#there’s not as much of a homesteading history

[suswous]

It’s always funny places that have higher regulations on knives than guns

[lovesodeepandwideandwell]

Shaking crying throwing up at the WWI reenactment

[feddy-34]

see the whole trad-wife homestead farming movement makes a lot more sense when you realize they dont actually want to be farmers, they want to be plantation owners

[helpimstuckinafandom]

I....... I finished bg3.......

[memories-of-ancients]

A Fascinating Book I'm Reading

One of the best non-fiction reads I've read in a while, it's not a military history book, but details specifically the Confederate government, culture, society, the legal system, and economy.

What I find most fascinating about the book was just how fucked up the Confederacy became even from the early outset. Especially in terms of law and order. Due to the incredible manpower demands most men of military age either enlisted or were later conscripted into the army. This resulted in severe manpower shortages at home. When this happened, the system of slavery the Confederates were fighting for became a grave liability as there was no one left to control the millions of slaves that populated the south. As a result, whole plantations of slaves would run away and form free communities in the wilderness, surviving by pillaging plantations and farms, or robbing travelers on highways. In Louisiana there was a slave town hidden deep in the swamps that housed 2,000 people! At the same time thousands of Confederate soldiers were deserting as the war started going bad. Many soldiers found that their homestead and family was falling apart in their absence, so they deserted. These deserters were declared outlaws, and as a result many banded together, formed groups, and made a living as bandits and marauders.

At the same time many officers in the Confederate army who were garrisoned in specific places became de facto military dictators and warlords over the territory they controlled. They often disobeyed the law and refused to carry out orders issued by the Confederate government, but due to manpower shortages and the disorganization of the government there was little that could be done to reign them in. Often, these warlord Confederates acted as bandits, pillaging the territory they controlled not just for food and necessary supplies but for valuables as well. In many cases, whole towns and even counties rebelled against Confederate military authorities as they were sick of being pillaged by warlord Confederates. A good example was Jones County, Mississippi which actually seceded from the Confederacy as a result. Often, these rebel towns and counties survived by banditry and became marauders themselves just to make a get by.

According to the author, by 1863 much of the rural south was in a state of lawlessness and anarchy with the countryside controlled by bandits, marauders, independent towns or counties, pro-Union enclaves, and military warlords. Like bruh, this would be a good setting for an open world RPG game, perhaps something set in the Red Dead Redemption Universe.

Anyway if you are a Civil War buff I highly recommend this book.

[max1461]

Continuing on with my America/Europe dichotomy, and this one's gonna be a doozy. This one's for the real thinkers. Ok so basically, Americas are uh, patriarchal and Europes are Oedipal. Ok. Look. This one, right, you're really gonna have to follow me on this one.

Look. In America, right, we do the whole single family home, like, patriarchal homestead medieval Icelandic family farm thing, the man is in charge of the house, rugged individualism and/or suburbia. But it's patriarchal. American man goes out and gets a hot trophy wife, who looks good and bleach blonde hair and signifies "this man is a Real Man, cause he got a hot trophy wife". Wife is like a fast car, wife is like a ferrari you get, to show off. For the American man. Remember China is also an America. Chinese gucci fuckboy chainsmoking guy needs to own a house, he needs to own a house and make one bajillion dollars to land a Chinese beauty standards thin and swan-necked hot Chinese babe to go with his gucci and his car. JUST like American man. Remember that China only ever had one empress in its million year history. Patriarchal.

In a Europe, right, every man wants to fuck his mom. He just does, I've met European men. They all want to fuck their mom. Italian guys? Fuhgeddaboudit. His wife is NOT a trophy to show of to other guys. He will expect her to cook, clean, wipe his ass. And there's this reputation, I know because I have family members who habitually date European men, there's this reputation where they literally live with their mom who cleans their underwear until they move in with their wife and now she cleans his underwear and pops out sixteen Catholic children. Right? Europe is oedipal. Ancient multi-generational homes... it breeds wanting to fuck your mom wanting a fucking mom-wife. Japan has had nine empresses. Squarely a Europe.

This is the source of all the other differences. They don't mind reusing old bathwater in Japan for the same reason moms don't mind when their kids barf on them... in America we don't mind poisonous chemicals in our food because young men don't care about that kind of shit. This is the fundamental difference.

IDEAL state of affairs, ok, is to be born in a wild and crazy America such as America or China, or maybe Russia (edge case), and then move to a nice and peaceful Europe in adulthood. They're great at walkable cities and shit in Europes, they love that shit. Doing what mommy tells them. And as an American it's a breath of fresh air. But it's important to be born and raised over here, you see, so you have that fuck you attitude, so you don't want to fuck your mom. Have I ever told this story? My grandad ate rat poison once, when he was a kid in the great depression riding the rails. I'm not making this up. Apparently he ate so much that his body didn't even try to digest it and it went right through him. He was fine. 🇺🇸

[thepeacefulgarden]

If your spouse or partner, or your religious leaders, or your parents (when you're an adult), or anyone else tries to control who you can and cannot see and speak to, where you can and cannot go, what or how much you eat, what you can and cannot wear (within the scope of appropriateness for the occasion), etc., or restricts or monitors your access to phone, Internet, or transportation, that's a red flag. If they restrict your access to any kind of medical care, be it vaccines, reproductive and sexual healthcare, mental health care, or anything else (big or small), that's a red flag. If they snoop through your belongings, your phone logs, your browser history, your snail mail, your email, etc. without a damned good reason (and no, feeling insecure and needing reassurance is not "a damned good reason"), that's a red flag. If they guilt, shame, threaten, or otherwise manipulate you into "letting" them go through your private stuff, or put restrictions on you, or whatever, or if they get upset when you try to set a boundary, that's a huge red flag. If they express an interest in moving you out to the middle of nowhere, and they have or have had control issues, you might want to reconsider or hold off going with them. And make sure that if you do choose to go with them to homestead or whatever, that that's really what you want, and that you have a support system and a backup plan in case something happens and things don't turn out the way you want. Same thing for simply being a stay-at-home parent. That's a valid choice, but make sure it's your choice, and that you're prepared in case something goes wrong. If they try to sabotage your other relationships, or turn your family and friends against you, that's a parade of red flags. Remember, just because they don't hit you doesn't mean it's not abuse. If something feels wrong, sketchy, or just plain "off," it probably is. Don't ignore that.

