#casey smith

Nerves, rejection, and hurt. That's what was circling through Casey's body after he mentioned wanting to tell Arthur something, who was still looking at him expectantly, but patiently all the same. Letting out a deep, shaky breath, Casey closed his eyes for a moment before opening them again and focusing on Arthur. "Okay...here goes...I, uh...I happen to have different, unconventional views..." he finally blurted out, biting his bottom lip as he looked at the burly man riding next to him, who seemed momentarily shocked. Which was fair. Casey wasn't expecting any other reaction. Well...maybe rejection, too. "Um, as in what, Casey?" Arthur had drawled out, recovering from his shocked expression. Casey shrugged and shook his head, giving Beau an affectionate pat. "Nevermind, Arthur. It's just something stupid, anyway. No need to concern yourself with it," the brunette had responded, sighing as he looked out ahead of them, doing his best not to let his emotions get the best of him like they so often did. Arthur had shaken his head as well and reached over to gently tap the man's shoulder to grab his attention. "You can tell me, Case. You know this. I'm the last person that would think differently of you." After hearing these words, Casey had nodded his head and decided he'd fess up. Arthur did happen to be correct, though. He knew the man would be the last person to judge him for who he was, for who he liked. "I...I like men. I don't know if it was particularly obvious before hand, but...I prefer the company of men. I hope that doesn't change anything between us," Casey had finally said, a weight seeming to lift from his shoulders after confessing this to his best friend.

Not surprisingly, Arthur did happen to be a little taken aback by the news. He always had his suspicions about this, but of course he never wanted to assume anything that he wasn't sure about. But to hear Casey admit this made his feelings even more surreal. That meant...there could be a chance between the two of them. This thought made Arthur's heart beat a little faster, ultimately excited at the mere prospect of being more than friends with a man like Casey. Clearing his throat, Arthur Morgan flashed a smile towards Casey. "'s nothing wrong with that, Case. You know I care about you no matter what. No matter who or what you like," the burly man spoke, his hand grasping Casey's shoulder, smiling at the other male with a warm, loving smile. This made Casey blush and smile back, ducking his head a little bit before then doing his best not to lean into Arthur's touch. "Thanks, Arthur. That really means a lot to me," the male had responded, chuckling softly as he then looked at Arthur, thinking he had noticed a certain look in his eyes, but brushed it off.

'So...into men? How have I not noticed it before?' Arthur thought to himself, taking his bottom lip in between his teeth as he got lost into his thoughts, which soon turned a bit naughty...he hadn't realized that Casey was still looking at him, but eventually he stopped his thoughts and cleared his throat, walking away and getting onto his horse to try and hide his growing erection from where his thoughts took him about Casey. Casey was confused when Arthur did this, but decided not to dwell on it too much as he got onto his horse as well and sighed softly as he looked over at the burly man and noticed something. Now what he noticed really had Casey confused. Arthur had an erection. Arthur. The man who barely even thought of things like that. He had never seen Arthur this way before. He wondered what caused this, but he didn't want to be weird and ask. So instead, Casey cleared his throat as they rode on and smiled over at Arthur. "So, where we going next, Arthur?" The brunette had asked the male riding next to him, biting hsi bottom lip as he had waited for Arthur to answer him back. Arthur looked over at Casey and shrugged his shoulders. "Not sure. I was planning on just riding around for a bit. Maybe staying at a hotel for the night. Give us a bit of a break from the group. How's that sound, Case?" Arthur asked, doing his best not to think about what might happen at the hotel later that night.

status: ongoing, not yet complete

pairing: arthur morgan x male!reader

warnings: eventual smut. canon typical violence. canon typical swearing

chapters:

chapter one

chapter two

pairing: arthur morgan x male!reader

a/n: this one is a bit of a shorter chapter! hope you guys enjoy!

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White light. That was all Casey was able to see as he woke up. The male rubbed his eyes a little bit before stretching, then standing up. He looked to see most of the camp equipment had been picked up, which indicated Arthur had been awake. The male sighed softly and looked around for the burly male, smiling softly once he spotted Arthur. Casey walked over to the male, tapping him on the shoulder.

