#otlaw

@otlaw​ - [ ADJUST ] action prompt thing. - [ ADJUST ] : sender adjusts an item of clothing or jewelry that the receiver is wearing, resulting in them being very close together.

potentially romantic prompts

His eyes were on Arthur’s hands as they adjusted his collar and necktie. Normally he would hate to need someone’s help in this matter - his appearance one of his greatest sources of pride. But his hands were full, medical supplies he had used the camp funds to purchase from town were weighing down his arms and rubbing against the necktie, messing it up with the rest of his collar. His pin had been jostled out of place and he feared he might look too much like a disaster for his comfort. 

bucky  unwraps  the  thick  padding  of  his  jacket,  gloved  fingers  working  beneath  his  extra  overcoat  down  to  the  interior  pocket.    he  fishes  out  the  crumpled,  half-barren  pack  of  premium  cigarettes    &    puts  one  up  to  his  lips.    ❛  need  somethin’  out  here  to  keep  warm,    ❜    he  explains,  peeling  out  a  battered,  flimsy  cluster  of  matches.    he  shields  his  hand  over  his  mouth  to  light  it,  takes  a  long  draw.    it  broils  in  his  chest  on  the  way  down    &    counteracts  the  rosy-cold  sear  at  the  ridges  of  his  cheese  where  he  hasn’t  been  able  to  grow  a  thick  enough  beard  just  yet.    

❛    ----  want  one?    ❜      his  arm  extends  out,  light  burning  bright  in  the  ash.    bucky  tugs  at  the  bridle  of  his  horse  to  step  up  the  edge  of  the  mountain.    it’s  a  truly  bitter,  bone-deep  type  of  cold  today,  too  much  for  a  train  job.      he  jostles  back    &    forth  with  the  steps,  letting  the  trip  ease  along.    

hey hotlaw i find a way of getting familiar & always do my research for you 🥰

anywayyyyy since time is totally a social construct (trust me i know physics and time is wack)

   - iskra loktionov (and i will die on this beach because two robbers together? yes pls & thank you)

   - taina pereira (& their story could be called “100 ways of getting someone killed”)

   - luma russell (potential father/daughter dynamic??? because??? i can???)

   - vida larson (because 🥺 soft gorl  🥺 outlaw dude)

@otlaw:

MEETINGS WERE MADE MORE FREQUENT IN LIEU of the eccentric josiah trelawny’s absence,  and in his stead was the seasoned bounty hunter samuel silas,  ever capable and ever reliable. now,  more than ever,  their acquaintances beyond the confines of the camp played important,  even vital,  roles that might ensure a better probability of survival.  

it seems all the less likely with the position they find themselves in these days.  not only financially,  but socially,  the hangman’s noose about their necks held tighter than ever,  and the man at the drop seeming all the more deranged.  not that arthur would be willing to admit any of the aforementioned aloud.  he wouldn’t,  and maybe, just maybe,  he can’t.    

distractions,  as fleeting as they are,  are sometimes welcomed. separate from the gang,  arthur is more himself these days than ever. how ever uncertain he may be about his place in nearly everything; that dubiousness related to the grand scheme of things,  it’s always a small relief to forget some things.  

the sun’s since dipped beneath the horizon,  retiring as they are, painting the blue sky prior a swarthy orange and magnetic pink.  they sit side-by-side on the dry patch of earth,  passing between them a bottle of guarma rum they’d previously acquired from a bounty made relatively easy.  a drunk the man was,  but that same drink made him as quarrelsome as any wild beast.

arthur’s poking into the embers of the fire,  and in retaliation it’s threatening to swallow up the thin stick in one lick.  it’s mostly quiet between the two.  a pair of glances exchanged.  an easy smile acknowledging the individual weights upon their minds,  and the alienated relief of their surroundings,  tucked away within the gentle hills of the heartlands.  

suffice it to say that he’s not all at prepared for what decides to roll itself out of samuel silas’ mouth,  penetrating the silence and shattering assumption.  the bottle in fist is once again brought to his lips to drain himself a larger portion before he can venture to try to formulate a response.  

his eyes brighten,  a grin made big courtesy of liquid courage as he nudges the remnants of the dark bottle into his companion’s hands.   ‘  i can’t say that i have,  ’  he lies with a lump in his throat,   broads shoulders rolling into a slump and turned to exclusively face the fire.   something twists from within & he’s not entirely certain as to whether it’s something he likes or despises.    ‘  but i sure as hell’ve wanted knock a man’s teeth out for lookin’ at me funny. ’  

=============

“Right.”

Sam’s answer comes far too quick, his vaguely expressed agreement slipping out as if it might somehow save him from the embarrassment he can now feel creeping up his neck, staining his cheeks and heating his ears. If he had any sense, he’d turn in for the night right about now, in the hope that neither of them will mention his strange notion ever again. Sam has sense, sure, but, in truth, it’s not enough; certainly not enough to stop him from taking another sip of strong rum as he considers his follow-up question. He knows Arthur isn’t the type to speak of such things, but the man’s silence only makes Sam’s need to pry burgeon in response. He’s seen Arthur’s journal, snuck a peek when he was down by the lake, shouldn’t have of course, but the thoughtful notes and carefully scribbled illustrations inside have caused Samuel to see the outlaw in brand new shades of light. In truth, Morgan appears mysterious to him, like still water that hides a fierce torrent underneath. The fact that Samuel would likely risk drowning just to dive into those waters is neither here nor there. 

It’s not the mystery of Morgan alone that is on Sam’s mind but rather the glint he thinks he’s caught in the man’s eye at some points during these pasts few weeks; a glint that Sam believes is evidence of Arthur regarding him fondly. There’s every chance he’s got it wrong of course; every chance that he’s the one that will soon incur a knock to the teeth with his words, but the rum has warmed him and provided him a courage that is definitely the dangerous kind. Dangerous not because drunk men make mischief but rather because Samuel’s feelings for Arthur are reckless and could prove hazardous if met with his disdain.

Handing Arthur a thicker stick, one less likely to get eaten up by the fire, Samuel swallows hard as he forces himself to speak.

@otlaw​ SAID: 🚬 FOR MAC.  //  accepting.

𝐈𝐅 𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊𝐒 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋,  they’d  be  burying  arthur  morgan  tonight.  hands,  sore  &  still  bloodied,  had  fumbled  into  coat  pocket  to  pull  out  prize  cigarette  to  help  dampen  raging  temper  now  that  the  fighting  was  done.  they  were  safe  &  out  of  sight,  had  escaped  with  their  lives  in  tact,  &  comfort  was  sure  to  be  supplied  by  a  quick  intake  of  addiction.  but  as  quickly  as  relief  had  come,  it  had  been  plucked  away  &  defiled  by  his  fellow  gang  member.  

stormy  blue  eyes  widen,  mouth  shifting  from  slightly  agape  to  singular  pressed  line.  if  mac  had  anything  left  in  him,  he’d  be  swinging  right  now.  ❝ prick, ❞  nose  scrunches  as  the  curse  is  spat  out,  but  doesn’t  quite  know  where  the  hoarse  eruption  of  laughter  comes  from  following  the  insult.  maybe  it’s  just  enough  that  they’re  okay,  they  made  it  through  another  job  unscathed.  but  mentally  a  note  is  made  to  get  arthur  back  in  some  way,  &  tenfold.  ❝ i  hope  you  choke  on  it. ❞

@otlaw​.   “I’ll give you a bad case of ‘someone just shot me in the head’ if you don’t hurry up.”