[shiftythrifting]

An absolute shitload of Pinkerton badges... there's gotta be at least 20. Maybe 40. The box in the back left is stuffed with them. Anyone who knows american history knows these belonged to some particularly awful swine, though these badges are much newer than famous events like the homestead strike.

[elainemg97]

🖤Eris and Nuala (or Cerridwen) Crackship 🖤

Thanks to @starswhogaze for opening my eyes to this crackship 😍

Hear me out: You see, Eris is wholly focused on looks and appearances. He’s focused on power and politics, and wouldn’t it be ironic that he fell for someone who’s always half-hidden in shadows and is invisible? Someone who’s a lower fae, a handmaiden, who can go invisible during big events. She is someone who bakes and cooks and loves fashion and hair styling, yet she’s been trained as a spy by Azriel, the most powerful Illyrian and spymaster in the history of the Night Court.

I would love for him to be completely enamored with someone who doesn’t stand out, with someone whose skills are so highly superior to his, but she doesn’t flaunt it, doesn’t boast, he just recognizes she is. I want him to be completely besotted with a half-wraith who remains in the shadows, someone who’s not politically advantageous to him in any way, but he yearns for her anyway.

🖤Possible Tropes🖤

~ Boy-Obsessed

~ She’s far superior in every way

~ She knows everything about him for years

~ He’s just now noticed her

~ She’s shrouded in mystery, and he wants to know more

~ Soft girl/ grumpy guy

~ He can’t get her out of his mind

Headcanon

She’s unseen. She’s a half-wraith tasked to spy on the Autumn Court’s heir in his homestead. She’s mere mist and shadow, she remains a distance away. She already knows so much about this lord, who she spent 50 years alongside with Under the Mountain. She’s memorized his firey hair, auburn eyes, and cold demeanor.

Dogs start barking. Smoke hounds, running straight at her. She vanishes into smoke, winnowing a few miles away. Before she can take a step, Eris is right behind her, with a knife on her throat, and says with a low, vicious growl, “You think I don’t know when I’m being watched.” She vanishes away from him.

She now stands a few feet away, where she can clearly see him. She says nothing. Her heart is racing in her chest, yet there is some morbid curiosity as she stares at his face, now red with anger. She almost wants to laugh for some unknown reason.

Eris’s anger multiplies the longer he’s ignored. “I could smell you from a mile away.” His eyes are now molten with rage.

She’s never been detected before. She can hear the echoes of the hounds at a distance, and she knows she should vanish into mists; he wouldn’t be able to stop her, but she’s intrigued. She can’t seem to be able to move away. When Eris lunges toward her with the knife again, she just mists away once more, a few feet away from where she was. They continue this dance for a while, Eris growing increasingly furious by the second.

He suddenly stops to take a good look at her, the female who is so good at evading him. She doesn’t fight back, doesn’t return his fury, and doesn’t even seem bothered at being discovered. He’s enraged at being spied on but intrigued at this female whose skill is unmatched.

They observe each other in silence, him taking in her black leathers, her smokey-dark skin and dark eyes, and that mischievous glint in her eyes, against the red and oranges of the Autumn Court forests. She’s an obsidian blade, in a sea of fire.

Unremarkable to any high fae, but he won’t underestimate her. She finally vanishes as he tries to grab her again, to no avail. Her scent is completely gone now. His hounds, who have now reached him, are barking at where she stood not 10 seconds ago, yet are not running to seek her. She’s vanished for good this time, to report to her master most likely.

Her scent still clings to his mind, however, to his skin. Mist, smoke and Jasmine— and something so familiar yet intoxicating. He winnows away, planning on raising hell upon the Night Court.

[redeyerhaenyra]

Dom!Steven and Bimbo!reader headcanons

Summary: You're a bimbo, but you're not inexperienced. Steven Grant is an obvious sub... right?

Warnings: oh the filthiest smut, vaginal fingering, overstim, kinda mean dom!Steven but not really, squirting, multiple orgasms, reader faints, titty play (if you squint), reader is described as dim, stupid, but she's nice.

Notes: For @cosmicblogs xxx we are hopping on the bimbo reader bandwagon FR!

So picture this: You're a bimbo girlie. You adore anything pink and sparkly, cute and fluffy, ect. Your nail are always perfectly manicured and your outfits always steal the show. Your ditsy, and sweet, and thoroughly enjoying your date with giftshopist Steven Grant.

This was your 3rd date, or rather the tail end of it. Steven had invited you over, and you, being the innocent, unassuming thing you were, agreed with a smile.

Under no circumstance would you have assumed Steven had less than safe for work intentions. Besides..

He was a sub. It was obvious.

Eventually though, you made your way back to his flat- Steven scratched the back of his head, and flushed a little as you squealed about how "cute" his homestead was.

Steven had worn tight jeans to your date today, he had hoped you might be into how fit they made his ass look- you didn't seem to be noticing much though. Not that you ever did.

He didn't like to admit it, but it was the truth. You were.. a little dim, at best. He still loved you, and wouldn't change you for the world.

Sometimes he wondered if there was anything between your ears, or if your brainspace was totally occupied by pink sparkles and high heels.

