#Yeehaw *robs you while on a horse* | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

melonn-soda · 2 months

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❝GIDDY UP & GO!!... ❞

word count: 3.3k

warnings: subbot! male reader, domtop! boothill, genitals are not explicitly mentioned, grinding, no actual penetration, unnecessary descriptions how much there is of spit (sorry if ur not into that), predator/prey if u squint, nd gunplay if u squint really really hard (is implied), lots of pentnames, praise, save a horse ride a cowboy but I change a factor, cowboy hat rule because RRGHGHGRHRGHHGHGHG

prompt: boothill has made it his life mission to cash in the money he gets when he lands you behind bars. however, when it becomes apparent as to why you let him pursue you, he begins to chase you for an entirely different reason

notes: lost 50/50 to yanqing (he's still my kid nd I love him regardless YANQING HATERS LEAVE!!!!) when wishing for aventurine. now I'm pulling for boothill if I don't get my little gambler (if Sunday is playable and better than boothill then im sorry to my fav cowboy yeehaw) not beta read

fem aligned dni

“Oh, my.”

Boothill hates your guts. That’s a given.

He hates the way you carry yourself, the sly remarks you’ll make if you spot even one hint of insecurity, the slight draw on certain syllables to give a mocking tone- you, in general. Although he’s more on the bothering side than the bothered, you’re just so much more annoying than he thought even possible. Guess that’s why you’re known as a high-end bandit.

He’s been on your tail for weeks, chasing any leads (a lot of them, like you wanted the chase) he could get his hands on. He’s even seen you slinking around taverns, poker tables, run-down hotels- for fucks’ sake, even on horseback racing down a dirt path while attempting to rob a moving train. To feel the satisfaction of seeing the credits Boothill would obtain after putting you behind bars is all he wants to experience because this is just getting ridiculous.

So, why the hell now, is he bound up to the ceiling with chains thicker than his own ankle after finding your base?

The amused smile finds its way upon your lips and Boothill wants to do nothing more than to kick it right off. You were in a vulnerable position before he decided to sneak in, with your chair tipped as your feet were kicked up on a busted wooden table, a bandana resting over your eyes to block out the sunlight that dared to drift into the room. Boothill made the dumbest mistake by alerting you of his presence through triggering a well hidden trip-wire. Perking you up, you began to rise from your seat, swiftly removing the bandana from your eyes and fingers instinctively on the handle of your revolver that sat on the gun holster strapped to your thigh. The trap triggered so fast, Boothill’s sensors barely had time to react to it before the ‘snap!’s and ‘crack!’s echoed throughout the room and he was pressed against the ceiling within seconds.

Sharp glares were stabbing through your form as your hand rested on your hip as you whistled, looking up at the ranger in slight surprise and smugness. Aeons, he hated you.

“Wow, such a reckless move to jus’ prance yer way in here, no? Hey, aren't cha a Galaxy Ranger or somethin’?” You tease, swiveling your chair so that you could sit backwards on it, crossing your arms atop of the back rest so you could rest your chin on your forearms, “Surely, ya coulda suspected that I woulda set up a trap. But why waste all yer precious time on someone as measly as me? I ain’t nothin’ but a lil’ ol’ bandit.”

“You better seal yer pretty lil’ lips, doll.” Boothill hisses at you, his voicebank glitching to censor the words he so desperately wanted to say, “My bullets don’t take too kindly to sweet talkers n’ foxes.”

A laugh echoes throughout the falling apart structure then settles into a hum as you stand up and kick the chair against the wall, “Ya sure like to talk big. Kinda fits ya, though.” The chair slams right under Boothill and you slowly make your way towards it, the clinking of spurs on your boots highlighting every step you take.

Looking up at the suspended robot, your left foot raises and rests on the seat, leaning in to provoke the cyborg even further, “It’s kinda cute how ya keep pursuin’ me despite all these failed attempts. How ‘bout I give ya more of a reason to keep chasin’ me than only doin’ it for jus’ the credits?”

Boothill’s eyebrows creased in suspicion as your hand raises up to his face, contemplating just biting your fingers straight off until he hears the click of the safety and a metal barrel against the human skin of his jaw. His teeth clench in anger as you nearly laugh at his compliance, reaching above his head and snatching his hat right off.

