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thegoblinwitchqueen · 2 years

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Fox Gloves and Lupines

Charles Smith (rdr2) x Original Female Character

Rating: Explicit

A03

Chapter: One

Nature was, and would always be, Unforgiving and cruel. And she…

She was stupid.

Frozen shards of crystalline water droplets fell heavy from dark clouds. They blinded Kitt, blurring the vision of her sore and hazy eyes until the once familiar mountain trail was nothing but a screen of overwhelming whiteness against a backdrop of uneasiness. The unpredictable climate of the West Grizzlies did not discriminate, and it did not matter how often or for how long she had traversed the untouched wilderness of the Ambarino mountainside for the entirety of her twenty-six years, the sudden change in weather could kill even the most seasoned fur trappers without hesitation if caught off guard by raging ice and wind storms. And unfortunately, it was on a gloomy spring evening when Kitt Arquette unknowingly found herself in one such dilemma.

The heavy furs she had wrapped desperately around her shivering body hardly kept the biting chill from penetrating clear to her bones with frigid gusts of wind that cut profoundly into the soft flesh of her cheeks like sharpened razors. The pungent odor of iron and decay filled Kitt’s nostrils in a way that reminded her that, miraculously, the most prominent feature of her fox-like face had remained attached to her despite her lack of feeling. Kitt touched her numb face and adjusted her knitted, thick scarf back over her cracked mouth and nose. She tried to ignore the uncomfortable steam from her trembling breath, which had soaked straight through the fleece and inadvertently caused her lips to rub themselves raw against the coarse material and freeze instantaneously. She shrank instinctively and tugged a silver fox pelt closer to her chest. Sporting the uncleaned and bloody hides of foxes, elk, and mountain sheep was not ideal; however, neither was a demise caused by the suffocating hands of an unexpected blizzard.

Her once healthy limbs were now as useless as the fresh legs of a newborn foal, gangly and awkward in ways she had never experienced before and painfully burdened by a thick and heavy layer of new snow. Kitt’s elbows creaked and groaned angrily like branches of an old oak tree while blindly guiding her old chestnut-colored gelding down a short and steep slope. Carefully, she continued her passage towards a place she had hoped would be sheltered. The old horse voiced his unwillingness and apprehension by tossing his broad head, but he continued through the bitter cold with nothing but trust in his rider to guide him to safety. Kitt worked hard to develop their trust over the last twenty years with the gelding after having acquired him as a gift from her maternal grandfather.

“I'm so sorry, boy.” Kitt cooed while she wiped away the dense ice clumped against his unruly black mane. Thick Mists of hot breath escaped his large nostrils as he groaned a guttural response. “I promise it won't be much longer.”

Kitt hated lying but hated having to admit when her pride had gotten the best of her more. Typically, her glaring ego would result in a few extra drinks at the Van Horn saloon or the occasional petty argument with her employer, Mister Gus MacMillan, over the quality of a raccoon pelt she had ruined with buckshot. But, Nothing she had ever done put her life at risk like it was at that moment.

Earlier, the sky surrounding the purple and blue snow capped peaks was mostly clear with bluebirds and sparrows dancing across the horizon. But, a deep rumbling of winter thunder and darkened clouds laden with snow threatened the young trapper in the distance. Kitt, having known Ambarino like the back of her hand, understood the storm was only a few hours away, and moving quickly. However, she blatantly dismissed the warnings of mother nature and pushed herself further into the mountainside after she spied the most peculiar-looking moose. He was a magnificent creature, and Rather than the ordinary dark brown coat expected to be donned by a full-grown bull, this one was entirely white. Kitt could not defy the mouth-watering temptation to own the hefty sum of cash his skin would most definitely merit and tracked the beast until the blanket of fresh snow reached the height of her waist. Still, had her father looked after her as he had done for the entirety of her life, he would have deterred his only daughter from getting caught in the storm of the century.

Marcel Arquette was an extraordinary fur trapper as bright as he was talented with a bolt-action rifle. Instinctively, the man would have understood when to admit defeat, turn back, and let the frost-colored moose escape to his own devices. The Frenchman never hunted more than what was essential for the family to sell and survive, but Kitt struggled to restrain herself and desired a life of comfort she had never experienced before. She yearned to leave the lifestyle of a wayward wanderer who slept amongst the harsh elements for a life of feather beds and warm food, especially now that she was orphaned. It had only been six months since her father succumbed to fever and twenty-five years since her mother passed. Still, Kitt missed the many mindless conversations about medicinal herbs, animal facts, or her fathers life before she was born. His huge laugh reverberated throughout the Grizzlies, frightening most of the wild game they sought to uncover.

The life she had once cherished and thrived in with her Papa, now, left her weary. Hunger pains chewed at her stomach more than before, and the crisp mountain atmosphere no longer replenished her lungs with exhilaration and energy. Instead, Kitt was perpetually exhausted from constantly existing in a state of starvation, indifference, and lonesomeness. Hunting alone in dead silence without someone to converse with did not make her feel anything but nothingness.

However, Kitt couldn’t let her lingering melancholy seep through the borders she had thrust around her broken heart. She had the horse to worry for, and though he did not have a name, a valid name, the old gelding had stuck through the years by her side without complaint. Now, It was Kitt’s turn to lead them to safety or die trying.

The soft fingers of Death’s thin hands caressed Kitt’s eyes and ears with whispers of delicious promises of bottomless sleep to quell the burning sensation that ignited her frostbitten skin like a raging fire. As she trekked on, exhausted and sore, her brain fought through the overwhelming tiredness to remember the words her father had told her after discovering the body of Papa Aiden.

“When a man succumbs to the cold, his mind will hasten the process by persuading him that the skin that had once felt ice cold is now hotter than any hearth fire. It is bittersweet but poetic nonetheless.”

The body of her father's oldest friend and lover was blue and black like a raven's feathers and entirely nude. Before he died, Aiden had hurled his buffalo coat a few feet away, and his thick, woolen shirt was nowhere to be found. But his newly patched trousers still clung around his ankles where he had lost consciousness face first into the snow late that night. Kitt was only nine and could not fully comprehend why the once happy man she loved almost as much as her father had stripped himself entirely bare to run wildly into the woods and die alone after he had spent most of their ride uncharacteristically complaining of the cold which chatted his teeth and coated his bones in frost. Through tears and heartbreak, her father said the earth was too frozen and rocky to bury the handsome Irishman, and Kitt often wondered if his body on Mount Shann was the same as when they left her father's shack all those years ago—perfectly preserved by the permafrost.

Now, Kitt understood how her father's partner had felt before he succumbed to the elements, burning, and heavy with indescribable exhaustion. Slowly, the young woman struggled to fight back the fear that bubbled in her gut as the blizzard raged well into the twilight with no indication that it would stop. Would she, too, die alone, nude, and preserved under mountains of ice until some other poor soul happened upon her corpse?

Who could say?

After a while, the trees and rocks no longer held any significance as the encroaching darkness overwhelmed her fragmenting reality. The remnants left of her sanity began to twist and turn, intertwining the forest with the forgotten rememberings of her past, painting figments of her papa, Aiden, and her unknown mother against the stark canvas of glistening white snow. Kitt resisted, ignoring the calls of the dead, and prayed to whoever might be listening to strike her deaf. The screams of Aiden's last moments echoed and rode in tandem with the howling of the wind until they transitioned into the familiar sounds of a lonely elk calling against the mountainside.

Suddenly, Kitt felt her gut lurch deep into her chest. A presence sat behind her to wrap its bloody limbs tight around Kitt's waist, humming a familiar cradlesong she had thought lost to time. The entity's lips gently touched the crook of Kitt’s neck and its breath cut sharp through Kitt’s scarf. The ghost inhaled and whispered:

“Sleep now, my daughter.”

Suddenly, the world went dark.

….

An unknown amount of time passed, but the moon was still high in the sky, and tendrils of dull light lazily drifted through the uneven slats of the roof and illuminated the hay-covered flooring.

Kitt inhaled sharply and jerked awake, slinging her head from side to side while hunting for the apparition that had haunted her. However, the young woman found herself alone and inside what seemed to be a rundown and abandoned horse stable. The decent-sized shack was empty save for a few dust-covered tools, and a soot-covered hearth meant to burn hot coals for shoemaking.

Besides the gentle skittering of various rodents along the breaking shafts, Kitt determined that by the looks of the building, it had long since been left behind to waste away underneath the snow. Though she was considerably knowledgeable about the ruins scattered across the peaks, whether it be from the cold or hunger she felt throughout her hurting body, Kitt could not outwardly recall where she was.

The young woman emitted a pitiful whimper and relaxed her painfully stiff shoulders, creaking like the stable floor boards and dropping layers of snow from her limbs onto the ground. Kitt had fallen unconscious at some point in her journey and was astonished that she somehow remained in her saddle, straddling her horse's ribs and grasping his harnesses. But, by God's grace, the old gelding continued through the storm without her guidance until he found the abandoned stable. Now, he knickered and pawed, begging to be released from his burdens. Kitt slowly descended her saddle like a greenhorn rider, fumbling through the darkness until her boots stretched out to the safety of the solid ground.

Once on her feet, Kitt ran her gloved hand along the horse's thick neck until she reached his face and pressed her forehead against the old mount's snout. At that moment, she could have sworn he comprehended the gratitude she felt for his courage swelling from her soul. Once again, the nameless beast had saved her from perishing in the blizzard. And once again, she did not know how to repay him.

“You're some sort of guardian angel. Thank you.” Kitt mumbled. The horse pulled his head free from her grasp, and lazily drifted to munch on a heap of fodder.

Kitt smiled and determined that peeling off the horse's saddle and bridle would suffice until she could reward him with his favorite radishes and apples. A groan reverberated with satisfaction from his belly as the weight lifted from his back. He shivered off the tension that sat painfully between his muscles.

Kitt, dropping bloodstained pelts as she limped, hauled the saddle into one of the vacant stalls and arranged it amongst a pile of old hay. Luckily, it was too cold for venomous creatures like snakes or spiders to burrow themselves between the grass, nor would she have the foresight to worry about such things before Kitt hurled her body down next to her only real possession. Coated head to toe in sinew, blood, and animal skins, Kitt slid her thick frame underneath the firm leather of her embroidered saddle, mimicking how her horse had sported it for all the years they spent together. Finally, She drank in his residual body heat and allowed her own to rest. This time, on her terms.

No more whispers of the dead.

And no more pain.

…

For the first sunrise since the Van Der Linde gang arrived in the abandoned mine town of Colter, the frigid storm that had provided the wanted outlaws an ideal getaway finally broke long enough to allow Charles Smith to leave the cramped quarters he reluctantly shared with his brothers in arms. It was before sunrise, and the young man of Indigenous and Black blood watched the light peak from the eastern mountains from the doorway while Lenny, Javier, and Micah slept behind him. He stretched out the soreness that permeated deep into the threads of his muscular neck and back. The man of twenty-four years hadn’t slept, at least not adequately, and blamed his restlessness on the tiny, uncomfortable bed he compressed his massive body into. As well, the persistent gnawing he felt radiating from the slow healing injury on his right hand kept him awake long into the midnight hours. When asked about the new set of dark circles, which hung heavy from his dark-colored eyes, by a concerned Susan Grimshaw, Charles would only have to say that he could not rest due to Micah and his horrendous sleep apnea. All of which honestly caused the dark-skinned youth to scowl each night while he stared at the spaces between the ceiling boards, wrapped tightly in his black coat and tattered blankets. But while each justification was annoying and contributed to his sleepless nights, they were not the actual cause. No, he thanked the painful memories of his time before Dutch had adopted him into his band of wayward souls, for they decided to plague him for the first time in years.

Charles glanced down at the stained bandage wrapped around his dominant palm and flexed his fingers continuously until the searing pain reappeared underneath the oozing and scabbed flesh. There would be a decent scar once the burn healed and he withered at the thought. It would be another few days before he could hold a bow or shoot his sawed-off shotgun. While he waited, he would devour the endless hours meandering aimlessly around the outskirts of the camp, unable to pull his weight.

Typically the elders or ladies of the camp would look to him to help with tasks that required brute strength, but in Colter, the daily functions of the base were suspended. All except Arthur and John waited and warmed themselves by the fireplace glow while the formers explored the perimeter. John Marston had been gone for two days looking for any promising shelter, and Arthur left that morning to scavenge the charred remains of Sadie Adler's homestead for any untouched goods he could bring back to feed his family. Charles had asked his mentor if he could join him but was instructed to hang around camp to recover.

Another few days of feeling simply —-useless.

Charles huffed and descended the step of his cabin into the glistening snow. He couldn't help but marvel at how much ice had fallen during the night. It was enough to reach his knee and saturate the thick fabric of his trousers. He shrugged off the uncomfortable chill, coming to be acclimated to the feeling, and carried through towards the empty cooking station where Mister Pierson had already started up his daily task of feeding the household.

Ever the busy body, Charles reasoned he would converse with the retired navy man to see if he could get any information on Arthur’s latest expedition in O’Driscoll country. Earlier, Dutch and Hosea made it a point to exclude Charles from the gang's business because they knew that a wounded palm would not prevent the man from pursuing Arthur wherever the hardened outlaw went. So, Charles supposed Pierson would be the next best thing—even if he loathed useless chatter. And boy, did Pierson adore worthless talk.

There was never an instant where Charles Smith took it easy. Despite the reassurance he received from Arthur and Dutch after the unfortunate incident in Blackwater that caused his annoying injury, he worried that his involuntary idleness would ultimately be misunderstood as laziness. Still, the man really needn’t bother because Dutch seemed to have a soft spot for lazy men such as Uncle, who somehow managed to coast through the years with little to show for his duration with the gang. Unlike Uncle, Charles had demonstrated his usefulness in the last six months he ran with Dutch and Hosea by supporting all their morally questionable endeavors regardless of the risks associated with dancing around the local authorities. But, the years Charles spent roaming from band to band around the Western Frontier since he was old enough to carry a rifle conditioned him.

To be lazy meant to be worthless and, ultimately, banished.

The Van Der Linde gang was the closest thing to a family Charles had ever held, and he was not willing to give it up anytime soon. As he moved into the shed from the frigid wind, the rosy cheeks of Simon Pierson welcomed him. The fallen sailor wore a wide grin underneath his thick mustache, and Charles repaid the gesture with a slight nod of his head, evading the man’s loitering gaze.

“Well, I would say it was surprising to see you here this early, Mister Smith,” Pierson huffed.