An hour or so later, you both were curled up together on the sofa- Steven had turned on some random documentary on thr history channel, and had to keep himself from laughing everytime you expressed geniune awe at things most people learned when they were children.

"You're so smart Steven." You had said, without a hint of irony, when he'd corrected you that WW2 had infact come after WW1.

It made his heart swell, you were so adorably dumb.

It also made his dick twitch, you were amazed by him, willing to offer him endless ego boosts. Something not many people were.

Steven's eyes raked over your body, god you looked delicious.

You wore pink, obviously. But the way that dress hugged your body... Steven felt his dick twitch again, his eyes fixating over your breasts.

He'd bet your nipples were so sensitive, and if he closed his eyes he could almost imagine how they'd taste...

"Steven?"

Your voice broke him out of his dick-brained stupour-

"Yes darlin'?" "You're like, totally out of it. Shall I like, leave? Like, you look totally tired."

Awe. You thought he was tired.

"No no, love, 's alright, c'mere-"

Steven gently tugged you closer to him, now having you laid on your stomach against his chest.

You nestled there comfortably, and hummed as Steven kissed your head.

He looked down, from this angle he could spy just how juicy your bum was.

His hands twitched.

Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?

Steven decided to test the waters, just a wee bit.

Slowly, he traversed his hand down your back, smoothing over your dress. You cuddled into him further, and so did Steven go further.

His hand now teased the hem of your dress, before reaching in to gently caress the apex of your thighs.

You moaned softly, stretching upwards like a cat- "Steven, that like, feels good."

He had never heard you so breathless before, "Yeah?" You moaned again, as his hand travelled a little lower to rub the pad of his fingers against your hole.

Your hips jerked, and you buried your face into his chest to hide your embarrassment as Steven's touches became more and more confident.

This wasn't how this was supposed to go! Steven was a sub, surely! Your tiny, bimbo brain couldn't comprehend him taking control over you like this.

He pinched your clit through your panties- no doubt also pink- the texture of which had you keening.

Steven rubbed your little bud between his fingers until you were drooling on his shirt, pleasure rolling through you in hot waves.

You expected him to stop now, flip you over and stuff you with his cock until he came, you were certainly wet enough-

But he didn't. His fingers kept working you until you came, hot white bliss, and then some.

The pressure from his fingers waned, but didn't stop, not even as he shifted, sitting up and pulling you into his lap, where you felt the heat of his cock pressed up beneath you.

He heard you whimper, and he kissed you neck.

His hands just didn't stop though, even as they dextrously moved your panties aside, finally plunging two of his thick fingers deep inside you, they just kept moving.

Stroking you inside in all the right spots, all the right points that made you cry out, legs twitching.

It wasn't long before you felt another shattering orgasm approaching you.

The only sounds to be heard in the flat now, (TV having turned itself off long ago) were your breathless cries, the wet squelching of Steven's hand against your cunt, and his soothing voice whispering into your ear;

"Yeah, 's good yeah? Feels good?" "S-steven-" "Yeah.. I bet it feels so good, dunnit? Hmm? So good you can't even speak, huh? No? It's that good, sweetheart? So good my baby's tiny is just fit to burst, huh? Can't fit nothing else in there?" He tapped your skull with his free hand, "Nothing else but me in there, ain't that right?"

You wanted to protest, a little peeved that he'd just insinuated, accurately, how stupid you were- but no words came you. Only pathetic, drooling moans and whines, both your hands digging into Steven's arm, leaving crescent shaped scars.

It didn't stop, not even as you came for the second, and third time, and even as the fourth built up.

At this point Steven had tugged your dress and bra down under you tits, and with his previously free hand rolled and squeezebox of them, and suckled hard on the other, gently teasing with his teeth.

You were a mess. Your mascara ran streaks down your face, thighs covered in your own juices and hair dishevelled and messy.

Past the point of moaning like you enjoyed it, you just full on cried now, sobbing and babbling whilst staring in awe at Steven's hands.

The electricity of climax was all you felt, and it was constant. So much, too much. It was the only thing you were aware of.

When the fourth and final one peaked, it was different. You threw your head back agaisnt Steven's shoulder, but not so far as to miss the torrent of liquid gushing from your core, twisting hard pleasure through your every vein.

Eventually the pleasure stopped, but you weren't aware of that either, having blacked out in a hazy, cum brained unconsciousness, still twitching ontop of your lover.

Steven finally pulled his hands from you, a little worried that you'd fainted, but he figured you'd come around soon.

He brought his fingers to his mouth and sucked them clean- mmmmmmm, god, he'd have to taste you later. For now though, hed leave you be... you needed some sleep.

[lace-coffin]

i feel like sending a rq this sappy kinda harshes the vibe of yr delightfully horny slasher headcanon posts but do you have any headcanons about how bubba’s s/o would fit into the sawyer household? like, how The Brothers might react to her bringing someone home or what day-to-day life on the sawyer homestead with bubba would be like?

Thank you for the rq!! I love writing fluff just as much as I do smut so feel free to send me all ur fluff ideas!

No trigger warnings apply!

Requests are open!

Reader is gender neutral and we’re operating on the basis that nubbins is still alive at the same time choptop is back home bc I love the sawyers

How would reader fit into the sawyer household as bubba’s s/o

You and bubba met one day when bubba offered to come help at the gas station, feeling cooped up in the house and not wanting to be alone. Drayton was more than happy to claim you as a victim as soon as he saw you pull up to the gas pump. This changed after your first interaction with bubba.

She was helping restock some shelves whilst Drayton manned the till. Dressed in a loose white sundress as it was easy to move in and won’t make them overheat whilst working.