Oh, he was going to kill you for sure-

The hat plops onto your head and you wink at him while sticking your tongue out.

What.

There wasn’t-

There was no way.

“Catch me if ya can, cowboy.” You say dismissively, briskly turning around and walking out of the rundown hideout. However, before you could get out of his line of sight, your head turned to face him and you said, “I’ll be waitin’. As always.”

Dumbfounded and a half an hour later collapsed on the floor from the wooden boards snapping- which loosened the chains, he replays that minute over and over again. He didn’t want to believe that had actually happened but his memory told him otherwise.

There was no way that you...

Whatever. He’ll think about it later. He needs to get his damn hat back.

The first time Boothill finds you, it’s in a more forest-y area. You’re on your trusty steed, talking to some other criminals with little interest. The cowboy watches the interaction, paying special attention to your reactions to see if you’ve noticed his presence. From what he could tell, you didn’t seem to see that he was watching while using the shrubbery to cover him and the horse he was on. The people you were talking to he recognized from some wanted posters, only worth some credits. Not as much as your bounty, though.

...

...You’re still wearing his hat.

“Look, partner,” Your voice dips into an exhausted, low, sigh, “I need that shipment as soon as possible, ya hear? I ain’t got too much time left before she’s reached her time. Ion care how ya get it, I need it in at least a week! Otherwise she’ll get real snappy and I’m gonna hafta put some lead in some poor person's head.”

One of the bandits flashes a worried look to another, “Boss, ya don’t understand! The Xianshou Luofu’s been havin’ sum sorta delay! We ain’t gonna get those packages ‘til some long period of time!”

Boothill’s interest peaks as you begin to snap, “Did ya not hear me? I said, ‘Ion care how ya get them!’ Find a way! Talk to that Trailblazer everyone’s been praisin’ about or somethin’! Jus’ get me my stuff before ‘m gonna start blowin’ some brains out-”

A rustle causes you to pause your sentence as you draw your weapon immediately, the barrel facing his direction and bullets fly. Boothill’s horse had begun to munch on the bush, which gave away his position, but thankfully he moved quick enough to get out of the way.

You decided to book it when you caught sight of the familiar white and black hair, spurs hitting the sides of your horse as you begin to get out of the area to leave nothing but a trail of dust. Boothill doesn’t hesitate to race after you, whipping the reins of his horse to get her going.

Branches and twigs tug at Boothill’s hair as he chases you through the forest, lowering his torso so that he could lessen the wind resistance as his horse’s hooves slam against the ground. You’re quite the distance away, mostly because your horse is pretty speedy. It’s how you get away from crime scenes so fast. However, Nellie, the horse Boothill is riding currently, is also quite fast.

Although, not fast enough because in the end, he still loses you.

The curses he spits all get censored immediately as he slows into a stop, head turning in every direction to see if you left any trail behind. Only to see none. Didn’t expect as much from a skilled criminal.

The second time he spots you is in the tavern, playing a game of poker with people that had their pockets stuffed full of cash. ‘Rich folk,’ Boothill grimaces as he could see them tilt their chin up like the world owes them something. If you rob them, he won’t feel even a sliver of remorse.

He knows that you can see him as he leans against the wall to watch the match, some of the rich getting intensively frustrated as they begin to fold after betting so high. Judging by the scheming smile on your face, he could tell you have a winning hand. Then again, when are you never smiling like you have something up your sleeve?

Finally, in the showdown, you and the person you’re going up against reveal your cards and you win with a four of a kind. Lucky.

The people at the table groan and push their chips in your direction, getting up to leave as their attitudes have just been soured over that singular match. Boothill takes the opportunity to walk over to you and remove the gun from his holster and press it right up against your lower back, hand coming up to snatch his hat that rests atop your head.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

A window shatters behind him and he could hear flames begin to roar but he doesn’t dare tear his eyes away from you. Only when he feels cold metal press against the nape of his neck does his actions falter and his eyes turn to face whoever decided to draw their weapon.

He blinks in shock to see a figure completely made of water, his gaze returning to you and seeing you sitting on the edge of the table with your gun pressed against his forehead. Shit. He’s lost again.