”Mornin’, Arthur. Were ya ready to head out?” Casey asked Arthur, who grunted in response, turning his head to look at Casey and gave him a small smile as he closed his journal and put it in his satchel. “Sure. Let’s go,” Arthur responded as he got up from the rock he had been sitting on previously. The pair made their way over to the camp and their horses. Packing the last of their stuff up, both men mounted their respectful horses.

Clicking his tongue, Arthur led the two of them. He knew Casey hasn’t ever really had the time to explore these parts, and he wanted to be the one to show him. It gave Arthur a bit of pride to be a tour guide, of sorts. It was just what Casey brought out in him. Casey patted Beau’s neck as he fed him, soon catching up to Arthur. “So, where to first, cowboy?” The brunette had questioned the burly male riding alongside him.

Arthur glanced at Casey for a moment before clearing his throat, hand firmly grasping the reigns on his horse. “Well, first I was thinkin’ we get ourselves a bounty, earn a lil’ bit of cash for the gang,” he had responded. Casey nodded along, liking the idea. “Okay. I like that idea. Let’s do it,” the brunette responded, chuckling some.

The pair rode into Rhodes, riding to the sheriff’s, knowing they’d find bounties there. So long as the pay was good, they wouldn’t mind doing it. Hitching their horses, both Casey and Arthur made their way inside the building, walking over to the town’s sheriff. “Mornin’, sheriff,” Arthur spoke. “Got any bounties?” He added. The sheriff clicked his tongue and pulled out a few wanted posters from a drawer of the desk.

He tossed it to them. Casey took them and looked through them as the sheriff gave a run down on the three criminals. “First one, he’s a pain in the ass. Jailed almost every week. Poor shit hadn’t learned his lesson. The second feller, he’s a lil’ bit easier. A bit stupid, if ya ask me. Third guy, almost as bad as the first. Pay’s good for all three so...pick your poison, fellas,” the sheriff told them.

The two of them talked it out and decided to take the second and third bounties. “I’ll take the second one he spoke about,” Casey initiated, deciding to let Arthur do the hard work, knowing he’d most likely get through to the criminal better than Casey probably would be able to. He just didn’t have the patience for those kinds of things. “Okay. That settles it. Let’s go, Case,” Arthur spoke as the two exited the sheriff’s office, going to their hitched horses and getting on them.

”The bounties seem to be near the same area, so we could just meet up afterwards,” Casey said to Arthur, who simply nodded his head as they started to draw near where these bounties were last seen. Once split up, Casey treaded through a foresty area, spotting a figure against a tree. Getting off Beau, the brunette made his way over, lasso in hand to take down the bounty. When he got close enough, Casey pinned the guy to the ground and hog tied him.

Both men soon got their bounties, riding back to the sheriff’s. Arthur’s bounty wouldn’t quit talking, which pissed Arthur off, so there was a few times where the burly male had reached back and used his pistol to hit the guy’s head. The two soon got to the sheriff’s, hitching their horses and toting the two men inside, tossing them into the jail cell that was open. “Why thank ya, fellas. Here’s the money as promised,” the sheriff said to them as he handed them each their cut. “Thanks, sheriff,” Arthur said as the men pocketed the cash and left.

Jason Derulo ft Adam Levine – Lifestyle

L’imminente “Lifestyle” è la prima hit-single di Jason Derulo del 2021, insieme al frontman dei Maroon 5 Adam Levine! Il singolo sta uscendo in questo momento in tutto il mondo, accompagnato da un video dance di Jason Derulo a cui farà seguito, dall’11 Febbraio, l’uscita del video ufficiale con Jason Derulo e Adam Levine. Jason Derulo è un cantante, compositore e ballerino, che ha già ottenuto 13…

On Tuesday morning I met Mathias (I go back and forth between calling him Mathias or Tusiime, but he’s the same person) at the Old Taxi Park to get on the “Coaster” bus to Jinja, about 75 kilometres due east of Kampala. He made sure I was on the right bus and gave the driver explicit directions about where to drop me off. It would have been really difficult for me to do this by myself.  I could hired a private car, but going on the public bus saved a ton of money and also gave me a much better experience of how Ugandans travel.