You came in to pay, offering a polite greeting to Drayton who was putting on his airs and graces to lull you into a false sense of safety. You decided to get a snack, party because you were hungry and party because the run down station looked like it wasn’t receiving much love nor income.

As you browsed the isles your eyes landed on a figure crouched infront of the shelf. Short Soft brown curls tied with a ribbon laid across freckle spattered shoulders. White linen sundress laid gently against his large frame. Arms strong and thick with a fair amount of dark hair. Oh yeah, you were absolutely getting a snack now.

It turns out the snack isle was where the handsome stranger was working, you were going to talk to her regardless but this was a perfect opportunity. You scan over the different snacks available and take your pick. Coughing to get their attention you make yourself known. “I’m so sorry to bother you whilst you’re working but I just need to grab one of these” you point to the item and reach for it. Bubba being the person he is he decides to be kind and get it for you. You both reach for it and your hands bump. you both jolt back in surprise, pausing for a moment before laughing. The moment is sweet and genuine.

You catch sight of bubba’s gold charm bracelet and motion to it. “Your bracelet is so lovely!! Gold is definitely your colour”. Bubba makes a happy noise at this and flaps their hands in joy. Drayton watches the exchange with a soft smile on his face, his soft spot for his little sibling will always be there.

After this pleasant exchange you make sure to stop by the gas station every time you pass by even if you don’t need anything. Bubba isn’t there all the time, only working there on occasion but you still drop by and make comfortable conversation with Drayton. (You often ask about bubba to)

Eventually after bonding over the span of a few weeks and talking about it with Drayton you work up the courage to ask bubba on a date. Needless to say she’s thrilled and excepts immediately. You end up taking him out to a cute American style diner and the rest is history.

How would bubba’s siblings react to them bringing someone home?

Drayton is the least surprised considering he was basically in on it before you even asked his younger sibling out. He’s the one meeting you at the door before dates and giving you the lecture about driving careful and when to have bubba home. He can’t help it, he’s raised them since they were a kid. He’ll deny being protective with everything in his being if you bring it up though. He’ll be happy to finally have you over, cleaning the house top to bottom, he really likes you and wants this to go well for bubba.

Nubbins would be giddy to meet you, having been hyping bubba up before leaving for the gas station. He’s excited to get to meet the person who has his little sibling smitten. You actually might meet him on the road just before getting to the house. He’ll be scavenging for roadkill when you holler out the car and offer him a ride back to the house. Feel free to ask him a few questions about wooing the rest of his family before you get to the door.

Choptop would tease you and bubba, making her groan in annoyance. You take no offence and laugh with him. Chop will be eager to ask you 1000 questions and show you around the house. He’ll drag you straight to his room to see his record collection. Extra points if your alternative! Doesn’t matter what style, he thinks it’s all cool.

Nubbins and chop will definitely tease the two of you, fake gagging when you’re affectionate with each other in front of them. They might act like it’s gross but they’re actually happy for bubba and like his partner, hoping things go well so they can hang out more.

Grandpa isn’t a man of many words but you get on just fine, the conversations are pretty one sided apart from small smiles you see creep onto his face but he’s nice enough and important to your partner. You always make sure he feels included at dinners and family activities.

Grandma is long gone, but I’m sure she’d like you if she was alive 💀

How does reader fit into the house?

You fit in like a glove! It’s like you’ve known them way longer than you have. Drayton may grumble about having another mouth to feed but he really does enjoy your presence. you bring in your own income which is definitely helpful to repair some faults in the house or farming equipment which is very appreciated. You also help lighten his load with the chores, he’s not as young as he used to be and his joints are proving that. If you see him struggling or it’s a particularly bad day for his back then you’ll offer to take up his share of house chores. You spend evenings in the kitchen together washing up after dinner, listening to the radio together.

Nubbins loves to drag you and bubba out of the house to help look for roadkill, if that’s not your thing then he won’t force you but he’d really love it if you did come, using it as a way to bond. He’ll gift bubba bones and pretty trinkets he finds to make jewellery with. Nubbins has a lot of hair, he loves it when you tie it up for him before he goes out so it keeps out of his face in the Texan heat.

Choptop will spend time with you and bubba listening to his records. It’s always fun when you three chill in chops room covered in tapestry’s and mood lighting, the vibe is comfy and calm and complimented by listening to their favourite radio host/station (hi Stretch and LG!)

You often spend most of your day with bubba after he returns from his morning chores, you have more of a choice in your chores. If your good with animals then you’ll be assigned to helping around the farm and with the care of bubbas pet chicken, bond with your feathery friend enough and they’ll eventually start following you across the farm whilst you work. If you’re better with house work then you’ll be helping do more domestic activities whilst Drayton is running the gas station. Sweeping up, doing laundry and dishes, those kind of things. You also might help bubba tend to grandpa, she really appreciates it because it’s not easy carrying grandpa in his wheelchair down two flights of stairs alone. It also means a lot to them since family is everything and he loves his grandpa more than the world it’s self.

After a day of chores you meet back up and go to rinse off, as much as you love seeing her hot and bothered you don’t enjoy being sweaty and exhausted so you help eachother clean off. A few hours after supper it’s time for bed. to start off with Drayton insisted you sleep in separate beds so “no funny business” occurs. Funny business absolutely occurred despite that. You know you were found out when Drayton banged on the ceiling with a broom and yelled for you to “keep it down if you’re gonna be going at it like animals”. The next morning you both sit at the table red faced, nubbins and chop finding it hilarious. After this you moved into a bigger bed together since sleeping apart didn’t really have a point anymore.

You read to them next to the warm light of your bedside table lamp until your eyelids start to get heavy and the words blur together. You snuggle down into his side and let out a sigh of content. With one last sweet peck on the lips you both drift off.

I hope u liked this! Texas chainsaw massacre is actually a special interest of mine so I adored writing this for u!!