The tavern completely surrenders to the flames as people scream at the sight of fire, swallowing up the alcohol and wood. Boothill can hear his fans whirring to prevent himself from overheating but the attempt is futile as the room begins to get unbearably hot. He’s not sure if it’s just the fire that’s causing him to overheat or it’s because you look insanely good with all this red and orange light.

...

What is he even thinking right now?

“Y’know, it’s gettin’ real fun toyin’ with ya, cowboy.” You speak, completely unbothered by all the heat in the building. He can’t even see a single drop of sweat on your face. Even so, you continue, “But I think ya can do a little better than this.”

The ranger’s lips purse in offense, glaring at you as best as he could. The gun you had pointed lazily at his forehead falls to the floor and Boothill isn’t sure how long he can last in this heat. Before his system could finally shut down because of overheating, he could feel your lips press against the area where your gun was pressed up against. Then, he falls over as his system forcibly turns him off.

The third time Boothill sees you, he’s lying on a metal workbench with cold water floating above him and fans blowing in his direction. He’s confused, obviously, and on his toes as he realizes he’s not in an area he’s not familiar with. He attempts to sit up to find a way to escape only to realize that he can’t move his arm. Now, he’s terrified.

“Relax, cowboy.” Your voice coos from behind a computer, typing away at something as you're taking a tip from a glass. Presumably water. “I’m cooling ya off. You’re welcome... You should be able to move now.”

Boothill shoots up from his spot and rips off the cables that are attached to his left arm, head darting around to look for his gun. He hears a click and once again finds himself with a gun pressed up against his jaw.

“Lookin’ for this?”

The crosshair that replaces his once human pupils flit over to your direction, noticing that you were holding his revolver in your dominant hand. Boothill swears that you must like pointing a barrel in his direction for how many times this has been done. He also sees that you’re wearing his very cropped jacket over your usual attire. ... And you’re still wearing his hat.

“That’s mine, pretty boy.” The ranger gives you a half-assed growl as his censor kicks in once more, already getting annoyed at your sly behaviour, “Ya really got a knack for takin’ stuff that’s not yours, huh? No wonder yer a criminal.”

You giggle at his words, tossing his gun on the metal workbench, “It’s not loaded, neither is your little gun hand.” You tell him, like he was going to start unloading mags into your skin. Turning around, you walk back to your computer and open up a drawer on the desk it sits on, “Well?” You ask after a momentary silence, leaning on one of your legs as you crack open a bottle of whiskey and begin to pour it into your empty glass.

“‘Well’, what?” Boothill narrows his eyes at you, picking up his revolver and shoving it back into his thigh holster. He’ll just have to go to the nearest mechant and buy more bullets.

“Ain’t ya gonna, I don’t know, take yer hat back?” You ask him, taking a sip of the alcohol that gives a slight burn down your throat, “We’re in an enclosed space, barely any room t’move around, exit’s right behind ya ‘n all. Perfect chance t’arrest me, if I dare so say m’self.”

He blinks. There’s got to be some sort of trap if the setup is this perfect. He’s not going to make the same mistake he did before, not again. So, his sensors scan the room quickly, which leaves you unamused, and he sees that there are in fact no traps in this room. Boothill almost doesn’t want to believe it.

“Are ya playin’ some sort of game with me?” Boothill’s eyes begin to squint in suspicion, carefully trying to think of a situation you might pull that puts him on the losing end of the stick, “Yer jus’ gonna let yourself get arrested? Jus’ like that?”

“What? Ya don’t wanna do it? Too scared?” You taunt him again, causing the cowboy’s circuits to boil in animosity.

“Ya know what?” Boothill smiles a tense one, taking long, menacing steps in your direction, “I’ve ‘bout had it with your attitude, pretty boy. Seems like ya didn’t have anybody ta teach ya proper manners.” All of a sudden, you felt yourself being slammed up against the wall behind you with a grunt, Boothill’s right hand keeping your wrists together and his left hand tilting your chin up to look at him, his eyes glowing a dangerous red, “I mean, after that stunt ya pulled in yer lil’ base, it seems like ya wanna be caught by me.”