The heavyset man’s strong arms raised a heavy, iron cauldron whose contents were a stew made of thin broth and an assortment of filler vegetables, suspicious meat, and no seasoning to mask the awful taste. But, no one in the gang complained as a full belly made of awful food was better than starvation. Pierson positioned the pot, hanging it over a little flame and stored the gruel with a wooden spoon. He tasted the meal, cursed under his breath, and rested against a wooden chair.

The fire that cooked the food struggled to survive under the steady gusts of bitter Ambarino wind that beat it into submission. The measly fire was started on a bed of old hay and twigs, and Charles made a mental reminder to collect more timber for the cook later. After a moment, he turned his dark eyes to the heavyset sailor's gaze. “But you’re always up before dawn. So you must forgive me for my lack of enthusiasm. I’ve stopped being surprised, and the cold makes me cranky.”

“Mmm,” Charles grunted, holding the palms of his hands near the fire to warm them. Already the tips of his thick fingers grew ashen and numb from his brisk walk between his station and Pierson’s makeshift kitchen. The biting chill caused Charles's thoughts to drift to Arthur Morgan. Concerned about his current state, Charles hoped the man was roaming through the cliffs alright. They weren't particularly intimate, and their relationship could be described as more than an acquaintance, yet not quite a friend. But, Arthur reminded him of the man his father used to be before firewater plagued his mind—solid and courageous… If not a tad but stupid.

Pierson held off and watched the man think, understanding that young Charles was a creature of few words and spoke only when he felt necessary. However, the cook saw by the troubled expression on Charles’s face that the lad was stir-crazy and needed something to entertain him lest he lose his sanity to boredom. After all, it wasn’t like Charles Smith to seek Pierson out of his own volition.

“So, Charles, you feel like doing something?” Pierson requested as he wiped the assortment of food, dirt, and sweat along the coarse fabric of his thick military jacket.

“…what do you have in mind?” Charles questioned, trying not to look too enthusiastic. Nevertheless, the break in Charles’s deep voice and the shit eating smile across Pierson's face said otherwise. Yes, he had to do something.

Anything.

“ I know it’s not much, but do you think you can gather the coals left in the stable? They seemed pretty spent when I last checked, but anything is better than this–shit.” Pierson moaned and watched the tiny flame threaten to die. “ I’d go, but someone has to be here to ensure breakfast cooks.”

“Sure thing.” Charles said.

“There is a rusty bucket you can use to put the bastards in. Just don’t cut yourself, Mister Smith. God forbid you’re out of commission for a moment more than necessary.” Pierson chuckled, pulling a cigarette from his jacket pocket before placing the tobacco between his thin lips. Charles nodded and briskly turned on his heel toward the abandoned stable without saying goodbye. Pierson huffed, smiled, and lit the cigarette as he watched the strange man leave.

…

As Charles approached the stable, a sudden thought crossed his mind. The double doors of the shack were a jar, unlike how he had left it the day prior. Under tightly furrowed brows, he stood still and carefully analyzed the building for any warning of foul play. Like most of his thoughts, they did not contain words and were more like an instinct he felt reverberating through his bones. The shiver that went down his spine was one he could not dismiss.

Something was not right, but he could not say why or how…or by who. At least not yet. Quietly, Charles approached the entrance, creeping inside as he palmed the hilt of the large hunting knife strapped to his holster. For a man his size, Charles prided himself on his uncanny mastery of remaining undetected, especially when he wanted to be.

As he entered, he glanced at each stall containing the gang's horses, including his trusted appaloosa mare, Taima. She greeted her rider with a happy wine and Charles loosened up. He sighed at his jumpiness and casually made his way towards the horses. He chuckled to himself. Had there been any real danger, Taima would have definitely alerted him, but right now, she seemed more than happy to see him. She pawed at her stable door, telling her rider about her discomfort behind closed doors. Like him, Taima needed open fields and freedom to roam. And like him, she too suffered in Colter.

Charles reached for her neck, and stroked her while he whispered sweet nothings to her. He loved his horse more than anything. While he pampered his poney, another cry echoed further down the stable hall, and Charles recognized it as Javier's mount, Boaz. The unruly paint was easily jealous and hated to be ignored.

“Calm yourself. Boaz. I'll come say hi in a minute.” Charles exclaimed, patting Taima roughly before an unfamiliar bray accompanied the paint. Charles stood still and saw an unfamiliar chestnut horse inhabiting the last stable. As he silently moved towards the strange horse, he abruptly observed that the once bare floor was now smeared with smudges of dried blood. Charles slowly crouched down and touched the rust-colored stain. The red fluid had dried already, and though they were faint, tracks of heavy-toed boots descended the hall towards the horse.

Charles scowled and wiped the residue from his fingertips on his trousers, and reached for his knife again. As he surpassed the gelding, Charles spied an unfamiliar saddle embroidered with jumping rabbits and wild flowers resting in the hay behind the old boy. The horse did not show fear or emotion and allowed the young man to touch his broad nose. Whoever had spent the night in the stable was gone and left their mount and belongings behind.

O’Driscolls maybe? Or, had John finally returned with a stolen horse?

The boot tracks were too small to be Marston’s, and the horse he rode earlier was nowhere to be seen. No, this was somebody he had never happened upon before. Charles glanced to his left and spied a pile of blood-stained, silver fur resting along the bottom seal of the stable door. He unsheathed his knife, bent down, and flicked the hide with the tip of his blade.

“A fox pelt?” Charles huffed, raising the uncleaned skin to his sight for a closer look.

Once again, that intuitive shudder ran along the length of his spine. And suddenly, the stable doors slammed shut.

#charles smith rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 fanfiction #charles smith x original character #rdr2 #rdr2 fandom

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elysian-abyss · 1 year

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Spider’s Web, Chapter two - Should the Wind Change. Preview

'Oi, Elsie, snap the fuck out of it,' Ilya clapped his hands in front of her face, startling her back to reality. 'Christ, I thought you turned idiot for a second there. Did you hear any of what I said, or were you away in wonderland the whole time?'

'Repeat what you said, and I'll be able to tell you,' Elsbeth responded dryly, adjusting her mask slightly out of habit.

'You know, I once heard a phrase about if the wind changes, your face will get stuck,' the man told her, continuing to give each of his weapons a once over before stashing them on Brutus.

'And what does that have to do with what's going on right now?' the pale-haired woman asked.

'Nothing,' Ilya surrendered. 'Just thought I would let you know, considering your face looks like a smacked arse at the minute.'

'An improvement then,' she muttered, looking away dismissively and not questioning how he knew what face she was pulling beneath her mask. 'You have any idea of when you'll be back?'

'Hard to say, but I'd reckon maybe a few hours, probably be back before it gets dark,' he shrugged. 'I'm sure you'll find something to do. Maybe you should try going hunting. Your chances of getting something are better than what Bill and Lenny's were out there. Silly bastards couldn't find a damn thing when they got sent out the other day.'

'You sound surprised by that,' Elsbeth commented. 'Lenny isn't the hunting type, might be able to bore something to death by reading to it, and Bill's just useless at anything that doesn't involve drinking.'

'Can't disagree with you there,' Ilya chuckled, shaking his head. 'Mostly about Bill, but Lenny's a good kid, I suppose.'

'You just like him because he can't stand Evelyn Millar almost as much as you.'

'The man is insufferable. I will never in my life willingly read another one of his fucking bullshit books again,' he said pointedly, a scowl instantly appearing across his face at the mention of the man. 'I swear if I ever meet-'

'If you ever meet him, you are going to punch him square in the jaw,' Elsbeth finished, smirking knowingly. 'Oh, I know, Ilya, I know. I've heard every threat you have ever made on that man's life, and it would not surprise me if you followed through with any of them.'

'Damn right,' Ilya climbed up onto Brutus' back and reached down to ruffle his sister's already messy hair. 'I better go before Dutch starts accusing me of doubting him as well. Don't do anything stupid without me.'

'How could I? All of the stupid is leaving with you,' she retorted, grinning as she smacked his hand away.

#ao3 #rdr2 fanfic #red dead redemption 2 fanfiction #original characters #archive of our own #fanfiction #charles smith x original character #cowboys #ao3 writer #ao3 work #read on ao3 #spider's web #red dead redemption 2

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moeitsu · 28 days

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The Tie Which Linked My Soul To Thee

Summary: A well deserved hunt with Charles, met with an unexpected surprise back at camp...

Ao3 Wattpad Masterlist - All Chapters Ch.1 Ch.2 Ch.3 Ch.4 Ch.6 Ch.7 Ch.8 Ch.9 Ch.10

Tags: Arthur Morgan/Original Female Character, Widowed, Original Character, Mutual Pining, Slow Build, Eventual Smut, Eventual Romance, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, High Honor Arthur Morgan, Friends to Lovers, Child Loss, Trauma, Canon-Typical Violence, Arthur Morgan Does Not Have Tuberculosis, Arthur Morgan Deserves Happiness, Chubby Arthur Morgan, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence

Ch 5 - My Heart Beats On As Warmly Now

“What began as a journey had become a retreat into the unknown. We were backing into the abyss; so worried our sins would follow us we didn’t bother watching where we walked. And behind us was a cliff.” ~ Elsa Dutton 1883

Arthur’s anger dissolved with the storm, replaced by a heavy sense of regret as he trudged back to camp that evening. All he wanted was to drown his shame in a few bottles of liquor, away from prying eyes, away from the disappointment he felt in himself. He hadn’t intended for Kate to see that side of him, not yet at least. And certainly not against a sickly innocent man. He let his anger and frustrations get the better of him. Like he switched on auto-pilot and let the outlaw in him take control. He worried now that Kate might actually leave, and he blamed himself for that.

Swiftly, he made his way to the crate of beer bottles behind the chuck wagon, grabbing a few before retreating to his tent. He craved solitude, a respite from the demands of camp life, from the weight of his own mistakes.

Seated on his cot, a beer wedged between his legs, Arthur opened his journal, the one constant in his life since Dutch and Hosea taught him to read and write. It was his confidant, his sanctuary in a world of chaos. John always gave him shit for it growing up, calling him a pansy and constantly trying to snoop in his personal entries.

Despite being in a gang for most of his life, he still felt incredibly lonely. There weren't many people he would truly open up to. So his journal became that person. It was the one thing that did not judge him, ever. But even as he poured his thoughts onto the page, he longed for a human connection, someone to truly understand him.

Hosea and Dutch had been like parents to him, raising him from a young age in the ways of the outlaw. They had their flaws, but they had also shown him kindness and guidance when he needed it most. He always saw Hosea as his father, he would consider Dutch his father too, although he was more like an older brother at times. Hosea was probably the only person who truly knew Arthur, and saw the things he wished not to speak about. Neither parent was perfect by any means, and Arthur could recognize that. But even as an adult, there is still a child inside that longs for the comfort of a father.

It was that fatherly instinct that drove Hosea to Arthurs tent that night.

“Evening Arthur,” he greeted, holding open the tent flap, “may I come in?”

He put down his journal and nodded. Gesturing for Hosea to join him on his cot.

“I noticed Kate didn’t ride back with you, is she okay out in this storm?” He inquired.

Arthur smiled with a slight shake of his head, that's Hosea for you. Always worried about others, here he was checking on his son but was more concerned about the lady he left behind.

“I’m sure she’s fine, saw her heading into Valentine,” he answered, taking a sip of his beer. He handed one of the full bottles to Hosea as the older gentleman sat down.

“I take it things didn't go well then,” he said with a hint of sympathy.

Arthur sighed, “when do they ever.”

As they sat together in the dim light, the rain drumming softly on the canvas roof, Arthur felt a sense of comfort in Hosea’s presence. He didn’t need to explain himself, didn’t need to justify his actions. Hosea simply listened, offering silent support.

“I don’t know why I do it,” he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. “The man was sick and weak, I should've just given him a warning.” Arthur concluded with a shake of his head.

Hosea sighed knowingly. “I think you can blame your fathers for that son,” taking a sip to clear his throat, “Dutch and I did what we thought was best at the time and well, you were quite impressionable when you were young. We used that to our advantage to turn you into a grade A outlaw.” He said gently with honesty.

Arthur chuckled at the memories of his youth, before John came along he was the golden child. He used to love it when Dutch would teach him how to pick locks, or when Hosea taught him a whole book of curse words. Had he not been the son of outlaws, his life would’ve looked very differently.

“We’ll always be thieves,” he mused with a hint of nostalgia, “only difference now is that the world don't want us no more.”

Hosea nodded, silently agreeing, “We're doomed just like every other creature on this rock Arthur,” he remarked with a wry smile. “I just wish I had acquired that wisdom at less of a price.”

After a moment of contemplative silence, Arthur spoke, his voice heavy with regret. "I just wish I’d done things differently," he admitted, his gaze fixed on the floor. His remorse mixed with his actions at the Downes ranch, and for every mistake he’s made in the past that led him here.

Hosea laid a comforting hand on Arthur's shoulder, a silent gesture of understanding. "We can't change the past, son," he said gently. "All we can do is learn from it and strive to do better in the future."

Arthur nodded, the weight of Hosea's words settling over him like a blanket of reassurance. "I don't want to be the kind of man who hurts others for no good reason," he confessed, his voice tinged with vulnerability. "I want to be better, for Kate, for everyone."

Hosea squeezed Arthur's shoulder affectionately before rising to his feet. “She’ll come around, son.” He offered a parting reminder, “underneath it all, you have a good heart.”

Before he disappeared into the night, Hosea turned back with a final piece of news. “By the way, your brother wants to speak with you about using that oil cart you found to rob the train tomorrow night.”

Arthur scoffed, shaking his head. “He ain’t my brother,” he muttered disdainfully.

Hosea chuckled. “Well, you two sure argue like brothers. G’night, Arthur.”

He tipped his head to the old man as he left, “night Pa.”

Arthur laid back on his cot, tucking his journal into his satchel when something small and round fell out and made a soft pitter on the ground. When he looked down he saw the peach pit, the one Kate gave him on her first night. He reached to pick up the small seed. His thumb ran over its hard wrinkles.

He held it tight to his chest, and silently promised he would make things right with Kate. If he ever saw her again.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Kate took in a deep breath of the crisp morning air, reveling in the freshness that lingered after the storm had passed in the night. The scent of newly sprouted grass and moist earth filled her senses, while dew-kissed leaves sparkled under the gentle caress of the rising sun. A light breeze danced around her, carrying the promise of spring on its wings. It felt like the start of something new as if the world itself was awakening alongside her. It was the perfect day for a ride.