[itshaejinju]

Random BG3 headcanons ~Books~

Tav scouring all of Faerun for books to give their bookworm companions. Slowly learning everyone’s favorite genre and guilty pleasure books.

Tav always finding plenty of books for Astarion who has a wide list of books he wants to read attempting to learn more to stop Cazador and catch up what he has missed. (As Cazador never let him read much since knowledge is power.) But there is a bit of a guilty pleasure Astarion has, detective novels murder mysteries he loves the drama and suspense of them. Tav searches high and low finding any that fit the genre for him gifting them over with a warm smile. Astarion feels alarmed at first receiving gifts demanding Tav tell them what they expect in return. Utterly confused when they say nothing just knew you would like the gift. (He’s at a loss of words…)

Shadowheart at first was hard to find books for as Tav had to be sneaky as each time Shadowheart was spotted reading she would hide the book. Eventually Tav found any book about Shar, or a historical romance book seemed to bring an hum of approval as she took the books. Tav was not expecting the genuine smile when they found a homesteading and livestock guidebook meaning to sell the book but the smile on Shadowheart’s face made them hand it over. Shadowheart wanted to keep their privacy but it was calming to see Tav come over with a new book for them to read a book to inspire their dream of tending to farm animals and grow their own food.

Tav always snagging scrolls of spells for Gale, books on the history of magic and cook books. Tav spotted him in Tollhouse and saw he was going over a cookbook noticing he was one that offered to cook often picked up the clues. Finding all the cookbooks available handing them over promptly to help make this travel a bit more enjoyable. Gale enjoys every scrolls and cookbook he gets eager to learn the spell or attempt a new recipe to impress the group with.

[08melancholie]

Patch up, Cowboy. — Micah Bell/Arthur Morgan

tags: Tension, Sexual Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Unresolved Tension, Mild Smut, Non-Graphic Smut, Blood, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Gay Panic, Sexuality Crisis, enemies to whatever the fuck they are, Jealousy, Jealous Micah Bell, Micah Bell Is His Own Warning, Toxic Yaoi type shit i love them oh god, Arthur Morgan Does Not Have Tuberculosis, Medium Honor Arthur Morgan, Toxic Yaoi

summary: Law always finds itself around Micah and Arthur, no matter what job they do. This time, though, they get surprised by a bunch of bloodthirsty O'Driscolls and one hell of an ambush. Put your differences aside and patch up, cowboy.

a/n: my first character/character fic thats posted woah, were making history here chat

words: 3,040 | AO3 LINK

A red rag draped over his leg, medical alcohol between his thighs and Micah's chin in-between his index and thumb, holding up a clean cotton cloth to his mouth and collecting blood.

"'Ya gotta stay still." Arthur's voice grumbles, slightly strained. The fire next to them crackles loudly and the night is silent, all for the occasional cricket or animal howl in the far distance or moving shrubbery. "I can't do it if you're squirmin' around the entire time." He holds onto the chin of the other with a firmer grip, trying to wipe his bottom lip of the leaky red substance. Micah's hand stay in his lap, palms squished between his thighs as he leans his head back, looking down at the other cowboy.

He snarls when the alcohol-infused material brushes over his busted lip, trying to jerk his head away—to no avail, as Arthur's grip keeps him exactly where he is, unmoving. "Damn it, Morgan.. thought you was a gentleman." His laugh is a small wheeze, the hot breath escaping his mouth and landing on Arthur, who tuts at him and shakes his head at the comment.

—————————————————

A nice little homestead that needed urgent clearance and robbing—deemed perfect for Arthur and Micah, by Dutch. Clearly not, by Arthur's protest to the idea. Micah gives a very offended scoff at the other man. "Come on, Morgan. You an' me, it's a perfect team." Arthurs' eyes practically roll to the back of his head, but he can't find it in himself to go against Dutch's word, no matter how much he may hate the blonde snake.

He gives Dutch a look, very obviously, before sighing and calling Micah to follow over to where their horses were hitched up. They rode mostly in silence, every attempt at small-talk between Micah and Arthur lasting a measly few minutes, if that many.

The homestead looked partially abandoned when they arrived. "This don't look good," Arthur wanted to listen to his gut and turn back, or find something else that actually looked promising, but of course, Micah was having none of it.

"Oh, don't be like that," He rode Baylock closer to Arthur and pulled on his horses reins. "thought you was one of them.. 'don't judge a book by it's cover' fellers." He mocks, trying to get Arthur to keep riding towards the homestead. With more reluctance, Arthur follows along. "That's the spirit." Micah makes sure to comment, looking over his shoulder to where Arthur is riding close-by. They hitch up a safe distance away—you never know, even if it looks abandoned. "Follow the lead, cowpoke."

Micah's got his hands on his two DAs, fidgeting with the handles while they slowly creep up the area, heading straight for the little house. Arthur puts his bandana up and places his hands on his gun belt, walking to Micah's left. They approach the front porch, making their way up the small set of stairs and up to the door. A quick glance to each other, Micah puts up his own bandana and nods for Arthur to have the honours.

The door swings open into a worrisome silence, nothing but the slow creaking of the old hinges as the door slows its pace and hits the wall. "Well, looks like nobody is home." Arthur glances at Micah at his quip, narrowing his eyes before walking by the man.

He gets straight to business; opening drawers and cupboards for anything useful. Micah does the same—kind of. He looks here and there while mostly just exploring the house. Soon, Arthur is left alone in the main room, a living room and open kitchen. He's looking through the kitchen drawers when the silence gets abruptly disturbed; a gasp, metal clanking, a gunshot. Arthur is quick to stand up from his crouching position and draw his revolver, checking the corners over to the room where the noise came from. As much as he'd love to see Micah shot, he doesn't need that right now.

