be gone.

“Madame, please leave your gun at the desk,” The tailor said.

“Yessir, here you go.” She placed her revolver on the table.

The tailor led her to the back room where she stripped down to her undergarments and waited for him to measure her.

The door opened and she turned around expecting to see the tailor. Instead, she was met with the ugly mugs of the men she had just seen outside.

“Who the hell do you two think you are!?” Annabelle yelled.

“The real question is, who do you think you are, little missy,” The one with the missing eyeball said.

They walked up so close to Annabelle she could smell them.

“We seen you befo’,” The one with no teeth explained.

“Seen you with that little gang of yers… Seen you with that young cowpoke.” The one with the missing eye said. “And we just seen him recently too, didn’t we Boyle?”

“Uh-huh,” the one named Boyle said. “He took moneh from Mr. Fallows. Made a huuuuge mistake.”

“And then we sees you. Comin’ into town with a smile as wide as a horse’s. Pockets overflowin’!” The one with one eye said. He pushed her up against the mirror.

“I don’t know what your talkin’ about,” Annabelle said through gritted teeth, “but if you don’t get your hands off of me this second. I will pull your liver out of your goddamn mouth.”

“Oohoohoo, I like this one Boyle, she’s got an attitude,” The one with the missing eye said. He licked her cheek with his black tongue. Annabelle broke his hold on her and cracked him right in the nose.

He reeled back, “You bitch! Boyle!”

Boyle was the stronger one. He lifted Annabelle up off the floor and threw her against the mirror, cracking it. He let go of her then kneed her in the gut. She tried to punch him but he caught her arm and punched her in the face. He kicked her legs out from under her, causing her to  hit the floor with a loud thump. She tried to crawl toward the door, but the man with one eye put his dirty boot on her back, and pushed her into the floorboards.

“You really done it now, missy,” The man with one eye told her. “Boyle, bring the horses, we’ll take her back to Mr. Fallows. See what he wants to do with her.” Boyle left the changing room, and the man with one eye began to tie Annabelle’s hands behind her back. He leaned down and whispered in her ear, “If it were up to me, you’d be dead right now.”

Annabelle didn’t hesitate, she whipped her head back and hit him again in his broken nose. He screeched and got off of her. She quickly wormed her way toward the door frame, pushed herself up against it and walked herself upright. The one eyed man lunged toward her. She kicked him and they both flew backward from the force. Annabelle slammed into the wall in the hallway. She quickly hobbled toward the door and out onto the street. She got up onto the carriage, picked up the reins with her teeth, and whipped the horses into action. She rode away as quickly as she could.

…

Annabelle’s head throbbed and her whole body ached, dried blood from her nose caked her night shirt and petticoat. One of her eyes had turned the shade of midnight. With only her teeth to guide the horses she rode in one direction. She begged god to help her, but when had he ever listened to her before?  It was the middle of the night and she hadn’t seen a soul on the road.

After what seemed like hours, Annabelle saw a faint light flicker in the distance. She dropped the reins and began to scream.

“HEEEEELP! HEEEEELP ME PLEASE!”

The cowboy rode toward her, his stance seemed familiar, but she couldn’t quite see his face. It was at that moment that Annabelle’s body decided that it was done fighting. She slumped off of the carriage’s perch and fell into the dirt.

“Help me.”

[gleamingcrowns]

“You should see the other guy.”

Post-Fight Sentence Starters || open || mary-beth

Mary-Beth walked up to Arthur, her fingertips touched at the cut. “Arthur..” She spoke softly, reaching for the hem of her skirt. Pulling it up, she dabbed at the blood. “Ya’ can’t be goin’ out and causin’ trouble like this.” She said softly, a weak smile on her lips. “I’m good at sewin’ if you want me to close that up. It ain’t goin’ stop bleedin’ anytime soon.” Mary-Beth furrowed her brows. “You’re better with words then with ya’ fists.”

[wisenedup]

@thearthurcallahan || boop

The young cowboy had just finished a small job and now was out just enjoying a late afternoon ride when the worried words met his ears. The ash from his cigarette was idly flicked away before Arthur finally deigned himself to answer the poor soul, “Followed, huh? Then once we get all by our lonesome yer buddies pop up and I’m left without a penny or a horse?”

Anxiety skittered through him like little rat feet, crawling all over him. Instinct told him to run, but where to? And the monster in him argued that running would just incite a chase. So he tried to use his brain; there was safety in numbers. Especially if those numbers bore guns.         He paused in confusion and offense at the question. His muscles bunched like a deer about to flee and he stumbled, choking on an objection.          “Excuse me?” God, how he wished he had his knife on him- but it was in that cellar, with all the other evidence of his origins. Fear of consequences had made him leave it there, but having it now would allay more immediate fears- like being jumped or worse.          “Look, cowboy, fer all I know, yer th’ one with buddies- me, I got no one, which is why I’m askin’ you t’ ride with me!” His voice broke a little and his borrowed horse shifted in place as his hands pulled restlessly at the reins. “Please,” he tried, “Just t’...” He glanced down the dirt road; it wasn’t like he could ask to the next exit, and he had no idea where he was, or where the road ran. There was no saying where the next town was, or where he could find sanctuary.         “Just fer a bit, that’s all I’m askin’.”

[wxyfxring]

pseudo-plotted starter for @thearthurcallahan |

Naomi had gotten lax. She couldn’t not do it. She’d waited and distracted herself and focused but now...now she was too hungry to not do something.

Except kill. That, Naomi could never do.

Luckily, one of the courtyards near La Bastille was an excellent place to watch for prey, and all the old tricks Naomi knew sure enough brought someone curious to her side. Maybe she couldn’t use more supernatural skill - but that was invested in other things. A little chat, a breath of agreement...

Naomi sighed as she gently bit into the man’s neck, taking a few soft swallows - so, so tempted to take more, take it all - before pulling away, licking the puncture clean and closed.

“There. Not a trace left,” she assured the stranger. He was already relaxed, sprawled on the bench - that was fine, it seemed to be a side effect of the bite. “Good, you rest...a little bit drunk, you may think it all a dream.”

The high from the blood made Naomi hum gladly as she drifted out onto the street - not quite caring where she was going, exulting in having just the faint edge of her hunger blunted. She ventured back in the direction she thought La Bastille was in, but one step further and Naomi felt herself collide with somebody. At this time of night?

“Perdonome, got all turned around...” Naomi apologized before looking up - and starting in surprise to see Arthur there. “Oh! Senor Arthur, ah...”

A quick glance at where she’d run into his chest and she could see faint bloodstains from her lips. Shit. She turned slightly to start rubbing at the corners of her mouth quickly. Shit, shit...