There were lots of traffic jams on the two-lane highway, but I arrived safely about three hours after saying goodbye to Mathias. I easily found the Bridgeway Guesthouse, and immediately set out to discover a new place. 

Jinja a beautiful city, much smaller and calmer than Kampala. I was ready for some peace and relaxation. Jinja was the perfect place. After travsersing the main street, I ducked into a Ugandan restaurant for local food. Time got away from me, and I had to hustle to the Jinja Sailing Club to meet Abraham from “Kayak the Nile.” He was a great guide, and he put me at ease. I’m not a big “water person” so I was a little nervous. But I jumped in the kayak, wearing my street clothes and shoes. I didn’t even think about wearing my swimming suit and sandals. 

We kayaked on Lake Victoria under amazing rainbows and Kingfishers. My camera isn’t waterproof, so no pictures. At the end of our two hours we passed the famous “Source of the Nile” and paddled up the first few kilometers. It was amazing, to say the least. 

Below are a few photos from my first day in Jinja.

This cat’s name is “Postcard” and she lives at Rumours Club on the river.

Monday morning means it’s time for my weekly appointment with Professor Baguma in the School of Psychology at Makerere. I’ve really enjoyed our conversations. He’s a very intense and serious man, but he can also break out in a riot of laughter at any time. On my second-to-last day in Kampala the two of will travel to Entebbe together to see some important sites there. 

I asked Professor if he would show me the Makerere Library, because to me they are kind of like a “heaven on Earth”.  I always enjoy taking apexart Fellows to the Library in Congress when they visit DC.  My small art college, DCAD, is lucky to have a brilliant library with an even more brilliant librarian, Megan Johnson. 

Two things in particular about higher education at Makerere are far more progressive than typical American colleges and universities. First, the Fine Art and Design departments are part of CEDAT: The College of Engineering, Design, Art, and Technology. This structure is not uncommon in the UK, but I don’t think it’s taken hold in America. The second progressive thing is simple and commonsensical: Librarians have faculty, not staff, appointments. They are part of the same tenure and wage structure as professors and lecturers.

Here are some photos from the Makerere library. If you scan the many journals written by apexart Fellows, you’ll see plenty of entries about libraries. I just read Evgeniy’s post about the NYPL. 

Professor Patrick Baguma in his office (not the library). We are like cousins when it comes to paper clutter on our desks. In order to compete with him, I’ll have to up my game.

A crime against letter-spacing. I advise typographers and graphic designers to look away. 

Wonderful art with a “books and reading” theme fill the library. This (above) was my favorite.

The library at Mak is strictly closed-stacks. If you want a book, journal, or newspaper you need to fill out a slip and give it to an attendant. In this respect, it’s like the Library of Congress or the NYPL.

In the afternoon I walked the short distance to Kololo to visit with Mr David Kahundha Muhwezi. He is a retired administrator from Mak, who started a second career with a firm called “MicroPay.” It’s very much like “Venmo” back home. He explained that the service wasn’t merely for convenience. Many Ugandans live very far from a bank, and instead of traveling for hours (or even a full day) to make a simple transaction, they can now do it on their mobile phones. Not all Ugandans enjoy postal service, something that Americans totally take for granted. It’s easy to complain about the negative effects that smartphones have on our culture, but we need to remember how amazing they can be for so many uses. MicroPay is one such example. 

We had a very pleasant conversation with the Director about life in Kampala. He studied at Williams College in Massachusetts. The largest Ugandan community in America is in Boston. Mr Muhwezi is on the right in the photograph below. I’d like to thank these men for taking time out of their busy schedule to welcome me.

This journal entry is not about particular events or activities; it’s about the seemingly little things, such as walking, navigating traffic as a pedestrian, cooking/eating/drinking, buying food at the market or grocery store, interacting with strangers, etc. These are things we do everyday. I do them in Wlimington, Delaware, in Washington, DC, and in Kampala, Uganda. Wherever you are, dear reader, you do these things also. 