“Hah.. guilty as charged.” You laugh, attempting to keep your smooth facade up, only for it to crack once you could feel his metal knee nudge between your thighs. A whine rips through your throat as he keeps his knee still, not bothering to give you the pleasure you oh so wanted from the day you saw him.

“How ‘bout it, doll?” Boothill sneers at your pathetic expression, lips getting dangerously close to yours, “I can give ya a better punishment than jail could.”

One thing’s for sure: Boothill’s mechanical body does not have any built in... pleasure devices, he’s nearly as smooth as a doll. However, there is a slightly large bump on his pelvis in the shape of an oval that if you were to grind just right up against, you’ll-

“O-oh!”

Boothill’s lips curve up into a smirk as he sees you push down hard against his metallic form, trying to settle your trembles by wrapping your arms tightly around his neck to stabilize yourself. It’s cute, he thinks, seeing you all desperate for sexual relief. The way you hopelessly cling to him like he’s the last thing keeping you alive. He can’t believe he actually thought about putting you behind bars if getting you wrapped around his finger was this satisfying.

“How’s it feel, pretty boy?” Boothill whispers in your ear, causing a shiver to rack your spine as his grip adjusts to settle on your lower waist, pushing you even further against him, “Feel like yer gonna explode yet?”

Whimpering in response, your shaky fingertips grip onto his shoulders as your forehead now presses against his. Soft pants fill the room and Boothill can practically see the hearts in your eyes as your hips continue to move against his. You both still have your clothes on but this all still feels so intimate, probably better than actual penetration.

The ranger’s hand reaches up to tug his hat that still rests on your head, fixing it back from its tilted state, “Ya look like ya wanna kiss, doll.” He teases, bringing your chin closer to the point where your noses brushed up against one another.

“Pl-please..” You say breathily, gently tugging at his hair.

“Attaboy.” Boothill snickers in response, “Looks like yer finally learning.” His freakishly long tongue slithers past his lips as soon as they press against yours, slipping into your mouth as saliva begins to spill down your chin. Aeons, you’re just so cute.

Soft moans are swallowed up by Boothill’s greedy mouth, his thumb coming up to pull against your bottom lip before he pulls away and the only thing that connects your mouths is the thin trail of spit. His robotic thumb pushes into your mouth, pressing against your tongue as drool continues to spill down your pretty lips. He could get used to this.

He notices how much faster your hips move, calculating that you were close as whines and whimpers flood the room. The smile on Boothill’s face only widens even further, bumping his hips up to catch you off guard. He knows he succeeds when he hears a shaky squeak come from your mouth.

“What’s wrong, pretty boy? Ya gonna bust?” The ranger sneers, the thumb in your mouth shifting so he widens your lips by pushing at the sides, “Y’know, I could easily deny ya of that relief. Ya kinda deserve it for teasin’ me this whole time.”

You shake your head violently, already too close to be pulled away now. Boothill snickers in response, “No? What makes ya think you can tell me what to do?” A pleading look flashes across your features and Boothill has half the decency to make you beg for release. He decides to have mercy on you, though, “Mmmn, I mean, I guess ya have been pretty obedient. Go on and blow yer load f’me, pretty.”

With a shudder and a slight bite on Boothill’s metal thumb, your pants get soaked in your fluids, staining the fabric. Your hips jerk a couple of times to ride out your orgasm then you started slumping onto his chest in exhaustion. Boothill’s other hand rubs at your hip to soothe you, letting you rest in place to calm the trembles that still cause your body to twitch in overstimulation.

“Good boy.” He says softly, pulling his thumb out of your mouth, watching as it dripped since it was slick with your spit. Letting you catch your breath for a moment, he waits before he decides to ask, “So, what package were ya waitin’ for?”

“Baby stuff.” You sigh, face burying into Boothill’s neck, “My sister’s expecting ‘nd her wife’s been tellin’ me to get that stuff as soon as possible. The Luofu has been delaying their packages for a bit, somethin’ about shippin’ difficulties. Can’t believe ya’d remember something like that, though.”

The cowboy huffs in response, “Bein’ a cyborg’s got some perks. The only bad part is that ion got a dick to fuck ya with. Woulda been nice to see ya unable to walk for a few days.”