She met Charles in the early morning, exactly where he said he’d be. Waiting for her to begin their journey into the wild lands in hopes of finding a fresh hunt. They were a few hours into their journey now, heading north into Ambarino to hunt cow elk. Just one 200 pound elk is enough to feed the entire camp for a month. Maybe more. It was a day's ride there and back, short enough to keep the meat fresh in time.

With a satisfied sigh, Kate exhaled the tension from her shoulders, “this is exactly what I needed Charles, thank you.”

Charles smiled warmly, guiding his horse closer to hers. "Thanks for joining me, Kate," he replied, his own gratitude evident in his tone.

With her face tilted to the sun, she savored the moment. Allowing Lorena to guide her. A silent trust shared between them, that her mare will take her where she needs to go. “You know, I always thought you preferred hunting alone. I never see anyone go with you.” Kate remarked, eyes still closed in bliss.

Charles nodded thoughtfully. "Arthur and I have gone together a few times, but other than that, I don't seek much company from the others," he admitted, his words tinged with honesty. It was clear that while he valued his fellow gang members, solitude was his preferred companion in the wild.

“That why you’re always so quiet?” She inquired, innocently.

Charles chuckled softly. "If the choice is folks thinking I'm dumb but not knowing for sure, and folks knowing I'm dumb because I sound like them, I think I'd rather keep them wondering," he explained with a grin. The confidence in his voice a testament to his strength.

Kate chuckled, her eyes reflecting understanding. "I get that. Sometimes it's better to keep people guessing," she replied. Under her breath she added, “I know some of those men can be pretty dumb,” loud enough for Charles to hear.

Charles exclaimed in frustration, “tell me about it! All this death and for what? Just so we can have enough money to be able to run from what we've done?”

Kate pondered for a moment, she still didn't know what happened all those weeks ago that drove the gang of outlaws here. It was the one piece of information they didn’t talk about around her. Perhaps Charles would share the missing pieces. “What happened to everyone to cause you to run?” Her tone colored with genuine curiosity.

As Charles recounted the events of that fateful day, Kate couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness for what they must have been through. The gang did not like to talk about Blackwater, and the consequences must have been devastating.

"It was a fucking execution," he began, his voice tinged with regret. "We thought it would a simple job robbing a ferry, carrying payroll. But there were civilians too." Kate could already imagine where this led. $5000 for his head alone, the words echoed in her mind.

“We raised a lot of hell that day, and things got out of control. Next thing we know, the Pinkertons are on us along with the law. And everyone just starts shooting. I don't know which one of us shot first but that's all it took. There were passengers caught in the crossfire.” He shook his head with disappointment. She couldn't imagine the terror those innocent people must have felt as they found themselves caught in the chaos.

“Dutch he,” Charles hesitated, “he killed a young girl. Just to get the law off him. And no one batted an eye.” His voice heavy with emotion. Her stomach churned at the thought of such senseless violence. “We lost three good people, and John barely made it out alive.”

He turned, facing her, "I don't kill for fun Kate; I kill when I need to," he urged, his tone pleading. It was clear that he was grappling with the moral implications of their actions, and Kate couldn't help but admire his integrity in the face of such darkness. One so hauntingly familiar.

“Arthur came out different after Blackwater,” he added with a sigh.

“Being an outlaw can’t be easy,” Kate added, trying to lighten the mood. She understood the hardships and turmoil that came with senseless violence.

Charles huffed and shook his head at the memory, “easy certainly wasn't in the job description.”

As they rode on, the weight of their conversation hung heavy between them. She couldn't shake the feeling that they were all running from something far greater than the law. A feeling she was not immune to.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Their hunt had been successful, tracking and swiftly killing a massive elk. They settled in for a fire and camped near a lake for the night. Enjoying fresh fish for dinner. In the morning they tied their game to the back of Taima, and began their journey back to camp. Kate’s spirit felt lightened in a way, the two of them spent most of the night sharing stories. And she realized she and Charles had a lot in common. A gentle reminder that she is not entirely alone in her struggles.

The ride home went by quickly, and with the sun tickling the horizon, they arrived at the great plains of New Hanover, and eventually, the familiar overlook.

As they rode into camp, the air was thick with urgency, Miss Grimshaw's voice cutting through the chaos. "Alright girls, everything into the wagons, now!" she barked, her tone sharp.

Charles swiftly brought their kill to the chuck wagon, while Kate hurriedly dismounted and rushed to join the flurry of activity. The girls worked frantically, packing crates with blankets and clothing, fear etched on their faces.

"What's happening?" Kate asked, her voice tinged with concern.

Mary-Beth paused in her task, her expression grim. "Arthur and John got into trouble with the law in Valentine," she explained, her hands moving quickly. "Dutch says we need to leave, fast."

A surge of panic swept over Kate at the thought of Arthur and John in danger. "Did they get caught?" she asked, her heart pounding.

Mary-Beth shook her head. "I don't know," she admitted, sympathy in her eyes. "But we have to go."

As Kate’s mind began to spiral with the worst outcomes imaginable, a voice rose above the commotion. Speaking of the man himself.

Dutch's voice cut through the chaos. "Charles!" he called out, his tone urgent. "Find Arthur at Dewberry Creek, we need a new hideout." Charles turned on his heel with a nod, mounting Taima and taking off back down the trail they came in on only a moment ago.

With his words she felt a sudden sense of relief, Arthur is okay. Their last conversation weighed heavy on her heart. And she would be damned if that was the last time they spoke.

Dutch's voice commanded attention once more. "When they give us the all clear, we move out! Let's get to work, people!" he shouted.

Mary-Beth and Tilly went back to their work and left Kate alone with her thoughts. She returned to her belongings, packing quickly. But her moment of respite was short-lived as a sickeningly familiar voice cut through the air like a bullet.

“Well hello Kate,” Micah said with disdain and arrogance.

“I don’t have time for your bullshit Micah,” Kate retorted, her patience wearing thin.

Micah advanced, his eyes blazing with hostility. "Funny how you show up right when trouble finds us," he taunted.

Kate scoffed, the idea completely absurd, “you idiots robbed a fucking train, did you seriously expect a welcome home party?” She shot back, her voice filled with sarcasm.

Micah's gaze narrowed. "We were set up in Valentine, someone ratted us out," he growled, his words dripping with bitterness.

“I was just hunting with Charles,” she explained, not bothering to hide the bite in her voice, she refused to play his game.

Micah approached with malice, his fist twitched at his side, ready to pull his pistol any moment. "Well Charles ain't here now,” he gestured around the camp, “and we think it was you," he hissed, the accusation cutting through the chaos.

Realization dawned on her that he was setting her up, but the reason why was still unclear. “And when Charles comes back he can testify to that,” she spat, turning to continue her packing.

He closed the distance between them with predatory grace. In one swift motion, he raised his pistol. Before Kate could react, the butt of the gun connected with her temple, sending a searing pain shooting through her skull. Stars exploded behind her eyelids as she stumbled backward, the world spinning dizzily around her. Darkness threatened to engulf her.

As she struggled to regain her bearings, Micah loomed over her, a twisted smirk playing across his lips, “we’ll be long gone by the time they come back princess.”

With a sickening thud, Kate's head hit the ground, the impact reverberating through her skull. As the world faded into blackness, she felt herself being pulled into an abyss of darkness. The last sound echoing in her ears was the distant whinny of Lorena, a mournful cry that seemed to fade into the void.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

The commotion of the camp kept her drifting in and out of consciousness for the next hour. She heard Abigail's voice call out to Kate in concern, and Micah snapped back warning her to keep her distance. She also realized her wrists had been bound along with her ankles, with Micah standing guard over her like a dog. Like she could run away in this state anyways.

The darkness began to creep in again, and in a moment she awoke and Micah was gone. It was almost dark and she was in a different spot now, away from the center of camp and behind the tree line. That fucking bastard tried to leave me here. She thought with bitterness.

In the midst of the chaos, a familiar voice pierced through the camp, but Kate's mind was still swimming in a fog of confusion. Wagons rattled as they hurriedly departed the overlook, leaving Kate struggling to make sense of the commotion. Summoning all her strength, she pushed herself up onto her knees, squinting through the haze.

Then, like a beacon in the night, Arthur's horse appeared, Belle’s white coat gleaming amidst the darkness. With a surge of relief, Kate locked eyes with Arthur, who rushed over to her side, his expression etched with concern.

Her consciousness flickered like a dim candle in the wind as she slowly regained awareness. The throbbing pain in her head was a harsh reminder of what had just transpired. Blinking away the haze, her vision blurry.

"Kate? Are you alright?" Arthur's voice cut through the fog, filled with concern as he took in the sight of her bound wrists and ankles. Swiftly dismounting Belle and pulling a knife from his belt to cut her free.

Her head throbbed as she recounted what happened and she felt sick in the stomach. She couldn’t stay with them anymore, not after this. Micah was a real problem, and if what Charles told her about Blackwater is true, then Dutch is likely the same.

“I’m okay,” she answered wearily, “Micah set me up,” a hint of fear mixed with rage creeped into her voice. Arthur helped her rise to her feet, just as the last wagons were leaving the overlook. Without missing a beat she turned to find her horse.

Arthur was slightly taken aback, unsure if she was still upset with him from the nights before, all while trying to make sense as to why Micah had set her up.

“I-I’m sorry Kate,” he pleaded, “I shoulda been here,” his voice was laced with remorse. His strides quickened as he closed the distance between them. Kate's heart clenched at the sincerity in his voice, but she knew she couldn't stay.

“It’s not your fault,” she reassured, “but I have to leave.” She decided in the moment, ripping the bandaid clean off. She longed to stay with Arthur and the gang, but she no longer wanted part in this trouble. “Goodbye Arthur,” she bid him a solemn farewell.

“Kate,” he called out, desperation filling the air. He wanted to stop her, to grab her and beg her to explain what happened with Micah. But the look in her eyes told him everything he needed to know, she had made up her mind. So all he could do was stand and watch as she rode off.

She clutched at Lorena’s reins, taking off in the same direction as the wagons, intending to ride past them and make her way to Rhodes, hopefully putting enough distance between them so she could get her bearings and be on the move again. Her heart raced with adrenaline and disappointment. Things could not have taken a turn for the worst.

She used the darkness to her advantage, slipping away from the wagons as they took a path down following the railroad tracks, while Kate veered off towards the twin stacks. As she climbed altitude she watched the wagons below, specifically watching Arthur take off behind them, his mare flying through the train of carts and horses like a butterfly dancing between flowers.

She paused for a moment, letting herself consider that perhaps she wasn't just running away out of fear, but something else as well. She thought about the girls, and Charles, who had just become a dear friend after their hunting trip. She thought about Abigail, who must be clutching little Jack close to her heart at this moment, praying John will see his family out of this alive. Her last conversation with Arthur still ate at her heart, so many words went unspoken that she wished she had said that night.

Memories of her past came back in waves along with the painful throb of where she had been hit with Micah’s gun. Her fear, mixed with her disappointment and anger. A reminder of her own weakness.

Yet, she decided long ago that she would never live in that kind of world again, where the weak would rather guilt the strong than become strong themselves. This world doesn’t care what the weak want. This world eats the weak. Therefore, she became strong.

The sudden sound of gun fire dragged her from her thoughts, she rode farther up the slope looking for the source of the noise. She saw in the distance the tiny images of wagons and horses, and a group of raiders descending to their location..

Gripping the reins with such ferocity, Lorena reared on her hind legs as Kate spun her around and took off back down the slope. She would not let death sink its venomous teeth into the belly of another.

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marttapav · 6 months

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idiot self insert wip

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wafflii · 4 months

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Commission made by my amazing friend @naeviss of Charles Smith and my OC Amelia having a moment amongst some flowers 💜

#commission #red dead redemption 2 #charles smith #amelia dayton #original character #oc x canon #love the flowers #and well everything about them #so pretty <3

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zvdvdlvr · 11 months

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ain't like that, kid. | PROLOGUE, INTRO

series masterlist | navigation

☆ - synopsis :: john marston used to be known for sleeping around with women. he was dangerous in a way that got many women got… aroused. now that he was running with the dutch van der linde gang, that was all behind him- not to mention he had jack and abigail. needless to say when he gets contacted by one of the women he had sex with, he was genuinely taken aback when he was informed that he had a daughter that needed a different place to live.

☆ - warnings :: coarse language, murder, attempted murder, bad communication, illness, character death, it gets better

☆ - pairings :: platonic john marston x daughter ! original chatacter

☆ - ☆ - ☆ - ☆ - ☆ - ☆ - PROLOGUE, INTRO

"Ain't you handsome," crooned a woman, running her hands along John's shoulders. The man smiled and took a swig of the alcohal in his glass.

"Thank you, ma'am. Y'ain't bad yerself," he found himself saying. John was affected by the alcohal, but he was still thinking properly.

"Well, I thank you kindly. You got a name, mister?" the woman asked, massaging john's shoulders.

"Yes ma'am," he replied after finishing his drink.

"Oh? Well what is it?"

Standing up and turning around, John smiled a charming smile that made all the girls dance. "Whatever you want to call me, honey, that's my name." With that, John gently grasped the woman by the waist and pulled her in for a kiss.

I think you know what happens next.

☆ - ☆ - ☆ -

Almost 9 months later, the woman that John had sex with that night gave birth to two kids. Two baby girls, both small and tiny. Premature, the doctor had said. Both of the girls were premature.

This was not very good, doctor Mathers explained. They were barely into the eighth month when Catharine gave birth.

It doesn't matter, Catharine had said. I'll do what needs to be done.

What are you going to name the girls ma'am? the man asked after nodding at the woman's previous statement.

Catharine thought for a moment. Carmen and Cameron, she answered. The Corrigan family has two more successors, Catharine said with a smile.

Indeed it does, Doctor Mathers had replied with a weary smile.

☆ - ☆ - ☆ -

Cameron and Carmen were like many sisters of the era: best friends. The girls- although very similar in looks- were differing in personalities. Not to the point were they clashed over everything, just to the point where they each grew irritated at each other for their likes and dislikes.

Carmen was the oldest. She left the womb approximately three minutes and fifty six seconds before Cameron. As the eldest, Carmen made it her responsibility to take over the chores that Cameron inevitably slacked off. Carmen had black hair that reached her back that was twisted into intricate braids pinned to her scalp. Carmen was nice enough. The girls were told never to speak unless spoken to, never lie or withhold information, never speak out against an elder's statement, and to never wish harm upon anyone. Every single one of these rules were broken by both of the girls but as long as they weren't doing anything illegal or to get the family of three in trouble then Catharine didn't care.

