Arthur! Look What I Have Found!

“ Arthur! Look what I have found!”

ok I still don't know how to link posts, but qingqingwan posted awesome art yesterday of bronte and Arthur (it's in the Arthur Morgan tag) It made me think of your fic in the most hilarious and amazing way. So awesome, cute and funny at the same time 😂

OMG I just looked it up and I believe this is the pic you are referring to?

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'hello world :)'

‘Faced with the request of the Van der Linde Gang to return Little Jack, Papa Bronte's condition is...’

Now all I can imagine is Bronte daydreaming about this while Arthur rants about horses or art.

OMGGGG

this is absolutely amazing! Thank you so so much! Ahhhhh I absolutely love each and every one of the scenes 😭😭

Y'all I can't breathe this is so good 🥹

@soldaatroosje

🔞 NSFW

I swear next time I draw something it will be more PG and more relevant 😅 Can’t wait for the next chapter 💕 thanks again!

Hi!

I don’t usually request anything, but I’m super curious! Could you write something for Bonnie Macfarlane and Arthur Morgan? They are one of my favorite pairings from Red Dead. I also have a couple of others that are pretty rare; Bonnie/Algernon Wasp and Micah/Mary-Beth.

I’d be excited to see any of those :)

Flowers by the Shoreline

Pairing: Micah Bell/Mary-Beth Gaskill

Fandom: Red Dead Redemption II

Rating: Mature

Word count: Just over 2000

Tags: Warnings: Sexism, racism, animal abuse (this is micah we are talking about, but that doesn’t make it okay), gift-giving, acts of affection, insecurities

Comments: After a very long break I’m back to writing requests! All other peeps are on the way I promise! 

So, I’ve been playing Red Dead Redemption lately and I have to say I can’t stand Bonnie. I’m sorry, I know she’s supposed to be this head strong independent woman, and I support that but I can’t stand her voice anytime I’m doing a mission for her. Why is she screaming at me, why is she insulting John so much, please Bonnie calm down QAQ. And I like the idea of Micah and Mary-Beth ever since watching Micah get rejected by Mary-Beth in Chapter 3 (was it chapter 3? idek it was so long ago). I may have went a little overboard focusing on Micah’s insecurities and emotions, and may have turned it into a character study, but it’s okay XD. I hope you enjoy this! 

Micah Bell the third only ever had 2 things on his mind: money and women. Money was easy. He had always had a knack for landing a score, whether that was through violence or his cunning mind. Money turned him on almost as much as women did, but women were a much more difficult thing for Micah to conquer. 

They were a mystery that usually just frustrated him more than it was worth to touch their soft flesh and feel their warm bodies. Even whores stayed clear of him. It was humiliating. The women at camp only glared and gave fake smiles at best when he was around. 

But oh, when Arthur fuckin’ Morgan was around all the women flocked to him. What did Arthur have that he didn’t? He drank just as much booze as he did, sure Morgan was maybe a better shot then Micah, but they still did about the same amount of chores at the camp. Well… when Charles or that O’Driscoll cunt didn’t already have them done…

Yet, all the women, even Abigail who was techincally John’s, would go to him for every one of their needs or wants. Morgan was gone most days and they still gathered around him when he returned and asked after him every waking second of the day. It disgusted Micah that they blantantly held favortism. 

He would never approach Tilly, even if she had the most beautiful dark skin and wore that yellow dress that made her look like a little sunflower. He wouldn’t stoop that low. 

Karen had nice tits and wasn’t afraid to drink, but she was loud. God awful loud, like a bird choking on a fish. Plus, Micah was sure Sean would throw a fit if he ever tried to make a move on Karen. Sean’s annoying Irish whine was almost worse than Karen’s drunken squawking.

Abigail, oh she was pretty. He cursed the day John went and got her pregnant, officially ending her whoring days five years ago. She even had a cute snorting laugh, but only Morgan and Hosea seemed to get her to let it out. Her kid, whatever his name was, was a pest that would run around without a care in the world. Not to mention if Micah was messing around with her, he’d have Marston, Morgan and the Old man gunning for him. Blegh, no thank you. 

Miss Grimshaw was too old for Micah’s standards. She acted like there was a stick up her ass, and maybe there was. She used to be Dutch’s bitch all those years ago, making it a bit of a taboo to even attempt to approach her. Same went for Molly, as pretty as she was. Those two were off limits, as far as Micah could tell. 