You sit up and give him a weird look, hands resting on his shoulders, “Ya do know strap-ons exist, right?” The way you said that made him feel much stupider, like you were pointing out the obvious to him.

“...Oh.” Boothill’s face flushes embarrassingly hot as his fans kick in once more.

Aeons, he hated you.

#x male reader #male reader #x bottom male reader #bottom male reader #hsr x male reader #hsr x reader #hsr boothill #boothill hsr #boothill honkai star rail #boothill x reader #boothill x male reader #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x male reader

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obsessivelyloved · 2 years

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Once again I have accidentally deleted the original post instead of the reblog so here it is again. This doesn't take place in the Yeehaw au, it's just regular Saloonatics. Mostly, with implied yandere Todd x Thompson. Since this is more buildup to that, I might write more and expand on this.

____________________________________________________________

Thompson wished he could say that nothing ever happened in this godforsaken town. Any time an out of towner asked him how his job was, he would love to say that his job was easy. That all he had to do was round up loose cattle every once in a while.

With the constant crime, this town was like hell. Not a day went by when the damn bank was being robbed or someone’s horse was stolen. Or hell, when someone robbed Todd. No one ever seemed to learn from others’ mistakes here either. Too many bandits have been found dead after robbing Todd, the Red Bandit’s signature mark branded into their cold skin.

The implications of that never failed to give Thompson an awful headache so he chose not to think much of it. It could absolutely be excused of the infamous man taking care of the town he probably resided in. If Thompson ignored the fact that he only did this for one business in town.

Constant days like this were why Thompson had constant bags under his eyes, though one was covered by his eye patch, and not a night went by where he hadn’t sat in the saloon. Even when he stayed past closing Todd never minded his company.

He would just sit next to Thompson on a stool and together they’d sit in silence until Thompson left or passed out.

It was a calming routine. One not even broken when Todd’s inventory was empty.

Tonight however, was different. For one, Todd had closed up his bar early, flipping the sign soon after Thompson had sat down. Next, he poured himself a drink and took a seat next to him.

“You didn’t get robbed again so I can’t imagine you had that rough a day.”

Todd snorted, “Maybe those damn fools have finally gotten the hint,” he said. He took a drink.

“Nah you know they’re only biding their time. Overheard some of those idiots inside the supply store, they’re just biding their time. Think they can rob ‘ya blind and face the Red Bandit if he comes after them.”

“And how long were you waitin’ to inform me of this?”

“Just heard it today. ‘M telling ‘ya now, ain’t I?”

Thompson drained his glass and he heard Todd sigh,

“What do you think, of these fellows ending up dead by Red’s hand?”

He only gave Todd a shrug.

“You are well aware of what that implies and I want nothing to do with it. I’ve got enough on my plate as it is.”

Thompson rose to his feet, giving Todd a tired look. “I’ll get out of your hair now since you closed up early tonight. Would hate to be a bother.”

“Never stopped you from staying past close before.”

“No, but you look like you could use some sleep.”

“You ain’t looking so pretty yourself, sheriff.”

“When am I ever?” Thompson said with a laugh. “Take care of yourself, Todd. I’ve got a feeling that we might all be busy with the Red Bandit in town.”

Todd said nothing else.

As he stepped out of the Saloon’s doors, he heard Todd slam his glass down on his counter.

True to his word, the bar was robbed once again. The culprits were found dead hours later, brands seared into every inch of skin. As brutal as it was, Thompson turned his eyes away and did not think of it.

* * * * * * * *

Days had passed without much trouble for Todd. With how brutal the last murderers were, no one dared to even step foot into his bar. No one but Thompson, at least. It was bad for business but if Todd minded he didn’t show.

Silence hung in the air as Todd poured him a drink. Wonder why he’s giving me something good this early, Thompson thought absentmindedly. The act itself was strange. Todd normally gave him an entire bottle and left him to it. It never changed whether he had something shitty or expensive.

“You’re gonna need this for what I have to say.��

“I don’t like this.”

“Don’t care, drink it an’ listen.”

Thompson drained the glass and fixed his eye on Todd.

“There’s talk of Eduardo’s crew stealing the Prince of England.”

Oh hell no.

Thompson put his head in his hands, thankful for the strong liquor entering his system.