Cameron. The second born. Cameron was as perceptive as her sister but she normally stated what she saw. Cameron was taller than her sister by not even an inch. She was a strawberry blonde, just like Catharine. Cameron inherited her mother's brown eyes while Carmen had a vibrant shade of green and brown. (Literally. Carmen's left eye was green and the other was brown!) Cameron's hair was cut as short as her mother would let it. Her hair was exactly two and a half inches past her shoulder and was braided and pinned back just like Carmen's hair.

Catharine's joy about her kids never wavered. They were the joy of her life, along with a bottle of rum every once in a while. Catharine kept clean for her girls, always putting them first. She worked at the local saloon and was fortunate enough to be able to bring home three or four extra meals that the chef had made more of.

Despite how happy the three were, they knew the hardships of life. When Carmen and Cameron were barely a year old, Catharine was living out in the streets, picking the locks of some churches and sneaking into abandoned houses to sleep in. Only when Catharine had four more years of parenting under her belt did the tide start to turn.

Now at 14, Carmen and Cameron were both working in town. Carmen and Cameron both took time out of their day to go earn some money at the Valentine stable to help clean stalls. In return, the men working would give each twin a dime or two and teach them how to ride horses.

The twins had different main jobs. Carmen worked at the gun store with 'Papa Dalton' (an inside joke from years ago). Papa Dalton taught Carmen everything she'd ever need to know about using any kind of weapon, and- as per their mother's request- taught both the girls basic fighting moves.

Cameron worked with the town doctor, Ben Calloway. She spent her days helping treat ailments and studying medicine. The doctor had a soft spot for the family. He- along with Dalton Smith- cared for the family of three like a grandfather. Calloway taught both girls how to stitch someone up properly, how to suture a wound, remove snake venom from a bite, and many other useful things.

In any case, the Corrigan family were doing better than most. They had each other and reciprocated love for their town of Valentine.

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revolversandlace · 1 year

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Author Disclaimer: All works contain adult themes that are not appropriate for minors and reader discretion is advised. All links are tagged appropriately for the themes that are featured, please ensure you read these prior to interacting with any works as you are responsible for the content you consume.

RED DEAD REDEMPTION II

The Amelia Edwards Series - Blemished Silk (107k) | Tumblr | Ao3 | FFN | Wattpad

Arthur Morgan x f!OC

Amelia Edwards navigates the business hardships of America as she comes to rely on the unexpected help of a sullen associate living a life on the run.

Corrupted Hearts (5.6k) | Tumblr | Ao3

Dutch van der Linde x f!Reader & Arthur Morgan x f!Reader

A dangerous affair ignites within the Van der Linde gang, putting loyalty to the test as you and Arthur risk everything for love, only to face the looming consequences of your fiery passion.

RED DEAD REDEMPTION II

Moonlight on the Lake (9.2k) | Tumblr | Ao3

Charles Smith, Arthur Morgan x f!Reader

After a night of drinking by the campfire with both Arthur and Charles, you convince the men to take a swim with you. It doesn't take long for the alcohol to take hold and to end up in a situation you never imagined was possible.

The Dangers of Summer (2.8k) | Tumblr | Ao3

Dutch van der Linde, John Marston, Arthur Morgan x f!Reader

Dutch asks you to rob a homestead, unfortunately the loot isn’t what you expected.

The Bite that Binds (3.9k) | Ao3

Arthur Morgan x f!Reader

You are the owner of a rich estate and you have hired Arthur for protection. During an attempted robbery you lock yourself in your chambers and await for his return.

HARRY POTTER

Our Pretty Little Condemned Souls (120k) | COMING SOON

Draco Malfoy x Ginny Weasley

The Wizarding World falls into darkness after Harry Potter's defeat, as Hermione and Ginny are captured and sent to Malfoy Manor. In a battle for survival against exploitation and betrayal, Hermione must summon all her strength to overcome her greatest challenge yet and save all that has been lost.

ORIGINAL WORKS

In Our Victory, We Are Hopeless

Elisabeth, a half-German, half-English SOE agent, must navigate the treacherous world of espionage in Nazi-occupied Berlin. As she poses as a high-ranking Gruppenfuhrer's mistress and spreads rumors of a fake resistance, Elisabeth's loyalties are tested, and she must question what it means to be on the right side of history.

#masterlist #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan x oc #arthur morgan x female original character #arthur morgan x f!oc #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x f!Reader #dutch van der linde x reader #dutch van der linde x f!reader #arthur morgan #dutch van der linde #charles smith x reader #charles smith x f!reader #charles smith #harry potter #harry potter fanfic #draco x ginny

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summerontatooine · 9 months

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Chapters: 9/? Fandom: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Charles Smith (Red Dead Redemption)/Original Female Character(s), Arthur Morgan/Original Female Character(s), Abigail Roberts Marston/John Marston, Karen Jones/Original Male Character Characters: Arthur Morgan, Charles Smith, John Marston, Sadie Adler, Abigail Roberts Marston, Jack Marston, Uncle (Red Dead Redemption) Additional Tags: Fix-It, Romance, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Smut Series: Part 2 of Second Chances Summary:

Kate liked Charles Smith the moment she met him. Much to her intrigue, and frustration, he is always elusive about his past no matter how close they become.

Healing from heartbreak, Charles can hardly believe that the beautiful engineer Miss Kate Hale is truly interested in him. He thought the random questions she would ask him was just her being friendly but now he realizes that they're slowly learning about each other. The more he learns, the more he feels himself falling for her. It all feels like too much of a good thing and good things never last.

But when a killer begins stalking the people of Wittington, no one is safe. This masked murderer is attacking people at random during the night. The Hale's are at a disadvantage and know nothing about defending themselves. Will Charles be able to protect them?

@photo1030

#rdr2 #rdr2 charles #red dead redemption #rdr #Charles Smith #Charles Smith X original female character #romance #mystery #smut #they're in love your honor

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johndeerequeer · 1 year

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The Pursuit of Greater Things - Masterlist

She leaned closer, drawn to him like a lighthouse in a storm. His eyes glittered in the dim lantern light like obsidian. Her eyes wandered his face like a horse cantering the plains, carefully absorbing every inch of his face, every line, every crease. From the freckles speckled across his cheeks from spending every day in the sun, to the scar on his chin she had yet to ask him about. She wanted to bring her hand up to his face, trace a finger along each of his features and commit everything to memory with her touch. She searched his face for a sign, something to tell her she wasn’t crazy. Something to tell her she should cross the distance between them and do what she so desperately wanted to do.

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Original Female Character

Summary: Madeline Luella lived a life she was grateful for. When a distant cousin married into a booming family business in Saint Denis, she secured a job and ultimately, the life she’d always hoped for. She had independence, she had charge over her life, she had a future. That is until Madeline is left with bloody hands and a stained record. One minute she was filing papers in the office after a long workday, the next she was locked in the police station awaiting trial. Her misdeeds not only earned her a pair of shackles but a target on her back too. But, in a strange twist of fate, a pair of mysterious outlaws break her out of jail, and Madeline is given another chance. Not at a normal life perhaps, but maybe something greater.

Tags: Fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, eventual smut, slow-ish burn, did somebody say ‘daddy issues’?, high-honor Arthur Morgan

Warnings: Mentions of attempted sexual assault, depictions of violence, blood, gore, etc., mature themes (Warnings will be put on specific chapters)

**CURRENTLY ON A WRITING HIATUS**

Chapters:

Jailbreak

Damnation

Welcome Wagon

Play Your Cards

Big Spender

Ambush

Former Sins

The Spoils of War

What Once Was

Showstopper

A Fine Night Indeed

Surrender

Respite

Read on Ao3

Read Spanish version on Wattpad

#arthur morgan fanfiction #red dead redemption fanfiction #fanfic #arthur morgan x original female character #arthur morgan smut #red dead redemption 2 #red dead fanfic #arthur morgan #sadie adler #charles smith #slow burn #hurt/comfort

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rottingcorps3s · 2 years

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.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎…⋙

Red Dead Redemption 2 - ✦ "Unsure" - A.M. & C.S. → Arthur Morgan & Charles Smith x Original Female Character → Unplanned pregnancy. 16+ ✦ "Kate McCannon" - A.M. → Arthur Morgan x Original Female Character → A dramatic storytelling of Arthur and his late lover. 16+ ✦ "Muse" - A.M. → Arthur Morgan x Original Female Character → Nude model for Charles Chateney has a run-in with a familiar quiet, cowboy. 18+ ‎ ♡ ‎Modern Warfare II - ✦ "Icebreaker" - S.R. → Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!reader → The ice is quite literally broken between Ghost and his partner. 16+ ✦ "Mistaken Friendship" - S.R. → Simon "Ghost" Riley x barista!reader Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 → Simon is put off by how friendly the local barista is and hurts their feelings when he turns down their ‘friendship’ he refused to admit that they had. 13+ ✦ "Daddy Issues" - J.P. → Captain John Price x f!reader → Uhh...title explains it pretty well. Could end up being multiple parts. 16+ ✦ Modern Warfare II Blurbs Masterlist

♡

Anything I've ever written and posted myself should be linked in this post :)) My Ao3 - rottingcorps3s

⋘ ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ! ⋙

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

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anxietymuffin · 2 years

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CAMP CHORES

Charles complimenting his hair:))

My hand cramped drawing every individual circle on his stupid shirt 💀💀 but I am once again over the moon about them hehe, working on rabbits design trying to improve and make him actually look like an adult lmao

#rdr2 oc #rdr2 charles smith #charles smith #original character #oc x canon #rdr2 #my art #traditional art #lil doodle #i love them sm

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thegoblinwitchqueen · 2 years

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One for Sorrow, Two for Mirth

Arthur Morgan X OC/Charles Smith X OC

Rating: Explicit/18+

TW: substance abuse, violence, sexual content, death, psychological content

Summary: In an attempt to write the wrongs of her past, Maggie Keane has sought redemption through caring for Valentines horses. All was going well and until a band of wanted outlaws decide to swindle her employer. Without even realizing it, her life was about to change.

Chapter:1 AO3

Word Count: 5,450

—————-

Soft as the velvet ears of a hare, but hardly as delicate.

Maggie allowed the tips of her fingers to move absentmindedly along the nose of the unfamiliar shire whose enormous body made even the tallest of her thoroughbreds look as though they were foals fresh from their mothers womb by comparison. His coat was thick and lackluster, but Maggie could see that the spring time shedding had already begun to free itself in various large patches along his muscular sides, exposing the sleek and shiny coat that lay hidden underneath like diamonds in coal. It would take two, maybe three, good brushing with her metal shedding brush and a bath before the black beast would glisten like an obsidian stone. Despite the work that this incredible monster would require, Maggie knew the price he’d earn would make it worth her while. Back and forth, the horse pawed anxiously within his new stable, and bellowed with such ferocity that the other captive horses joined him in either fear, or solidarity…she could not tell.

“Where did you get this…Goliath?” Maggie’s voice called out from over her shoulder to Amos Levi, and although she could not pull her gaze free from the magnificent creature who continued to demonstrate his power and discomfort with heavy steps and pacing along his tiny enclosure, Maggie knew by her employer's footsteps that he was within earshot as he swept the floor of the stable he owned free of straw, dirt, and debris. The act of sweeping the stable in of itself was futile. The uneven wooden floor boards would only accumulate more muck and mud from Valentine's Horses throughout the day as they rotated throughout the stables for cleaning and care. Still, Maggie knew better than to criticize or point out the painfully obvious reasons why Amos Levi shouldn’t bother with it. After all, it was one of the only ways the man maintained his sanity throughout his many years caring for and selling horses. Whatever was left of it, at least.

“An older feller and his son came in not too long ago looking to sell ‘em.” Amos set his straw bare broom against the door to a cream colored palomino’s stable door, and brushed the grime from his hands onto his stained apron before giving the mare a sturdy pat. “I reckon’ he caused them a lotta trouble considering’ how badly they wanted ‘em gone.”

Maggie rested her palm against the bridge of the shire's nose, and after a few moments of whispering sweet nothings to the stallion, he calmed down enough for her to get a better glimpse of him. However, It was only after a closer inspection that Maggie realized that the condition of the horse was not pristine as he had initially appeared. The stallion looked rather underweight for his size, and the ends of his mane frayed and split from months of malnutrition. His hooves were overgrown, but appeared healthy otherwise. She was thankful for that, but sighed with frustration.

She shrugged her shoulders as Amos tugged at his thick and overgrown beard which hid his thin mouth underneath a wiry mustache to accompany it. Had the man not kept a lit cigarette between his lips at all times, Maggie would not have known he even had a mouth at all due to how little he spoke throughout the day. Still, she did not mind the silence, and often found it comforting. He looked her up and down with the utmost anticipation

“What ya’ think Mags?” Amos chewed the butt of his smoldering tobacco, and looked at the young woman’s face in an attempt to decipher the peculiar expression she wore across her pale features. “Did I make a darn fool of ma’self fer buyin’ ‘em?”

“Well,” Maggie began, wiping her own hands free of dust on her back side. “I don’t see you as a fool, Amos. He’s got a lot of potential behind that coat and those hooves but….”

Her voice trailed off while her fingers pulled the lips of the beast's mouth open, and she saw that his teeth were in decent condition. However, he was definitely old and past his prime. The galvayne’s groove along his inscisers ran from gum to the tip and Maggie assumed that he was practically as old as herself. Twenty-five…maybe older. Not to mention the wear and tear from many long years of bridles which pulled against them. This horse had worked hard over his long lifetime.

Amos watched the woman intently and, after a few agonizing minutes of her tugging, pushing, and inspecting the creature from head to toe, allowed a groan to escape from underneath his tobacco stained beard; he already knew by the way Maggie’s brows furrowed tightly together, that he had indeed been a fool.

“He’s mighty old, Amos. I reckon’ he’s close to thirty. He should be looking at retirement, not pulling wagons. It’ll be hard to find anyone willing to purchase him for more than $80.00, maybe $85 if we throw in a free set of shoes. But, even then…I’m not a miracle worker.” Maggie tugged a few tufts of the shire's shedding coat away from his neck and ran her fingers along the fresh and glossy coat that appeared underneath.

Her mind thought of the ways in which she could spruce him up, convince some poor fool to purchase this monster, but her options were limited with this new found information. In response to her poking and prodding, the shire nipped at her fingers, however, she was too fast for him and pulled away before he could grab hold of her. With aggravation, the horse bellowed angrily and kicked at the stable door. “And with his temper, it may take me a while to break him. If I even can. He might be too old to change his ways now.”

