#moons writing

[moons-honies]

Arthur Morgan x reader - short story/ flash fic

Despite the snow-laden winter, the air is nicely warmed, courtesy of your cast iron stove. This is how your days have always been… Wake up, make breakfast, (or lunch if you awake near noon), tend to your cottage, find work in town, go to sleep, and do it all over again. That’s how it’s come to be… until Arthur came into your life.

Adding ginseng and a pinch of oregano to your pot, the aroma becomes pleasant and familiar. You make a mental note to thank Arthur for collecting those extra herbs for you. You give the pot a few quick stirs, doing your best to avoid burning the contents settling at the bottom. You smile to yourself, finding satisfaction in your skill.

The floor boards groan loudly behind you. Once upon a time, that noise alone would’ve startled you. But over the past few months, it has became a silent comfort. The sound of boot heels drag along the unpolished floor, heavy and slow. It seems the outlaw has awoken.

A large pair of hands find you, gently squeezing just above the swell of your hips.

“Morning,” a deep, gravelly voice murmurs against your nape.

His mustache, long overgrown, pricks and prods at your sensitive skin. You can’t help but giggle. Contagious, it must be. Arthur chuckles back in kind.

“What’re you cookin?” He murmurs quietly, pressing his lips against your exposed skin.

“Some stew.” You hum softly, withdrawing at the tickle of his beard.

His fingertips gently paw at your hips, pulling you against his chest. A deep exhale leaves him as he settles against you.

“Again?” Arthur drawls out in teasing disapproval. Your nose crinkles as you swat him away, playfully of course.

“What do you mean again?” You tut, giving him the cold shoulder. You turn your attention back to the stew, stirring the contents again.

The furnace of a man comes closer, giving you one more hug from behind. His body melts against yours, enjoying the bit of affection before his day starts.

“I’m just needling you.” He grunts, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I’ll be back. Got some work that needs to be done.”

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Thank you to @photo1030 for encouraging me to write ☺️. I’m very sorry if this is OOC or bad idk.

Also please excuse any spelling mistakes/ errors in grammar. Very open to criticism!

[moons-honies]

Frank Caste x Reader | short fic/ imagine/ wip

“Pete, what the hell did you get yourself into?”

Your mind reels at the alarming display before you. You quickly tug the burly man through your door, careful of his visible injuries. The only sound coming from him is a strangled groan. His boots drag against your floorboards as he sucks in a sharp breath.

“Thanks…” he grunts softly. As you quickly shut the door behind you, your eyes catch sight of the smeared blood staining your doorframe.

“Just… ran into some trouble…” He does his best to limp his way toward your couch. Pete clutches his side with one hand, his other keeping him steady as he braces himself along the off-white walls of your apartment.

You weren’t familiar with his personal life. With a neighbor of his nature, you’d only heard him coming home in the dead of night. Coincidentally, that was when you were most active in the day. It was the only time the world seemingly slowed and your thoughts had a chance to quiet. You had always been a night owl; a blessing and a curse.

“C’mon-“ you huff, bearing his weight as you guide him in the direction of your living room. He practically slides onto the couch with a guttural grunt.

Pete recently became a tenant next door in the shared apartment building. He hardly looked at you when passing him in the hall. He hardly acknowledged you when you’d dropped off his letters that made it into your mailbox.

Pete’s avoidance wasn’t for lack of manners, that much was apparent. His detachment seemed to be something more. There was an empty look in his eyes, hollowed out and darkened; like he’d seen things. Seemingly numb to the world around him. Pete always looked past you, never directly at you… hence why you’re surprised to be in this predicament.

You had suspected he was into some bad business. Face littered with bruises and cuts, his nose crooked and jagged as if broken more times than one. No amount of hoodies or hats could cover the damage you’d seen on his flesh. You had wondered if maybe he was a boxer of sorts or maybe got into fights on purpose.

After seeing the state of him tonight, your gut churned at the thought of something far more sinister. The way blood was splatter on his forearms and pants. The trail of crimson his boots left on your tanned living room carpet— yeah, this was bad.

You quickly make up your mind to get him some help. Professional help. Your hands scramble to reach for your phone, your mind blanking as you try to remember what to dial. When did your hands get so shaky?

“Look, uh, Pete,” you stammer, “We need to call an ambulance. I-I don’t think that I’m equipped to-“

“Frank.”

Was he correcting you? Surely his name was Pete, you’d seen it written on his mailbox. On the bills you passed along. Your thumb stills just above the “call” button. Your throat runs dry while your eyes shoot up to meet his.

“What?”

“Frank. My name… is Frank.” He repeats, forcing himself to sit upright.