One of the doors down the hall is ajar, and theres a scent of gunpowder coming from the room. A quick cock of his revolver, huff and prayer before Arthur enters the room; just to find a grinning Micah, leaned on the wall and playing with his revolver. "Didn't know 'ya cared that much about me, cowpoke." Arthur is just about to berate the blonde for the idiotic quip, before he's met with Micah's wide eyes— "Shit!" —and a quickdraw. Micah shoots right past his shoulder.

Arthur grips his gun and turns, to see a man on his front bleeding out on the living room floor. "The hell?" Both of them exit the room, Micah first.

Micah walks up to the dying man, using his boot to kick the mans gun out of reach, just in case. He crouches down and grabs a fistful of his hair, lifting the body up slightly. Nothing that could make him stand out—except a bright, neon green neckerchief. "What's an O'Driscoll 'ere for?" Micah murmurs between the two men before using his brain to connect two and two together, releasing the dead mans' hair and instantly standing to his feet, walking and shutting the front door.

Arthur catches on just as quickly, instantly readying his gun. "O'Driscolls ain't ever travel alone..." He comments, and he's very correct—proven so by the sudden gunshots that smash the house windows, glass flying over the floorboards as both of them duck, away from the view inside of the house through the broken windows. It's at least four other people shooting, against the two of them. They've dealt with worse, surely; this will go smoothly.

They're ducked under one of the two windows each, peeking out to shoot. Theres a few more than four, seven instead. Which is odd, as O'Driscolls never really go out in bigger groups than of three or four, which makes Arthur and Micah assume this was very planned. That's an afterthought, for now, as they need to focus on shooing them all dead. First three go down easily, until the other four start getting closer to the door. Something Arthur and Micah don't notice, is the O'Driscoll right at the door just waiting for the right moment. When it does come, it almost ruins the entire mission. The door opens, hitting Arthur in the side and shielding him from whats happening on the other side when the O'Driscoll busts in. Micah, thankfully, has a good reaction time and manages to stand up and move before getting shot. Unfortunately, it isn't enough as he gets shot in the thigh by the O'Driscoll before Arthur can close the door and shoot him. Micah hisses as the bullet penetrates his skin, clutching it and spitting out blood from his mouth, having bit the inside of his his lip open during the small stumble to the ground. "Get up, Micah!" Arthur's back is pressed to the door to prevent anymore surprises. Micah regains his composure with a low grumble, spitting on the floor before getting up and grabbing his guns again.

Gunpowder fills the nostrils of the two men by the time the last one of Colm's men escapes for his life, rushing away on his horse before Micah or Arthur can shoot him down. "Damn it," Arthur holsters his gun and places his hands on his hips, looking over to Micah. "we can both agree that was planned, right?"

Micah is picking glass out of his boot, sitting on the couch inside the house. "Mm, yeah. Seems so." His thigh is still bleeding slightly, his chapped lip stinging. Arthur got him a towel from the bathroom to wrap around his bullet wound, try and stop the bleeding until they can get him taken care of.

"Can't stay here, might come back." Arthur comments, opening the door and checking the surrounding area before beckoning Micah to follow suit. He grumbles, getting up from his seat and putting his guns into their holsters, walking—a bit uncomfortably—around the shattered glass pieces and out the door. They're mostly silent for the walk back to the horses, given how theres little to say here. Micah mounts up on Baylock with a hum and pat to the steeds neck, Arthur soon following. It was getting dark, slowly but surely, as the sun started dipping down around the earth, deep oranges and pinks filling the sky, with faint hues of blue still present. "I say we camp out, don't trust going back like this." Micah shrugs neutrally, deciding on just going with whatever Arthur has to say. They ride a few miles away from the homestead, into a nearby forest.

With their horses hitched safely, the two outlaws set their tents up and Arthur starts a little fire while Micah tries cleaning his wounds up. His lip is absolutely busted, few smaller gashes and splits in the bottom one along with the bigger one he bit into his flesh. It's a hassle to clean, even more his thigh. One spot on the towel is fully soaked, absorbing Micah's blood like a sponge. Peeling it off brings a grumble out of Micah, turning it over to a cleaner side and dabbing at his thigh. Arthur finished up the fire and looks to Micah, who seriously looks like the doesn't know what he's doing. For a man so stubborn, Arthur knew Micah would never allow him to help the clueless outlaw.

"You know what you're doing?" He decides to speak up, getting up from his crouching position and placing his hands on his gun belt.

Micah looks up at him from his thigh with an annoyed pout. "Of course I do.." He continued to dab at his thigh, but starts slowing down. "..clearly."

Would his hatred for Micah win over, be more important than not letting him get a nasty infection? That's a million dollar question.

And here's your answer.

Arthur sighs before walking over to the man and casually seating himself right next to Micah, prying the towel out of his hand. Micah goes to protest, snarl at him, but Arthur shushes him. "Don't be an ass now, it'll get infected if 'ya don't do it right." Arthur places a two fingers on Micah'd thigh, stretching it slightly which causes some vulgarities to slip from Micah's mouth. "Ah, 'm sorry," he places the towel back down and goes for his satchel, digging out a flask-like bottle and a small rag, along with a mini-box; mystery item, woo. "Hope 'ya don't like these pants that much," Arthur draws his knife and, carefully but swiftly, cuts up a better opening to the wound through his trousers.

"These are practically all I wear, Morgan. Surprised 'ya haven't taken notice of it."

"One of the girls'll sew it up for you." Arthur replies. Micah rolls his eyes and sits back, letting Arthur work with no further quips or protests. Arthur takes the flask and pours some of the liquid onto his clean rag, removing Micah's towel. "What's that 'ya got there anyw—shit!"