“I shoulda’ known better than to make a big purchase without you.” Amos grumbled and picked up his broom to continue where he had left off moments prior in an attempt to clear his mind once more. Maggie sighed, and looked at the man with an expression of pity and understanding. Suddenly, Amos threw his broom and hat to the ground in frustration and remorse. “Bastard cost me $250.00!”

“$250.00?!” Maggie exclaimed in a tone more aggressive and louder than she had intended. The young woman’s gray eyes practically bulged from her skull in utter disbelief. “Amos! We have never paid anyone more than $130.00 for even the best looking shire! How in the hell did you spend that much on him!”

“The older feller was a mighty smooth talker, Maggie. Said he came from the best stock! Said the horses’ sire was from Prussia.” Amos recounted with a wistful expression when he spoke the foreign country’s name. His eyes were practically hidden under a set of wild and bushy brows, but the blues of his irises pierced through like the spring sky; clear despite his age.

“Prussia? Seriously? And you believed him?” Maggie scoffed in frustration, but not at Amos. He was kind hearted despite his gruff and silent exterior, and more often than not, would help out even the most desperate of men looking to score a few dollars from the sale of an old nag or lame mule. However, 250 dollars for this particular horse was nothing more than a scam. “I reckon you got swindled, old man. What did they look like? Do you know where they’re staying?”

The young woman’s hands quickly fought the leather straps of her farrier apron as she untied the tight knots with bumbling fingers calloused from a year of manual labor. Once free of its constraints against her waist, she set the apron down on a stack of hay, and hurried around the stable to gather up her meager belongings. Her clothes, threadbare and stained, consisted of nothing but a simple button up and a faded pair of mens trousers. Clothes given to her from Amos’ youngest son, Matthew, who was the closest to her size.

“He said they’re gonna be around town. I think I saw the younger feller go to Smithfield’s after. But, that was yesterday when you’s was helpin’ out at Emerald Ranch. I don’t quite remember what they looked like.” Amos watched the young woman grab her gunslingers hat, and place it atop her short cropped hair. “Nah hold on there, Missy! I know what you’re thinkin’. Mags, It’s not worth the hassle. Why don’t we call it a lesson learned, an’ move on. Plus, what I do remember was the younger fella looked mighty rough and dangerous. I wouldn’t feel comfortable with a lady such as yourself getting caught up in that sort of thing. Again.”

Amos threw his hands up in defense and followed the young woman to try and stop her. He even tried to block her from leaving the stable entryway with his own body as an obstacle, but he knew from watching her grow over the years in that small town, that when Maggie Keane had her mind set on something—-there was no stopping her. She grimaced and pushed through her employer's arms into the muddy streets of Valentine.

“I’m sorry, Amos, but I can’t let them get one over on us. It’s not right. It’s the principle of the matter.” Maggie adjusted her hat, and made her way to Smithfield’s to find this young feller and get Amos’ money back.

“Since when did you care ‘bout principles?!” Amos called out after her. Maggie only laughed in response and quickened her pace towards the Saloon.

She would get that money back, one way or another, that's for damn sure.

———————————————-

“Well, I’ll be! Miss Maggie Keane!” Roy exclaimed loudly over the sounds of his piano.

The time of day did not matter much to the patrons who chose to spend their meager day’s worth of hard earned wages at Smithfield’s on booze and women. The sun could be rising in the east or setting in the west, or even switch it’s position all together, but the swinging doors to the most popular Saloon in Valentine would not stop opening and closing as if a summer breeze straight from the mountains blew through them every moment of the day. However, instead of receiving the pleasant aroma of fresh mountain air mixed with the light touches of blooming wildflowers, a strong wave of the putrid smell of whiskey, musk from dirty men, and stale vomit greeted her nostrils with enough pungency to burn them.

Maggie did not miss it.

Nor did she miss the incoherent chatter from drunken fools, the stickiness of the bar that seemed to permeate the wooden countertop no matter how much she scrubbed, and especially the fragments of glass that left her fingers bleeding because she would have to gather each jagged piece painstakingly by hand after yet another drunken brawl between two wasted worthless pieces of—-

Stop.

Maggie reminded herself that it was not worth the frustration that held heavy on the forefront of her mind which came with the process of remembering her time spent at Smithfield’s. It had been a year since she walked out those double doors—- vowing never to return, and life was different.

She was different.

And yet…here she was once again. Under different circumstances, of course.

Still, the one thing Maggie missed was the sound of Roy’s piano which often provided her some meager semblance of humanity during the many long and sleepless nights spent in whisky's sweet embrace. Those melodic tones, just like Amos’ methodical sweeping, allowed her to maintain her fragile sanity. Whatever was left of it, at least.

Reluctantly, the young woman entered the bar with a grimace she did not attempt to hide behind false smiles. She allowed it to paint itself fully across her features as she tried her best to avoid most of the intense stares from drunk patrons she, unfortunately, recognized while she surveyed the perimeter for any sign of an unfamiliar face amongst the sea of locals she had become quite familiar with. Maggie’s hands gripped the smooth leather of her satchel so tight that they left indents, but the thoughts of her racing mind calmed when Roy turned from his piano, smiled a toothy smile at her, and changed the tune he was playing to her favorite song, ‘A Picture of Her Face’ by Scott Joplin. She smiled back weakly, and nodded a subtle thank you. He acknowledged her with his own slight nod, and Maggie proceeded. It was nice to see that she still had at least one friend left at Smithfield’s.

“Evening, Cliff.” Maggie spoke with a layer of exasperation coated in each word. She approached the bar, and leaned against the sticky counter the same way she had done many times before. “How’s business?”

Cliff Smithfield grinned through his thick, black mustache while his hands quickly poured the young woman a shot of liquor from the stash he kept hidden for himself underneath the counter. Not only was Cliff the bartender at the establishment, but he owned the Saloon named after himself since he opened his double doors back in 1898. The question she asked in regards to his work was more rhetorical than literal. Maggie knew how business was. She heard it every night from the repetitive and rage fueled rantings from her dear uncle, Walter Keane…the owner of the failing Keane’s saloon just down the muddy street.

“I’m pulling through,” Cliff began, his hands pushing the tiny shot towards the young woman to take. Maggie eyed the man with suspicion, but ultimately figured the gesture was his way of settling old scores. Or, it was an attempt to butter her up for the long anticipated conversation she had worked so hard to avoid. “What brings you back into my—what did you call it?”

“—Infected boil on the ass of Valentine.” Maggie took the shot, and threw it back with ease. She missed the burn, but did not miss the never ending hangovers she kept at bay between the many shots of bourbon and brandy she would take throughout the day.

“Yes, that was it.” Cliff laughed though his voice still seethed with a slight hint of bitter resentment. After all, they did not end on a particularly good note. “But, No matter. Bygones be bygones. How can I help you, Maggie.”

Maggie removed her hat, and ran her hand through her short hair. Cliff's nose wrinkled, and he shook his head with a gust of breath from his nostrils in disbelief. Maggie opened her mouth to recount her quest to retrieve Amos’ money, but was cut short when a large hand reached out and touched her.

“I can’t believe you butchered your beautiful hair with that…mens cut.” Jon, local drunk and over all insufferable degenerate, pawed at Maggie’s chocolate brown head of hair with little regard for her own opinions on the matter. He wore his traditional get up of old furs, leathers, and a raccoon hat with an almost empty bottle of whiskey in hand. He swayed like a ship at sea with each moment he spent touching, and staring, at the young woman’s displeased face. Maggie swatted his hand away and turned her face to ignore him in an attempt to stick to her original plan. Jon huffed and leaned his full weight against the bar all the while ignoring the subtle looks Cliff shot him to mind his manners. “You always was the most prettiest with your thick locks. Shame. Now you look like one of them…carpet munchers. Or a boy. You tryin’na be a boy now, Maggie?”

“It’s good to see you too, Jon, but I’m busy.” With one hand, Maggie pushed the older man gently and watched with glee as he tumbled to the floor like a stack of dominos. He groaned as his drink spilled over his furs, but gave in to his drunkenness to ultimately pass out where he laid prone on his back like a starfish. Now that her harasser was out of the way, she turned her attention back to Cliff who was motioning for Tommy to gather up what was left of Jon and his dignity. Tommy, thick and broad, gave Maggie a hefty pat on the back before completing his task, and setting the man in a chair near his usual table.

“It’s never a dull moment with you here, Mags.” Cliff said, pouring her one more shot. Maggie accepted it once more, waving to Tommy who returned to his place on the second floor.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to make a fuss.” She responded through her teeth after the burn of the liquor subsided. “But, I’m here looking for an outsider.”

“An outsider?” Cliff lifted a dark brow in surprise. “What for? He owe you money or somethin’?”

“No. Well, kind of.” Maggie straightened herself, and noted the familiar pull from the counter stickiness along the fabric of her blouse. Yes sir, same old stickiness. “The bastard conned poor Amos Levi out of $250.00 for a run down shire past his prime. I wanted to have a…conversation with him, and I figured he’d probably be here, Y’know, spending his score on some cheap booze or Anastasia’s pussy..”

Cliff allowed a hearty laugh to escape from deep within his lungs, and Maggie smiled. These were the kind of moments that she had wished to be the majority when she worked at Smithfield’s, but it wasn’t.

“You haven’t changed, that’s for sure.” Cliff attended to a patron quickly by opening a bottle of whiskey for the man, but never broke eye contact with Maggie’s eyes that were as gray as a thunder cloud. “Unfortunately, we’ve had quite a few strange men coming in and out of here the past week. I don’t know if they’re all together or what not, but it might be hard to pin down your stranger without knowing exactly what he looks like.”

“Amos said he looked mighty dangerous.” Maggie grinned, and watched as Cliff's expression changed from jovial to concern across his aging features. He released a sigh and planted both hands on his counter to support his weight. He shook his head, and looked up at her.

“Mags, now, I know you. Known you since you were a tiny tot roaming around town in her Sunday dress, rolling in the mud with Amos’ bigger boys, and causing mischief. But, you gotta remember—you ain’t a bigger boy. You shouldn’t be runnin’ around looking for trouble.” Cliff explained. “One of these days, you might get yourself caught up in a whole heap of bad news. And, since you’re not one of mine anymore, I can’t be paying your bail when that happens like I used to.”

“I never asked for you to pay my bail.” Maggie responded shortly.

“It’s not about the bail, Maggie. Haven’t you done enough to tarnish your family’s hard work and reputation? Hell, your grandpappy built practically each house here in Valentine by himself! Your cousin, Hugh, has done well for himself at the Hotel. Why don’t you work for him as one of his—-bath girls. Or, why don’t you come back and work for me? We miss you, Magpie. I miss you.”

Magpie.

“So, it’s more becoming of me to sell my pussy than to work as a farrier?” Maggie rolled her eyes as far back as she could, and Cliff rubbed his growing frustration from his own tired eyes.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“No, no. I understand exactly what you meant. This backwards hovel of a town would rather have me lose my hair to syphilis than make horse shoes—makes all the sense.”

“Maggie, you’re a woman. There ain’t no shame in doing what women are supposed to do.” Cliff extended his hand across the counter and held Maggie’s trembling fingers. She wasn’t trembling out of fear or a slight chill, but out of seething rage. “You don’t even have to work. We could revisit that conversation we had. Y'know, the one we had before you left? Please, Magpie. Think about it.”

Magpie. There it was again.

“Don’t call me that.” Maggie pulled her fingers free from Cliff's fingers, her own causing friction as her calluses scraped along his smooth flesh. His hands were soft, and never experienced a time where he had to work hard for food or shelter. Never had to sell his body and soul just to survive.“I told you never to call me that.”

“I never understood why you never liked it. It’s your name, darlin’.” Cliff reached for her again, but stopped when the doors of the Saloon opened with such force that Maggie was sure a stray horse had entered the parlor room on accident. It wouldn’t have been the first time, unfortunately.

However, what sauntered across the muddy floor boards was not a horse, but two men. The first was a Latino gentleman who donned a relatively fashionable outfit of blues and grays with facial hair he meticulously maintained. He wore a black bowler hat, and his hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail. He was a handsome gentleman, and his smile was the most captivating aspect of him that she could outwardly see.

The second, who followed loosely behind his friend with steps that were unusually silent for a man his height, was a Native man with long and unkempt hair that flowed freely over his shoulders. His expression was stoic across his strong and dark features and his eyes carefully observed the Saloons' busy atmosphere. His skin was darker than most of the other Indeginous individuals she had encountered from time to time when they drifted through Valentine and Maggie assumed that he must have been of mixed race. He was handsome, and Maggie liked the way he carried himself. Calm and collected.

Both gentlemen had no qualms with entering the Saloon occupied with white, backwards yokels who eyed the two with suspicious intent, and Maggie found the change of pace refreshing. If only these interesting men had shown up back when she worked here. She was sure they’d have interesting pillow talk about their travels and she wouldn’t mind ruffling the feathers of a few racists who might say otherwise. Regardless, they were Strangers to Valentine and both looked just as dangerous as they did unfamiliar. After all, Maggie was looking for a strange man and there was a good chance hers might be one of them.

“Maggie, don’t…” Cliff growled. He watched Maggie smile mischievously, steal a shot of whiskey that belonged to a patron passed out at the bar, and begin to walk up to the men for an impromptu interrogation. Both gentlemen were talking amongst themselves with welcoming expressions, but before she could reach them…

“Well, hello there. Aren’t you two boys a mighty sight to behold!”

Anastasia..

“Great…” Maggie grumbled under her breath, stopping short of her walk to her targets who stood against the wood panel wall.

Anastasia was the best of Cliff’s working girls, and was by far the prettiest woman in Valentine since the town was established years ago. With hair like fire and skin as white as a delicate lily, the young woman had no problem pulling even the toughest of mountain men to her room on the second floor for a night of liquor fueled heavy petting. Her bed was always full, and in turn, her pockets as well.

When she descended from the second floor, she wore her white chemise loosely around her bust and shoulders in a way that accentuated her god given assets which she pushed to her chin with a tight corset. The beauty approached the two strangers with a dark haired young woman trailing her not far behind, giggling like two unsullied girls in church.

Maggie had met the other girl only a few days prior to her departure, but her name slipped her mind. It must have been something like—Daisy or Marigold. Who knew? All the girls changed their names when they became a soiled dove. In fact, Anastasia was called Anne before she started at Smithfield’s around the same time Maggie did. But, Maggie was always Maggie and she never bothered with changing her name. After all, the town already knew her, and her family’s, name.