“I think… That’s…” He was at a loss for words.

“I suspect that the Prince is already here and so, at best, you have less than a month to prepare to work with whoever is sent.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

Todd stared blankly at him. “Won’t be good for my business if whoever is sent here investigates the wrong trail. Would hate to have to leave this town. Besides, you informed me when I was about to get robbed. Least I could do was return the favor.” Then, Todd added, “I’d miss your company.”

For some odd reason, Thompson’s heart skipped a beat. He raised his head to look at Todd.

“I’m flattered but a drunk man can’t be that good of company.”

“You’re interesting,” Was all Todd said. He poured Thompson another glass of fine Whiskey and once again, they sat in silence.

Thompson was going to enjoy any bit of peace he could before the storm hit. And if he ended up in the bartender’s bed that night, that was no one’s business but his own.

#yandere tw #tw yandere #yandere #yandere todd x thompson #yandere todd #yandere tomtord #yandere tord x tom #yandere drabble #yandere fic #yandere tord #todd x sheriff thompson #todd x thompson #yandere eddsworld

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spideyswebhead · 4 years

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Loose Screw (Arthur Morgan X OC)

I don’t know why since seeing The Devil All The Time trailer I’ve been thinking of Red Dead Redemption 2 again, maybe it’s because I saw someone mention that was Tom’s “YeeHaw” voice. But anyway, Arthur and Emmaline are on my mind again. So enjoy this one-shot with these two babies.

Also this is a first with writing this type of scene, so be gentle on me for it!

Summary: Emmaline tries to talk to Arthur about Dutch plans.

Word Count: 2,224 (This became longer than I intended)

Warnings: Murder -♡- means it started and when it’s over if you need to skip. And slight spoilers to chapter 3 and 4

(1st gif by @river-the-fox and 2nd is @whitewolfofwinterfell)

Arthur burst through the door of Angelo Bronte bedroom most likely. Instantly raising his gun to kill the guard who had been hiding behind the bed, but fell to the ground with a bullet wound in their head before they could do anything to defend their boss. “John! In here!” Arthur calls for Marston.

Bronte raised up from the bathtub which turned out to be where the lizard was hiding, aiming his gun at the two men but found he had no ammo left. Cursing in Italian that Arthur didn’t understand - nor cared to understand - and in panic threw his gun. Hitting John square in the face.

“AH! Goddammit!” John yelps in pain from the impact, his hand flying to his face.

Arthur probably would’ve laughed at the scene of John being hit in the face with a gun, but he was focused on getting Bronte. Who pleaded with the two men as he stepped out of the bath with his hands raised.

“Okay, okay! I’m sorry, friend, I... no, name your price! Name your price, every man has a price, eh?”

John had recovered from the blow of Bronte’s gun and advanced to the man before clocking Bronte in the face, knocking him out cold. “Should we kill him?” John asks Arthur, staring at Angelo Bronte with disgust.

“Nah, let’s take him to Dutch.” Arthur told him as he shouldered his rifle.

“You carry him. I ain’t touching this piece of shit.”

Arthur nodded wordlessly, walking to the unconscious man, feeling his pocket and coming up with $155, he hummed appreciatively at the find and would put it in the camp funds box once they return to camp and pocketed the money before he picked up the lizard. “I think Dutch wants to have a little chat, Mr. Bronte.”

Arthur could hear the whistle of the law coming to answer to their invasion “Shit.” John mutters.

“C’mon, Morgan! We’re getting the hell out of here!” Bill exclaims.

-♡-

Dutch woke up Bronte who looked at all the men in the boat looking ready to kill him, but let their leader speak to him before they would do anything. “Hey, big guy. We gonna ransom you or what?” Dutch said to him.

“You’re pathetic.” Bronte says, sliding further up the boat, not looking threatened or scared in the least despite the Van der Linde gang kidnapping him easily.

“Oh. I am?” Dutch challenged. “Cause from where I’m sitting...” He sat up straighter so Bronte could get a good look at all the murderous men holding their guns firmly. “You’re the one deserving of pity, my friend. All your men, all your money, it weren’t no match for a bunch of bumpkins.”