“It’s just…” His lip fixes into a thin line, the pain etched on his expression. Your head cocks, feeling your anxiety flare up at this revelation.

“It’s just what?” You demand hurriedly. Upon waiting for his respond, you click the call button and put the phone to your ear. You don’t have time for this, he needs help now.

He must’ve noticed the shift in your demeanor, the way your eyes narrowed in caution.

“Don’t call them. Please… just listen to me.” He groans, holding tightly to his side while he shifts in his seat.

Something about the way he looks right now tugs at your heart. This strange man, your “neighbor”, is not who he says he is. Why doesn’t he want you to call the emergency line? He had to be a criminal, right?

Against your better judgement, you end the call.

“Who, exactly, are you?”

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

I hope you guys enjoyed! Just a short fic idea/wip that’s been bouncing around in my head. Thank you for reading and pls excuse any grammar mistakes 🌱

[m00ns-cart0grapher]

a letter to my mother

At the time my reading age was double my own and I could tell you everything you needed to know about dinosaurs I believed I was as grown as I could be. This was all I believed I needed in my adult life.

And thus, I always wanted to grow old, walk into my own home and stay up late without repercussions. No one to clean up after me and tend to my wounds. No one to change my sheets. But no one to force me to each four different vegetables a day or get me up for school, that I deemed myself too smart for.

The allure of being accepted by my own four walls was so strong it greyed my hair by eight. I learned how to hide my grazes and shove messes under my bed. Spending all my spare time reading and learning how to protect myself from monsters that turned out to be in my head all along.

I believed this was the pinnacle of being grown up, I made myself grow up because I thought that’s what I needed. Playing with toys had become trivial and fairytales unrealistic. I thought that maturing was all I had left to do with my life. It wasn’t.

Some things one only learns with experience. Understanding animal farm at nine won’t stop you for trying to find validation from places and people who don’t care about the right things. Doing year ten long division at eight didn’t stop me from blaming myself whenever my mother got angry.

I only realised after it was too late that my childhood had slipped through my fingers like water. Never having thought of it as something I needed to cup my hands to catch. One day when I feel asleep on the couch, I woke up to its worn leather instead of in my own bed, no one feeling the need to tuck me in, old enough to do it myself.

Now all I long for Is the soft embrace of pale pastel sheets, ones that don’t feel the same now that I change them myself. The stuffed animals while still a comfort are just making up for lost time.

All the time I spend praying to grow up to a god I only believed in in fear of damnation, I let time go by.

I began to see my family as conscious and flawed people not just flawed parents, taking up their own space in the world rather than just there to be my family. All this time I spent praying for myself to grow up I let those around me grow old without a second glance.

Now I am cripplingly aware of not only my own lost time but theirs. I didn’t age alone like I desired, everyone around me did too. I am faced with the reality that being alone will one day not me a choice for me.

So, the closer I get to my own four walls, the more I will treasure the small things, the things that bring me closer to the little girl I lost. I will hold my stuffed animals as I fall asleep, I will watch doctor who again, I will spend my lose change I fished out of the washing machine at the milk bar on the way home.

I know it wasn’t just me who lost that little girl so I will hug my parents goodbye tighter, tell them I love them. Listen to them talk about their days even when I’m just as tired as they are. I will Treasure the time left I have as their little girl rather than their daughter.

And when it comes time to get my keys cut, paint my walls green, and get a cat I will make sure there is always a place to sleep for those I love, because what is a house without love, everyone deserves to be tucked in whether that be on the couch or not.

It used to feel as the older I get the less I seem to understand, and the more I am expected to. But I am growing to understand we are all just pretending to not miss our stuffed animals, or a warm meal ready for us after a nap.

The warm allure I saw in adulthood was not warm at all. But I will light a fire to sit next to, have candles at the dinner table and I will learn to be alone again.

[moon-orr-blog]

i had to reflect on my time spent playing.  it was amazing to me how different plays feels as an adult. how i had to work at staying focused on playfulness.  Play no longer comes easy for long periods of time, just in bursts. There was times I felt like i couldn’t any longer, but i just had to find the fun in a new thing in those moments. Play requires you to be present. It’s a marvel how kids do it all day.  Play is exhausting, no wonder kids sleep so well.  Play is fulfilling, life seemed lighter for a while after.  Play is creatively stimulating, and hundred precent fulfilling.  I aim to always keep playing~

[moon-orr-blog]

moon&orr are an explosion  a disruption from your daily life  a check into the present moment 

sometimes subtle  sometimes loud  always a little odd  moon&orr are here to question  they want you to be a part of their human experince  as much as they’re a part of yours  to shake up your humdrum routine  to remind you of all the wild possibilities of the now  moon&orr, present