Her presence was not overlooked though, and Maggie’s dark eyes locked with Anastasia’s, and for a moment, it felt like the rift between was not as wide as it had been when she left. There was a time when it was Maggie trailing Anastasia to get the leftovers she didn't want…and there was a time when she foolishly thought that they were friends. Maybe more. But, regardless of how their—-arrangement ended, Anastasia was the best Valentine had to offer and she definitely earned her pay. Maggie still admired her for her abilities in the bedroom. However, most men who were lucky enough to be graced by her presence typically ended up at the fists of Tommy when they realized, a little too late, that Anastasia charged a pretty penny for her pristine pussy.

Maggie took an empty seat next to a sleeping patron, and watched with a grin as Anastasia worked her magic on the strangers. A little touch here, a batted eyelash there—-and finally, the melodic laugh that broke through the incoherent chatter like church bells at whatever joke the Lantino gentleman had said which sealed their fate. She half debated about warning them of the hefty fine they were about to receive thanks to man's inability to think with more than one head at a time—-but, Damn, it only took Anne less than five minutes before she was walking with the dandy, arm in arm, to the bar. The new girl—well, not as new anymore—copied Anastasia, and took the Native man’s arm as well.

“So much for getting my money back.” Maggie mumbled, her arms crossed tightly against her well endowed chest. She too had assets similar to Anastasia, and knew exactly how to use them. However, she did not miss working at Smithfield’s. And so, she sat for a few minutes and watched as the two men fell into the comforting embrace that whiskey provided with open arms. With each shot they downed, the lighter she imagined their pockets would feel. Anastasia had a system, and used whiskey to her utmost advantage.

Once or twice, Maggie made eye contact with the Native man as he looked over the Saloon, time and time, again. She was unsure of what he was looking for exactly. A friend? An enemy? Regardless, she made sure to greet his welcomed gaze with a slight smile. Each time, he seemed taken aback by her forwardness and turned to face his friend and the ladies who entertained him with a slight rush of color to his cheeks. It wasn’t the whiskey that made him flush, and it was adorable. Still, smiling at random men was an unfortunate habit she was unable to break. For years, even before Smithfield’s, Maggie was trained to be as approachable as humanly possible. After the third time of meeting the man’s intense eyes, Maggie saw Anastasia flash her an expression that said,

‘Stop fucking this up and leave. Now.’

Maggie let a chuckle escape her lips before she lifted an almost full bottle of whiskey to her own lips. It wasn’t hers, a little flat from being open for so long, but she didn’t care. It brought her satisfaction to know that even with hair cropped as short as a man’s, clothes stained and threadbare, and with the smell of horse that permeated her at all times—-she could still manage to pull a man’s attention with nothing more than a sweet smile.

Part of her hoped the dark skinned man would approach her, prove to herself that she was still worth his time and conversation. As well, it had been some time since she had been with a man, and he was handsome. She wouldn’t mind a quick social call with a stranger she would never see again, but she knew better. She let her eyes meet his one last time before she couldn’t help but feel a tug at her heart when her former friend tossed a glance her way yet again, but this time pleading for her to leave once more.

Suddenly, she remembered the many nights they spent together, lying awake into the early hours all the while laughing about the poor love making of whatever John they had serviced until they heard the familiar call of a rooster to start their day all over again.The memories were too difficult, and after another few minutes, Maggie decided it would be in her best interest to let the ghosts of her past stay buried underneath deep layers of regret and shame to be forgotten once more. A year was not long enough to heal the wounds that still festered and oozed within her infected soul. She decided it was time to cut her losses, make due with what she could get out of selling the beat up Shire, and go back to forgetting this place of pleasure ever existed.

Maggie sighed, lifted herself from her station, walked to the familiar swinging doors of the Saloon, and readied herself to leave. When she was about to place her hat on her head, her body collided heavily against a man whose intention was to enter the Saloon she desperately wanted to leave. She fell back onto the dirty floor, and cursed under her breath. Her hand stung and a drop of blood formed from where a stray nail had caught the flesh of her palm during her attempt to cushion her fall.

“ ‘Scuse me, Miss..”

Maggie’s assailant��s voice was gruff, and had a thick accent similar to those from further out west, but she could not see him due to how tightly she had closed her eyes from the sudden pain. She sucked air through her teeth, and fought to control her initial reaction of rage from the unpleasant stinging sensation. After a moment, she took a deep breath and sighed. When she opened her eyes, the man who stood before her was handsome as well, rough around the edges, and donned the attire to fit his cowboy aesthetic. All the way down to the beat up gamblers hat he wore atop his shaggy mop of sandy blonde hair. His eyes were just as blue, if not bluer, than Amos’. His hand was extended, waiting for her to accept his assistance. After a moment, she obliged.

“Sorry ‘bout that. I didn’t think I’d be running into anyone.” He apologized, lifting the woman to her feet with ease.

“Don’t worry about it.” Maggie mumbled as she brushed the dirt and debris from her rear. “I should have been more careful.”

The man allowed a smile to tug at the corner of his mouth before he turned to survey the bar. Maggie thought that the crows feet that appeared at the corners of his eyes were charming. What was with all these interesting strangers waltzing into Smithfield’s? It was not like Valentine was as big or as popular as Saint Dennis. No, it was very unusual for a stranger, let alone three, to visit their tiny town. However Maggie was so caught up in inspecting the stranger the same way she did her horses, with intensity, that she didn’t realize that the man was waiting for her to say something. She felt the color rush to her cheeks, and her mouth went dry.

“Aay! Arthur!” The Latino man exclaimed after taking a shot with Maggie’s former friends. Once again, the Native man watched her and the color stayed on her cheeks. “Come meet our new friends! After all, this is all on your tab since you’re $250.00 richer!”

250.00? That was the exact amount Amos had spent on that horse.

The stranger, Arthur, tipped his hat to her before turning on his heel to join his companions at the bar. Anastasia’s eyes widened as she took in the sight of him. He was most definitely her type, and Maggie knew the woman was just bubbling to the brim with joy over the fact that she now had three men to lighten their wallets on her. Maggie brushed the dust from her hat before she nursed the blood that began to weep from her wound.

“I think we should extend that offer to the lady you just knocked over, Arthur.”

#rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 fanfiction #rdr2 #arthur morgan x oc #arthur morgan x original female character #dutch van der linde #arthur morgan #fanfic #rdr2 arthur morgan #Charles smith rdr2 #rdr2 charles #charles smith x OC #charles smith x original character

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elysian-abyss · 2 years

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Spider’s Web, Chapter one - Outlaw’s from the West. Preview

They piled into what could have once been a chapel. Arthur and Bill carried in Davey, placing him on top of the table at the head of the room. Miss Grimshaw began giving out orders. Her normal tone calmed down to something less harsh.

Elsbeth stood beside her brother after they pushed an old pew off to the side to make room. Ilya leaned against the wall, his scowl still present. She kept her eyes on the ground and wrapped her arms around herself in an attempt to conserve some of her own body heat. She couldn't bring herself to look up and see what remained of her family. She had never seen them this broken.

'Davey's dead.'

Abigail's announcement made the room go silent. A feeling of sombreness fell over them all at the death of yet another family member. She felt her chest tighten, and she forced herself to swallow the lump that formed in her throat. This wasn't the time to get emotional, not that she had the right to, considering she and the deceased had never been on good terms with each other at any point in time.

'There was... nothing more you could have done,' the Reverand tried to comfort the young woman.

As Davey's eyes were covered, she noticed Dutch make a gesture to Ilya, beckoning him over to where he, Hosea and Arthur stood as they discussed what their next move should be. She nudged the taller man in the ribs to gain his attention, nodding over to where Dutch stood waiting for him. Ilya merely grunted in acknowledgement before joining the men near the door.

'Listen, listen to me all of you, for a moment,' Dutch began, drawing everyone's attention onto him. 'Now, we've had, well, a bad couple of days. I loved Davey, Jenny, Sean, Mac. They may be okay; we don't know. But we lost some folks. Now, if I could throw myself in the ground in their stead... I'd do it, gladly. But we're gonna ride out, and we're going to find some food. Everybody, we're safe now. There ain't nobody following us through a storm like this one, and by the time they get here, well, we're gonna be... we're gonna be long gone. We've been through worse than this before. Mr Pearson, Miss Grimshaw, I need you to turn this place into a camp. We may be here for a few days. Now all of you, all of you... get yourselves warm. Stay strong, stay with me. We ain't done yet! Come on, Arthur, Ilya.'

After the three made their exit, Miss Grimshaw returned to giving out orders. Swanson, Bill and Javier were given the job of burying Davey, Lenny was put on guard duty, and Elsbeth was sent out to check the horses and make them settled in. Everyone else, excluding Uncle, unsurprisingly, was put to work to make the old, decrepit town somewhat livable for however long they were to stay there.

#rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #fanfiction #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption 2 fanfiction #original characters #my ocs #My writing #ao3 writer #ao3fic #my ao3 works #archive of our own #ao3 #spider's web #fanfic #Charles smith x original character

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moeitsu · 25 days

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The Tie Which Linked My Soul To Thee

Summary: The battle begins, and the past is revealed.

Ao3 Wattpad Masterlist - All Chapters Ch.1 Ch.2 Ch.3 Ch.4 Ch.5 Ch.7 Ch.8 Ch.9 Ch.10

Warning: Graphic depictions of violence, blood and gore. Tags: Arthur Morgan/Original Female Character, Widowed, Original Character, Mutual Pining, Slow Build, Eventual Smut, Eventual Romance, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, High Honor Arthur Morgan, Friends to Lovers, Child Loss, Trauma, Canon-Typical Violence, Arthur Morgan Does Not Have Tuberculosis, Arthur Morgan Deserves Happiness, Chubby Arthur Morgan, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence

Ch 6 - As When The Summer Days Were Nigh

“I’d known death since I was a child. It’s everywhere. In every form you can imagine. And a few your worst nightmare couldn’t muster. As if death was not the result of accidents and disease, death was its own disease. But it had never touched me. It had never placed its rotten finger on my heart. Yes, freedom has fangs. And it sunk them in me. ” ~ Elsa Dutton 1883

Lorena's hooves pounded against the slope, carrying Kate down into the valley where a few wagons had come to a halt, isolated from the main caravan. Raiders swarmed around them, gunfire echoing in the night as chaos unfolded. With the sun sinking below the horizon, Kate strained to discern the attackers' numbers in the darkness.

Six horsemen emerged from the west, joined by several more riding over the slope from the north. Kate's mind raced as she tried to make sense of the situation. What are raiders doing this far south in the plains? She asked herself, trying to plan a course of action.

They used the cover of night to their advantage, weaving between trees and shrubs, it was difficult to get a clear shot of them. But she witnessed Charles and Arthur spring into action. Their guns blazed as they lit up the night with each round sending orange sparks into the darkness. As Lorena closed the distance, Kate spotted two wagons left behind: one belonging to John and Abigail, and the other a supply wagon driven by Lenny and Sean. She knew the raiders would target the supplies and likely attempt to steal their horses too.

This left the fighting to Arthur, Charles, and Javier. Who turned back at the sound of the commotion. Lenny and Sean leapt into the wagon for cover as they began shooting blind into the night, the horses crying out in fear. Kate couldn't see Abigail, and she prayed she was well hidden in the wagon with Jack. She made headway to his wagon first.

She pulled her rifle from her saddle and called out to John, who was firing round after round from his revolver, doing no good against the fast riding raiders.

“John!” she shouted, catching his attention, he looked down from his seat in the wagon.

“Kate?” He said, taken back by the sight of her, “you need to find cover!” Concern laced his voice.

She ignored his statement, holding the rifle up for him, “take this, it's a better shot. Aim for the shrubs, they're using them as cover.” She urged.

John nodded and took the weapon without hesitation, quickly counting the rounds in the ammunition, “thanks, what will you use?” He asked, already getting in position to take aim.

“Don’t worry about me,” she answered, determination in her voice, “protect your family.”

Lorena brought her around to the back of the wagon and she peered inside, sure enough Abigail was clutching Jack to her breast, white knuckled and face scrunched in silent fear. As if she was hoping this was just a bad dream they would wake from. Jack, trying to be brave, trembled in his mother's arms. Without hesitation, Kate leaped into the wagon, placing a comforting hand on Abigail's shoulder. She startled at her touch, “easy Abigail, it's just me, you need to take this.” She held out her own revolver. Abigail opened her eyes and shook her head with a sob. Kate's heart throbbed at the sight of her.

"I’m not letting go of him!" she cried, her voice quivering with emotion. "When is this going to end?" Her plea carried the weight of past traumas, threatening to overwhelm her.

Knowing they had no time to waste, Kate pressed the revolver into Abigail's trembling hand. She needed a means to defend herself if the worst was going to happen. Jack whimpered at the sounds of gunfire coming from John at the seat of the wagon. She gave him a reassuring look, “be brave for your momma okay? If anybody comes, you shout for me and I’ll come runnin’,” she added with a smile, placing a hand on his little head. He nodded in understanding.

Lorena waited at the back of the wagon as Kate mounted her and took off towards the fray. She needed to come up with a plan, and fast. She gave her firearms to the Marston family. Which left her with only close range weapons. She reached into her saddle bag and pulled out a tomahawk. It had been a long time since she’s used an old weapon of war.

With determination she nudged her mare in the belly and took off. The familiar leather grip of her tomahawk left her with a sense of bitter nostalgia. Memories of an old friend came flooding back, and old instincts she had long buried bubbled to the surface.

In the distance, she spotted Arthur, locked in combat with a raider. His skill and ferocity were undeniable as he dispatched two foes with swift precision. Kate watched, her heart heavy with unspoken truths.

Arthur is wrestling with a giant, Charles' words sounded in her mind. She had faced her own giants, and kept them at bay like a hunter taming a wild beast. She never got the chance to tell him. She would release her giant tonight, and if they survived, she vowed to share her secrets with Arthur, laying bare the depths of her soul.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Under the cloak of night, time seemed to stretch endlessly, though mere minutes had passed. The raiders fell one by one, a testament to their careful strategy. It dawned on the others that shooting wildly was futile; they needed to close the gap.

For Kate, the chaos played to her strengths. While she lacked skill with a gun, in close combat, she was unparalleled. The sickening crunch of bone echoed as her tomahawk met the skull of a raider, sending him crashing to the ground. The scene before her, once familiar yet now unsettling, reminded her of the darkness she had left behind. Yet, there was no joy in the violence; only relief that she no longer found pleasure in such brutality.

With only a few foes left standing, Arthur's gaze found hers, his worry palpable. She reassured him with a nod, urging him to focus on the task at hand.