“You are nothing.” Bronte hissed. “You do nothing, you mean nothing, you stand for nothing. Me? I run a city and when the law catch up to you, you will die of nothing. I am this country! you...you...you are what this country is running from!”

Dutch had a stoned look on his face as he spoke with such a calm tone it would’ve sent a normal man into begging for forgiveness. “I possess things you will never understand.”

“You don’t even possess your own men! A thousand dollars to the man who kills him and sets me free!” Bronte promises and looked at all the men who didn’t move a muscle at Bronte’s promise, years of loyalty to Dutch and faith in him over weighing Bronte’s broken promise.

“What are you going to say now?” Dutch says in a taunting tone as he leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

Bronte seemed loss of threats and broken promises to get him out of this situation like any other, his men dead at his house and law no where for them to find him. “They are even bigger fools than you. No doubt, the law will find you, already the dogs are on their way.”

“Oh yeah?” Dutch taunts, sitting up as he advances on their prisoner. “Oh, you’re right. You are so right” Dutch grips his shoulder and pushes him close to the edge of the boat. “They are good at smelling filth, huh? So filth has got to be disposed of!” He dunks the lizard into the filthy swamp.

Arthur and the others stand in the boat as Dutch forces Bronte’s head to stay under the water, a determined look on Dutch’s face, Bronte yelling as he tries to fight their leader’s strength to get some air in his screaming lungs. Arthur stood there in surprise on Dutch’s actions, never seeing hims react in such a way as he yells at the drowning man. This wasn’t the way Arthur was taught from Hosea and even Dutch.

Revenge is a fools game.

“Your friends the Pinkertons gonna come and rescue you? You repulsive little maggot! You call them now, you call them!”

Dutch force Bronte to keep under until his thrashing body eventually settled and stopped moving. Dutch lets him go and stands up, seeing a alligator there waiting for one of the men to jump in to get their snack. Dutch without a beat kicks Bronte’s body into the lake.

“Jesus.” John breaths, the first to speak as the Alligator eats up Angelo Bronte. “What part of your philosophy books cover feeding a feller to a goddamn alligator, Dutch?”

“The part that covers weakness.”

“...I don’t know.”

“Well I do! It ain’t nice, I know it!” Dutch says as he steps off the boat onto the peer where Thomas had stopped the boat. “But it’s either us, or him! I figured it might as well be him.”

Dutch walks away to join the other men who go to get on their horses. Arthur and John step off together slowly and look at area where Bronte disappeared. A sick feeling in the pit of Arthur’s stomach.

Revenge is a fools game.

-♡-

Emmaline noticed Arthur didn’t return last night when all the men eventually did when Dutch finally got his revenge on Angelo Bronte, she didn’t know what happened but with the way Lenny and John acted it didn’t seem good.

“John, what happened?” Emmaline said as Lenny went to his tent, John coming up the porch of Shady Belle. John puffs out a sigh and plops into the chair that someone set on the porch at some point. Emmaline took the other to listen to John in case he would talk.

John took a second to double check Dutch wasn’t there so he wouldn’t interrupt and told the nurse of their camp of what happened with Angelo Bronte. Emmaline listened intently and didn’t say anything for a while as she processed the actions of Dutch Van der Linde tonight.

It wasn’t like they haven’t done brutal things in the past, murdering gang members, robbing banks, shooting up half a town in Rhodes before killing that old hag Braithwaite inbred sons before casting her manor on fire cause she kidnapped Jack and sold him to Angelo Bronte. The rage of the Van Der Linde Gang was vicious, but the way Dutch acted wasn’t the normal Dutch. He always talked about revenge being a fools game.

“It wasn’t right.” John said, scratching his chin. “Bronte is a bad man, but nobody deserves to be fed to a damn alligator.”

“No, you’re right.” she agreed. It was silent between her and John for a second before she spoke again. “Where’s Arthur? He should have returned by now.”

John just shrugged. “Don’t know, he might be taking care of something or laying low.” He tells her before patting her on the shoulder in a brotherly manner for getting up and heading into the house to probably get some sleep with his family. Emmaline stayed out to try and wait for Arthur, smoking a cigarette as she waited, but after she was done with it, putting it out with her boot, she returned inside the house.