Mrs. Adler was just about as wild as she was attractive, and she would probably cut his pecker off if he approached her. She was sobbing most the time anyway.

That just left Mary-Beth, the hopeless romantic. Micah genuinely liked Mary-Beth and her low cut dress. Sure, he didn’t really understand some of her rambling wants about some fantasy guy who oftentimes sounded a lot like Morgan, but her freckles and the way she smiled when talking about her book always made his heart thump a little faster. 

He had tried being nice to her before Blackwater. Greetings here and there, tips of his hat, that sort of bullshit. The damn freeze of Colter happened and everyone was in a piss-poor mood before they traveled down to New Hanover. Then he got imprisoned in Strawberry and was away from camp for nie on two weeks. 

But now that they were at Clemens point and things were quiet, Micah planned to make his move. He had been in the Rhodes General store buying cigarettes when he saw a leather bound jounral on the shelf. He wasn’t one for journaling, it was a waste of time to write down his own thoughts, but Mary-Beth liked writing those silly little romances. 

He approached the counter with the pack of cigarettes and the journal, laying them down in a huff. His heart was jerking uncomfortably in his chest, and his back was sweating through his shirt. The clerk tried to make small talk with him, but he just shot him a glare from under the brim of hat and went on his way. 

Baylock greeted him with a snort and a stomp of his hoof. The tempermental nag even had the balls to sidestep when Micah went to mount him after putting the journal safely in his saddle bags. 

“I will cut those damn balls off, boy, test me again.” Micah hissed through his bristly moustache. 

The cobalt steed calmed and allowed Micah to swing himself into his saddle. On the way back to Clemens Point, Micah made it a point to stab his spurs into Baylock’s flanks as punishment for his transgressions. Baylock pinned his ears and wheezed as they galloped through the thick woodland that kept Clemens Point hidden from prying eyes. 

Williamson on guard duty could hardly ask who was there before Micah flew by and cantered to the designated horse area. The O’Driscoll looked up from the detailing of a saddle when Baylock nickered and came to a sliding halt. 

“Hey, O’Driscoll, unsaddle my horse.” Micah shouted while sliding off Baylock and searching through his saddle bag for the newly bought journal. 

“M-mister I ain-”

“I don’t think I asked, O’Driscoll. Are we gonna have a problem?” The O’Driscoll shook his head, bowing to hide under his ridiculous straw hat. “Good, now be a good boy and do what I asked.”

Micah didn’t turn around to see if he followed through with his orders, his mind more set on the beautiful Gaskill sitting at the center table. Her hair was done up with half of it up and the other cascading in curled locks down her back. Clad in a maroon skirt, white low cut shirt and dark pink waistcoat, she looked radiant with the way the bright sun caught on her necklace made her breasts pop. 

The only problem was that damn Morgan was talking to her at the table. He couldn’t just go up and give her the journal without an explanation, especially with Morgan right there. He’d be made a laughing stock. With a growl, Micah made a beeline for his tent. He would wait until that night, corner Mary-Beth to give her the journal and express himself to her. Yes, that was a good plan. 

Micah sighed softly as he sat on his bedroll and looked down at the leather, flipping through the pages. They were good quality, or he thought they were. Surely, Mary-Beth would appreciate the gift. An uneasy feeling settled in his gut, something he only felt when something went wrong. He wasn’t a nervous human, but the thought of courting Mary-Beth made his stomach twist up and heart skip a beat. Maybe this was a bad idea? No, any idea he came up with was never a bad one, just needed some improvising if it went wrong. 

In the heat of the Lemoyne sun, Micah laid out on his bed roll and tipped his hat down to hide his face, hands cupped under his head. His hair felt greasy and tangled, maybe he should go to the Flat Iron and wash up a bit before approaching Mary-Beth? His shirt also felt damp and rough against his skin. 

With a snarl of frustration, Micah sat up and trampled around his tent to grab a sliver of soap and a ragged wash cloth. A clean dark grey button up lay at the bottom of his chest, he hadn’t worn it since… he didn’t know when. Rolling his eyes, he grabbed the shirt and left his tent with a flourish. The things he did for women. 