Scanning the chaotic scene, Kate spotted a lone raider sneaking up on John's wagon, his focus fixed on protecting his brother. With a swift movement, she sprang into action.

She hollered to get the man's attention, as well as Johns. It didn't matter who took him down, as long as he was stopped. Closing the distance, she gripped her weapon high, readying for the strike. The raider turned just as Kate swung, narrowly missing his head as a shot rang out. She was unsure if it was John’s or the bandits until pain shot through her side. The man barely squeezed by her horse and the wagon, and took off in the opposite direction. Ignoring the pain, Kate followed.

Arthur joined the chase, and together they pursued the raider. Lorena surged forward, fueled by the thrill of the chase. Leaning down to her horse's ear, Kate whispered, "Feels like old times, huh, girl?" Lorena snorted in agreement. Despite her clingy and skittish nature. She was bred to be a war horse, and in her blood she fought just as savagely as her rider.

She closed in and brought her mare tauntingly close to the last man. With a swift motion she collided the blade with the man's ankle, nearly cutting his own foot off, causing him to fall out of the saddle. He did not reach for his weapon, as he used his last round in an attempt to kill her, instead he lay on his back and put his hands out in mercy.

Kate dismounted and trudged over to him.

“I-I’m unarmed!” He pleaded, “please miss you wouldn’t kill an unarmed man!”

She tossed the tomahawk to the ground and the man eased for a moment, until she pulled her hunting knife out of her belt. His eyes widened and he tried to stand, but his ankle was only holding on by a bit of flesh.

Arthur finally caught up to them and dismounted, “don’t kill him yet Kate, we need to find out who they are. They could be O’Driscolls.” Kate ignored him, the pain in her side igniting into a blazing fire. The metallic tang of her own blood filled her senses, but she pushed past it with a fierce glare.

“Don’t look like an O'Driscoll to me,” she rasped. Fighting the urge to drive her knife into his belly. Echoes of an old mantra rang in her ears, “our job is to ensure our enemies fear is greater than their greed.”

“I-I aint an O’Driscoll, we’re just a couple of horse thieves. That’s all,” the man pleaded, using his forearms to distance himself from her.

The world felt dizzy, her memories of her past began mixing with the present. “That’s all?” She mocked, “you would take these people’s lives,” her voice hoarse, “just for a few horses?” Before he could answer she forcefully kicked him in the belly, hard enough to break a few ribs. The man rolled onto his stomach and spit up blood.

In a flash, Kate mounted the man from behind, gripping a fistfull of his hair and forcefully pulling back towards her chest. She placed the knife at the edge of his throat, Arthur saw the fire in her eyes as she ended the man's life, sickeningly slow.

As she drew the blade over his neck she muttered the words low in his ear, “what you take from the land will be taken from you. Know that I am the land, and the land is killing you.”

As the raider choked on his own blood, Kate dropped his head in the dirt. The wound was not deep enough to kill him quickly. He would asphyxiate for the next several hours, a combination of bleeding out and choking to death. He would teeter on the brink of consciousness, not knowing if he is alive or dead. It was a slow sentence, a merciless one. It was pure torture.

Arthur stood in stunned silence, his gaze fixed on Kate. He had witnessed his fair share of violence, and dealt with his own. But the intensity in her eyes was unfamiliar, unsettling. She seemed transformed, a wildness emanating from her like a primal force.

“I didn’t know you could fight like that,” he said awkwardly, unsure if it was the right thing to say at the moment. He had seen a different side of her. And he had a feeling it was one that she was clearly trying to keep buried. He couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted between them, and he was left grappling with the uncertainty of what lay ahead.

Kate retrieved her tomahawk and mounted her horse, her movements strained with pain. "There's a lot you don't know about me, Morgan," she replied tersely, her usual sharpness replaced by a somber tone. "We need to keep moving," she added, urging her horse forward. She felt sick to her stomach, the pain mixed with rage and shame and fear. A whirlwind of emotions, it had been years since she killed somebody. She vowed to give that life up. And now, she was riding off with a bunch of outlaws. Leaving behind a bloody battlefield. Arthur watched her ride off, a knot of worry forming in his stomach.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

They rode past Dewberry Creek and down to Clemens Point. A hidden spot on the peninsula of the lake, only a few miles from Rhodes. It was a decent hiding spot. As the last of the caravan pulled in, the members who made it ahead of the chaos came rushing out to greet them.

As Kate was the last to reach Clemens Point, the weight of the recent events hung heavy on her shoulders. She gazed out at the lake, its surface reflecting the dim light of the moonlit sky. A secluded spot on the beach offered a brief respite from the chaos that had engulfed them, and Kate welcomed the solitude.

Dismounting her horse, she felt the exhaustion settle into her bones like a heavy blanket. Her hands, streaked with dirt and blood, trembled slightly as she reached for the saddle buckles. With a heavy sigh, she removed the burden from Lorena's back, the weight of it suddenly feeling unbearable. As Lorena trotted off to the water's edge, letting out a contented sigh as the coolness soothed her weary joints, Kate couldn’t help but chuckle. Perhaps she had pushed her loyal mare a bit too hard today.

Grabbing a brush from her saddlebag, Kate set to work cleaning Lorena's coat, the rhythmic motion a comforting distraction from the chaos that had unfolded. In the distance, she could hear the other members of the gang recounting the night's events, their voices a mix of concern, exhaustion, and celebration.

As a pair of hooves approached, Kate knew without looking that it was Arthur. Dismounting, he joined her by the water's edge, letting Belle cool herself alongside Lorena. "Mind if I join ya?" he asked quietly, uncertainty lacing his voice. Kate nodded in response, and Arthur settled onto the sand beside her, kicking off his boots to let the water lap at his feet.

The air was thick with humidity, and the sounds of frogs and cicadas filling the night. It felt strange to be going back east, but somehow it didn’t bother her that her journey had been interrupted.

After a moment of silence, Kate broached the subject that had been weighing on her mind. "You wanna tell me what happened in Valentine?" she asked, her voice tinged with curiosity and concern.

Arthur sighed heavily, his gaze distant as he recounted the events of the day. "It started with the train job. The law showed up fast, too fast, and we barely made it out of there," he explained. "Cornwall's men nearly killed John the next morning. We made it out, but not without killing half the town.”

Kate shook her head in disbelief, her heart heavy with the weight of Arthur's words. Before she could respond, Arthur spoke again, his voice filled with remorse. "I'm so sorry, Kate. I never wanted to drag you into all this mess. Especially after what Micah did," he added with a bitter scoff. "I don’t know why you turned back."

"I didn't do it just for you," Kate replied after a moment, her gaze meeting Arthur's with unwavering determination. "I did it for Abigail and her boy. From one mother to another." Arthur looked at her, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. He caught the new information, but his heart fluttered at the idea that she turned back for him as well.

“I’ve never seen a woman fight like that, it was,” he trailed and Kate was the one to interrupt this time.

“I know, you don't have to say it. I’m not exactly proud of it,” she looked down in shame.

Arthur offered a warm smile, “I was gonna say it was real brave.”

She smiled sadly and shook her head, “still don’t make it right.”

“It was either us or them Kate, don’t beat yourself up about it,” Arthur reassured her. “You know, I’d understand if you still want to leave. But we could surely use some of that bravery around here.”

Kate nodded and took a deep breath, steeling herself to share something important. “I’ll stay Arthur,” she began, “but, there’s some things I think you should know about me.”

“We all come from different places, your past is your past,” he said sincerely, “If you don’t wanna share that I don’t want you to think ya have to.” Her heart warmed at the gesture, he was being considerate. After everything he saw he would still grant her the privacy of her past, but that wasn't her plan.

“No, I want to tell you,” Kate paused, collecting her thoughts, “I think you’ll understand me better. And after what happened at the Downes ranch, I owe it to you.”

Arthur’s curiosity peaked, the conversation from a fortnight weighed heavy on his mind. And he wanted to know how her story tied into that. His mind already raced with assumptions, after seeing the way she fought he couldn't help but wonder if she was on the run from the law too. Or something worse.

“Alright,” he settled back against the sand, giving her his full attention. “I’m here to listen, Kate.”

With a heavy sigh, she decided to start from the beginning. “I’ve known death since I was a child. It began with a railway accident in Boston that took my mother and little sister from me, leaving behind my father and older brother. At the time, my father owned a ranch where we raised dairy cattle. He didn’t take their deaths well, and fell into a depression. My brother and I couldn't keep up with the work alone, so we were forced to sell and move. Thankfully, a family friend took us in on their farm. It was there I met my husband, and for a while, we were sweet on one another.”

Kate recalled the memories, her heart flooding with grief, “we lived there a few years. And when my brother was old enough he joined a mining company, and it was another accident that took his life too. It sent my father over the deep end, and so he hung himself in the barn. Like he suddenly forgot he still had a living child.”

Arthur's face softened, understanding the weight of her losses. To him, it sounded like Kate had a proper family—one that truly loved and cared for each other.

“I got married the next year, and finally things felt like they were turning for the better. My husband and I built a little ranch together. In a few years, we welcomed a baby girl into our home.” Her voice choked with emotion. “My life felt as perfect as it could get. I miss my family dearly, but I felt like I was carrying on their memory by starting my own.”

Arthur didn't want to think about where her story was going; it was painfully familiar to him. Kate shifted in the sand, wincing as a sharp pain shot up her side. She had forgotten about the bullet in her flesh. The area had gone numb, and the mixed feelings of grief and searing pain caused tears to stream down her cheeks.

“Lorena didn’t even make it through her first summer before disease took her from me, and as if death couldn't have enough, it took my husband from me too.” Her voice shook with pain.

Arthur sighed, his heart full of sympathy as he observed Kate's emotional turmoil. "Oh, Kate," he said softly, reaching out to comfort her. However, his concern heightened as he noticed the sand around her stained red. "Kate, you're bleeding!" His voice rose with worry.

She nodded, wincing as she reached around her side. "I got shot," she answered, her voice trembling.

"Why didn’t you say anything?" Arthur was already getting up to inspect the wound. "Let me see."

Kate untucked her shirt and lifted it up for Arthur to examine. The bullet had entered just above her hip bone, lodged in the fatty area of her waist. "How bad is it?" she asked, her voice still shaky.

With gentle fingers, Arthur prodded at the wound. It was angry and swollen, and she winced at his touch. He concluded that the bullet was still inside, "the bullet’s still in there, but I think I can get it out. I don't think it hit anything important," he noted, assessing the severity of her injury.

Kate nodded and lifted her shirt further, revealing deep faded scars scattered across her back in the moonlight. “Jesus, Kate,” Arthur muttered softly in surprise. He paused before touching her again, afraid that she might break beneath him like an old clay pot. "What happened?" His voice was as soft as a whisper, fearful of what her answer might reveal.

Closing her eyes, Kate winced once again as Arthur’s hands returned to her wound. “I’ll tell ya once you get this thing out of me,” she replied.

Arthur nodded and, with a gentle hand, held the front of her waist while using his other hand to extract the bullet like it was a cyst, squeezing it out agonizingly slow. Instinctively, she grabbed onto his hand around her waist for support, finding solace in his warmth.

“There, got it,” Arthur said, a hint of pride in his voice as he handed Kate the small pebble that had caused her so much discomfort. “Think of it like a souvenir,” he joked.

“I’ve got plenty of souvenirs,” she mused, tossing the bullet into the lake. Arthur understood she was referring to the scars.

“Come back to my tent,” Arthur suggested, “I’ll stitch you up while you continue to catch me up on the last 10 years of your life.” His tone was playful, an attempt to lighten her mood. Arthur could already tell that her life had been incredibly hard, and seeing the marks on her back only confirmed his fears. Kate nodded, and Arthur helped her walk back to his tent.

To her surprise, the camp was put together rather quickly. Most of the members had settled down around the fire or had gone to bed. Arthur’s things were off to the side of the small clearing, offering him some privacy. His wagon had not been completely unloaded, but there was a cot, as well as a milk crate and an oil lamp. It was no hospital but it would have to do. He gently helped her sit down on his cot while he rummaged through his belongings for the right supplies to stitch her wound. Kate took the opportunity to continue her story.

“Funny thing about this land,” she started, “our constitution says all men are created equal. But I’m a woman, a widow. They tell us our land is free, but what freedom do I have? I cannot own land, can’t take out a loan, can’t purchase anything in my own name. Choices come with freedom, but I had no choices at all.”

Arthur gave her a sympathetic look, he wasn't always proud of his sex. Most of the men in his life were not good role models, and he himself couldn't understand why some men treated women the way that they did.

“I had an aunt in Southern California, I never met her but my father had talked about her growing up. So I wrote to her, in a handful of pages I explained everything. And begged her to let me live with her,” she inhaled sharply as Arthur cleaned her wound with alcohol.

“I was a sorry sight,” she remarked, “I was so terrified to be on my own, and travel across the entire country just to avoid being sent to a nunnery or sold to another man as his bride. I had enough money to get me to Virginia, and after that I had to find my own way.”

In the dim light Arthur sat crouched on the ground beneath her while Kate sat in his cot. She looked down at him, working diligently and so tenderly to clean her wound as painless as possible. His gaze was fixed and intent while he worked, but Kate knew he was taking in every word she said.

“So I joined a caravan that was heading west to Arizona. I figured they could at least get me close enough. Only problem was they were all German, and had very little knowledge of how to travel across the American west," Kate said with a bitter chuckle, “there were a few ranchers that came with us, and we tried to teach them what we could. Most of them couldn't even ride a horse!” She exclaimed.

Arthur blew out a breath, “oh they were doomed from the start.”

“It started with 72 of us, and we began to lose people as soon as we hit the Appalachian trail. Their carelessness became contagious; sickness and snakes, bad horses and poison berries. But of all the perils awaiting us, there was one word so feared it was barely spoken and barely whispered… the river.”

Arthurs blood went cold. He couldn’t imagine the fear and terror as innocent families were ripped apart by dark waters. Punished simply for seeking a better life. The land was more merciless than any outlaw he knew. He noticed Kate relax under his touch, he worked gently as he ran the pad of his thumb over the flesh of her scars. Small bumps and lines, like tiny mountains in a cartography map. Like these scars mapped her history. Where she stood tall and brave in the face of danger. He admired her, being young and alone in this world was terrifying. He knew that feeling well.

“The Kanawha river nearly took all of us that day. We came out the other side with barely 15 people,” Kate shook her head at the memory, “I thought we had seen the worst. But it was only the beginning, Arthur.”