She made her way up the stairs and went into the tiny room her and Arthur were given. She stripped down to her undergarments, stuffing her clothing in the trunk where their clothes were together, blowing out the candles before she snuggled into the rough cot. Slipping into a dreamless sleep.

Emmaline woke up when she heard rustling and she turned around from facing the wall to see Arthur finishing getting dressed, finishing up buttoning his black and red vest. Must’ve came to bed at some point in the night? She watched silently as he turned to the table where he had a map sprawled. His hat laying on the table next to the map. There was a streaming light of the sun rays into the tiny room from the early morning - Arthur always a morning person and up before Emmaline - the golden glow casting over her lover that somehow made him more handsome. She took a second to appreciate the view before she spoke. “Mornin’”

Arthur looks over to the woman once she spoke to him in a sleepy tone. “Mornin’” He returns.”Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“‘s okay.” She said, sitting up, holding the blanket against her as she sat up in the bed. Arthur had returned to looking at his map, his pencil in hand. “John told me what happened with Bronte.”

“Did he?”

“Yes. Arthur... Are you okay?”

“’m fine.”

Emmaline pursed her lips at that response, not believing him at all that he was ‘fine’ after seeing Dutch murder a man. “John seemed bothered by it and you didn’t return until late.”

He didn’t say anything.

“Arthur, can we please talk about this?”

“What is there to talk about? Bronte is dead.” Arthur says, keeping his gaze on that damn map. “Nothing there to discuss.”

“Just- can we please?” Emmaline tries again.

Arthur sighed as he shifted his feet, turning to his lover but avoiding her gaze as he seemed to stare into the corner of the tiny room instead of the half-dressed woman. He didn’t say anything. “Arthur, it wasn’t right for him to take his life like that and for that reason.” She bites her lip as she chooses her words carefully here. “Are you sure Dutch is right about this Tahiti thing?”

“What?” He spoke, now his blue eyes landing on her instantly from her words.

Emmaline had only been with the gang for two years and had listened to Dutch spoke about everything from keeping faith, the promise land of Tahiti where they could be free from everything, one more big robbery and they’ll be on their way to getting a boat to Tahiti and starting their life over. After listening to the same thing over and over and feeling like they were getting no closer to getting to this freedom he was speaking of, she was starting to question Dutch’s motives. But nobody dare question this grand plan of Dutch Van der Linde, but Emmaline was getting tired of this false promises and as she thought about Dutch’s plans of becoming farmers in Tahiti...it had a lot of loopholes and unrealistic dreams.

But also knowing her lover, who has had 20 years loyalty to Dutch, it was hard to talk about the flaws of Dutch and she had to choose her words carefully when talking about this.

“Killing Bronte just so we can rob this bank and than 2 months later become farmers in Tahiti? For 15-20 people to start a new life? It just...it seems unrealistic for this world now.” She said. “You always told us how revenge wasn’t a way to do things and it seems to me Dutch is believing that idea more.” Emmaline says, keeping her gaze on Arthur’s and not daring to look away. “Killing Bronte just seemed...reckless and could make this job bank job go really bad.”

“It’s just one more job and we’ll be out of here, Dutch knows what he’s doin’“

“Are you sure? Getting in the middle of a family feud, for what? Some rumor of gold?”

“It would’ve helped!”

“And what did it do? We’re always running cause of some plan Dutch had that backfires in our face, Arthur!” Emmaline argues. “Now he’s killed a man in cold blood and cause so much more trouble! I’m tired of running!”

“Dutch had to do what he needed for all of us to get us the money!” Arthur says, fuming at the thought that these past 20 years were for nothing.

“And this is the way to do it? Get the money to go to Tahiti that he doesn’t even know about! You heard him, he heard some one talk about it once and that’s it!”

“I’m not going to talk about this.” Arthur huffs, grabbing his hat and placing it on his head harshly and moving to leave the room.

“Arthur!” Emmaline calls for him. “You can’t just walk away!” She gets up, wrapping the blanket around her to conceal how undressed she is. Arthur ignored her as he went down those stairs. She glared at his hat, he was impossible to talk to about any of this. She heard a door shut and turned to see Dutch looking at her and narrowed his eyes.

They stare at each other for a second before Emmaline goes back into her room, shutting the door behind her.

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