Arthur presses the rag—now soaked in medical alcohol—down onto Micah's thigh, grabbing his knee with the other hand as Micah tries to jerk it away. "Don't be a baby, Bell." He keeps the other outlaws' leg close, not letting him pry it away. "You're fine, stop overreacting."

Micah grumbles again, still letting out little hisses to the burning-tingly sensation in his leg. "Could'da warned me, 'ya know?" He mumbles, placing his hands in his lap and looking away from the white rag on his leg as it slowly changes in color.

After a moment longer, he takes it away and drapes the slightly red rag over his thigh, moving to grab the box. He opens it to reveal a needle and some thread, for the stitching. Micah watches him place the end of the thin string piece in his mouth, observing the action. A little too closely, maybe. Arthur runs the thread through the hole in the needle, looking at Micah. "No snarky comment 'bout it?" Micah rolls his eyes while Arthur gives a brief huffed laugh, leaning down slightly. He places his whole hand on Micah's upper thigh, trying to use the campfire to better see what he's doing.

A few twitches here and there; a gasp or two; Micah's arm finding itself gripping onto the wood log they're sat on. He never liked getting stitches. Nobody did, to be fair, but he had an extra hatred for it. He let out a deep exhale when Arthur finally finished, relieved. "We still got that lip you chewed open." Arthur reminds him, which breaks Micah away from his moment of gratitude. "Come on, it ain't nearly as bad as this," Arthur gestures to Micah's fixed up thigh, and he just waves him off. Arthur puts the needle and thread away, thankfully, and instead gets another smaller rag out. I mean, damn, is he always this prepared? Micah angles himself slightly more to face Arthur, who dabs a bit of the alcohol onto the clean rag, making Micah grimace. "You'll be fine." Arthur sees his reaction and clicks his tongue at the man.

A red rag draped over his leg, medical alcohol between his thighs and Micah's chin in-between his index and thumb, holding up a clean cotton cloth to his mouth and collecting blood.

"'Ya gotta stay still." Arthur's voice grumbles, slightly strained. The fire next to them crackles loudly and the night is silent, all for the occasional cricket or animal howl in the far distance or moving shrubbery. "I can't do it if you're squirmin' around the entire time." He holds onto the chin of the other with a firmer grip, trying to wipe his bottom lip of the leaky red substance. Micah's hand stay in his lap, palms squished between his thighs as he leans his head back, looking down at the other cowboy.

He snarls when the alcohol-infused material brushes over his busted lip, trying to jerk his head away—to no avail, as Arthur's grip keeps him exactly where he is, unmoving. "Damn it, Morgan.. thought you was a gentleman." His laugh is a small wheeze, the hot breath escaping his mouth and landing on Arthur, who tuts at him and shakes his head at the comment.

Despite how confident he sounds, Micah is sweating; his hands are clammy and his eyes are slightly widened, staring either at Arthurs hands or his eyes, switching frequently between the two. Arthur was mostly focused on making this less painful for Micah, surprisingly, so he didn't notice much about how Micah was reacting. Thank God.

The rag swiped over his gashes, sending little tingles through Micah's mouth, causing his slightly parted lips to twitch a few times. His eyes were on Arthurs' face, taking note of the slow flutter of his lashes every few seconds he'd blink; the crease in his eyebrows as he focused; his slightly crooked nose that's been broken a few times, something he knew of, because he was there for one of the instances before; the slightly plum-ish color of his mildly chapped lips and their mostly thin, yet soft look—stop.

He grimaced at his own trail of thought, and his lips clasped down closed—right over Arthur's thumb. The man glanced right up at Micah's face, which was getting more red by the second, his blood split between going to his face and his trousers. Arthurs' eyes flicked between Micah's mouth and eyes, just like Micahs' own two. The silence was deafening, awkward and felt so much longer than it truly was. What made it even worse was Micah opening his mouth, just for Arthur to keep his thumb there for a moment, staring intently at Micah. Both of them hadn't yet realised the very defined outlines of their erections, leaving little to imagination if any of them dared look down and check.

After what felt like years, Arthur clears his sore throat and retreats his hand, wordlessly starting to pack up the medical supplies. No words were needed, actually. Their new, little problems spoke volumes, that much was obvious. Micah slowly got up and instantly retreated to his tent, leaving Arthur to intently wait for Micah to close the flaps before hunching over and exhaling all his pent-up breath, head in his hands. What the hell was that?

He glared at his own boner when he leaned his head down, cursing at himself. The distaste he held for Micah was not strange to anyone; in fact, it was a known fact that Arthur simply did not like Micah. That's how its always been, and how Arthur planned to keep it. None of this... whatever it was, with Micah, will ever mean anything. Arthur knew what he was, like Micah did. Both of them were specifically only into women, and this was a simple reaction of touch-starvation, their bodies being confused. That's what they'll go with.

Now there's another problem to solve, in the tent right next to the culprits' own one.

The campfire had long extinguished itself by morning when Arthur walked out of his tent, instantly feeling a certain heat in his cheeks at the sight of Micah—the early-bird, obviously long awake by the time Arthur had gotten up. Micah doesn't dare look his way, the beige hat he wears covering his cheeks well enough. The mere knowledge of his presence brought color to the pale, weathered skin of Micah Bell.

The awkwardness of last night didn't even compare to the one of riding back to camp. It was quite the ride, a slow, silent and painfully on-edge trot through West Elizabeth and back to Horseshoe Overlook. Neither of the two spoke, not even small-talk was deemed possible at this point. They rode alongside each other for a few hours, silent and red in the face.

Seeing camp come into view might have been the highlight of this trip for the two of them.

They hitched up wordlessly, ready to part when Dutch's voice beamed through the campsite, making both men curse and reluctantly turn. "My boys! Tell me, how was that?"