He looked up at the sound of his name, her voice trembling with fear. Their eyes locked and he saw a broken girl looking back at him. They shared a silent moment of understanding. He had heard stories from Appalachia, it was something a child could not muster even in their worst nightmares. Reaching for her arm, he squeezed her gently, “Kate,” he said softly, like he was crooning a baby, “you don’t have to tell me if the memories hurt.”

Warmth spread over her cheeks as silent tears fell, her heart was in her throat. It had been so long since she talked to someone about it. For the first time in years she felt like Arthur was the only person truly seeing her.

“We had crossed into Lakota hunting territory,” she continued, “there was a feud over the land between the tribe and the Virginia government. But it didn’t matter for us, the Indians came anyway. They killed all the men, leaving only myself and two other girls. I couldn’t do anything but watch it happen. I was no use with a gun and I had no idea where to go. So they took me.”

“And I knew I was going to die.”

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softrozene · 1 year

Text

Short and Feisty Female S/O that Likes to Cuddle

Ladymogar asked: Aaaye I’m always so happy to see new writing blogs in fandoms I love ❤️ could I get hcs for Arthur, Charles, John, and/or Sean for having a smol s/o? Like short and fiesty but also into cuddly times? Thanks doll, I’ve really enjoyed your writing so far!

rdr2 masterlist

I adored this request and had to do all the characters suggested AND I added Javier because he is delicious. I would say the reader in this is under 5’5” (165.1 cm) as that is what is considered short where I am from but it’s different everywhere! Anyway, I’m glad you enjoy my writings, Hon!

I did go off this link when I think of the characters’ heights!

Originally published on March 31, 2020

Arthur, Charlies, Javier, John, Sean x Female Reader

Warnings: Pure fluff

Arthur Morgan-

Honestly, for him, I think he would be so fucking smitten with you

You would literally be everything he wanted in a partner

Small (or well smaller than what he would’ve imagined) but so much cuter and god the fire in you? To die for

He can 100% see himself risking it all for you and going to settle down to have a family with you- but that’s the future for him

The present with the gang around he would be hard to read

Or that’s how he likes to imagine himself

The second you stroll up to him and have to crane your neck to look up is the second his heart melts and that gentle giant comes out (maybe for a second but everyone in the gang definitely saw it)

Your feisty side originally made him assume that you weren’t the touchy-feely type

So when you first cuddled with him he was probably as stiff as a board and awkward but with you coaxing him into more cuddles which he always accepted he has realized how much he loves them

Poor boy is definitely touch-starved so he would never ever deny your cuddles no matter what time of day it is or who is present (Though he may get flustered)

It would become one of his favorite things to do with you

Charles Smith-

Omg for Charles since he was a loner before the group and since the group has mostly taller people he would be astounded by your height at first

I feel like he would be on edge the whole time and make sure that he never ever harms you

That would probably be his number 1 fear in the relationship (Poor babe is scared he’ll crush you with his pinky or something)

It would take him a while to get used to being in a relationship with someone as small as you but thanks to your feisty side it makes him feel more comfortable eventually

It definitely eases him that you are not as fragile as you look (though let’s be honest he probably would adore how fragile you look since he would take on the protector role in the relationship)

He knows you are fully capable of protecting yourself though

This boy is touch-starved to but he has boundaries

He would set certain times or have cuddles only restricted to nights and away from prying eyes

He tries to compromise with you but really he believes that intimate moments should remain in private and once you do get to the cuddle session he will be absolute putty in your hands (Or you will be. It probably all depends on his mood)

Javier Escuella-

This gorgeous man would never say anything about your attitude or height… in English of course

In Spanish, he’ll be teasing you relentlessly and you’ll be dying to find out what he’s saying

Your feisty attitude with this just makes him happy (and a tad impressed if you get mad enough to try and hit him)

No one else is allowed to comment about your height beside him- You both make sure of that

He would flirt with you constantly and without shame

And that’s how you would eventually get together

When he finds out you are a cuddler?

He’ll embrace and relish in it

He’s a romantic through and through so he won’t care where, when, and who is present he will always encourage and initiate the cuddles too

Though because he is a romance it could lead somewhere else and that’s when whoever present needs to speak up is

If you are outside the camp with him expect him to expect you to remain by his side or on his arm

He just likes the fact he can proudly show you off but if it ain’t your thing he won’t force it

Is absolute favorite time with you is when the two of you are cuddling, you in his lap, and he has the guitar on your lap strumming away as he sings softly into your ear

John Marston-

He would be the one that wouldn’t care at first

It just doesn’t catch his attention and I feel like he would try to avoid you since your small stature and feisty nature reminds him of Abigail

Though once he does give in and you two become friends he’ll start to appreciate your stature and nature

He won’t comment on your height but he will purposely place things out of your reach to watch you struggle for it or so he could be “smooth” and help you (Yes imagine the cliché thing where the guy goes right behind the girl and they touch hands or something lmao- that would be John if he likes you)

Once he is confident that you aren’t like Abigail and you won’t get mad at him for teasing or initiating contact with you he’ll become more confident

I feel like he would be the first to try to cuddle and so when you let him he would just be awestruck

He doesn’t care too much about PDA around the gang but every once in a while he’ll pull you onto his lap and honestly if you let him or encourage him- he’ll probably marry you on the spot

John will appreciate you wanting to cuddle him but sometimes he’ll have his moods where he’ll need to be alone for a while

Don’t worry though because he will come back and feel bad for rejecting a cuddle and he’ll try to make it up to you

Sean Macguire-

Would be the one to immediately say something about your height the first time you show up in the gang

He has no shame in teasing you, flirting with you, constantly picking on you

When he genuinely likes someone he’ll seem like a bit of a jerk but the cuteness of it is undeniable

Everyone in the gang will know why he acts like that and eventually you will too

However, because of your feisty nature, the beginning of the friendship and relationship would be both of your personalities clashing

He would 100% enjoy this though where you may get annoyed beyond relief

He is the one who would pick you up and carry you around camp to either piss you off or show off your smaller stature

1000000% Would be the one to use your head as an armrest and be all smug bout it

I think in general that Sean with a very short s/o would be a hilarious relationship

He could have his romantic moments but there will be absolutely no witnesses to show this

Unless he goes to Arthur, Hosea, or Dutch for help on how to charm you (That is the only time those three will have not lost faith in Sean’s romantic life)

As for cuddling, this boy lives for it

However, his hormones also live for it so the cute cuddles can and probably will turn into something else rather fast

Again he has no shame so he would try and cuddle (and do more tbh) with the gang present

#softrozene writes #rdr2 x reader #red dead redemption 2 x reader #arthur morgan x reader #charles smith x reader #javier escuella x reader #john marston x reader #sean macguire x reader #female reader #fluff #rdr2 headcanons

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riallasheng · 1 year

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Spectrum Uniforms

Just making a 'Master Post' that I can hopefully link to from my main tumblr page.

This will be the uniform versions and (once I make them) 'character collage' images.

Characters posted in descending rank order, and for characters of the same rank, descending age.

The highest rating in Spectrum is OF-7 (2 star admiral), there is no OF-1 rating or OR-1 rating, and while there are Warrant Officers, there are only two ranks of Warrant Officer.

Only the Officers are Color Coded (and all Officers are Color Coded). The Enlisted aren't color coded, BUT they have fake names, using surnames that are jobs or structures, etc (Smith, Bridge, etc)

FLAG OFFICERS and SENIOR OFFICERS

Spectrum's ranks are set up to be rather opaque / confounding to those outside of Spectrum to a greater or lesser degree as one of the measures of protection for the members of the organization.

The rank / rating insignia are purposefully understated, and there is rank title sharing between of5 & of4 (captain), and of3 & of2 (Lieutenant)

The ranks are also overall unique. While I did change the rank title on Colonel White to Admiral White, that was due to the fact that a Colonel is an of5 essentially world wide, and even if he wasn't REALLY that rank, the fact remains that White would be treated as said rank by everyone he worked with, which actually would cause issues on the regular.

Thus, Colonel White became Admiral White, using Naval ranking rather than Army because White had been Navy prior to Spectrum, AND because doing so had the added bonus of bumping the Captains from of3 up to of5.

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OF-7 Admiral White (2 star Admiral) Sir Charles Grey 2017 - July - 14

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OF-6 Captain Black (actually a Commodore / 1 star Admiral) Conrad Turner 2029 - Mar - 17 (Conrad was the co-founder of Spectrum, and prior to the Mars Mission / the Mysterons, he was the SiC / XO of Spectrum)

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OF-5 Captains

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Captain Grey Iain Holden 2027 - Mar - 4 (nCS and ogCS Grey were so simular to each other that I merged them into a singular character, taking elements from both, although overall ogCS takes presidence)

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Destiny Angel Juliette Pontoin 2030 - Aug - 23 (Destiny is the highest ranked of the Angels. My annual was damaged by a coffee stain, and it wasn't until a few years ago that I found out that'd I'd misread Destiny's birthyear for decades ^^;; I just kept myficverse Destiny with the 'wrong' birth year simply because it's what I'm used to for her)

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Captain Brown Stephen Blackburn 2033 - Jan - 14 (While I originally used Brown's canon name of Alan Stephens, when I switched the TV21 Zero X comics crew with Spectrum characters (Black, Destiny, Brown, Goldenrod), Brown was showing up too often and having his real name used too much and it became too easy to mix him up with Alan Tracy, so I used his surname for his given name, and used the popular fanon surname for his surname)

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Captain Magenta Patrick Donaghue 2034 - May - 17

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Captain Ochre Richard Fraser* 2035 - Feb - 23 (Ochre was not born Richard Fraser, as well as his appearance, he changed his name with Operation Jigsaw. He was born Matthew McClaine, son of Joe McClaine (aka Joe 90) and grandson of Matthew Harding (The Secret Service).

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Captain Saffron Elaine Jenkins 2035 - May - 11 (nCS Captain Ochre, as I merged nCS and ogCS, AND I adored Lady Ochre... I just don't like it when characters that are basically OCs use pre-existing character names... thus, Lady Ochre needed a new Color Code ^^. Her surname was changed to Jenkins as a tip of the hat to Leroy Jenkins, cause she is SO VERY MUCH a Leroy Jenkins type of character XD )

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Captain Blue Adam Svenson 2035 - Aug - 26 (2015 - Aug - 26*) (He was one of the five non-Koala Base personnel who were trapped by the Time Bubble. When all was said and done and the Bubble went down, he was 20 years older, didn't feel safe remaining on active field duty in his 60s, but wanted to remain active in Spectrum and thus took was transfered (alongside Symphony Angel, now Captain Sky) to become base commander of Owl Base, the special ops / secret agent base)

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Captain Scarlet Paul Metcalfe 2035 - Oct - 15

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Captain Olive Mariah Blackburn 2035 - Oct - 15 (My only OC this high a rank, and the ONLY reason she's an of-5 is that I have her as the commander of Koala Base, and she needed to be a high enough rank for that. She's a background / support character, but she was Captain Brown's wife, and is the mother of Starbuck "Buck" Blackburn - the second Captain Brown)

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Captain Brown (jr) Starbuck "Buck" Blackburn 2053 - Oct - 31* (nCS Blue. There was time schennannigins that occurred at Koala Base inbetween S2 (the end of teh ogCS rewrite) and S3 (the start of the nCS rewrite) that had a 'Time Bubble' go up. Inside the Time Bubble, 20 years occur for Koala Base, where-as only 4 years pass outside the Time Bubble. Which results in the son of Captain Brown and Captain Olive to be an adult when the Bubble is eventually defeated / dropped. Buck received full training during the 20 year span, and once all was said and done, he was made a Color Captain - taking up his father's Color Code by his request.

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OF-4 Captain / Command Captain (Commander)

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Doctor Goldenrod Mason Frost 2015 - Jun - 05 (Frost was a member of WARP, serving on the SR3 and then teh Zero X under the command of Conrad Turner | Captain Black and alongside Stephen Blackburn | Captain Brown. He joined Spectrum, taking up the role of lead doctor, after Doctor Fawn died when Cloudbase was destroyed)

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Captain Sky Karen Wainwright 2022 - Jan - 06* (Actually Symphony Angel. She was one of the five non-Koala Base personnel who were trapped by the Time Bubble. When all was said and done and the Bubble went down, she was 20 years older, didn't feel safe remaining a pilot in her 50s, but wanted to remain active in Spectrum and thus took was transfered (alongside Captain Blue) to Owl Base to begin training Special Ops / Spy work)

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Captain Vermilion Chan Kwan 2022 - Jun - 19* (Actually Harmony Angel. She was one of the five non-Koala Base personnel who were trapped by the Time Bubble. When all was said and done and the Bubble went down, she was 20 eyars older, didn't feel safe remaining a pilot in her 50s, but wanted to remain active in Spectrum and thus took over melee combat training on Koala Base from the retiring Captain Hemp)

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Captain Hemp Cuhtahlatah 2031 - Apr - 7 (an OC, she's the melee combat trainer on Koala Base. She was on Koala Base when the Time Bubble occured, and when it went down she decided that - being over 60 years old - she could not safely remain as melee combat trainer, and retired from Spectrum)

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Doctor Fawn Edward Wilkie 2031 - Jul - 10

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Captain Indigo Andrew Macey 2033 - Sept - 01 (He's actually the character Macey from Big Ben Strikes Again. Spectrum checked into him after all was said and done and found that Macey was a weapons designer / builder, and rushed him trhough training to have him help construct the Mysteron Gun

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Captain Turquoise Shaka Dlamini 2041 - Mar - 1 (an oooooolllllllld OC created by myself and a few friends waaaaaay back in the 1980s)

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Symphony Angel Karen Wainwright 2042 - Jan - 06

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Harmony Angel Chan Kwan 2042 - Jun - 19

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Melody Angel Magnolia Jones 2043 - Jan - 10

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Rhapsody Angel Dianne Simms 2043 - Apr - 27 (A small fun thing I've got is that Dianne's older brother is Robert Lyon - born Roger Simms - the spy and good friend of Lady Penelope that showed up in Penny's comics)

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Crescendo Angel Toshi Drake 2049 - Jun - 02 (a merging of the one-off, but quite popular, character from the Angels comic of Toshi and nCS Harmony Angel)

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Rhythm Angel Esther Jones 2054 - Feb - 08* (nCS Melody Angel, she's one of the people born inside the Koala Base Time Bubble, and is the daughter of Melody Angel and Captain Ochre, who were among the five non-Koala Base personnel who were trapped by the Time Bubble)

#Master Post #Spectrum #Captain Scarlet #Captain Scarlet 1967 #new Captain Scarlet

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