I’ve borrowed or stolen my subtitle to this entry from the French socio-cultural theorist and Jesuit, Michel de Certau, the author of “The Practice of Everyday Life.” I brought my copy with me, thinking that I would re-read the entire work. Of course, I’ve only re-read the introduction. De Certau wanted to re-orient cultural studies toward consideration of users and consumers, rather than makers and producers. He wasn’t interested in the exceptional case, the heroic individual, or the unique instance. As his title clearly states, he wanted to understand better the quotidian experiences that have been hidden, buried or thought unworthy of examination. The vast majority of people never get to tell their stories, or rather, the stories they tell never radiate outside of their immediate circle of family and friends.  

I attended a Jesuit high school in Indianapolis, so de Certau’s approach feels familiar. This entry is starting to feel pedantic and preachy, so I’ll cut to the proverbial chase. 

Walking is a challenge in Kampala. You have to have 360 degree vision. If a motorbike isn’t on your ass, it will be in a matter of seconds. Every fifteen or twenty seconds a boda-boda driver will sidle up to you (especially if you’re a Mzungu, i.e. non-African tourist) and say, “Boss.” Sometimes this is done only with eyes, no voice. It’s always friendly. If I put my hand out with the palm down and give a slight shake of my head to the side, that means, “No thanks” and life moves on. It’s very fluid. The boda-boda drivers know that Western tourists are cash cows. We won’t object to inflated charges, because the difference is negligible to us. If I pay a dollar and a quarter USD (roughly 4,000 Ugandan shillings) for a ride across the city, that’s ok with me. Most Ugandans think this is craziness. Mathias would maybe pay 1,000 shillings for the same trip, about 35 cents. I know that negotiating prices is common in most cultures. But, more likely, Mathias wouldn’t pay the fare; he would choose to walk. Taking a boda-boda is kind of a luxury for most Kampalans. Everybody walks everywhere.

To be honest, I don’t feel like I’m being taken advantage of when I get up-charged. I lack the local knowledge that regulates such things. This is part of the system I also remember how baffling sales tax and tipping is for internationals visiting America. Even though the prices are clearly marked, you’re asked for an additional sum (tax) and expected to know the custom of tipping. I had a friend visiting from Germany once. When he took me out for dinner he refused to tip the server, saying it was a stupid custom. When we got on the street, I pretended that I left my sunglasses on the table and left the requisite 20%.  

Transit, how people move about, has probably been the most eye-opening difference between life in an American city such as Washington, DC, and Kampala. I will never again complain about traffic on I-95 or the relative squalor of the Chinatown bus to NY. Our “problems” are so minor. 

The tactics that people in Kampala use to navigate everyday life are different, because they need to adapt to the conditions on the ground.  When Mathias came to NYC as an apexart Fellow in 2014, he experienced similar dislocations. If you’ve never seen a microwave oven, a television remote control, or a subway system, how do you navigate? You adapt, you learn, you follow, you improvise. 

Below are some transit-based photos from central Kampala and the area around my apartment on Mawanda Road. They cast a pale shadow of the manic kinetic movement on the streets and sidewalks, but they might give an idea of street life. Look both ways, look again. and one more time.

It turns out that this entry is already too long, so I don’t have time or space to write about other aspects of everyday life Kampala. Transit and movement is enough. 

Kareem Abdul Jabbar wrote in one of his many books that it’s never cool to run across a street. I don’t think he’s spent much time in Kampala. Everybody runs/jogs when crossing a street. You don’t really have the option to saunter across. The images below are a kind of visual-poem dedicated to the intrepid drivers, boda-boda (motorbike) riders and passengers, and pedestrians of Kampala. 

I took one of these taxis (above) back from Jinja. There were 17 people jammed in. The driver was like a character from “Mad Max”. I had a long conversation with Jesus, telling him that I’m sorry for my negligence and to please help me to arrive safely in Kampala. 

This boda driver was hilarious. He had a megaphone and flashing light attached to his helmet. I’ve seen pretty much everything strapped to the back of a boda, including a queen-sized mattress. 

Green (flora) and orange (soil and ground) are the predominant colors of Kampala. The “Safe Boda-Boda” drivers wear orange vests and orange helmets. They are everywhere.