No one spared him a glance as he walked to the lakeshore, following it until he found a partly hidden cove. He stripped down and waded into the water, scrubbing at his skin with the soap wrapped in the cloth until the blonde hairs on his chest were suddy and the faint smell of cedar filled his nostrals. He spent more time on washing his hair, dunking his head under the water and latehring it with soap. 

Scratching at his moustache made him think maybe he should shave too, but the stubborn part of his mind told him he was already doing too much to impress Mary-Beth. He shook his head like a dog and wrung out the long strands before exiting the cove and using his old shirt to pat himself dry. Before leaving the cove he saw a flower nestled in a patch of bulrush. Its petals were white that bled to a dark pink. It reminded Micah of that marooon getup Mary-Beth was wearing at the domino table earlier.

He picked the flower without a second thought and hid it in the folds of his red shirt.

He returned to camp dressed in the grey shirt and his dusty white pants, hat low on his head. He knew people were looking at him now, freshly bathed and in a new shirt. It made his skin prickle unpleasantly, but snapping at that scrawny mutt that wandered into camp made him gain some control back of the situation. 

After storing the soap and his dirty shirt back in his chest, Micah flopped on his bedroll, the flower stem pinched between his fingers. He wondered briefly what kind of flower it was, but he was sure Mary-Beth wouldn’t care. His mouth felt dry and his heart did that stupid pitter patter in his ribcage. A sip or two of whiskey calmed his nerves before he gathered the journal and flower in his hands. 

The sun was just starting to bathe the sky in a mellow orange color, and most people were off doing whatever after dinner. Marston, Uncle, and Javier were sitting around the main fire, and Morgan’s horse was gone. 

Slicking back his still damp hair, Micah slinked around the tents toward the girls’ tent. He got lucky enough that Karen and Tilly weren’t anywhere nearby, but Mary-Beth was curled up on the ground scribbling away in a journal. 

Micah stopped a few feet off to the side of her tent, working his jaw and trying to figure out the right words to say. Morgan would know what to say without a problem, prolly something flirty or a greeting-

“Uhm… good evening, Mr. Bell…?” Mary-Beth’s quiet voice broke him from his thoughts and pushed him to action. 

“Good evenin’, Ms. Gaskill-” Micah awkwardly shuffled closer to the bedrolls before playing with the leather of the journal in his hands, “I uh, I came to- Shit. Here.” With a severe lack of flattery, Micah held the book out to Mary-Beth. 

Mary-Beth tilted her head and confusion flashed on her face as she slowly set down her pencil and journal. “What’s this for?”

“I uh- saw ya like to write, and I saw this at the general store.” Micah said dumbly before remembering the flower he was worrying in his calloused hands. “And uh saw this at the shore line, thought ya might like it.” 

Micah could have imagined the light blush that colored Mary-Beth’s cheeks in the evening lighting, but she took the flower, their fingers brushing. “Oh, why… I’m sorry, Mr. Bell this is all very… odd.” She twisted the flower stem in her grasp, not meeting his eyes as she chewed on her lip. 

Micah turned away, teeth gritting together as anger surged up through his body. Of course she would reject him just like every other whore-

“Thank you, though. It’s a very lovely gift, and the journal too. Mine is on it’s last few pages…” Mary-Beth took one of the curled locks of her hair and tugged on it bashfully. 

Micah blinked, the anger draining from his body like a long needed piss. “Oh, uh, you’re welcome, Ms. Gaskill. I-I’ll leave ya to your writin’ now.” As Micah swiftly walked away he heard Mary-Beth’s muffled giggle. It wasn’t born of ill-humor, but it sounded like it was a flustered one. 

He could get used to hearing that more often.

Are you joking! I absolutely love it! Sksksksk don't sell yourself short 💙💙

I just hope your preparation for school is going well, and blegh early flights suck

Howdy partner!

If you got the time I would love some Angelo Bronte art. Even though he gets legit only 3 missions of scene time I love the little grumpy pasta boy 🥺🫣

Again love your art so much, it's so frikkin cute and I wanna squish all of it 💙💙

Is this ok? Sorry but I am kinda busy today ( I've been getting ready for school all day today and have an early morning flight tomorrow...🥲😴✈️)So it's just a sketch......

Anyway,hope you like it🥺