The truth would make him lose his goddamn head.

Kudos on AO3 always appreciated! This ship has me in the worst chokehold known to mankind, they make me absolutely sick and make me want to bite my fingers off for writing this but..... toxic yaoi. Need therapy bad.

EDIT: I honestly left this a very open ending, and technically; a part two is possible. Please do tell me, on AO3 or here, if that's something you'd like to see! <3

[opalstonedyke]

how did you know you were ofos? hope this isn’t too personal

- femme who might be ofos, but is still learning lesbian history 😭

That's a terrific question!

Ive always been old fashioned, I mostly chalk it up to the fact I grew up (and still am somewhat) religious, but Judaism has so many beautiful traditions around home life for lovers, it's a whole concept - the torah teaches us to make certain compromises for your wives, and keep her happy, for the purpose of shlom bayit - peace of the house - and it resonates with me! One day, when im lucky enough to wed the girl of my dreams, I will always give out of myself to keep them happy and to keep the peace in our homestead.

Now when it comes to more superficial things, like aesthetics of clothes, ways of speaking and such, ive just always liked them much more than modern aesthetics. I grew up listening to 50's, 60's and 70's folk and rock, and the slang, fashion and behavior of my favorite legends just stuck with me - i wad always an old old lady at heart, haha.

So when I finally started blooming into myself and could make my own fashion choices (aka having the money to buy my own clothes, and my mom stepping back and giving me some independence) I immediately found myself attracted to classic menswear, attracted by the warm color and bold patterns of the swingin' 60's, with _flattering_ tailoring and always keeping myself neat and pretty to bait femmes who would like to be treated with some chivalry. ;)

All those things made me feel strange, disconnected from my age group and unconfident when I was younger, but when I found the ofos community I realized straight people were the strange ones - what kind of fella treats his lady like they do? Poor girls. I feel lucky to be able to show affection to femmes who need it, and i will ALWAYS spoil the femme I go out with, no matter if it's a first or 100th date. I resonate with my fellow chivalrous butches - and am very inspired and smitten by the beautiful vintage femmes I find on here, too. I only hope to find a satisfying and loving relationship with one in real life, one day, when it comes.

I hope this gave you some insight, and even if you find you're not ofos - we appreciate you around, and all lesbians are always welcome on my page.

[owlchimedes]

I'm sooo glad to find an envi sci studyblr!!! It feels like it's so rare.

yess!! there are like none of us out here! possibly it has to do with the venn diagram of tumblr users and people who go outside being separate circus tents, but that said, I'll list some cool people I follow if you want more env sci on your dash.

i was in parasocials with mallaidh-ann when he was working with seals and now he's doing salmon fishery work? swoon

headspace-hotel does environmental rage like no one else and also insanely good poetry

@hellsitegenetics is new and very funny

MC does fantastic work with @reasonsforhope to promote good environmental and human rights stories

@memecology makes me laugh, though they've been afk for a bit

@deadnaturalhistories is a natural history PhD candidate

@ecologie-txt is an ecology PhD candidate

@botanyshitposts is what is says on the tin (also, very smart)

@fatehbaz does anticolonial ecology 👌🏼

@weird-ecologies does wildlife conservation and scicomm

I really liked my friend's blog eco-filth but I think our upcoming master's thesis ate them...

mutuals with @endless-forms who's a science journalist

@wilder-thyme does archaebotany (wow!)

@moon-thestars is/was a biodiv conservation student, may be afk

nollectquest posts some foraging/homesteading content that I really enjoy

gallusrostromegalus likewise has an excellent #The Garden At The End Of The Universe tag

wild-west-wind is a park ranger

I've tagged those who are studyblrs and simply linked to those who are more personal blogs so as not to bother them too much. The best advice (imo) for finding envsci people on this hellsite is to hover around the solarpunk/tolkien/hozier/gardening/trc/justice tags and reblog-hop until you find somebody cool.

Feel free to add recs or nominate your own blog if you fall into any kind of botany, environmental science, zoology, conservation gig! Love to extend the circle!

[foggysirens]

i don’t care what anyone else says luke skywalker is a mamas boy through and through.

like someone at tosche station makes a shitty remark about beru never having her own kids? decked right in the face no hesitation. something inside the homestead breaks down? lukes got it fixed in an instant. beru hasn’t had enough to drink one day? he’s topping up her glass from his if he has to. a fight with biggs? he’s talking to beru about it the second he’s home. they spend hours together in the evenings reading or discussing droid upgrades together and luke always brings her back little trinkets for the kitchen and living room whenever he goes to town. holding her arm whenever they go into town together, strolling through the stalls aimlessly, pointing out things and chatting. beru teaches him about different star patterns, sitting out together, laying on the domed roof of the homestead, a tradition they carry on even after luke has far surpassed her in knowledge of the stars.

and later, luke taking every spare second he can to read books about the history of naboo and it’s young queen. tracing his fingers over the pages of her painted face and trying his hardest to pick out features similar to his own. how he’ll sit and reach into the force and try to find another scrap of memory about her, reaching for a flash of a feeling, a fleeting imagine, anything but the nothing he remembers. how luke will travel to naboo once a year to visit the tomb of the mother he never got to meet, but loved him enough to give her life, and lay flowers at the feet of the statue there in her honour. how he slowly works small pieces of naboo culture into his everyday practices, taking silent moments to sketch and compose poetry once he learns how important art is to its people.

because dont get me wrong, i love talking about the various father figures he’s had in his life and how owen, obi wan and anakin have all played their part in his development as a character, but i think it is a great tragedy to overlook how important beru and padme are to what makes luke luke as well and damn it if it doesn’t just make so much sense for his character because of how he interacted with all the paternal figures in his life that luke is just much more of a mamas boy at heart than anything else.